"Bloody Streets"

[Tony2015]

"Bloody Streets"

(closed)

OOC Thread​

Sheriff Brady awoke with a start, looking up to see one of the Department's Community Volunteers looking in on him with a wide smile.

"Slept on your couch again, Sheriff?" she asked.

He nodded, sitting up to rub his eyes. "Old Man Harper's dog was chasing sheep again. Was up all night looking for it. What's up, Lois?"

"Alsea," she said, speaking of the smallest town within his jurisdiction.

He stood, stretched, and set about donning his utility belt, coat and hat for another day of peace keeping. "What about it?"

"No one's heard from them."

He went into the attached half bath, washing his face to return a bit of life to his tired, worn out body. When he emerged, he asked, "Heard from who...? Who were we expecting to hear from?"

"Any one," she clarified. "No one's heard from any one there ... in four days."

He gave her a doubtful expression, asking, "What the hell does that mean, no one's heard from them in four days? Carl was there ... what, yesterday?"

Carl was not only one of his Deputies but was Lois's nephew. "It was day before yesterday ... and Carl hasn't checked in since then."

Brady stopped and looked to the elderly volunteer. "What do you mean he hasn't checked in?"

Lois shrugged.

"Why didn't you say something?" he scolded.

Lois cocked her head and gave him a disapproving expression.



It was a two and half hour drive from Harney to Alsea, first traveling the full extent of the valley, then up into and over the coastal range almost to the far side. Brady had always enjoyed this drive. When he'd been just a Deputy, he -- like Carl now -- had made the drive every two weeks to make their contractually obligated visit to the town. He wished he could spend more time in each of the nine towns within the County Department's domain, but there just wasn't enough money to pay for the extra patrols.

Between visits, the citizens of the small towns had to take care of their issues on their own. That thought made Brady smile. There were 330 people in Alsea. But there were at least twice that many fire arms. Any crack head or wanna-be burglar stupid enough to hit Alsea was looking at having his head blown off ... little head before the big head if he visited the wrong house after dark.

Brady took the last turn through the coastal forest and was soon passing the mostly decades old homes and crumbling single wide trailer houses that were about all the lower middle class townsfolk could afford. He had reached the town's center before he realized that he hadn't seen a single soul. He continued through town, his speed dropping down to a crawl of 15 mph. Still, not a single citizen to be seen.

He stopped in the middle of the road and got out of his car. He walked entirely around his car, his gaze sweeping across the town. This was ... this was just not right. It was a small town, and sure, the population was miniscule. But there was always someone out and about, particularly as soon as word got around that the Law was in town.

Brady got back into his cruiser, drove to the far end of town, turned about, and returned to park in front of the Black Crow, which served as the town's breakfast café, lunch buffet, and evening bar and grill. The tavern was the social hub of the tiny burg, and from 5am to 2am, there was always someone here. But ... not today. Brady found the door wide open.

He hesitated before entering, and only did so after raising his big three cell Maglite and shining it into the darkened business. His first step onto the century old hardwood floor was his last as he slipped on something slick and went tumbling to the deck. He rose, aching, and backed out into the sunlight. He looked down to his uniform and found himself covered in...

Blood? He lifted his arms and leaned over to check his slacks. He lifted a hand to his face and sniffed, reeling at the stench. It was blood. He ripped his side arm from the holster and stepped up to the door again. "Barton County Sheriff! Is there anyone in there...? If you're in there, identify yourself...! C'mon! We don't want anyone getting shot on accident!"




Brady sat on a bench in the town square out before the Black Crow, his stomach rolling over. He'd found a dozen or more pools of blood inside the tavern, as well as blood splatter all about the walls and up the stairs leading to the six hotel rooms that these days were occupied mostly by locals who had lost their homes during the Great Recession. After emptying his stomach on the hardwood, he'd rushed outside for fresh air, only to find more pools of dried and fresh blood all about the boardwalk, the alleys, and the adjacent buildings.

There was enough blood to be attributed to dozens, possibly hundreds of murders, and yet ... there were no bodies. None! Not a one! He'd tried to call for help on his radio, forgetting that there was no coverage here. Carl had had the department's only satellite phone, and all of the land line phones he'd tried here in town were dead. What the fuck happened here??? Even the fucking dogs were missing, with nothing but cats and chickens roaming the streets.

Then, Brady heard a sound in the second floor apartments over the hardware store. He ripped out his Glock again and made his way cautiously across the street and up the stairs. His weapon before him was shaking hard enough to make Brady curse himself under his breath. Thirty-three years on the force and he'd never shot at another human being.

"Barton County Sheriff!" he repeated as he ascended. "Is there anyone here...? Speak up! Identify yourself...! You don't want to get shot ... not on accident!"

