Mack - Chapter Eleven

Chapter 11

Sam pulled into the lot of a "Thrifty Traveler Motel". Both of them were pretty tired, and Sam checked them into a room with a single queen sized bed. It wasn't luxurious, but it was clean, available and somewhat anonymous. They'd stopped at a diner earlier and Mack was well fed and ready to get into bed with Sam. After having ridden behind Sam all day long, holding on to his beefy body, bathing in his ursine scent and enjoying the pleasurable vibration from the Hawg, Mack wanted to make love with Sam, but he also wanted sleep. His muscles were sore, he'd never ridden on a motorcycle before and didn't realize that moving with his partner on the bike would be such work. On the way to the room, Sam quickly groped Mack's ass and Mack reached back and groped Sam's. Mack found he wanted sex, but he wanted sleep more. They stripped and crawled into bed, Sam curling protectively around Mack.

Ronnie Hicks and Jimmy Banner slouched in Jim's car, half in the bag and pissed as hell. The two women who had seemed so hot to trot in the bar two hours ago had obviously stood them up. Their anger simmered as they passed the bottle back and forth between them. Ronnie watched as Sam and Mack walked across the parking lot from the motel office to their room. He saw Sam fumble for the key and drop it, and Mack pick it up and hand it to the larger man. He saw the larger man give the younger one a hug and a kiss as he fitted the key to the lock and opened the door.

Ronnie nudged Jimmy. "We got us some faggots here, Jimmy-boy."

"Yeah," Jimmy said, "but did you see the size of the big one? Daaaamn!” He took another swig out of the bottle. “Hey, why don't we wait a bit for them to get good and asleep and then kick the door in. Surprise 'em, like. Scare the crap outta 'em."

"Oh, I think I wanna do more than just scare the crap outta them fuckin' faggots. I got me a baseball bat and I wanna put some hurt on 'em." Ronnie said.

"I dunno," Jimmy said and took another swig from the bottle of JD, "that big guy looks... big. Maybe jest scare 'em.”

"What the fuck, Jimmy!” Ronnie waved the bottle around a bit unsteadily. “He's a fuckin fag! He might look bad ass, but he's not a real man, not like us. There's two of us and one of him and the little fag will probably go hide in the closet... heh heh heh, hide in the closet! He'll wish he never came out of it!"

"OK then, we'll wait 'til they're asleep, then we'll kick the shit out of some faggot ass. You still got them brass knuckles you take to biker bars?" Jimmy asked.

"Sure do, look in the glove box." Ronnie said and took the bottle of JD for a swallow.

Jimmy looked in the box, rifled through and found the brass knuckles and put them on. It was just after 12:30 am by the dashboard clock. “Faggot bashing is 'bout as good as pussy, I reckon,” Ronnie muttered as the pair waited.

Sam woke to the sound of the door being kicked. Whoever did it wasn't expecting the dead bolt to be as sturdy as it was and didn't know much about kicking doors down. Mack was awake, too. "What's going on?"

"Get into the bathroom and lock the door, take your clothes and get dressed," Sam said calmly.

Mack started to protest; after all, he was a man and was going to 'watch Sam's back'. Sam didn't have time to explain as the second kick came to the door. It looked like the cheap frame of the door had cracked and might give way with another kick. Naked, Sam grabbed his leather jacket, wrapped it around his arm and said to Mack in a low voice, "Whoever that is could have a weapon, I need you to be ready to run if I say so. Get dressed!"

Mack retreated into the bathroom with his clothes. He didn't like it, but somehow, he found it hard to disobey his papa.

Sam stood by the door waiting, the third kick came and the door flew open. Whoever it was didn't enter immediately. Sam had shifted a little, it would give him a distinct advantage.

He saw the shadow of a man cast on the carpet of the room by the light in the parking lot. Sam guessed he was probably about 6 foot or so by way he filled the door frame. Sam saw the outline of a baseball bat.

"Come on out, little faggots!" the voice mocked in a singsong, nursery rhyme tone.

