Friday, January 6, 2017

Fiesta (Part 10)

     Arriving back at the preserve, once again we were stopped by deputies.  The Angels in front of us, on their putts, barely had to slow down.  Now there were four county mounties present.  Two stood at each side of the entrance, one walked up to my window, and the last one positioned himself directly in front of the Falcon, making it clear that if I wanted to ignore them, I'd have to be willing to run him over.  The deputy at my window said, "Do you have business here?"
     "Dinner," I replied.
     "Are you a member of the Hell's Angels motorcycle club?"

     The deputy was a bit taken aback by this response.  He gave me the patented cop glare and said, "Because they are the ones using the preserve this weekend.  They are not welcoming of strangers, so we are keeping the peace by dissuading non-members of the club from entering the preserve.  This is public property, so we can't prevent you from entering, but still....  It's in your own best interest to turn around and leave, sir."
     I gave him a leer and said, "No, we'll be going in.  Like I inferred, we're here for dinner.  We paid for our chuck wagon tickets, we're gonna use them."
     The deputy paused to scowl, and said, "You didn't answer me before.  Are you a member of the Hell's Angels?"
     "Nope, not at all.  However, we are good friends with the Dago chapter, who invited us us this weekend.  We were here yesterday, and this morning.  Now we're back, to have dinner and party with our friends, and their friends.  I'm not sure what else to tell you, but yes, we belong here.  In fact, we're expected."
     Glancing over at Bekka, the deputy blinked in shock.  "Excuse me, are you Becky Page?"
     "Live and in the flesh," Bekka replied.
     "What are you doing here?"
     "My husband just explained that to you.  If you would please have the gentleman standing at our bumper step to one side, we'd like to park at the Dago chapter's area and get in line for the chuck wagon.  Thank you."
     "Ms. Page, if you go in here, we cannot guarantee your safety," the deputy said, sounding exasperated.
     With a tiny smile, Bekka said, "I have never expected law enforcement to provide me with any degree of safety, ever.  And what threats to my safety are there at this preserve?  Savage bears?  Avalanche?  Or is this a former military range, and there's a lot of um-exploded ordnance lying around?"
     "I believe you know perfectly well what I mean.  There are hundreds of Hell's Angels present this weekend.  For the most part, we aren't interfering with them while they're inside the preserve.  We aren't patrolling inside.  You will be in there at your own risk, and personally, that risk is very great."
     "Utter horseshit," Bekka said, keeping her smile on.  "I will be very well protected against anyone trying to take liberties with me.  The entire Dago chapter will protect me, my husband will protect me, my personal bodyguard will protect me, not to mention any of the dozens of Angels from other chapters I've made acquaintance with.  I will be safer here than if I was walking through a mall parking lot.  Now tell your fellow civil servant to make way, I'm looking forward to dinner."
     With a deep scowl, the deputy growled, "So your mind is made up."
     "It has been for weeks.  I had a wonderful time last night, and I expect to tonight, also."
     The deputy stepped back from the Falcon and moodily waved at his partner to step aside.  They both watched us roll in, looking unamused.  Bekka sighed and said, "In a way, all this idiocy makes sense.  Figure that the club had to probably reserve this place months in advance, so both the city and county have had all that time to work themselves into a tizzy.  And when word leaked out to the general public, well....  That's why we ended up with our trio of vigilantes accosting us today.  Yes, H.A. likes to play rough, and no, the games they play are not very socially acceptable.  But Jesus!  I haven't had this many strangers concerned for my chastity since I stopped attending the Catholic church as a teenager."
     I considered.  "Well....  One well-publicized gang rape arrest, and you're marked for life.  No matter that the charges were dropped, that part of the story never made the papers.  But H.A. has been carrying that scarlet letter since 1964, and it won't go away.  The rep isn't helped by certain chicks who dig the Angel's image, get drunk in an Angel bar, and decide they're gonna take the whole crew for a ride on top of a pool table.  Then the local cops stick their heads in, see what's going on, and the chick yells she was being raped, rather than admitting, 'I wanted to get gang-banged by outlaws.'  If she says that, she goes to jail for public indecency plus lewd and lascivious behavior, just like the Angels.  I've never seen that sort of action go down at the Hi-Lo, but we've both seen chicks showing up to blatantly troll for some H.A. cock.  I've never heard any rumors that Angels are awesome in bed, what the hell is the attraction?"
     "There are plenty of women out there that crave a sense of danger," Bekka answered.  "I'd imagine the same women trolling for Angels also have rape fantasies while they masturbate that would be absolutely horrifying to hear.  Hell's Angels are dangerous, they don't play by anyone's rules, they'll do whatever they feel like, no matter what anyone says.  With their savage rep, the Angels make the panties of some women very wet.  They need to feel threatened, in some way, during sex.  Well hell, having sex with a known violent criminal qualifies."
     "I'm just glad Dawn never decided she'd ride the circuit with any outlaws, given her predilection for being the center of attention at a gang bang.  I wonder if she's dropped that hangup, now she's with Roach."
     Bekka said, "Don't tell her I'm telling you this, but....  Okay, first off, yes, she's not planning on taking on a group of guys anytime soon, certainly not while she's with Roach.  But she told me one day that she enjoys sex far more if there is a degree of pain involved during the act.  You said the first time you and Jane got together, you fucked her sore.  Dawn likes that feeling.  By getting gang-banged, she's guaranteeing her pussy is gonna get worked long enough, and hard enough, that she gets that feeling.
     "Now that she's with Roach, she doesn't need a group of guys to make her feel like that.  Shit, think about how tiny Dawn is, and how big Roach's dick is.  He is totally punishing her pussy every time they fuck, he's just too big for her....  Only he isn't, not with the physical sensation Dawn wants during sex.  Any other girl Dawn's size would find sex with Roach a miserable experience.  Dawn likes the pain."
     "Okay, that's a bit disturbing," I commented.  "So basically, Dawn is a masochist."
     "Not really.  She's not into whipping or hot candle wax, she just likes to feel sort of busted out during sex. It may be the same feeling girls who like anal get, a sensation that is erotic but also is punishing."
     At the Dago chapter's area, only a few people were around.  Peewee was laying the fire for the night.  Even though everybody would be partying at the amphitheater, Dago Angels would still come back to the area for semi-private conversation, to share drugs, or just to get the hell away from the action for a while, take a breather.  So, the fire was kept going, people would feed it as needed.  Joan, Peewee's old lady, was lighting and hanging Coleman lanterns, lighting up the place.  And moans and giggles were emanating from one of the tents, no idea who it was.  Like Peewee and Joan, we were circumspect and ignored them.
