Holly pulled her maroon Malibu up to the curb. Westly was sitting in the gutter finishing off another blunt. The Malibu seemed to be in good condition save for a broken front headlight and a chipped side mirror. Westly hopped in and Holly continued down the highway. They sat in silence as the car bumped over the potholes. Holly let out a long sigh.

“Tell me again,” she said, with slight hint of anger in her voice.

“Which part?” Westly said trying to follow.

“Damn it Wes! The part where you decided to meet with a man who said he would tie you behind the back of his Harley and drag you through a junkyard.”

“You got to give him credit for the creativeness of the threat,” Westly responded awkwardly.

She glared at him.

“I need you to be more careful. After Vail…I just need you take this seriously,” she said with exhaustion in her voice.

Westly nodded.

“Myron hates the RMCA more than he hates me. If he finds out they have been selling to a prime whale like the Olenicks then he will want to see me for that information alone. Did you get the stuff I asked for?”

Holly reached back into the seat and handed him a paper bag. Westley peered in the bag and nodded, rolling the bag up and stuffing it under the seat.

“Where is Oliver?” She asked, trying to normalize the situation.

“I have him meeting with a Centennial detective that is going to give us payment for all this. Less Sunshine on the streets means better publicity for Centennial and the whole bureaucratic thing goes around and around.”

Holly pulled off the interstate down onto a thin, bleak highway. The environment started to shift from the clean manicured lawns of Centennial to brown rough grass surrounded by buildings with bars on the windows. Westly leaned back in his seat looking at Holly’s laser focus on the road.

“How come I haven’t heard from you in months. We could have grabbed a drink-,” he started.

“You would have just tried to push it under the rug like all of your damn problems and I wanted to express my grief without feeling like I had to hide. So, I met with some of my old unit and it was nice.”

“Alright,” Westly responded, not wanting to fight.

Turning off the highway, Holly wove the car around the several piles of broken glass and torn rubble onto a road barely big enough for two vehicles. Weaving behind a large brick building, she turned down the road that dipped down under an overpass of a connecting highway. Lined around the base of the overpass were several motorcycles. All the bikes were Harley Davidsons of different shapes and sizes. They bookended a large black door protruding from the base of the overpass. Painted on the door was a large gray wolf’s head with blood dripping from its fangs. Holly pulled the car over to the right of the road, just shy of the overpass. Westly picked the paper bag up, clutching it close to his chest; he stared at the overpass as if he were looking down into the bowels of hell. Holly unbuckled her seat belt and softened her gaze at him.

“When was the last time you were in there?” She asked, trying to calm him down.

“Four years ago. Myron had just become president. He had a lot to prove and I let him down.”

“You let down a drug peddling biker? By what? Having a conscience?”

“Myron agreed to help with a case and in return I would help him with a legal problem. Sort of a weird symbiotic relationship. The guy I was working with didn’t follow through and Myron almost went to prison.”

“Yeah, well, the way he and his crew surrounded our offices last year, prison might be the best place for him.”

“Actually because of that incident is why I wanted you to come with me. Myron said you caught his eye.”

“Oh, I get it. You want me to shake my “money maker” so he forgets about all the shit you did to him?

“I need a soldier. There is no guarantee Myron will see me. I need someone he’s afraid of. You.”

Holly sighed.

“So how do you expect this to go.”

“The first guy we will meet heading into the bar is Kane. You remember him, Myron’s sergeant at arms, a sickly Santa looking guy. I will handle him. It is once we get into the belly that I need you to talk to the bartender. Hopefully it still Sky-”

“Eh Sky,” Holly grumbled under her breath.

“Yes, she does make you want to shower, but I haven’t seen Myron trust anyone else more than her.”

Holly reached under her seat and pulled out a .45 Springfield, Westly put his hand on her wrist.

“Kane finds that he will beat us half to death. We need to try a different approach.”

“I thought you wanted a soldier?”

“I do. Just more theatrical than actual,” he said with an awkward grin.

She reluctantly returned the gun back under her seat. Westly opened the chamber of the revolver and dumped all the bullets into the cup holder save for one. He snapped the chamber and returned the gun to his coat. Holly stared at him in disbelief.

