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FXRs Forever, the Final Episode

By Karl Skanlan with images by Bob T.

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Four, high ranking members of the Two Skulls MC, including Little Steve and the prez sat in Steve’s truck halfway down the block from Karl’s house. No one spoke. All of them stared out the window at the house where the lone biker named Karl Skanlan lived. They were there to take care of business. Steve glared out the window with a look that could kill, all by itself. His head pounded, but it only helped fuel his rage. He felt that, even if he died here today, it would be worth it just to have one more shot at the lone biker who had caused all his pain.

There were approximately twenty other members of the TSMC carefully stationed throughout the neighborhood. Some sat waiting in cars and trucks, others simply stood in doorways or wherever they looked inconspicuous. All of them were armed, and all were waiting for one man to show, although most of them thought, and hoped, that there would be more than just one. Everyone had small, walkie-talkie radios to keep in contact.

The afternoon was quiet, and hot. Waves of heat rose from the pavement, and the occasional raven cried overhead, but mostly it was just another sweltering desert afternoon in the shabby neighborhood. The quiet was disturbed when a motorcycle came into view on the street, exhaust pipes rapping with a deep staccato rumble. Prez keyed the mike on his radio and spoke, “That’s him. Everybody stand by.”

Karl and Alyssa leaned hard into the driveway and slid up in front of the garage. It seemed like a year since he had been here last. He left the bike idling while he unlocked and opened the garage door, then he hopped back on the Harley and gunned it inside. Even though his heart was beating so fast he thought it would explode, he gave no outward sign of nervousness. Alyssa, on the other hand, looked like she was going to piss her pants any second. Karl half-lifted, half-helped Alyssa off the back of the bike and closed the garage door, plunging the inside of the garage into darkness.

“Welcome to my humble abode, my dear.” Karl said as he led the girl to the side door and into the kitchen.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Karl could tell that someone had been in the house. A few kitchen chairs were not where he had left them, and there was some small wet puddles on the counter next to the sink. Small details perhaps, but enough to be glaringly obvious if you were looking for such things. He led her to the living room and motioned for her to sit on the couch.

“Did you enjoy the putt over, darlin?” Karl asked calmly.

“Yeah, like I’ve never ridden on a Harley before.” She snapped. She was nervous, and excited, for she had seen the black pick-up parked down the block, and had noticed several members of the TSMC watched them go by. She wondered how stupid this man could be to not have noticed.

Her phone conversation with Steve had not gone the way she had expected. He sounded distant, all he wanted to know was where Karl was. He didn’t seem to care whether or not she was OK at all. She hoped that Little Steve wasn’t mad at her.

“I can’t believe that you actually came over here.” She said, shaking her head.

Karl sat beside her on the couch and playfully pinched her cheek. “Ah, we’re all brothers, sweetheart. You know, everyone that rides a scooter, we’re all bros. Your boyfriend won’t take nothing personal, I’ll buy him a beer sometime.”

Alyssa looked at him at him in wonder. “You really think that the Skulls are your bros, huh? They are like, waaay badder than you are Karl. They’ve killed people. They blow up people like you for fun.” She wondered how someone who was so stupid, could’ve lived so long. Still, for an old guy, he was a great fuck. She smiled when she thought about their bout of sex. It was a shame to let such a great piece of cock go to waste. Maybe she would ask the club if they would let him live with just a beating, maybe she could fuck him on the side whenever Steve got too fucked up to get it up?

Probably not, she thought. I’m sure that Steve is going to fuck up this punk REAL bad. She sighed.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any dope?” She asked.

Karl smiled at her. “Ah, that’s my girl. Tell you what, I’ll get us some dope, and some beer, and you and I will get silly. How about that?” Karl leaned close to Alyssa and kissed her full on the mouth, while he gave her tits a little squeeze. He enjoyed copping the feel of her pert little breasts, and he enjoyed feeling her return the kiss as he slipped a tiny, 1 watt, police surveillance transmitter into the front pocket of her denim shirt. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and he licked her lips when he pulled away. It was difficult to resist the urge to take her right there on the couch, but he knew that there was no time. He rose from the couch and walked to the front door. Alyssa was astonished when he opened the door, and left it open. The hot breeze wafted in through the screen of the outside door.