     Bekka and I walked up to the chuck wagon with Peewee and Joan.  We related our day to them, particularly about the predictions of certain gang rape in store for Bekka.  Joan rolled her eyes at this information.  "Aw crap.  So, what's the feeling, that H.A. is somehow a lightning rod for rapists?  There ain't any more Angels who are rapists than there are anywhere else in the world."
     Peewee grumbled, "It's bullshit.  I'm H.A., so I'm supposed to think raping a chick is fun?  Fuck that.  If you can't get your jollies unless you're forcing a chick, you gotta get your head fixed.  Single Angels are never hurtin' for pussy, plenty of hotties out there get all ga-ga over the colors.  And if you're really hurting, hell, go visit one of the mamas.  They ain't much to look at, but they got the same equipment."  He paused to laugh.  "Hell, even Short Nick picks up some strange on a regular basis."
     "And it's not just rape, but gang rape," said Joan.  "Like it's a fuckin' team sport for outlaws or something.  Come on.  If nothing else, what dude is gonna want to go someplace seven other dudes have already been recently?"
     "Drunk, horny scooter trash, that's who," chuckled Peewee.  "It doesn't happen too often, but sometimes a broad will come through a chapter's bar and let everyone there know she's taking all comers, so let's get the party started.  Some motherfuckers are just all, 'Yeah, pussy,' and are into that action.  Yeah, well, you don't know where that broad has been, for one.  None of them idiots who do that shit seem to think about, hey, this could be a clap queen.... Or worse, she has fuckin' HIV.  Only a handful of guys are really into that scene.  Any Angel with an old lady is gonna ignore it, and even plenty of single dudes just wouldn't think it's fun, just fuckin' some broad who's lying there.  To me, it doesn't sound any more fun than jacking off, and you can't get AIDS from your own hand."
     We got in line, got our meals, and scanned around for people.  Terry was eating with Riley and a contingent of other Oakland Angels.  I couldn't hear what she was saying, but she was really cracking them up.  I spotted Jane eating with Fatso and his old lady Ginger, so we headed that direction.  They waved a greeting as we approached.  "Jane was telling us about your afternoon," said Fatso as we sat down.  "That was very clever of you, Becky.  You have no idea how much trouble you saved for a whole lot of people.  Those three clowns would have gotten chucked out the door within three minutes if they hadn't come up to you first.  And if they'd followed through with their plans, there'd be a whole lot of the brothers in the clink right now."
     "So long as they keep their word, it's all good," said Bekka.  "I knew what a disaster it would be for a herd of locals to try and attack a bar full of Angels.  They'd have to be calling in ambulances from as far away as Santa Barbara to handle the wounded.  Plus all the H.A. in jail, plus the property damage, plus yet another series of vicious headlines in the papers.  'Hell's Angels Riot in Pismo Beach, Town Destroyed, Women Looted, Stores Raped.'  It was Terry that really did the job.  She really is totally fearless, she just stood there and waited on the guy to attack her, then put him down.  Riley from Oakland said she never even stopped smiling.  I believe it, I've seen her bounce a guy without even taking the cigarette out of her mouth.  So what did you get up to today?"
     A sedate time," said Fatso.  "Me and some other old geezers from various chapters went exploring on the back roads of the area.  In a way, us older Angels are kind of pathetic.  We're turning into normal citizens.  You think a twenty-two year old Angel is gonna think about having a AAA membership?  Most of us guys today do, we know nothing sucks more than having your putt break down with no hope of a roadside repair,  and not have the bread for a tow truck.  Yeah, younger guys would think, 'How boring, how white bread, how suburban,.'  Fuck 'em, I'm forty-four, I don't feel like doing everything the hard way anymore.  Haw, listening to us all getting off our putts at once was hilarious, it was a chorus of grunts and groans.  Shit, at one point we were all talking about what foods we can't eat anymore, because they disagree with us.  A load of outlaw old farts.  We'll form a splinter group off H.A., the Prostate Cancer Posse."
     Ginger said, "It was kinda nice, everyone in our group was double-packing, so there were chicks my age to talk to, for once.  About half of 'em have kids, like high school age.  They were talking about the kids getting in trouble at school for different shit, ditching or getting caught with weed or whatever, and how they can't understand what's got into them.  I was thinking, gimme a break, they're acting just like you did at that age, sister.  You and your old man aren't the best role models.  Still, it was nice to not be the only chick present who's taking Estrogen supplements."
     After dinner, everyone from Dago headed back to our area, for a bit of quiet before the party.  Some were hinting to me that a pick-me up would be nice, so I went in the Winnebago and loaded both glass pipes, letting the word get around that those interested could take a few hits.  Angels and old ladies filtered through for some dope smoke, thanking me for my generosity.  The chapter perked right up.  Terry had brought a few Oakland boys down for a gander at her hell-putt, they also partook.  Afterwards they gathered around Terry's machine, listening to her tech talk about specs.  I learned later all of them, at some point in the evening, had probed Terry about her romantic life.  They were rather smitten, here was a hot chick who knew putts as well as any of them, and could hold her own in the usual banter that goes on when three or more Angels are in one spot.  Perhaps she could be persuaded to migrate up to East Bay....  Nope, Terry told them she had a man in her life.  No, he's not an outlaw, he's a UNIX programmer, a computer jockey.  He wasn't with her this weekend because being around that many Hell's Angels at once would have terrified him into a coma.  Terry explained to them, "Hey, Gerald is a righteous motherfucker in his own right, he's an awesome dude and I'm really hung up on him.  Yeah, we're from totally different fuckin' tribes, know what I mean?  But we really do click, on a fuckin' personal level.  I dunno, maybe I'm just at a point where I need a fuckin' man who has a calming influence on me.  All I know is I'm really stuck on the bastard."
     "You're dating a computer geek?  Come on, girl....." would be the response.
