Lord's of Mayhem, Book One

The Lord’s of Mayhem

An MC Tale

The Lord’s of Mayhem

An MC Tale

By Six Shooter Sally

Copyright 2012

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The Lord’s of Mayhem

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.- Lao-Tzu

The Beginning

The Lord’s of Mayhem Motorcycle Club was started by a young man named Reed Collins after returning from Afghanistan. The things he’d seen and done during his time overseas had taken their toll. He quickly discovered that no one; especially our government helps redirect the emotions of their returning soldiers. Some soldiers turn inward while others turn to drugs or booze or worse. Reed didn’t want or need that. He already knew where that could lead. Yet he did understand the need to find a place where he felt at home. It needed to be the kind of environment where he could be himself, warts and all. His old school buddies, hadn’t lived his experience. He could feel the difference in the way they acted more importantly in the way he was treated. It didn’t take long to understand there was no longer any common ground. One by one they quickly faded away.

Part of him realized he needed to find the rush again. Once you’ve lived on the edge it’s hard to stay content on middle ground, active combat can do that. He sought comfort in the arms of as many pretty women he could find but that was only a temporary fix. He could not tell them how he felt or what he’d seen or why sometimes he feared the dark. He knew if he did they would run screaming from the room. He couldn’t blame them he felt that way a lot of the time. He tried some group therapy at the local VA. In reality he only went twice because seeing how much more damaged the men in that circle were than he was made it far more painful. He could see it in their eyes. The truth is it takes one to know one. Some of them would never recover from the places they’d been. A shudder ran through him hoping and praying he could stay off the crazy train.

His family with all their good intentions managed to do nothing more than to smother him. He of course understood they meant well. They were trying their very best to cope and understand his moods and the dramatic change in him. He could see the strain on his parents faces. He knew they loved him and only had his best interests at heart. His Dad who he loved dearly had never been in the military and he could not understand. Prolonged pain teaches you not to try to explain it only wastes everyone’s time, mostly your own. His parents had hoped that the military would straighten out their son and give him purpose and a direction. He’d not exactly been walking the straight and narrow since high school. Now faced with the person who returned they were devastated.

Reed needed the understanding that only someone who’d walked in his shoes could give him. The sense of power the military places in the hands of the young is a hard thing to give up. That and the respect that goes along with it which is something the young rarely experience in private life. It is its own brand of aphrodisiac. Deep down he believed there were plenty of others out there that felt like he did. He figured that like him they wanted and needed something more than simply returning to their old life stateside; that is if they could. He wondered if like him there were others that weren’t willing to simply fall back into the old boringness of their previous lives. Maybe like him they needed the rush. That terrifyingly exhilarating feeling they’d experienced standing on the edge of life and death day in and out.

Reed found men like himself in a quest that would last for their entire lifetimes. He would find the understanding and the unity he longed for. They would band together under one set of colors united by the thunderous roar of an American motorcycle. The world would come to know them as the "Lord’s of Mayhem, MC

Table of Contents

The Beginning

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

1

Three weeks after my nineteenth birthday I entered boot camp. Before that I’d spent most of my time drunk, high and getting laid. None of that was very different from any other day since I’d turned fourteen. I was a difficult teen, restless and rebellious. I had no reason for the behavior because I came from a good family. I lived in a nice home in the Valley and unlike a lot of my friends my parents were still together. Me like most of my buddies had little to no ambition. We were lazy and mischievous but not actually bad. We never thought about the future. We just wanted to have a good time. Sometimes that good time got us into trouble. At first it wasn’t anything big. It was considered minor even by most of our parents. Things like petty theft or vandalism. We TP’d a few houses and put soap suds in old man Jenkins pool. It was nothing more than kid style mischief. My Dad was overheard saying boys will be boys. It meant an ass chewing from my old man or a fine if the cops were involved but that was about all there was to it.

Mostly I faked my way through high school. I paid off other kids to do my homework. Come on, I said I was lazy. I had one kid that even managed to take a few of my tests for me. He’s the only reason I managed to graduate. It blew me away how disinterested the teachers were in the kids in their classes making it simple to pull off. I wasn’t huge; not as big guys go. Yet I was stood five feet eleven inches tall in tenth grade. I must have good genes because I was solid muscle. I weighed in then at about one hundred and sixty-five pounds. It was crazy because I didn’t have to work for that either. I just came that way. My build was intimidating to some people on campus meaning the ones I messed with when ever the opportunity presented itself. When you coupled my size with my ferocious big mouth, I soon became the schools badass. At least that is what I wanted everyone to think. Remember high school is all about perception. I’d never been in a fight in my life.

If I wanted to keep my folks off my back I quickly realized it was in my best interest to protect the nerdy guys. Looking back I know I would never have made it out of high school without their dedication to my grades inspired by the fear of my kicking their collective asses. Naturally they couldn’t make me look too smart or do anything too over the top where my test results were concerned but it allowed me to graduate with a solid C average. My folks were thrilled. I remember they were both beaming at my graduation. It wasn’t a secret that they’d had their doubts. They had good reason I had been suspended in junior high and high school roughly seventeen times. I lost count but the school never did. I think I still hold the school record.