Brady began pushing open doors, one after another. He found only mayhem and blood. When he reached the door he identified with the earlier sound, he took a deep breath, announced himself again, then shoved the door open. His eyes widened in shock! Bodies! Oh my fucking God! How many ... how many bodies?

The floor was simply covered in bodies, all in some degree of undress or simply nude, and all bloodied as if they been cut open by chain saws. But, as Brady crept in slowly, gun shifting to and fro, he didn't see any major damage on the bodies. Blood was or had been seeping out of punctures, on necks, on inner arms and thighs, on wrists. It was almost like someone had stabbed the dead in their arteries and drained them, except ... except that while there was blood all about, there wasn't enough!

He leaped back suddenly as one of the bodies moved, swinging his weapon upon it as he cried out, "Don't move! Show me your hands! Now! Now! Show me your--"

Brady went silent as he realized it was a woman ... a young woman ... a young naked woman ... a young naked woman who ... who he knew very well. As he stared at her, standing amongst the dead, all Brady could say was, "Oh my god..."

 

[hells_fury]

Five days ago …

Samantha Jay Weston slipped out of the big rig she now owned and went into the back of her bar. The Black Crow, she inherited the bar from her father James B. Weston. His health would no longer allow him to work, or do much of anything besides sit on the couch all day or in bed. Walking inside of the bar she was headed up stairs to get her boyfriend Jacob. He had recently began staying in one of the rooms above the bar. She refused to let him move in with her. Sam had gotten back early with their stock, it was easier having a license to drive her own truck versus having to pay someone to do it for her.

As she made her way up the stairs a barely dressed blond woman went running down the stairs. Her eyes turned to daggers as she hauled up the stairs busting into Jacobs room only to find him half naked. Grabbing his bag that he had kept most of his stuff in, she began chucking it out the window, breaking the glass. ”Get the hell out of bar you stupid son of a bitch!” She yelled at him, not caring that her three regulars were right downstairs.

Jacob came over to her trying to calm her, to talk to her. ”Baby please…” That was all he managed to get out before she hit him in his jaw. ”Get out Jacob I don’t want to see your face here, and if I do I will shoot your dumbass.” Which at that point it was a surprise she hadn’t shot him already.

Sam was a spitfire. She was known as such in the town, she had raised hell and ran with the boys. She’d never been one of the girls and she never tried to. Generally she was just as rough and ready as the guys were. She could drink a few of the men under the table without a problem, and she could hold her own in a bar fight. Her Father had wanted boys, instead he got Sam. However later on he realized she was just as much a boy.

A few hours later Sam was standing behind the bar, laying the fried chicken and potatoes in front of Jim, David, and Hank. Smiling to the men before shrugging. They had all been wondering about the fight her and Jacob had, especially since he wasn’t there helping her like he normally was. ”Go ahead and tell em Jim, you were here.” She laughed grabbing the bar towel from her back jean pocket. She didn’t tend to dress in an overly feminine way as a lot of girls in the town did. She wore a pair of ripped up jeans, with black steel toed boots, and a Jack Daniels Whiskey t-shirt that she had cut the sleeves off of. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun with a bandana wrapped around her head in a Rosie the Riveter fashion.

It was dinner time, so she knew her rush would be starting up. Mainly from the men that had been out working all day. The day had been normal, dinner came and past and she had managed to deal with it. Even without help. She figured her regulars could use the money so she hired them on that night to help her out. The men were good about it, and didn’t mind. They all knew her family and no one wanted the Black Crow to close.

After the bar was cleaned up she heard the sound of bikes coming down the road. More than she ever would have thought to hear in this town. Peering out of one of the windows, her eyes grew slightly in shock. Hell there had to be at least fifty bikers headed into town. She didn’t recognize them. As they began parking she read the back of the jackets. Blood Riders was across the back of the leather jackets and vests. Taking in a breath she watched as some headed into the bar, and others headed into the town.

Moving away from the window she went back behind the bar, the bandana long since gone from her hair, now hung in one of her belt loops, she had a shot gun under the bar ready to be grabbed if needed, as well as her side arm that she kept attached to her hip at all times in the holster. She had several other guns throughout the bar as well as weapons, a bat hung above the bar on the back wall, it had been the bat she hit her first home run with as well as the one she used on her first break in on the bar.

New people in Alsea wasn’t really normal, they weren’t a tourist trap, and there wasn’t much in the town. Most of the time it was people passing through, she had no idea what the bikers were doing, but hell if they wanted to spend their money she wasn’t about to stop them.

 

[Tony2015]

The first biker entered the Black Crow just a step before stopping to look about himself. He made eye contact with each and every person in the tavern, before half glancing over his shoulder and nodding. He continued inward, sitting at the first table which had a commanding and controlling position within the establishment.