      Terry's chin would go up and she'd say, "Yeah, I am.  What's it to you?  I'm with a fuckin' dude who really makes me happy.  I been with outlaws since I was fuckin' thirteen, and you know what?  Gerald makes me happier than any fuckin' putt monkey ever has.  Oh, and he's one hung motherfucker, and really knows how to use it.  Yeah, I'm an outlaw, and I always will be, and guess what?  Fuckin' Gerald ain't gonna try and change me, he knows it's who I am.  He ain't gonna try and turn me into a fuckin' yuppie bitch, and I ain't gonna try and make him an outlaw, okay?  We're happy with each other, and that feels real fuckin' good."
     The Oakland boys were probably a bit crushed.  Here was one of the most righteous chicks to ever walk the earth, and she was spoken for.... By a computer geek.  A nerd, a dork, a pencil-neck.  Okay, they met at a gun range, which meant the geek at least had an interesting hobby, but still....  Shit.  An awesome babe like Terry the Terror, and she's all hung up on a dude who wears a pocket protector and loafers.  What the fuck is that all about?
     We heard the band tuning up, which meant it was time to start walking to the amphitheater. The LA chapter had done a fund-raising drive, and picked up another twelve kegs for the night, to go along with the five left from the night before.  The bonfire was lit, the band started playing, lines formed at the kegs, and the evening was on.
     Bekka and I stayed back a bit from the stage, so we could have conversations with people without shouting.  At this point, the presence of Becky Page was treated as a natural thing, she was just a righteous babe who hung out with the Dago Angels.  People would walk by and say, "Hi, Becky!" and keep moving.  Some did stop to chat, but didn't go into fanboy mode, or act lecherous.  Several Angel women asked Bekka about how to break into porn.  Bekka would explain that the existence of Becky Page was a fluke, her popularity was as common as Haley's Comet visits.  She elaborated on what was involved in working for Inana, that Inana was a very unique studio in many ways.  And she advised them that the industry overall was no picnic.  The production of pornography really is just a job, and not a fun one.  Studios treatment of its performers ranged from indifferent to abusive.  The only real advantage of performance was the pay, and any woman with self-esteem would find the pay didn't make up for the downsides of the job.  In short, considering a career move into porn is a bad idea.  In the long run, you'll be happier staying relatively poor and answering the phones for a contractor (or whatever the girl was doing).   The Angel women were disappointed to hear what Bekka told them, but seemed to take her at her word.
     Bekka and I were staying in one spot, and letting people drift up to us.  Jane was tagging along with Roach and Dawn, Terry was orbiting around, various Dago Angels would stop to say hi, Angels from other chapters would greet us and talk for a bit.  I had my second bottle of Johnnie Walker with me, offering pulls to those who stopped.  It was a party, and we were partying.
     Around ten I realized interlopers had arrived.  I was expecting local tough guys and hot rodders to be the ones to defy the deputies and insist on joining the party, wanting to party with the big boys.  No, what I noticed were jock/frat boy types wandering around in groups of two or three, looking very much out of place.  They seemed to be wandering all over the place, not engaging anyone in conversation.  Their actions reminded me of professional shoplifters casing a Nordstrom's: always moving, looking in every direction, not trying to draw attention to themselves.  They had no compunction about availing themselves of the kegs, though.
     Big Ugly, John-Boy, Doobie, and their old ladies had stopped to chat on their way to the keg.  I mentioned the presence of the White People, and Big Ugly just rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, I dunno what it is about those fuckin' little frat brats that they want to show up at Angel parties.  Half of 'em act like they're visiting the zoo, the other half want to mooch as much beer and weed as possible.  They don't know shit about us, they don't ride putts, they'll start conversations about shit we don't understand, like talking about dealing with the bursar's office at their school.  What the fuck is a bursar?  They figure out they're getting the cold shoulder after a while and split, usually."
     Doobie snickered.  "And there's a few of 'em, total jock types and football players, who decided to find out how tough those dirty Hell's Angels are for themselves.  Either that, or they really are assholes.  They'll be obnoxious as hell.  What usually happens is one of 'em will try to hit on someone's old lady, and be really crude about it, too.  She'll tell the jock to fuck off, he'll get rude with her, people will come over to see what's happening, and the jocks decide we're gonna rat-pack 'em.  So, they throw fists.  But they're never good at it, heh heh.  They get banged around some and thrown out the door.  Fuckin' little brats will call the cops and bitch about how they got beat up by Hell's Angels, the cops come, hassle, bullshit, blah blah blah.  If they'd stay in the background, or even better, bring some party supplies to share, their presence would be more easily tolerated.  Whatever, fuck 'em."
     They took off for the keg.  Bekka and I stood there smoking, I was bouncing script ideas off Bekka.  Then a forearm was pressed into my shoulder and a voice said, "Hey dude, what chapter are you from?"
     I turned and here's a guy in a sweatshirt with Greek lettering on it, creased Levis, and top-siders.  Next to him is a somewhat buff dude in jogging shorts and a wife-beater t-shirt.  He looked like he'd bought a Soloflex, and actually used the damn thing.  Both were clean cut, for Christ sake, they used styling gel in their hair.  They were maybe twenty or so, only a couple years younger than me.  The one in the sweatshirt had breath that would set off a carbon monoxide alarm.  I shifted my shoulder to get his arm off it.
     I told the fraternity brother, "I'm here as a guest of the Dago chapter.  I'm not H.A., I'm just a friend.  Why do you ask?"
     "Jus' wondering."  He was fairly plastered.  "You ain't a Hell's Angel?"
     "Nope, just a friend of them.  They invited me and my wife on this run,we're pretty tight with Dago.  They're good people.  So, what brings you by?  Are you looking for members of a particular chapter, or an individual?"
     "Naw, we heard this party was gonna be happening, and we figured Tau Delta oughtta represent!  We're fuckin' Tau Delta, best house at Cal Poly."
     I gave him a slightly confused smile and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch the beginning of that.  You're from a house at Cal Poly....?"
     "Fuckin' Tau Delta Sigma," said Soloflex Boy.  "We're fuckin' number one, we rock.  Best parties, best bitches, we rule."
     I shifted my smile from confused to patronizing.  "Oh, all right.  You're part of the Greek fraternal system, I guess.  Well, how nice.  So, why did you decide to come here tonight?"
     Frat Boy said, "'Cos if there's a party anywhere around here, fuckin' Tau Delta is gonna represent!  We gotta be here, it ain't a fuckin' party unless you got Tau Delta in the house."
     "Why is that?" Bekka asked.  "Do you perform magic tricks?  Or are you caterers?"
