The two motorcycles eased to a stop on the crest of the ill-lit road. It wound its way down towards the woods and passed the only hotel for miles around, but one that was bypassed by anyone who had any sense. Why? Because it was well known as the headquarters of the infamous Lucifer’s Disciples motorcycle gang, the scourge of the state. They were behind almost every major crime committed in the state. No one dared cross them, many had tried, many had disappeared without a trace. They had informants everywhere, police raids left with nothing. It seemed they reigned with impunity, under the leadership of big Jake, powerful, cunning and ruthless.
The two motorcycles eased down the road, their headlights cutting twin swathes of light through the darkness. They were whisper-quiet, both powered by electric motors, sacrilegious to a true biker. A motorcycle with no sound was no motorcycle. The hotel was a hubbub of noise. Bikers spilled out onto the front verandah, those still reasonably alert, noticed the lights of the two machines approaching. It was with utter astonishment that they saw the two ease to a halt in front of the hotel, and both riders dismount. The astonishment increased tenfold when they removed their helmets and turned out to be two blonde-haired women, each wearing a long leather coat, and knee-high boots. They deposited their helmets on their bike handlebars, mounted the steps to the verandah, swept past the gaping bikers and entered the bar. Women only ever entered the hotel by invitation, as guests or appendages of the men. There were a few sprinkled around the room, who gawped, as the men did, as the two women stepped up to the bar.
The room fell silent. It was like an old time western movie when a stranger walked into a saloon.
“Two beers please,” one woman requested in a low melodious voice.
The bartender stuttered and looked around apprehensively.
“Is there a problem?” the same melodious voice asked.
The bartender shook his head, then asked, “Glass or schooner?”
He poured the beers and pushed them over the bar towards them. They paid him. There was a murmuring of voices, then the front doors crashed open and big Jake strode in. As befitting his name, he was a big man, around 130 kg, most of it muscle, long grey hair tied in a ponytail, an equally long grey beard, two gold earrings, dressed in his usual garb of black jeans, black cowboy boots, black tee-shirt and vest. Surprisingly, he only had one tattoo, an ornate L carved into his left cheek. He strode up to the two women, who looked at him with disinterest, as they sipped their beer. He stopped, looked them up and down, and said mildly, “Are those your bikes outside?”
“Yes,” one answered.
“You’re going to have to move them. They’re in my space.”
“Oh, we weren’t aware that the space was reserved.”
“Well, now you do.”
“Do you mind if we finish our drinks?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Isn’t that a bit unreasonable?”
“I really don’t give a damn. I want you to move your bikes. Now!”
“No. We will finish our drinks, then we will move our bikes.”
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
“Then the consequences will be on your head.”
“What the hell does that mean.”
“I have a feeling you are about to find out.”
Big Jake stepped forward. The next minute he staggered back as blonde number one whipped out a taser and thrust it into his chest. He gave a squeal and collapsed to the floor. Blonde number two took out a laser-like weapon, aimed it up at the ceiling and the light went out. There was a scramble as bikers fell over each other while the two women donned night vision glasses and calmly walked out of the bar. Outside they discarded them. They purposefully moved to their machines and removed an assortment of weapons from their panniers. Flare guns were fired into the rows of motorcycles which were soon ablaze. Yells came from the hotel as bikers tumbled out of the hotel to find their bikes on fire, and frantically ran around looking for ways to extinguish the fires. Then the two women calmly lobbed flashbangs into the hotel through the front doors and windows. They had no wish to unnecessarily hurt anyone, however, they would defend themselves if the need arose. But the place needed to be taken down. It had served as a den of iniquity for too long. They mounted their bikes and noiselessly rode to the back of the building. Several gas bottles stood next to one of the back walls. They would do nicely. Two expertly placed bullets fired from a short distance away saw the tanks explode against the back walls which were soon ablaze. A call and the police and fire brigade were on the way. Hopefully, the damage would be enough to put a serious dent in their activities. Satisfied with their night’s work, the two rode off into the night.
Thirty minutes later, the two borrowed electric motorcycles had been returned to their rightful owners. Blonde wigs had been discarded, and Julie and Vanessa, both serving police officers, whose policemen husbands had been injured in clashes with the gang drank a quiet toast to what they considered to be a good night’s work. They had taken the law into their own hands but it seemed the only way. Hopefully, their actions had put a dent in the actions of Lucifer’s Disciples.