“Um, why do you get to keep your gun?”

“Because hopefully it will help convince Myron to talk us.”

“You gotta alot of ifs. You sure you want to do this?”

“No,” he said coldly.

He exited the Malibu with a mixture of fear and confidence. The slam of the door seemed to echo on forever. As they approached the door, the giant wolf mural loomed over them, as if it was going to jump out of the door into the real world. At the base of the road were four large black concrete steps, that led up to the door. Upon reaching the door, Westly lifted his hand to knock. Before his fist met the metal, another boom echoed throughout the overpass. The concrete panels on the left and right of the door flung open like a screen door in the wind. Two guards dressed in leather motorcycle cuts leaned out of the alcoves with large assault rifles. Their initial build seemed to be AK47s but Westly and Holly could tell from the barrels that they were modified M16s.

The door creaked open ever so slightly. Out stepped a tall man. Reaching up to at least 6’5”. He was unhealthily skinny and yet his arms were defined with deep levels of muscle. He was bald, in place of hair his skull was painted with several tattoos. The most prevalent of which was a pair of ram’s horns that curled under his ears. He had a black beard that was long enough to reach his bellybutton if it wasn’t for the well cared for braid that brought the beard closer to his collarbone. Without a word he drew a .40 caliber Glock. Gripping Westly by the throat he slammed him into the door, pressing the barrel of the hard against Westly’s ear as he slowly whispered in the other one.

“We haven’t forgotten Straight Razor.”

“Funny Kane, I was going to say the same thing about you. In my coat pocket is my revolver.”

Kane drove the gun deeper into Westly’s temple. His eyes flashed to Holly.

“Hand out Sergeant!” He snarled.

“Trust me Kane you will want to see it before you decide to shoot me,” Westly continued.

Holly lifted her hands and held her breath as Kane reached into Westly’s pocket and pulled out the revolver. He clicked open the chamber. He wheezed a laugh and released Westly.

“Seriously, Straight Razor you think Myron will care?”

“All I need is five minutes with him.”

Kane snatched the paper bag out of his hand and rummaged through it. He growled and tossed the bag back to Westly. Turning his attention to Holly, he violently grabbed her arm. He ran his hands up and down her. She clenched her fists, holding back all her power not to hit him. After his initial rundown of Holly, he returned to Westly. Pinning him against the wall he did the same thing. He waved the armed guards down and they disappeared into the wall as if they were never there. Kane pushed open the door.

“Walk down into the bar and ask Sky if he has anytime. If he doesn’t don’t come back. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

The two of them pushed past Kane and made their way down into the catacomb. It was a large corridor that progressively got larger the deeper they traveled down. The wideness of the corridor created a tunnel effect for the traffic above that ratted the walls and slowly knocked the dust of the brick. The sound of steel guitars and heavy metal music got louder with step, making both of them sink with a sense of dread. Finally arriving at the bottom of the stairs the tunnel opened into a large underground bar.

The music bellowed out of thick speakers drilled into the stone. Several pool tables wrapped themselves around the winding corners of the bar. Unlike most pool tables these were reupholstered with neon royal blue felt that left an unsettling glow in the darkness of the bar. Most of patrons were adorned in black leather cuts and those that weren’t were not shy from showing the large cannons strapped to their hips.

Westley led Holly up to the bar. A small yet extremely top-heavy woman dressed in black was busy mixing a cocktail on the counter. She was dressed in tight tank top that left her cleavage heavily exposed. This would be appealing to all the males and some of the females if she hadn’t gotten a tattoo of a bird-eating tarantula crawling out of the crevice between the breasts. Upon seeing Westly, she quickly spun out a butterfly knife, stabbing it into his sleeve, pinning his wrist to the table. Westly caught his scream in his throat and nodded it at her.

“Sky. Still carrying around the hornet I see,” Westly said forcing a smile.

Sky yanked out the knife and brought it to Westly’s nose.

“You must really hate your testicles. Princess Rainbow is always hungry,” she giggled.

“Princess Rainbow?” Holly inquired.

“Her boa,” Westly responded.

She poked him with the knife drawing a little bit of blood.

“She is a python, you asshole!”