     "Huh?"  Frat Boy's eyes focused on Bekka, then got big.  "Hey, no way, you're fuckin' Becky Page!  You really Becky Page?  What the fuck?  Are you Becky Page?"
     "Live and in the flesh," Bekka said.... and I caught a flash in her eyes which told me Becky was at the controls.  Bekka was sensing danger, and forfeited to Becky, who would handle the situation better.  She continued, "So.  Cal Poly.  High powered school.  That's Weird Al Yankovic's alma mater, you know.  All right, you're here now, and you're representing your fraternal organization, and so now it's a party.  Funny, I don't feel any different.  Seems to be the same party it was five minutes ago.  Could you elaborate on what you contribute to this gathering which somehow improves the situation?"
     Between the length of the statement and the big words, it took Frat Boy a moment to suss out what Becky had said.  He finally replied, "Tau Delta brothers totally rock!  We can swing harder than anybody!"
     Soloflex Boy said, "What the hell is with this music?  This shit is lame, we oughtta aim bottles at this band, they suck.  What are we listening to?"
     I gave a patient grin and said, "This is a ZZ Top cover, a pretty faithful rendition of the song 'La Grange.'  Go ahead, tell others here your opinion of ZZ Top, I'm sure they'd love to debate music with you."
     Frat Boy regained his focus and said, "Whoa, you really are Becky Page.  Bitch, you are totally hot, I got three of your...."
     I cut him off.  "Never call my wife a bitch.  Watch your fucking mouth, junior.  Apologize to her, now."
     He looked honestly confused.  "Dude, what's your problem?"
     "You just called my wife a bitch.  You don't do that, ever.  Now apologize to her."
     Soloflex Boy whacked his friend on the arm and said, "Hey...."  Then they both chorused loudly, "A bitch is a bitch is a bitch!"
     "Why, how charming," said Becky.  "I can tell you're both true romantics, gallant and obliging with all women.  So, what is your monthly budget for Rohypnol?  Does your fraternity pool its money and buy in bulk?  Or do you just force-feed drinks to girls until they pass out?  They're just as rapeable either way, I suppose."
     Soloflex Boy was a bit more sober, and picked up on the fact that Becky was insulting them.  "Hey bitch, you don't talk shit to us."
     "Now you both owe her apologies," I intoned.  "Really, it's in your best interests to deliver them, and go away.  Home would be a good place to go.  I'm waiting.  Either that, or I collect a couple teeth from each of you, for Becky to put on her key ring."
     I was ignored.  Soloflex Boy said to Becky, "What are you doing here?  Why are you hanging around with these biker dudes?"
     In an even tone, Becky said, "I'll humor you briefly.  We're friends of the San Diego, or Dago, chapter of the Hell's Angels.  They invited us to join them this weekend.  We spend a bit of our social time with the Angels, they're good people.  And none of them has ever called me a bitch."
     Both of them began laughing.  "Aw shit!" said Frat Boy. "So you hang around bikers for fun?  What the hell for?  What, you like being around fuckin' white trash?  You got more class than that.  Hey, you oughtta come back to the house with us, we'll show you a real party. Ditch this dude, we'll blow this place, you'll see what a party is."
    "I'm sorry, but while your invitation to abandon my husband and go off with two drunken strangers may have appeal to some women, I could care less.  I'm sure you already have a Roofie with my name on it.... Although you could satisfy my curiosity about something.  I've always wondered, how old are frat boys when they finally have sex with a woman who is sober?  I've always guessed they're in the third year of marriage.  It must be confusing for you, intercourse with a woman whose eyes are open, and is responsive to outside stimulus.  It's like you're having sex with a person, and not an object.  That must come as quite a shock.  So do the women you marry start voluntarily drugging themselves, once they realize what soulless, horrible, pathetic overgrown little boys they've married?  Or do they just kill themselves?"
     What the fuck are you...." started Soloflex Boy.
     Becky cut him off.  "I wouldn't blame them.  Actually, I'm not sure which would be worse, the shame of having had sex with a frat boy, or the boredom from the event.  Greek fraternal members are rumored to be the most incompetent lovers on the planet.  Tiny cocks, poor technique, and frat boys come so fast there's a sonic boom.  Yeah, if my lot in life meant having to contend with periodic sex with a frat boy, I'd definitely kill myself.  Do either of you have ex-girlfriends who are still alive?"
     "Bitch, I'd rock your pussy off!" yelled Soloflex Boy.  "You don't get to talk to me like that, you're just a fuckin' whore, look what you do for a living.  I'd do better pulling one of these biker bitches here tonight, they're all whores too, they'll give it up for a six pack and a line of meth.  That's probably why you're here, huh?  You can hang out with other whores and party with fuckin' white trash bikers.  Whores like you don't get to talk shit to me...."
     He started to step towards Becky, one hand open and poised to slap her.  I took my own step forward and punched him in the face.  His head snapped backwards, and blood began running from his nose.  He brought his hand to his face, then stared in horror at the blood on his hand.  I said to him, "Keep your little bitch mouth shut, bitch.  You're the bitch now, get me?  Go ahead, come at me, bitch."
  He hollered wordlessly and came towards me, a fist already pulled back.  I knocked the swinging arm out of the way and drilled him again, catching an eye this time.  Still hollering, Soloflex Boy threw himself at me, both arms out, trying to tackle me.  He was low, and wrapped his arms around my waist.  Frat Boy sensed an opportunity and said, "Let's take this faggot."  He came at me, ready to swing.  I had one arm occupied with trying to pry Soloflex Boy off of me, and I was off-balance.  Oh well, I'd had plenty of people connect with my face in the past, I doubted a punch from Frat Boy would do too much damage....
     Frat Boy suddenly jerked to one side....  Then flew through the air backwards, landing a few feet away.  I looked over to see Terry standing there, grin on her face, Camel still between her lips.  "I hate motherfuckers that try to double-team like that," she said.
     I punched Soloflex Boy in the side of the head, repeatedly.  He finally let go.  I stepped backwards, and he wobbled to his feet.  "Fuckin' faggot," he slurred.  "I'm gonna drop you."
     "Oh, shut up, bitch," I replied.  He charged me again, telegraphing his intention to punch me in the face.  I knocked the arm out of the way again, and this time caught him right in the solar plexus.  All the air went out of him.  He was still upright, so I punched him in the other eye, then in the nose again.  He made a bawling noise and dropped to his knees, holding his face in both hands.  I said, "All the way down," and kicked him under the chin.  He went onto his back, then curled into a fetal position.