He could hear that the speech was a bit slurred, "Goooood!" Sam thought. "Drunk redneck!"

Sam watched as the man moved toward the door frame. He would remain still and wait until the last moment to strike, using surprise to his advantage. Sam watched as the baseball bat entered first through the door, waited until it was almost all the way through, and then he moved. With the furry arm not covered with his leather jacket, Sam grabbed the bat and yanked, pulling the man into the room. Quickly he pushed the man to the floor, face down. He put a knee on the man's elbow and pulled his forearm up. There was a sickening snap as Sam broke the man's arm at the elbow joint. The man shrieked in pain. Two things happened then; the door to the bathroom opened and Mack jumped out brandishing the shower curtain rod like a spear, and behind him Sam heard the second man curse and move. Sam swiveled and caught the arm of the second man as he was about to land a fist in the side of his head. Sam was still kneeling on the first man's arm. He still had the bat in one hand and his leather wrapped arm was holding the brass knuckled fist of the second man. Sam swung the aluminum baseball bat and cracked the second man's knee. He crumpled to the floor, screaming in pain as well. Mack stood frozen, astonished.

It all happened so fast ... and Sam looked... different. Sam stood and kicked both of the prone men in the nuts and growled as they curled into fetal position.

Sam growled again in a slightly deeper voice, "Get your backpack and suitcase, we're outta here." Sam grabbed the lamps from the night stand, unplugged them and cut the electric cords while his would-be assailants writhed in pain. He tied their hands behind their backs and stuffed them halfway under the beds so they couldn't move. Sam dressed quickly and soon he and Mack were on his bike. They were a good ten minutes down the road when the sheriff showed up at the motel and found the two men partially under the bed.

Sheriff Tom Wilson surveyed the scene; two local boys, known to be trouble when drunk, were trussed up and stuffed under the bed where they couldn't move. The door had been kicked in and whoever had been in the motel had made a hasty exit. No doubt about it, the guy who had done this knew quite a bit about self defense. The motel manager had called the sheriff; he'd said these two guys were trying to break into one of the guest rooms.

Ronnie was moaning in pain.

"What's the story, Ronnie?" Tom asked.

Ronnie moaned, "Fucking A, man! My arm's broke. Untie me, man."

"Oh, I can't do that Ronnie, you just said your arm was broke and I don't wanna make it worse by movin' you around. We'll have to wait for the paramedics." Tom said, "So, you decided to rob a couple of patrons of this fine establishment?"

"Fuck, no!" Ronnie said and winced in pain as he'd jerked his head up to look at the sheriff, "They was two faggots and I was gonna show 'em we don't tolerate their kind around here."

Sheriff Wilson laughed, "Yeah, you showed 'em. Looks like you picked on the wrong fags. Looks like they beat the shit out of you manly men. We're gonna get you and Jimmy to the emergency room, looks like that 'fag' broke his kneecap."

"I wanna press charges!" Ronnie said.

"Well you're not the only one, pal. The motel manager wants to press charges, too. Against you. And you can forget about filing charges against those guys, Ronnie, you broke into their room. They had a right to self defense. You're gonna be lucky if they don't come back and add to the charges the motel manager is gonna file. As soon as the docs patch you and Jimmy up, we're gonna book ya."

The paramedics arrived just as sheriff Wilson was finishing his little talk. "You just cost me about three hours of paperwork, Ronnie, and you know how I love paperwork." The sheriff patted Ronnie on his left shoulder and he cried out in agony. "Oh, sorry Ronnie, I plum forgot."

Sheriff Wilson left the room, muttering something about "dumb-ass drunken trailer trash".

Miles down the road, Mack and Sam were riding on the highway in the cool of the desert night. Sam put in a good fifty miles before he stopped at a rest stop. They pulled in and dismounted, they both used the facilities, not a word exchanged. As they walked out, Mack said, "I need to talk to you. I need answers."

Sam sighed... he suspected he knew what the questions might be.