“Need a little air in here.” He said, and walked to the kitchen.

Alyssa glanced up when Karl backed halfway into the doorway and spoke slowly, “And by the way, Hon, I know who my bros are, and I know what a bro is, and I know that the fucking punks in the Two Skulls MC ain’t either one of them.”

Alyssa frowned and watched as Karl disappeared from view. Whatever, she thought. Just bring some dope, asshole… she sat and watched the open front door. She felt her heartbeat start to race when the Prez, Little Steve, and two other club members strode up the front walkway to the open door. She rose from the couch and walked tentatively to Steve. She opened the screen door to let them in.

“Hey Babe.” She smiled.

Little Steve smacked her hard enough across the face to knock her to the floor.

“Where the fuck is he, bitch?” He snarled at her as she lay on the floor, holding her hand to the side of her face, tears springing to her eyes.

Frank Deangelo and another plainclothes detective sat in their car, a short distance from Karl’s house, fiddling with the knob on a small shortwave receiver. There were a couple of dozen cops stationed around the area and all units were on alert. Suddenly, a small red LED light on the front of the unit lit. “It’s on.” said Frank. The other detective nodded.

And by the way, Hon, I know who my bros are, and I know what a bro is, and I know that the fucking punks in the Two Skulls MC ain’t either one of them………, The radio speaker was loud and clear.

Hey Babe…. Frank started when he heard the female voice. The other detective in the passengers seat frowned. Frank began to flush when he heard the audible sound of a slap.

Male voice: Where the fuck is he, bitch?…

Female voice: He went in the other room. He said he was gonna get some dope and beer and shit. What’s the matter, Steve?

Franks partner stole a sideways glance at Frank, then looked back at the radio. Frank stared straight ahead. The sound of another slap came through the speaker, then a female scream. Frank put his hand to his forehead.

A different male voice: You’re the fucking matter, you little cunt. You think you can just jump on any punks scooter and run the fuck away?

Crying female voice: Fucking STOP it! I’ll get all you fucking assholes thrown in jail! I know that you blew up the government building, and I know everyone that was in on it… 

There was a long silence. Frank grabbed the microphone to the cars police band radio and held it up to his mouth, frozen in position.

Male voice: How the fuck do you know that?… How the fuck does she know that, Steve?

Sobbing female voice: He told me……he told me all about it…..I know all about you…

Male voice: Well, ain’t that some shit? Well, you’re right, bitch. We did it, the Two Fucking Skulls MC, yer fuckin A. And now that YOU know that we did it, I guess there’s going to be more than one body in this motherfucker before we’re done here today. The sound of another audible slap came forth from the radio speaker.

Franks face blanched. He keyed the mike and yelled, “Swarm the house! Apprehend everyone in the area. There is a female in the house, do not harm the girl! I repeat, do not harm the girl! Move! Move!”

The air was instantly filled with the sound of police sirens. A siren or two was not a rare sound, certainly not in this part of town, but this sounded more like an air raid.

The four men in the house jumped at the sound of the sirens. Alyssa lay half-conscious on the floor. “What the fuck?…We gotta bail, Prez.” One of the men urged.

The Prez looked at Little Steve, who stood looking down at Alyssa. “Let’s go. Leave the bitch here. Where’s that fucking guy?”

“I don’t know, but he’s still in the house somewhere. Fuck him. Let’s haul ass and blow this motherfucker…”

The men turned and ran for the door. Little Steve was the last one out, but he turned and looked back at Alyssa. He couldn’t do it. He went back and picked her up in his arms, then turned and made for the door. The Prez stood in the front lawn, watching him. He pulled a 9MM pistol from his waistband and pointed at Steve.

“Can’t do it, Bro. Leave the bitch, or stay with her. It’s business, and you know it.” Prez spoke calmly and deliberately, trying to get through to the huge man’s consciousness. But he knew that Steve was probably way past reason, at this point.

Steve’s face felt hot, and he realized that he was actually crying. A combination of the drugs, the stress, and the fact that he was operating with a serious concussion had finally reduced him to a blithering mess. He turned his back and began to back through the door, knocking the screen door open with his ass.