     Frat Boy was back on his feet and approaching me, although somewhat warily.  I heard Terry say to him, "You dumb motherfucker, go ahead, try and take Lenny down.  Look where it got your friend."
     Demonstrating remarkable stupidity, Frat Boy changed direction and aimed at Terry.  "Shut up, bitch," he yelled, bringing a hand back.  Cigarette still in her mouth,  Terry let him swing, catching his wrist in midair, bringing his arm to an instant stop.  He looked at Terry in confusion and shock.  Terry punched Frat Boy in the face, then twisted his blocked arm up behind his back, spinning him around.  She quick-marched him over to where Soloflex Boy was lying, then kicked his legs out from under him, putting him face-first on the ground, a knee in his back. She cranked his arm higher, causing him to bleat with pain.  She said, "I ain't no bitch, motherfucker.  Now you stay the fuck down like that until I tell you you're allowed to move."
     Terry stood up, and Frat Boy immediately began to rise.  She kicked him in the back of the head, then stomped down on his neck, forcing him flat again.  "Motherfucker, don't you listen?" asked Terry.  "Stay the fuck down until I say you can move again, stupid."  Frat Boy remained still.  Soloflex Boy rolled and looked in our general direction, both eyes nearly swollen shut.  Then he stayed still.
     "Well played," said a voice behind me.  I spun, to see there was a collection of people standing there.  Roach, Dawn, Jane, Big Ugly and his old lady, a few other Dago Angels and their women, plus Riley and a few Oakland Angels.  "Don't mind us, we wanted to see how this played out," said Riley.
     "Who the fuck are these clowns?" asked Big Ugly.
     "Drunk frat boys from Cal Poly, that's all I know," I answered.  "They came up to us, they were obnoxious and rude, so we were rude back.  The one in the wife-beater didn't like Becky insulting him, so he was gonna pimp-slap her.  I punched him in the face, and it went from there.  I don't know how much of it you caught.  Thanks Terry."
     "No sweat, dude," she replied.  She picked up the bottle of Johnnie Walker and said, "May I?"
     "Knock yourself out.  Pass it around, that's why I brought it."
     Riley and two other Oakland Angels walked over to where the two fraternity brothers were lying.  Riley nudged Frat Boy with his boot and said, "Get up on your hands and knees."  Frat Boy did so.  Riley sat down on his back like he was a park bench.  "Thanks," said Riley.
     "Now then boys, let's have a little chat.  Why did you come here tonight?" asked Riley.
     "We just wanted to party," Frat Boy moaned.
     "No, no no.  Not good enough.  You're not giving me the full story."  Riley reached down and began smacking Frat Boy on the side of the head, keeping in rhythm with his words.  "Why.... the fuck... did you.... come here.... tonight?"
     Frat Boy broke.  "We wanted some pussy!" he blubbered.  "We heard about how easy biker bitches are to score with, you know?  We just wanted some pussy!"
     "Okay, never refer to an Angel woman as a bitch, that's one thing.  Another is, why the fuck do you think one of our women would be interested in your pasty ass?  Angel women like men, not little boys from college.  I gotta hear what sort of pick-up lines you planned on using."
     "I've got an idea," I said.  "Riley, lie this bitch down on his back, I wanna go through his pockets."
     Riley did so with the help of another Oakland boy.  I dug through his pockets, pulling out the normal stuff you'd find, like keys and money.... and a small prescription bottle.  I opened it up and shook out a few pills.  They were familiar, I'd known a dealer who used to carry them.  He was a scumbag.
     "Yeah." I held up a pill.  "Rohypnol, or Roofies.  The date rape drug.  Either get it in a chick's drink, or lie to her and say it's Ecstasy or something.  Body and brain go two different directions from each other, the girl is a fucking mannequin.  I guess they figured they'd get next to a girl and slip her one, then wait for it to kick in and drag her into the trees.  I suppose these guys would say they were fucking her, but they're raping her, there is no consent."  I paused.  "Fuckin' frat boys, they're supposed to be the future leaders of America.  If that's the case, this country is fucked."
     One of the Oakland Angels said, "This is an interesting turn of events.  What we have here are two young men who were going to drug and rape a woman at this party tonight.  I suppose the question now is what to do with them."
    Riley nudged Frat Boy and asked, "So did you two come here alone, or are there more of you assholes wandering around?  I've noticed a few non-Angels gadding about, puds with the same fashion sense as you two.  Friends of yours?"
    Frat Boy didn't respond immediately, so Riley drove a boot into his ribs.  "Answer me!"
     "We got two guys with us," came the whimpering response.  "We all drove here together."
     "Who are they?"
     "Brandon and Nate.  We're in Nate's car.  Look, we'll just leave...."
     "A bit late for that, don't you think?" said Big Ugly, standing on the sidelines.  "You had some ugly plans for our women, drugging and raping one or two of them.  That sort of shit gets you sent up the river for a while in this state."
     "Who knows?" said Roach.  "Maybe by the time we're done with them, they'll have wished we'd turned them over to the cops.  What if it had been Pint Size they had their eyes on?"
     "Fuck that shit," said Dawn.  "Fuck a bunch of frat boys.  Fucking scumbags, I hate them all.  Tell you what, tie them to a tree, somebody loan me their Buck knife, and watch me go to work.  Fucking rich trash, spoiled little brats, I'll have their balls hanging from my rear view.  Kill them, and let me watch."
     Soloflex Boy spoke up.  "Look, let us go, we'll find our friends, we'll leave, you'll never see us again.  We totally fucked up, we admit it.  We just wanna go...." His words dissolved into muted sobs.
     Becky spoke up.  She had a smile on her face that could only be described as devious.  "I have a thought.  You know, we shouldn't kill them, even if that's the right thing.  No, if we did that, we'd have to bury them here, where they'd poison the soil.  We should show them we're willing to forgive and forget.  In fact, we'll even give them a ride home.   Won't they be happy?"
     Riley stared at Becky, then said, "You've got ideas, girl.  Let's hear them."
     Becky had Riley, me, Roach, Dawn, and the Oakland Angels step away and huddle up.  Then she told us what was going through her mind.

     The band brought the song to a close.  When it was silent, the singer announced into the microphone, "Attention, Brandon and Nate!  Attention, Brandon and Nate!  Your Tau Delta Sigma brothers, Stuart and Ross, are looking for you!  Please come to the stage, you'll be met."