I liked cars but not enough to get a job in order to buy one of my own. That became especially true once I learned how to steal them. Me and my buddies only did it when we needed to get somewhere; like to a concert when we couldn’t score a ride. Lucky for me we never got caught, although we did come close a few times. Once my friend Jerry got a car from his old man we were set. During high school I came to know every dealer on campus more importantly they knew me. We kept our distance. There was something sleazy about what they did. Even back then the drug thing and I don’t mean smoking pot somehow didn’t sit right with me.

So every now and then just for fun mostly I’d bust into one of their lockers or their cars and help myself to their money and their stash. Kid dealers aren’t very smart. I found them to be easy pickings. I kept the money and the pot which I shared with my friends. The other stuff like crack, coke, speed, horse and the vast assortment of prescription drugs which had become so popular; I flushed down the commode. I got pretty good at figuring out when they had recently scored. I think some of them guessed it might be me but no one could prove it. Let’s face it they couldn’t exactly go into the principles office to complain.

After my graduation which at the time was my parent’s one and only proud moment; they began bugging me to get a job. I had other ideas. My buddies and I decided to expand on my little smash and bash business. We decided to hit low level local drug dealers. It was amazing to us when we discovered that out in the real world, drug dealers weren’t any smarter than the kids I was ripping off back in high school. It was easy really. One of us would make the connection. People talk more openly about who their dealers are than who their doctors are. Then we’d stake them out for a week or so figuring out the guy’s routine. During that time I learned to notice the subtle things. The things you would see a guy repeat time and again before making a sale and afterwards. We spent the year after graduation ripping off drug dealers. We got pretty damn good at it too. Most of our friends were slinging burgers and there we were raking in real cash.

During that time I bought my first Harley. It was an 84’ Sportster. The top end had just been redone. She needed some paint and a pair of new tires but otherwise she was sound. That was when I fell in love for the first time. I’d never felt anything like it. I loved the way it felt when I was riding her. It was a rush. It attracted a lot of attention from the girls too not that I minded. I never thought much about my looks although my kid sister told me being handsome and owning a Harley was a lethal combination. I think that was her way of saying I could have gotten girls without the bike. My sister and I both favored my Mom’s side of the family. We had the dark chestnut colored hair and dark brown eyes although my mom had become a blond several years ago.

Anyhow after I got my bike two of my buddies did the same. Hell we were all over the place then believing we were unstoppable. One cop that pulled us over told us we rode like we were on fire. He said he’d struggled to catch us all the while he was writing our speeding tickets. Tickets were just a small part of it. We were balls to the wall, fast and furious. It was summertime and it was great. We were having the time of our lives or so we thought. We had a lot of money and a lot of time to ride and girls by the score. What young guy wouldn’t love that life?

However that all changed very rapidly when Lefty got shot. He got shot by the last dealer we ever tried to rip off. It damn near killed him. Seeing him lying there in the hospital did something to all of us and for the first time ever we realized what we were doing could get us killed. Prior to that we all believed we were invincible. We never thought about death or the possibility of it. Youth is reckless and we were all those things and more. Lefty’s near death experience changed all of us. After that all bets were off. It didn’t take long before we all began heading in different directions. We went our separate ways. That was when I decided that I’d better do something with my life so on nothing more than a whim I headed for the Army. You could see the relief on my parents faces from a mile away. I had their blessing. They hoped the Army would make something of me. I guess in retrospect it did.

2

We meaning my unit of twelve men were sent into a small village looking for information. It was believed the villagers were harboring some Taliban insurgents. I remember it was hot but it’s always hot there. The wind was blowing in from the west burdening the sand filled the air with additional grit. The sand managed to infiltrate your body from your teeth, ears even your balls. It was relentless like the fucking heat. Try dealing with that aggravation while carrying fifty pounds and a rifle. It’s no picnic. I didn’t even mention the spiders or the scorpions that fill the hellish landscape. It’s no wonder these people are so pissed off.

Like I said there were twelve of us when that day began. The oldest man in the group was twenty-six the youngest was eighteen and most of us suspected he was younger still. It wasn’t a long trek to the village only eight clicks west of our base. I figured with a little luck we’d be back to base camp before dark. I was hoping there would be some mail waiting for me when we returned. We eased our way into the village. Not that 12 guys loaded to the hilt, wearing desert cammo sporting big fucking riles could actually ease in anywhere unnoticed. At first glance nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The locals were coming and going doing whatever these desert rats do. They didn’t seem surprised by our presence. No one was acting suspect. Kids were in the street along with a number of skinny stray dogs that seemed to be everywhere.

We had Intel on a house about three quarters of the way inside the village. These villages are not big places by our standards of big. There are goats here and there. Large baskets of grain are lined up in front of what might be a store, not that I can read the sign. I remember thinking that the goats and the faces of several villagers were remarkably similar. Funny but goats have always reminded me of old bearded men. Miles