After the first biker's cautious entry, the other Club members simply strolled in to head alone or in small groups to tables, booths, or the bar itself. A bleached blonde with a striking resemblance to Blondie's Debbie Harry strode straight to the bar, her gaze set firmly on the woman behind the bar.

A few other bikers followed and dispersed, their ages, body types, and overall looks making them appear to be everything from the boy next door to serial killers. As they cleared to left and right, a young, handsome biker suddenly appeared. His gaze, too, was set on Sam as he moved up to sit next to the bottle blond, with yet another bleached blonde taking the seat on his other side.

Behind them, bikers continued to enter and sit until finally more than two dozen of them were scattered all about. Some of them even sat with the Black Crow's locals, engaging them in conversations that were colorful animated or downright intimidating looking.

The man sitting at the bar waited for Sam to move up to take his order before tossing a thick wad of bills in a gold and onyx money clip atop the bar. He glanced to the other bikers, then back to Sam and only said softly, "Anything they want ... 'til they stop wanting."

Suddenly from all over the tavern, the bikers began calling out beer and food orders. They weren't demanding, so much, but almost playful. Someone dropped a quarter into the juke box and a pounding Classic Song filled the tavern. The balls on the pool table cracked as one of the leather bound men broke the rack. If you hadn't known better, you would have thought the Black Crow had always been an always filled, always hopping Biker Bar, not a backwoods bar and grill on the verge of failing.

The man with the money hadn't taken his eyes off the bartender from the moment he'd sat down, and when she brought him his mug of beer, he asked her bluntly, "Are you taken ... or ... are you available ... tonight?"

 

[hells_fury]

Sam stood behind the bar, the towel draped out the back of her pocket as she watched them enter. The first man looked rugged and worn, though that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel the intimidation oozing off of him. She wasn’t a girl who was scared of much or was intimidated. Her problem was though when she faced any kind of fear she didn’t run. She was a fighter through and through. That was probably the reason she had gotten onto a first name basis with the Sheriff. He had been called out to deal with her more times then she could count.

She watched as the bleach blonde walked in and stood at the bar. Her eyes lingered on the woman watching her. She had noted how each of them moved, how they seemed to command the room. Sure all the men that had been there for the night at this point were drooling to themselves and she knew it. Sam just arched her brow to the woman as she finished up drying off the couple of glasses she had just finished washing. She liked keeping her hands busy.

Before she had the option to speak in came more of the bikers, filling the Black Crow. She hadn’t seen her bar this busy in a long time. The economy wasn’t helping her business and she sure in the hell wasn’t about to turn this crowd away. So they were bikers, and probably had rap sheets on every single one of them. At the end of the day money was money and she didn’t refuse business when it walked straight into her bar. She had lost her mother at a young age and she grew up with her Father taking care of her. Sam her entire life had become equipped to handle herself in any given situation.

Sam watched as the men and women mingled with the locals. She had a bad feeling in the bottom of her gut but she knew well and good that there wasn’t anything she could do about that now. Her eyes darted to the money clip that the man had thrown onto the bar. Nodding she grabbed it and slipped it into the bottom of the register. If he had change at the end of the night, she’d give it to him.

When the orders came in she began making mental notes, pinning a voice to a face and to an order. It was a talent she had, it was about the only thing that had saved her bar. Going to the coolers she pulled out six beers before grabbing the whiskey, tequila, and scotch that had been ordered and made the drinks. This was the most people she had seen in her bar in far too long. Glancing around everyone seemed to just blend in, even if a few of them stuck out, not because of the grizzly looking bikers. No because of the ones who as much as they should have been rugged they weren’t. At least not at a first glance.

Once all the drinks were prepared she began putting them onto a tray ready to begin serving the crowd that now filled The Black Crow. First she would serve the one who had paid, it only seemed right. When he spoke she arched a brow. “Oh darlin I’m not taken, but I’m also not in a giving kind of mood either.” With that she left, sure the younger biker at her bar was hot, so were the two women he was with, however after just kicking Jacob out and his little blonde bimbo of lay she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that. Even if her Father had told her to always be nice to the customers, this looked like the kind of crowd that didn’t require hospitality.

 

[Tony2015]

“Oh darlin I’m not taken," the beauty behind the bar answered, "but I’m also not in a giving kind of mood either.”

As she left, the man spun slowly on the bar stool to follow her movement. On either side of him, the blondes were looking between their biking partner and the woman. Finally, one of them asked, "Is she first?"

He only stared at the beauty as she made her way between the tables. She had a tight little ass that made him hard within his close fitting jeans.

The other blonde chuckled, saying, "Yeah ... she's first."