     Within a minute, two standard issue frat boys goofed their way up to the stage, looking around for their friends.  Becky and Dawn spotted them --- no difficult task --- and approached, all smiles.  Becky said, "Hi!  You must be Brandon and Nate!  Hey, Ross and Stuart are waiting on you, they were hoping you're still in the mood to party, you know?  They've found a few people who like to party like they do.  You wanna join us, cuties?"  The girls batted their eyelashes at the frat boys.
     "Sure, let's go!" one of them said.
     "Holy shit, are you Becky Page?" the other exclaimed.
     "Maybe, maybe not," teased Becky.  "You'll get to find out when we start partying."
     The girls led the frat boys away from the party, towards the camping areas.  They got to where a 1964 Ford Falcon hot rod was parked off the road, between a couple trees.  Becky said, "We've got kind of a surprise.  You're gonna totally be blown away by this, check it out."  She pulled out her keys and popped the trunk.  Inside were Frat Boy and Soloflex Boy (Stuart and Ross), trussed up with duct tape.  More tape was wrapped around the  lower halves of their faces, muffling them.  Both still had dried blood on their faces.  Their eyes bulged with desperation and terror, looking up at their fellow frat members.
     Brandon and Nate's faces went from confusion, to surprise, to horror.  They looked at Becky, mouths open, eyes questioning.  Becky said, "Aren't your friends cute?  They told us what your plans were for the evening.  We found the Roofies Ross had.  You zany fraternity brothers, I swear, you all get into such antics!  Drugging and raping women, you're all such pranksters...."
     The two ambulatory frat boys turned to bolt, but found themselves facing a phalanx of Hell's Angels. They turned towards the trees, but more Angels had appeared from nowhere in that direction.  The one named Nate croaked, "What the fuck is going on?"
     Dawn spoke.  "Well, you  fucking worthless rapist asshole scumbag piece of shit, like my friend said, we learned of the plans you and your fraternity jackoff brothers had.  Fucking trash.  Garbage.  You wanted to dope a girl here, then rape her.  Maybe more than one.  You think the Angels are just dumb white trash, you think us Angel women are whores.  You call us bitches, because you're too stupid and lazy and scummy to learn a chick's name.  No, you're the real bitches.  We captured four bitches tonight, you two and your friends.  Remember that.  From now on, you answer to the name 'Bitch.'  You all have the same fucking name, you're all 'Bitch.'"
     Turning to the one named Brandon, Dawn said, "Okay bitch, drop you pants."
    "Bitch did I stutter?  Drop your pants, bitch."
     Brandon began sliding down his Levis to his knees.  When he straightened up, Dawn pulled Terry's Buck knife out of her pocket and opened it.  Then she knelt down in front of him and said, "I'm gonna eliminate a problem at the source.  I'm gonna take away your favorite toy, bitch.  Scumbag, asshole, motherfucker, rapist piece of shit.  Try not to scream too loud, there's people around trying to sleep."
     With a shriek of terror, Brandon tried to run, but was hampered by his own pants.  Four Angels moved, two grabbing Nate and pressing him to his knees.  Two Angels stepped forward and grabbed Brandon by the arms, dragging him to the side of the Falcon and pinning him there.  Dawn resumed her place on her knees in front of him, Becky moving to stand at one side.  One of the Angels put his hand over Brandon's mouth.  Dawn looked up at him, holding the knife, an absolutely psychotic grin on her face.  She said, "Given how small this thing is, this will only count as minor surgery.  Asshole, shit, human waste.  Fucking bitch.  Don't worry, I'll let you give it a kiss goodbye after it's off."  She yanked on Brandon's dick, hard, then started to bring the knife down.
     Becky said, "Hold on, sweetie."  Dawn stopped.  "We know who he is, right?  We know where to find him, or at least we will.  We've already seen some blood tonight, maybe we should let him keep his.  He has to promise to be a good little boy, though.  If he's not, we'll find out.  Then he'll be a bad little boy, and we punish bad boys, don't we?"  Becky let off a tinkling laugh.  "Gosh, these fraternity brothers!  They're always up to some wacky business!  Nothing more fun than getting a girl so drunk she passes out, and everyone takes turns sticking their tiny little wee-wees into her.  Boy, what a bunch of goofballs, you gotta love 'em.  Or not.  No, not really.  In fact, they're breathing my air.  Wastes of space.  Oh well, we're out of quick lime, so we can't get rid of this batch, we'll have to let them live.  Well, there's always next week."
     Brandon was trussed and gagged with duct tape, then placed in the trunk of the Falcon with the other two.  Nate was trussed, but not gagged.  In a voice that sounded like the owner had accepted death, he asked, "What are you going to do with us?"
     "Take you home," smiled Becky.  "Since we don't know where you live, you're not gagged, you'll be giving me directions back to your frat house.  A friend will be driving your car, that's our first stop.  Where are you parked?"
     Roach got in the back seat of the Falcon, holding a sawed-off shotgun with a very short barrel.  The shot would just bounce off anything more than forty feet away.  However, pressed against the back of somebody's head, it would pulverize their skull.  Riley and Big Ugly fired up their putts, Riley briefly double-packing me on his.  We followed the Falcon up the road, and presently pulled up next to a Five-Series BMW that was about four years old.  I got off the putt and walked to the Falcon, where Becky handed me a set of keys.  I let myself into the Beemer and fired it up, holding the gas pedal to the floor for a good ten seconds, listening to the engine screamIt was a five speed, so I didn't push the clutch down all the way to put the transmission in first, causing the gears to clash noisily.  The Falcon moved forward, I got in behind, Riley and Big Ugly bringing up the rear.
     Cal Poly was a bit of distance from Pismo Beach, but covered quickly at night.   On the drive down, I amused myself by dragging the right side of the German shitbox along guard rails, seeing if I could raise sparks  Once off the freeway and headed towards campus, I bashed into curbs, hopping the center island at speed, and at one point putting the nose into a light post.  Riley and Big Ugly kept their distance.
     We arrived on fraternity row.  The Falcon pulled up in front of the correct house.  I swung wide and turned, hopped the curb, flooring the gas.   I aimed at the wall next to the front door, bracing myself against the steering wheel.  Ka-boom.  That should wake a few people up.  When I got out, the engine was still running, but I was pleased to see some steam rising from the nose.  I stood there, considering.  Then I pulled out my Leatherman, folded it out into pliers.  The pliers also had a pincer-like cutter, usually used for stripping wire.  I went to each wheel and cut the valve stems off, flattening all four tires and making them impossible to repair until the wheels were removed.