“Right cause that is what needed correcting,” Westly said rubbing his ear.

Her playful grin turned into a sneer and she began to climb over the bar when Holly separated them.

“Sky, all we want is to see Myron for five minutes can you help with that?”

“Mr. Baltic is busy all day today. Come back never!”

Westly reached down into his sock. He took out a thick plastic bag of marijuana dropping it on the counter. Sky let out a squeal, dropping her knife on the counter.

“Is this pure stuff you told me about!”

“The best, just for you.”

Sky shook her finger playfully.

“You can keep your rocky mountain oysters a little longer.”

She opened the bag and inhaled deeply, returning to the surface with a toothy ear to ear grin. Holly leaned over the counter.

“Let me see if Mr. Baltic has the time.”

She pushed back on the wall of liquor. It spun like a revolving door and she was gone. Several of the bar patronse eyed Westly and Holly.

“I really wished she hadn’t squealed over the weed. Now I look like the best 420 dealer around,” Westly mumbled to her.

The wall swung back around again. Sky came skipping out with a freshly rolled blunt clenched in her lips. Her purple glossy lipstick was already starting to stain it.

“Five minutes not a nano second more,” she said with a slight sense of doom in her voice.

Westly nodded and Sky reached down her shirt and produced a key. Jamming the key into a box under bar. As the key clicked, the brick wall next to Westly and Holly popped open.

“Moment of truth,” Westly said weakly.

They entered the backroom. The moment both of them were in the room the door swung shut and locked. It was very dark, a few holes in the ceiling letting the natural light in a sporadic fashion around the room. As they started towards the center of the room the sconces on the wall slowly lit up, casting a sinister glow off the red brick that shown on the floor. The light was large enough to make out the shapes in the room. Two armed guards at each corner of the room. All wearing the War Wolves cuts.

“Myron? All we need is five minutes,” Westly called out, trying to mask his fear.

A small blue desk lamp clicked on. It was stationed on a desk no more than seven feet away from Westly. The dark blue light created a clear outline of person behind the desk. He was large with clearly defined muscles from his shoulders to his hands. Both of his forearms sported tattoos of a wolf devouring the world and all its inhabitants. His skin was quite dark, allowing him to remain virtually invisible even under the light. The attribute that stood out the most to Westly was his eyes, fixated like a predatory animal waiting to strike its prey. Westly opened the paper bag. He removed two bottles of liquid. The first was a fiber green smoothie. He set it on the floor a few feet from the desk. The other bottle was a large bottle of vodka. He set the bottle of vodka a few feet on the other side of the desk. After positioning both bottles, he walked to the far-left side of the desk and pulled out the revolver. Immediately after he lifted it out his coat and the glimmer of the silver was spotted by all, the clicking sound of assault rifle filed the room. The figure behind the desk held his hand up and the rifles were returned to the resting position.

Westly cocked the hammer back. He gulped a large amount of saliva and fired. The bullet shattered both bottles and dug into the wall. In the same motion Westly sunk to his knees and began lapping up the vodka off the floor like a dog, trying to avoid licking the glass but it unavoidable. The crowd began to laugh. Every lap was another holler and hoot against Westly. Holly watched this display for about a minute before she marched over and picked Westly off the floor. She faced the figure behind the desk.

“Had enough fun Myron? Has he done enough to disgrace himself in your presence?” She shouted.

The room fell silent. Not a soul moved. The figure behind the desk pointed to one of the guard groups huddled against the wall. The sconce lit up even brighter allowing the whole room to be visible. It was a well-designed lounge. The floor was wooden with a wet bar in the far counter. The desk that the figure sat behind was large, oak stained black. The man sitting behind it though was the only thing that caught Holly’s eye. His dreadlocks fell beyond his shoulders, creating a mane like appearance on his broad torso. His face was covered with a long salt and pepper mustache and dragged down all way to his chin. The sides of his neck showed major scar tissue from several wounds throughout the years. He pulled himself out of his chair. The click of the metal in his boots as he approached Holly creaked on the floor. He stared down at her as she noticed he carried a .45 Sig Sauer that was holstered against his ribs. He breathed out his nose.

“Five minutes,” he said in a commanding whisper.