And the Names of the Colossi were Lucifer and Bone Saw; Part 2 - February 27, 2008

(Reconditioning Batteries)

This is bad. This is really, really bad.

The Outlaws, if you aren't familiar, are one of the largest motorcycle clubs in the country. They have a perpetual beef with a little group of vigilante justice enthusiasts you might be familiar with; the Hell's Angels. The tension between the two organizations is all too well known in New Hampshire. It comes to a head every year at nearby Laconia's infamous Bike Week. I was well aware of the potential damage that two large, drunken members of a notoriously tough membership could wreak on a trio of unarmed pussies like ourselves at 2:00 a.m. Lucifer glared at Timmy as he waited for some response, any response that would justify beating my friend to death with a wrecking ball cable.

Timmy: "Whoa, you guys are Outlaws? That's fucking BADASS! I just tattooed one of you guys up at my shop. What's his name? "Undead", I think."

I began breathing heavily and massaging my temples to ease the growing tension headache.

Lucifer: "Aw yeah, Undead's a good buddy of mine. That ink you gave him was the cat's ass!"

The term "One Percenter" was derived from an old statement made by the American Motorcycle Association that said only one percent of all motorcyclists were criminals. Today, bikers use it as a term of endearment. Undead wasn't the first One Percenter Timmy tattooed. I don't remember the guy's name, but he is responsible for the worst story I've ever heard. As Timmy pushed ink into his skin he explained, in detail, his initiation to his group: he had to earn his grey wings. What are "grey wings"? Boy am I not glad you asked. As you may or may not know, the term "earning your red wings" refers to having oral sex with a woman on her period. Well there are any number of different kinds of wings you can get for accomplishing various sexual feats. Grey wings are the worst. To earn them you have to go down on a dead chick. The guy talked almost fondly about the woman's genitals going from warm to very cold as he performed oral sex on her. When I heard that I did an immediate double take -- she was alive when it all started?!

As I stood by myself, unnoticed, in the kitchen, I thought about how much that story freaked me out; how it forever ripped away the sense of security and insulation that living in New Hampshire gave me. I wish I never knew about it. I don't want to know people like that exist, let alone live in my state or the city I'm visiting. I thought about how many bikers actually claim New Hampshire as their state of residence and how it's impossible to spend your life here without running into a One Percenter like Lucifer or Bone Saw or, God forbid, Undead.

Fortunately, Timmy's words diffused the situation as quickly as they created it. Lucifer and Bone Saw took a seat on the living room couch as Timmy and Teddy crafted a death metal buffet for them while they got drunk, again. My friends seemed oblivious to everything about the situation. Nobody even noticed that I wasn't hanging out. Not that it mattered, because no amount of alcohol was going to drown my insecurities. I barely spoke a word unless Lucifer and Bone Saw left the room. And then it was just to badger Timmy and Teddy to rifle our new friends out of the apartment and on their way. Timmy and Teddy presented a united front.

Timmy: "No fucking way!"

Teddy: "Stop being a pussy, Mike."

The scene in front of me was an exercise in contrast: two young, drunk metal heads and two weathered members of a biker gang, pounding brews and flailing their long hair to death metal that bounced off the walls of an apartment that could very well have been plucked from the cover of a Pier 1 catalog. I started to doubt myself. Am I really being a pussy? Should I just relax? I mean, these guys said that they were Outlaws, but they might not be. Maybe they're just saying that so we'll think they're cool. Besides, they seem nice enough. Timmy and Teddy enjoy banging their heads and sharing their beers with Lucifer and Bone Saw. I should calm down.

Lucifer: "Aw shit, we're outta beer. You guys wanna go to our friend's place on the other side' a town and do some shots?"

I checked my watch. 4:00 a.m.

Timmy: "Fuck yeah! Let's do it!"

I shouldn't calm down.

Visions of multiple stab wounds and corpse identifying trait removal danced in my head as Timmy started shutting off all the lights in his apartment. My insecurity emerged from its booze cocoon as a panic butterfly. I literally began sweating from the anxiety. I begged him not to go. I pleaded with him that four in the morning was no time to stumble into a stranger's house. My words were landing on deaf ears. I stopped voicing my opinion quietly and began shouting. Teddy was already out the door, conversing with Bone Saw about Death's "Live in L.A." DVD (he'd just picked it up), so he couldn't hear me. Instead, I told Timmy that I was going to crash on his couch, and that he and Teddy could go march to their deaths if they were so inclined. As soon as I shouted those words, Timmy spun around, grabbed me sternly by the shoulders, and addressed me in a hushed tone.

Timmy: "Mike, what the fuck is wrong with you?! Seriously, I've never seen you act like such a pussy in my entire life. Don't worry. We're just following Lucifer and Bone Saw to their friend's place. She's a chick. It'll just be the six of us doing some shots and hanging out. Sack the fuck up; you're coming with us."

Me: "What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with YOU?! THEY ARE GANG MEMBERS, TIMMY. THEY ARE MEMBERS OF A FUCKING BIKER GANG; A VIOLENT GROUP OF PEOPLE INVOLVED IN ORGANIZED FUCKING CRIME. That's not awesome. It's not awesome, it's not 'metal' and it's not cool at all. We don't even know their real names! It's bad enough that you let these people into your fucking home to probably case the joint for a future robbery, you want to follow them to an unfamiliar place across the city at four in the morning and you want to make your friends come with you?! Are you just drunk or are you legitimately fucking retarded?!?"