     Riley and Big Ugly rode their putts onto the lawn, revving their engines loudly.  They got off, then walked down to the Falcon.  Becky pulled Nate out of the front seat, Roach and Dawn exiting from the rear.  Becky popped the trunk and its occupants were removed.  They were instructed to hop to the front door, using one of the Angels and me for balance.  Roach did the same with Nate. Once at the front door, Riley used the butt of the sawed-off to bang.  He kept banging until a voice inside yelled, "Hold on!  What the fuck?"
     A bleary-looking frat boy stared out the door, several others gathering behind him.  They were unable to comprehend what they were looking at.  Four of their fraternity brothers wrapped in duct tape, two bloodied.  They were being held by three Hell's Angels and a punk rocker.  Also present were two girls, one a tiny blonde, the other, oh my fucking God, that's Becky Page, dude.  Becky has a cheery smile.  Everyone else looks like they have every intention of slaughtering anyone in a fifty yard radius.  The tiny blonde looks absolutely psychotic, and holy shit, she'd holding the tip of a big knife against the crotch of one of the tape-trussed  frat boys.
     Riley spoke.  "Hi there.  We found this fucking trash of yours at our party in Pismo Beach.  You recognize them?"  Silent nodding.  "Good.  Drag them inside, I'm sick of having to touch them."
     The fraternity brothers pulled their restrained comrades into the house, the others following.  The trussed ones were simply left standing.  Once in,  Riley continued, "See, these four concocted a plan, but never thought about the possibility that it was a fucking stupid plan."  Riley spoke loudly and gestured with the sawed-off while he spoke keeping everyone's attention.  "These little jackoffs, these wastes of space, thought it would be a good idea to crash a party put on by the Hell's Angels.  You know the Hell's Angels, right?  The big mean tough scary guys on motorcycles?  Yeah.  So, their idea was to find a couple of Angel women, drug them, and rape them.  For fun.  Being fucking morons, they got into some trouble soon after arriving, because they can't handle their booze and they shot their goddamn mouths off and annoyed people.  Long story short, the two who are bloodied got dropped and 'fessed up about what they had in mind.  We found the other two, and got them all together.
     "Everybody with me?   Good.  So, four of you asshole white bread spoiled rich yuppies in training were going to rape Hell's Angel women tonight.  Guess how us Hell's Angels feel about that.  Go on, guess.  Apparently you pathetic little bags of pus can't get pussy like normal people, like real men.  You have to render a woman unconscious, then fuck her against her will.  Jesus, what a bunch of cowards, you little pussies are so scared of women you can't even handle basic interaction with them, much less display enough charm that they'll think sex with you is a good idea.  You're all a bunch of goddamn losers.  Some of your loser buddies got caught out in a loser scheme.  Well, they've gotta pay, and you're gonna watch.  Pint Size, gimme that knife.  Lenny, hand me your Leatherman.  Big Ugly, get the first guy on his knees."
     Riley handed the sawed-off to Roach, then used the knife to cut away the duct tape from the first captive's face.  He said, "Big Ugly, Lenny, pry this asshole's jaws open."  We held the frat boy's mouth open.  Riley folded the Leatherman out into pliers.  Then he stuck the pliers in the frat boy's mouth, clamped onto a front tooth, and yanked.  The frat boy screamed as the tooth was removed.  Riley held the tooth up with the pliers and said, "One down, three to go."
     We did the same operation on the other three.  None of them were happy about this impromptu dentistry.  Becky and Dawn stood to one side, watching passively.  The observing frat boys were green, a couple choking on their own vomit, trying to keep it down.  They sat in mute horror as they watched their fraternity brothers pay the price for even thinking about fucking around with an Angel woman.  Once Riley had all four teeth, he handed them to Dawn, saying, "Here, Pint Size, these are for you.  Fucker told me what nearly happened to you at the hands of some fraternity shitbags in Dago.  These ain't from the assholes who did you wrong, but they came from members of the same tribe of losers."
     "Thanks, Riley," said Dawn, calmly putting the teeth in her pocket.
     Becky suggested, "Hey Pint Size, have a jeweler drill holes in them, you could have an awesome necklace."
     Addressing the onlookers, Riley said, "Okay, tonight's lesson, you fucking losers?  Look what happens when you decide to treat a woman like shit, and get caught out at it.  Really, we should have done what Pint Size wanted to, which was cut all their balls off, dicks too.  They're fucking rapist pieces of shit, and they'd be out of commission if we'd done that.  So really, they're getting off easy.  Remind them of that, especially if they get any dumb ideas about whining to the fuzz about what happened to them.  They do that, they may as well kill themselves after making the call, because we'd catch up with them and have to do the job ourselves.  Anyway, you got your fellow losers back.  Stay the fuck off the phone, losers, I know you're thinking of ringing Johnny Law as soon as we leave.  Don't bother, you'll just be signing your own death warrants.  Okay, we're leaving now.  I hope you all get cancer.  Good night."
     Riley headed out the door, the rest of us filing out after him.  Dawn, Roach, Becky, and myself got in the Falcon, Becky at the wheel.  We left the area at a legal speed.  Nobody spoke for a while.  Finally Dawn said, "No, not a necklace.  A bracelet."  We all burst into laughter.

     Back at the preserve, we were accosted by deputies, as usual.  They wanted to know who we were and why we were coming in at this hour.  Roach yelled from the back seat, "We're H.A., Dago chapter.  We had to run an errand.  Now we're back."
     We were waved in with little grace. It was about two in the morning, but the amphitheater area was still plenty crowded.  Becky rolled down to Dago's area, followed by Big Ugly and Riley.  We parked, Riley leaving his putt at the side of the road.  We all gathered together, looking at each other.  Roach said, "Well.  Tonight was definitely different from what I was planning on."
     "You've had to deal with action like this before," Becky said.  She posed it as a statement, not a question.
     Riley shrugged.  "Yeah.  The situations were different, they were....  business related."
     "Think we'll get any blow-back?" I asked.