"Check on outside," he said, his gaze still on the sleek shaped bar maid. "Make sure we're moving forward."

The blondes rose and sashed out through the crowd, making sure that they caught the attention of as many male locals as they could. When the incredible Asian made her way back behind the bar again, the biker stuck a hand out and introduced himself as, "Kirk." He tapped the patch on his right chest, adding, "President, Blood Riders."

 

[hells_fury]

Sam wove her way through the bar, serving the drinks that had been ordered. The bandana still hung from her belt buckle, and the towel from her pocket. She felt the second someone grabbed in, and instinct drove home having her set the tray down grab her gun and spinning around in one fluid motion. Her eyes landed on Jacob and a sneer took place on her lips.

”I told you to get the fuck out of my bar or I will shoot your dumbass where you stand.” She growled at him before grabbing the tray and walking away from him.

She didn’t have time to deal with him tonight, she had a bar full of patrons and she fully intended on maximizing on the opportunity. As the last whiskey was served she put the tray under her arm and went back behind the bar. That was when Jake the biker introduced himself. Setting the tray down she offered a sly smile to him.

”I’m Sam.” She never introduced herself as Samantha though that was her given name. Taking the man’s hand now, her eyes met his.

 

[Tony2015]

The bartender took Kirk's hand, telling him, ”I’m Sam.”

An introductory hand shake was never just a hand shake for Kirk. As he squeezed her hand in his, he made an other-than-entirely-human connection with her that -- if he was to explain it -- would have left her laughing and recommending that he interview for a You're Nutty Than A Fruitcake episode of the Dr. Phil show. In an instant, things Samantha Jay Weston knew and didn't know about herself were flooding Kirk's brain as if he was downloading her computer's hard drive to his own. He knew her age and birthdate. He knew her ethnic heritage, both the real one and the fictitious one with which her father had raised her to hide a deep secret. He knew roughly how active her sex life was, including the fact that the man she'd nearly drawn a weapon on earlier had been inside her less than 24 hours earlier.

And he knew that she was pregnant. She didn't know ... or, she was desperately hoping she wasn't, at least. Six weeks, he thought. She knows she's late ... but...

Deep in her mind, he could hear the subconscious and conscious voices battling. Her body knew she was with child. Her mind knew that it could only be ... Jacob, Kirk's new information told him. The almost dead man. She knew that if she was pregnant, it had to be his. But, Kirk could sense, she was hoping to death it wasn't his. No! Not that it isn't his. More specifically that she isn't ... knocked up!

She didn't want to be pregnant, Kirk knew, not necessarily because she didn't want to have a child now, though Kirk sensed that, too. No, it was because she knew -- thought? hoped? regretted? Kirk was still mulling -- that her relationship with this Jacob was over. She'd ... Oh, yes, Kirk realized in those few seconds that he held her hand, she caught him cheating ... cursed him ... told him to leave ... considered putting one or more bullets through his head ... his Little Head and Big Head both.

Kirk smiled at reading that thought from Sam's mind. He would have loved to see her murder the cheating bastard. Kirk had murdered many over the many years of his existence ... far too many to count. It had never been a joy for him. Ironically, he had experienced a great deal of joy watching others kill. He imagined Sam whipping that pistol off her hip and unloading the clip into the Prick's skull. He even imagined that, if things went a certain way, he might be able to arrange that for her yet.

Suddenly, Kirk's smile faded. A thought he hadn't expected to glean from the woman struck him in the heart of which his Blood Rider Family often questioned him having. She was sick. Unlike her pregnancy, Sam knew nothing of this. He could sense it in her. She was without symptoms and would continue to be ... never revealing that anything was wrong with her until her baby was born ... still born.

Kirk gleaned all of this information -- known and unknown to Sam -- and made his decision about what to do with it in the three seconds that he'd been holding her hand. He let loose of her and tilted his head a bit, studying her, before saying, "I didn't mean what I said earlier ... about whether or not you were in a ... how did you put it ... a giving mood."

As she set about doing some bar work before him, Kirk continued with a devilish smirk, "I mean, don't get me wrong. I would love nothing more to get naked with you and shake the walls of this old establishment of yours..." He laughed, then took a less happy-go-lucky tone, continuing, "...but ... I didn't mean to offend you. We're--"

He half turned to look at, then sweep a hand toward the other Bikers. They were now very much involving themselves with the regulars who had been in the tavern upon their arrival and a dozen more who had arrived with wide eyes to see what the fuck was going on in their little town.

He looked back to Sam and finished his very serious statement, "We're gonna be here a couple of days ... maybe more ... so ... I'd like you and I to become friends. You might be more likely to sleep with me if you came to realize that I'm actually a pretty good catch."

Kirk stared into the bar owner's eyes waiting for a response...