DIRTY RIDER
CHAPTER ONE
Th e driver of the semi emerged from his cab with a furious expression on his face. Nolan "Sarge" Pierce allowed the trucker’s fury to wash over him. The two had nothing personal against each other. Of course the man was bothered. No one liked to be hi-jacked. His truck was weighed down with his load. He was then abandoned on the side of the road as if he were a piece of trash from the inside of the cab. Fucking shit. It was humiliating. Nolan understood that much. He understood the frustration the man was feeling. He was still planned to take the man's truck and to abandon him on the side of the road, but he understood.
Nolan wasn't sure what had tipped him off. Maybe the corner of his eye saw more than he believed. Maybe he could hear the hammer of the revolver clicking back, and maybe it was a sixth sense that put all the available information into the right order and that 'heard' the man pulling that gun with the intent of putting Nolan down. However one might choose to explain it, Nolan spun on the balls of his feet with a blurring speed and put his fist into the truck driver's forehead with the force of a hammer blow. He knocked the man into a quaking dance before collapsing into unconsciousness. The driver hit the ground, the .45 Colt revolver falling from his hand. The driver's body twitched as if there were live wires with popping and sparking.
An adrenaline rush consumed Nolan's blood stream as he kicked the revolver out of the driver's hand and then picked the weapon up, easing back the hammer and setting the safety latch. He shook with the urge to put a round into the asshole's head.
"Easy Sarge, he's down. Murder's more heat than this job needs." Catman told him, coming up to his side and looking down at the driver. "Fuck man. I never even saw him going for that gun. Nice reflex, putting him down like that."
Rick "Catman" Wayne, was one of three other Satan's Soldiers MC patch holders on this job. The others were handling the co-driver and checking the load before taking it back on the road. Rick was lean, fast and ruthless. Right now, however, he was stunned and flatfooted. Nolan darted his glance from the body of the downed driver to Rick and nodded, "Not sure how I saw it either, but you're right. Killing isn't worth the load. Get him to the side of the road."
Nolan was still shaking with pent up fury and souring adrenaline when the load checkers gave him the thumbs up. The trailers were brimming with cigarettes. Cigarettes were worth the weight of pure gold in California where the taxes on were cigarettes skyrocketing through the roof. They could turn both trailers over in less than a week. There was no need to worry about warehousing, or extended periods of holding the cargo. This shit would sell fast with major cash value.
Nolan jumped into the truck cab, got the engine rolling and pulled away from the curb. He pushed through the gears, hammering the diesel engine up to speed. Twenty miles and a warehouse dump lay ahead of him. Another driver would take the rig to Mexico by morning, selling it for chopping. It was a good heist, better than most. Other than almost being shot by an old trucker with a mean ass snub-nose, it was an easy take.
Nolan's hands squeezed the wheel, and he breathed in controlled intakes, calming himself down. "Fuck that was close," he shuddered. Nolan smiled at the rush, and then he was laughed as he guided the truck back onto the freeway, enjoying the engine roar and the rush.
* * *
The hi-jack of the cigarette shipment was perfect. No one was hurt, killed or arrested. The truckers were alive, so there was no murder-heat to push the investigation over-the-line. As far as missions were concerned, this one went down perfectly. In fact, a third of the load had already been converted to cash and out of the holding warehouse. It was textbook, it was art, it was the dream of every heist... so
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