     "Doubtful," answered Big Ugly.  "Those brats are seriously cowed.  They can't be too stupid.  Okay, they call copper.  Three Angels, a punk rocker, and two women go to prison.  That leaves hundreds more H.A. free, and all pissed off some of the brothers and our friends got locked up.  The LA chapter would probably firebomb their house.  Maybe individuals who fingered us would be taken out, maybe not.  But every single one of them will fuckin' panic whenever they hear a Harley engine, for the rest of their lives."
     Terry and Jane drifted up, they'd seen the Falcon pull in.  "How did things go?" asked Terry.
     "According to plan," answered Riley.  "Lesson taught."
     Dawn said, "Look what Riley gave me," and pulled the teeth out of her pocket.
     Terry looked at the teeth in Dawn's hand and started cracking up.  "Damn!  You Oakland dudes can be some mean motherfuckers, huh?"
     "We learned a long time ago to not do things by halves," said Riley. "This was unusual tonight, I've never had to teach a moral lesson, showing people what happens when they do bad things."
     Becky chuckled.  "Nobody really expects H.A. to be champions of women, inflicting instant karma on would-be rapists."
     "Don't forget, girl, I've got two daughters.  So yeah, this action tonight felt a little personal to me.  I love my girls, and ain't nobody gonna ever hurt them without paying, big time.  Shit, my older girl goes to Cal Poly.  Wonder if she shares a class with any of our miscreants?  I'll have to call her later this week and ask if any of her classmates have lost any teeth."  Riley turned to me and said, "So, are you and Becky bugged by H.A. now?  I guess it's clear at this point that we ain't the fuckin' Freemasons."
     I replied, "Actually, we've both seen some very, very heavy action in the past.  Um.....  We both have a body count."
     Riley's eyebrows went up slightly.  "Were you acting as individuals, or were you part of a team?"
     "Those incidents were part of a group effort, I'll put it that way," said Becky.
      "Huh.  Never knew you punk rock types got that heavy, or were that organized."
     "Uh, we're part of a very large and intricate organization, one with a lot of oars in the water.   They keep us busy from time to time."
     "Oh yeah?" said Riley.  "Who?"
     I smiled and said, "These people know.  But you'd never believe me if I told you.  Let's talk about happier things now."
     We stood and chatted about our plans for the next day.  Riley's older daughter, the Cal Poly student, was coming to the preserve in the morning, and would hang around with Dad all day.  Others had mapped out cruises, or just planned to hang around at Baxter's again.  Terry was meeting a contingent of Angels from various chapters there at noon.  All of them were interested in her putt, they wanted to see if it was as fast as she claimed.  They'd found a likely stretch of road to do a bit of drag racing.  Riley took off, wanting to get some shut-eye.  Big Ugly also wanted to crash out.  The rest of us headed back up to the party for another assault on the kegs.  As we walked along, Jane said, "Hey Lenny, Bekka.  Um.... Would it be okay if I brought that guy Soda Pop back to my room tonight?"
     Both of us stared at Jane.  Becky had faded into the background, Bekka was now back at the controls.  She said, "And what is prompting this idea?"
     "Just....  He's cute, and he's nice, and he's sober, and....  Okay, me nailing him will be kind of a souvenir for me, something special to remember about the weekend.  Bagging my first Hell's Angel.  You can talk to him some more, if you want."
     "Soda Pop is a good kid," said Terry.  "He's just twenty-one, and he's way mellow for a fuckin' Angel.  Like Jane said, he's sober, he ain't gonna act all shitty towards her."
     "Let's go find him," I sighed.
     We tracked Soda Pop down near the side of the stage.  He was smoking a cigarette and drinking a can of Pepsi.  He was chatting with a couple Phoenix Angels, but broke off when he saw Jane coming....   And looked a bit nervous when he saw Bekka and I with her.  In fact, more than just a bit nervous.
     "Hello again, Soda Pop," said Bekka.  "How has your evening gone?"
     "Having a good time," he smiled.  "This is only my third major run, so it's still kinda amazing to me, seeing this many of the brothers in one place."
     I said, "So.  Jane says she wants to take you back to her motel room.  Are your intentions honorable, young man?"
     "Uh...."  Soda Pop got a bit red.
     "If you're going to be alone in a motel room with Jane, they'd better not be," giggled Bekka.  "Your chastity will be very much in danger."
     Soda Pop gave a nervous smile and said, "Yeah, uh....  We got to talking, and kinda hit it off.  We're both pretty young for a run, and she's about the only other person around who isn't pretty much blotto right now, so we just sorta got to gabbing, you know?  Look, I know she's sorta like your daughter, if you want me to fuck off, just say so, it's cool...."
     Bekka stared at Soda Pop in silence, rubbing her chin.  She finally said, "Ultimately, Jane is a free agent, we can't dictate anything to her.  However, she does trust our judgement, and listens to us when we say to do or not do something.  If we told her we didn't want her to be around you, she wouldn't be happy, but she'd acquiesce."  A brief pause.  Then, "What I think should happen is you two should get on your respective putts, and ride down to our motel.  I think you two will enjoy getting to know each other very, very well.  You'll get to know Jane inside and out."  Bekka winked as she said this last bit.
     Soda Pop blushed like a high school kid.  Jane said, "Thanks, guys!" and gave us each a hug.  "Um, we might sleep in, so we may not be at breakfast.  I'll take Soda Pop out for something when we get up.  Okay, Soda Pop, is your bike at Berdoo's area?  Let's get going."  She grabbed Soda Pop by the hand and began dragging him off.  He looked back at us with a surprised smile on his face.
    Bekka said, "I swear, that girl gets off on finding shy, reserved guys and aggressively seducing them.  Lance, then Roach when we first met him, now Soda Pop.  She found the only laid-back Hell's Angel in existence, and is gonna bag him.  She's a domme."
     "With everyone but me," I pointed out.  "Then she's very much a sub.  I wonder what it is about me that makes her feel like that about me.  With me."
     "You're probably the strongest male influence she's ever had in her life.  She likes feeling that strength from you, she likes having you, in particular, in control."
     In a couple minutes, we heard a Harley fire up.  A second one started a minute or so after that.  The two took off at the same time, in the same direction.  I said, "Soda Pop's no virgin, but I hope she doesn't terrorize him.  Even if she's submissive with me, she's still aggressive, just because she's so into it.  She doesn't act like a victim, you know?  I take her, I tell her what to do, and she loves every second of it."
    We walked back to the Falcon and headed to the motel ourselves.

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