The Prez gave a slight shake of his head and fired four shots directly into the man’s back, then turned and ran for the truck. The first of the police cars were just coming around the corner.

The Prez yelled to the other men who had reached the truck, “Blow it! Blow it!”

Steve, still holding Alyssa, was still on his feet and had made it out of the door when the house blew up. The percussion knocked him twenty feet forward, and he landed on top of the girl in the shabby front yard, shielding her from the blast. Window glass, plaster, and debris from the blast landed all over and around him. Anyone, or anything that was in that house, was a goner for sure.

The next twenty minutes were a war. It was cops against bikers. The neighbors would say that an endless series of gunfire, sirens, screeching tires, yelling, loudspeakers, and helicopters punctuated the conflict, for what seemed like the entire afternoon.

The next morning, a large picture of the scene adorned the front page of the newspaper. The picture showed what appeared to be a smoking pile of rubble, that had evidently been a building at one time, and a bevy of police cars and emergency vehicles. The headlines in the paper read:


The ongoing battle between police and local motorcycle gang, the TWO SKULLS MC, appears to nearing an end, following a dramatic series of events that took place yesterday afternoon.

Frank Deangelo, lead detective in an ongoing investigation into the activities of the TSMC, has announced his early retirement after allegedly attempting to use his daughter, Alyssa Deangelo, 22, as an informant in the investigation. The girl had apparently been abducted and was being held in a house on the west side of town, when the police were forced to raid the home. An ensuing battle resulted in the deaths of 7 members of the TSMC, and 5 police officers. Many others remain hospitalized.

Alyssa Deangelo escaped the incident with minor injuries.

Police report that a bomb was detonated in the house at approximately 4:23 PM, and the structure was completely destroyed. Police believe that the tenant of the house, 47 year old Karl Skanlan, was home at the time of the explosion, and is presumed dead, although his body has not been recovered at the time of this writing. Mr. Skanlan’s connection with the incident is unclear, although representatives of both the police department, and the Two Skulls Motorcycle Club, assert that he had no affiliation with the respective organizations.

Police believe that there is sufficient evidence to support charges that the motorcycle gang is responsible for the bombing of the government building 4 days before.

There are also rumored allegations that there may be a connection between the TSMC, and FORTEC, a foreign owned aerospace contractor operating locally. The implications of the connection are unclear at this time, but several FORTEC executives are currently being held for questioning.

The gang is being charged with multiple felonies under the RICO act. The investigation has been turned over to federal authorities. More than a dozen members of the motorcycle club are being held without bail pending further investigation into the matter.

Some 230 miles away, in a busy truck stop restaurant, two long haul truck drivers sat at a booth enjoying their breakfast and reading the morning newspaper.

“I was down there, couple of days ago. That damn gov’mint building was a wreck. Them ol’ boys didn’t mess around.” One man bemused.

The other man looked up from the paper. “Nope, and they’ll never find this other fella if he was in that house. Nobody walks away from something like that. He was probably blown to smithereens. Won’t be no body to find.”

A deep voice carried over from the next booth, where a tall man sat drinking coffee and also reading the morning news.

“Yeah, but ya never know. That “other fella,” might not even have been there when the shit came down. He mighta pushed his bike out the back door of the garage and just slipped away during all the chaos….” The man smiled, and chuckled at the looks of astonishment on the trucker’s faces.

The man stood and went to the cashier to pay his bill. He moved somewhat stiffly. His face bore the telltale marks of a recent accident, or a fist-fight. He strolled to the parking lot where a heavily customized Harley-Davidson FXR sat patiently waiting. The two truckers watched him from the front window of the restaurant. The deep roar of the bike’s exhaust was muffled inside the building, but still audible. They watched as the man skillfully maneuvered the machine out of the parking lot and onto the road, then accelerated hard until he was out of view.

“Fuckin bikers,” One man said. The other trucker nodded and returned to his breakfast.

It was a new day.

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Reader Comments

Excellent story. Sounds like the making of a very good series (TV) or book.
Also, love the fact that he's riding an FXR. By the way, I have an FXRS for sale on Craig's list. All custom!

Steve Cobb
Plymouth, MN
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Editor Response We ran your FXR in the Sunday Post. Very Sharp for $8000.

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