Helmet Head by Mike Baron Read Free Book Online

him, hands at sides palms open.
    Whaaaa—?
    Fred went down on one knee. “Remember me, motherfucker? Remember me?! ”
    Two blasts struck Helmet Head in the chest further shredding his expensive black jacket. The black biker staggered back but stopped himself from falling when his butt hit the bike.
    Fred got to his feet dazed as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Helmet Head strode toward him drawing the katana from over one shoulder, passing it through Fred’s neck and returning it to his back in one perfect parabola.
    For three long seconds Fred stood quivering. His head slid one way and his body the other. Helmet Head stooped, picked up Fred’s head with both hands like a basketball and Michael Jordaned it toward the roadhouse.
    Fred’s head smacked through the window like a seven pound cannonball, striking the back wall and falling to the floor spewing blood. Glass flew.
    Macy screamed.
    “Motherfucker!” Wild Bill exclaimed, reaching into his vest and pulling out an Arsenal double-barreled .45. Chainsaw reached down to his leather gym bag and withdrew a long-barreled .357 magnum. Mad Dog pulled a nine from his backpack and the bikers surged toward the front door like the Three Stooges.
    “Hold it!” Fagan yelled, drawing his own pistol.
    The black bike roared to life. Three foot gouts of flame erupted from the pipes. Helmet Head pulled out of the rain-slick lot and motored down the road, the shrieking cacophony becoming fainter until it merged with the sound of the storm.
    ***

CHAPTER 11
The Freezer
    Fagan went out on the porch. Chaos was chaos but this was getting out of hand. The wind had tumbled the cheap -plastic chairs and tables into the wall. “Can anyone fix the generator?” he called, his voice sounding unusually loud in the absence of thunder.
    “I can fix anything runs on gas,” Mad Dog said turning back toward the club. He brushed by Fagan, deliberately giving him the shoulder as he went into the club and behind the bar. Fagan still felt weak and sore from his crash and that kick to the ribs didn’t help.
    Fagan followed him in. “Is there a freezer back there, something that will hold the body?”
    “If it’ll fit,” the kid said and disappeared through the door.
    Doc and Curtis remained at their back table playing cards.
    “One of you guys help me carry the body in?”
    “What for?” Doc said without looking up.
    “Might be awhile before we can get an ambulance out here,” Fagan said.
    Curtis pushed himself back from the table. “I will.”
    He was a wiry black man with close-cropped steel-gray hair and beard wearing tinted round glasses. He had a diamond stud through his left ear and his brown eyes were devoid of the rage Fagan saw in the others.
    Together they went outside. Wild Bill and Chainsaw were arguing, oblivious to Fred’s body. Blood had poured from Fred’s neck to mix with the rainwater.
    Curtis stooped and grabbed the headless body beneath the arms. “Looks like he’s pretty much exsanguinated.”
    Fagan took the bartender’s boots, stitch lancing across his ribs where he’d been kicked. “You have medical experience, Mr…?”
    “Curtis. I’m an RN.”
    Fagan led, going up the three steps to the deck. “That’s a new one on me. A black RN outlaw biker.”
    Curtis followed Fagan into the bar. “Yeah well we don’t get too many Jewish cops around here.”
    Fagan opened the bar door with his elbow and Curtis followed.
    A thrum rose from the rear of the building. The lights flickered and went back on. Mad Dog came out of the back door grinning and slapping his hands together in an exaggerated manner.
    “Told ya.”
    “Good on ya, Mad Dog,” Curtis said as they squeezed by him into the storeroom.
    Mad Dog flattened out against the wall as Fred’s corpse passed.
    There were two doors behind the bar at right angles. One led to the storeroom. The other led to Fred’s private quarters.
    Inside the store room the door shut automatically behind