I looked in Timmy's eyes and saw the conviction and frustration pouring out of them. At that moment, I felt like I was the one that was fucking retarded. Was Timmy right? Was it worth it to roll the dice in order to find out if he was right? I was doubting myself all over again. There was no stopping Timmy and Teddy from getting into a car and leaving, that much was certain. If I was wrong and those guys ended up being legitimately good people, then I wasn't risking anything by coming along for the ride. If I was right, and Lucifer and Bone Saw turned out to be homicidal, drug addled ass rapists, then I would never be able to forgive myself for not being there to help fight them off of my two best friends if anything went down. I was far too loyal a friend to leave Timmy and Teddy to the Fates. The guilt would tear me apart, I just knew it.

I fumbled through my front pocket for my box cutter. Still there. I fumbled through the other pocket for my cell phone. There was one bar of juice left; just enough to make a frantic 911 call. I shut the phone off to save the battery and took a deep breath. "OK, let's go."

Timmy, Teddy and I piled into the cramped Toyota Echo. Timmy insisted on driving. "I don't care how drunk I am, I live in this city. I know where the fuck I'm going. I'm driving."

Me: "Timmy, we're following Lucifer and Bone Saw. Whoever's driving doesn't need to know where the fuck they are go -- never mind." I shut my mouth. Logic and reason were not going to penetrate my friend's decision making process. Arguing over who was more sober to drive us to our impending doom was like arguing over the brand of knife with which somebody was going to stab a puppy. I plopped back into the back seat and stared with defeated eyes at the street lights trailing by. I felt numb. Timmy and Teddy sparked cigarettes and cracked their windows in the front.

We followed Lucifer and Bone Saw on windy back roads for ten minutes or so before Timmy turned the music down and threw his smoke out.

Timmy: "Oh. Whoa. I didn't know we were going to the west side of Manchester."

Me: "What do you mean? What does that mean?" I didn't feel so numb anymore. I leaned forward and surveyed our surroundings. We were in what looked like the industrial sector of the city. Rusted warehouses and long-abandoned mill buildings lined a trash littered street that looked like it hadn't been paved in 30 years.

Timmy: "Um, yeah. This isn't exactly the best part of the city to be in at any time of the day, let alone now."

I felt more anxiety pain, this time around my left pectoral as I fumbled through a pocket for my cigarettes and lighter.

Me: "What? WHAT?! Are you fucking serious, Timmy?"

Teddy chimed in. "I don't think it would be the worst idea for each of us to be holding on to some kind of weapon when we go into this place, guys. I know Jihad-Fu Mike has his box cutter." He began rummaging through the door jams for anything sharp or heavy. "Timmy, you put this screwdriver in your pocket. I guess I'll take this roll of quarters."

Timmy: "Dude, relax. I'm just saying that we're driving through a rough part of town. It's going to be fine. It's just...I hope you have your fighting shoes on, Mike."

Me: "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, DUDE?! TURN THIS FUCKING CAR ARO --" I was intentionally cut off by a rapidly turned up stereo. Timmy wanted no part of my assessment. Teddy looked back at me and laughed. I slumped back into the seat and took heavy drags off my Marlboro Red, anxiety pangs ravaging my chest. We now had both the characters and the setting for a horror movie. All we had to do was stumble across a plot and we were on the fast track to the back of a carton of Hood 2%. I thought again about whether or not I was making the right choice in sticking by my friends while they threw caution to the wind. There might not be a huge chance that we'll actually die tonight, but there is definitely a better chance that we'll get kidnapped and a great chance that we'll just be robbed, car jacked and thrown out of this place on our asses. The best chance is that these guys will turn out to be OK. We'll do a few shots with them and leave when we see the sun starting to come up in a couple hours. Just stay alert and watch for anything sketchy.

Lucifer and Bone Saw's car slowed to a stop in front of a navy blue, ranch style house. The dirt matted paint was cracked and peeling. The browning, patchy front yard was littered with rusty car parts, bags of trash and empty cans of Golden Anniversary beer. I remembered thinking about my grandfather and how Golden Anniversary was his beer of choice. I also remembered that it was consistently one of the cheapest 6 packs in the grocery store whenever my dad picked some up for him. The condition of the house led me to believe that the squalor spread out before me was not simply the aftermath of a party. It was much more likely that the people responsible for it lived inside the house and were not exactly contributing members of society. They probably gave the landlord--who was obviously more of a slumlord if he left one of his rentals maintained so poorly--false personal information for the lease. Fuck, they'll probably leave a stack of bodies in the basement, rolled up in shrink wrap to hide the stink, and disappear without a trail for authorities to follow. The gears in my head spun uncontrollably. We could just as easily be marching to our deaths as we could to a few fun hours with new friends. How can Timmy and Teddy be so fucking oblivious?! Let's just get through this, and afterwards you can question all you want why the fuck you even hang out with these two.

As we pulled up behind their car, Lucifer and Bone Saw walked to the side door at the end of the driveway without saying a word. Bone Saw looked toward us standing outside of Timmy's car and motioned for us to come in. We walked in a line up to and through the door, Timmy in front, Teddy behind him and me trailing far behind. I stood at the threshold for a split second. I thought about the weapons we brought with us and how we might as well have been armed with foam pool noodles. I nervously gulped and entered the house, shutting the door behind me.

Posted by KungFu Mike at 2:07 PM

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Posted by: dude at February 27, 2008 03:11 PM

I am so looking forward to the remainder of this (cautionary?) tale

Posted by: Fish at February 27, 2008 05:21 PM

"It's not awesome, it's not 'metal' and it's not cool at all." - Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!

I'm with dude, just finish it already!!!

Posted by: 603-L.F.O.D. at February 28, 2008 07:18 AM

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