Death of a King

Chapter 1

Jake's inquisitorial eyes fell on me, "You're not going?"

I shrugged, "Not really feeling it. Besides, I'd have to ask my dad and ... well ..."

Jake knew my living situation better than Kendra. Throughout our many late night talks, I've told Jake about my biggest fears and concerns, and my biggest irritations with the primary one being my family. More so, my father.

"One of you has to come." Kendra whined from the back, "I can't go by myself."

"My mom doesn't want me out tonight." Jake explained, tapping the steering wheel to the beat of a song, "Because of that guy they're letting out of jail. She saw it on the news this morning."

My ears perked at that, "Huh?"

"Oh yeah!" Kendra nodded a little too quickly, "My parents were talking about that this morning too. Apparently the whole town is pissed because he has to pass through here to get home."

This was the first time I've heard of such news. I turned sideways in my seat to better view Kendra, "Why is everyone pissed?"

Her eyebrows shot up, "You don't remember?" When I shook my head she continued speaking with growing enthusiasm at being able to gossip over something I had no idea about, "Sometime last year the cops found that body near old highway 57 just over the hills. The guy had been shot in the face so many times that the police had to identify him with dental records, the family couldn't even recognize him."

"Supposedly he was found wearing Reaper colors." Jake added and it was that piece of information that brought back the details of this story.

The Reapers were a local gang, and while they were terrifying in their own right, it was not them my community feared. The Reapers have been long time rivals of the Tribe, a gang of motorcyclists with a reputation that stretched a nation wide. They were stationed in the south but made frequent trips to this town for reasons no one has ever been able to guess though most assume it's for business.

Illegal business.

But one thing was certain, the streets weren't safe when the Tribe was in town. They were the kind of men made from nightmares, they swept through like the plague and disappeared long before anyone noticed. Until it was too late. Until bodies were littered on the street and blood stained the sidewalks. A scene I still remember from last fall.

"A witness came forward, like, a week later and pinned the murder on Dustin King. He claimed it was in self defense and since the only witness was a fellow gang member of the Reapers, his incarceration was set for three years." Kendra explained, growing a little quieter towards the end. Her eyes danced around as if someone might hear her say, "And now they're letting him out early on account of good behavior. Or so I hear."

Dustin King.

That name was legendary around these parts. The leader of the Tribe has never been seen or photographed, he's nothing more than a myth. Dustin King, however, is no stranger to the local newspapers or morning news reports. Almost any major crime can be linked back to him, many of which he's happily taken credit for.

I was in middle school when Dustin's name started popping up in the news. At first it was petty crimes like theft or vandalism. But it quickly escalated from there and now there's hardly a day that goes by where his name isn't mentioned. Instead of playing Bloody Mary, we'd play Call the King, a local version where if you said his name three times in a mirror and then heard the revving of a motorcycle, you were marked for death.

It was a stupid game created by a bunch of bored preteens but even I have to admit, there were times when I played it and could have sworn I heard the ghostly thunder of a distant engine.