Taking The Heat (14 page)

As I shifted my gaze to the fellas, I continued, “So I’m behind this fucker, and his tailgate on the truck is down, and the back is full of construction shit: tools, shovels, a tool box, and this fucking wheelbarrow. I’m behind him about twenty feet, following pretty close, and I’m studying this wheelbarrow. It’s bouncing up and down, and I’m thinking
is this motherfucker tied down?
”

“So I study it, and I watch it wobble around for a few miles. Now you know how when you see something like that you try and decide if it’s a threat or not?” I asked.

Biscuit reached into his saddlebag, “Red Bull anyone?”

I shook my head. As Biscuit took a drink, he nodded his head eagerly, “I sure as fuck do. I pay attention to all that shit. Hell, Brother, you gotta keep your eyes peeled.”

“Okay, so we hit this expansion joint or whatever, and this fucking wheelbarrow flies out of the back of his truck. Now I’m tooling along about 80 miles a fucking hour, and this motherfucker comes out and right toward me. Fucker’d have killed me if I didn’t react,” I shrugged.

Biscuit’s eyes widened as he took another sip of Red Bull, “So?”

“Well, I grabbed a handful of brake and laid on the back brake, car behind me damn near hit me. Let off the brakes and immediately swerved right, into the fucking narrow part that has the drunk bumps on it. Came to a complete stop and collected my thoughts,” I hesitated, knowing there was more to the story, and Otis had heard it a few times.

Biscuit waved his free hand in my direction, “Holy shit, that’s a good one. Better’n mine, for sure.”

“Tell him the rest,” Otis laughed.

“There’s more?’ Biscuit asked.

I glanced toward the car. The man sat up in the seat slightly, looked our direction momentarily, and lowered himself back down into the seat. I glanced toward Otis and considered saying something about the car.

“Uhhm, yeah. When I pulled off the side of the road, the fucking wheelbarrow immediately smacks the car behind me in the front, he hits his brakes, and the fucking thing flips over the top of his car and lands in the windshield of the car behind him. The fucker with the wheelbarrow in the windshield hits the car in
front
of him; which was the guy behind me. I sat and watched this shit like it wasn’t even real. After about thirty seconds, there’s a ten car pile up, one of which has a fucking wheelbarrow stuck in his windshield.”

“Jesus jumped up Christ. Did ya run down the cocksucker in the truck?” he asked.

“No, I stayed and helped out with the accidents. Filled out police reports, and bullshit like that. But they caught the guy,” I nodded.

“Serves the dumb fuck right,” Biscuit said as he stomped his boot on the empty can, smashing it flat.

“Tell him how they caught him,” Otis said.

I looked at Otis and rolled my eyes.

Otis slapped Biscuit on the shoulder and began to tell his version of the story, “Ol’ Toad here knows the tag number. After all that bullshit, car wrecks, and such, the cop asks if anyone got the plate number of the truck. Hell, it’s been an hour after the shit goes down. Toad says yeah, I got it memorized; it’s BR549 or whatever the fuck it was. Fucking guy pays attention to all kinds of stupid details, but this time it paid off.”

“He’s a nervous acting fucker sometimes, that’s for sure. Yeah, I notice shit too, motherfucker, I been noticing you starin’ at that car across the street since we got here. What the fuck’s wrong with you today?” Biscuit asked.

“Nothing’s
wrong
. Fucker just makes me nervous. We’ve been here about twenty minutes, and the fucker’s been sitting over there waiting,” I snapped.

“Yeah, parked cars freak me out too,” Biscuit laughed.

“Fuck you, Biscuit. I’d rather have my shit wired tight then get blindsided,” I hissed.

Biscuit carried the smashed can to his bike and dropped it into the saddlebag. As he glanced up, he continued, “Yeah, Austin is full of ISIS and Al Qaeda.”

Fuck you, motherfucker. You wouldn’t make it ten minutes in combat.

I turned to face Otis. As I shook my head and lifted my shoulders slightly; the sound of people coming out of the building shifted my focus to the door. Several men walked out, got on their bikes, and left. Others lingered, standing by their bikes talking. As Axton walked out talking to a man dressed in cargo shorts and a wife beater, I laughed to myself at his choice of attire. He looked like a big, bald, musclebound weight lifter wearing tennis shoes. Knowing he either had to walk here or ride one of the bikes parked, I assumed he must have rode one of the bikes. More than likely, considering the fact he wasn’t wearing a cut, he was one of the potential members of the new club. .

What a fucking idiot.

“Couple of these fellas are going to roll with us to the bar. Said we ought to go to the Red Shed Tavern,” Axton turned to face the big idiot as he finished speaking.

The big bald man nodded his head as he walked in our direction beside Axton. I stared down at his shoes and shook my head in disbelief. As he approached, he pulled his right hand from the pocket of his shorts.

You better not even try, you wannabe motherfucker.

Although most people don’t realize it, there’s an unwritten rule regarding shaking a 1%er’s hand. Most outsiders perceived the standoffish nature as arrogance, but in reality it was more a precautionary measure and a means of not affiliating ourselves with someone who didn’t
measure up.
If an outsider ever approached a 1%er and introduced himself with an outstretched hand, most would be met with a blank stare. Not many 1%er’s would be willing to shake the hand of a man they didn’t know. If another 1%er introduced that person, however, it would act as a reassurance of the outsider being a stand-up guy and confirmation he was worthy of a formal introduction. At that point, if the fellow 1%er didn’t shake the hand of the outsider, it would be disrespectful to the man introducing him. I wasn’t in any way willing to shake the hand of this oversized bald headed motherfucker covered in a combination of garage and free world tattoos.

As I pressed my palms into my armpits and crossed my arms over my chest, I noticed a few more men walk from the building. One, in particular, immediately caught my attention. I shifted my gaze from the big bald idiot toward the door.

Can’t be…

You’re dead.

I blinked my eyes in disbelief. As Axton and the oversized bald-headed fool stopped in front of the three of us, I stepped around Axton without speaking and stared toward the two men standing by the door. Seeing one of the two men caused me to immediately feel a flood of indescribable emotion.

The man, dressed in jeans, desert boots, and a white tee-shirt, stood talking to another man who wasn’t wearing a cut. The man he spoke with was wearing an oversized black hoodie and looked nervous. I wiped my eyes, shook my head, and stared. This was impossible. As I stood filled with skepticism and stared, the man gazed my direction. As our eyes met, the look on his face confirmed my suspicion.

But you died…

TOAD

After the explosion of a roadside bomb severely injured several Marines in our small convoy, myself included, we were removed from what was left of our Humvees, and the more seriously wounded were treated by a Corpsman while waiting on a medevac chopper. The entire area immediately took tremendous fire from insurgents in the small village, primarily from the rooftops of surrounding buildings. As every one of the vehicles in the convoy was damaged, all we could do was wait.

Wait and hope.

A highly decorated Staff Sergeant who was in our convoy took a large piece of shrapnel to the hip, and was bleeding profusely. Refusing treatment, and with only one useful leg, he drug himself to a position of cover, propped himself against the rear of an abandoned car, and began returning fire. I attributed my having survived for the amount of time it took to be medevaced out to his bravery and courage. As I was literally being carried to the chopper, I watched in horror while he was shot twice as he attempted to crawl away from the cover of the car. I later learned upon returning to my battalion that he had died while being treated for his wounds.

Now, I stood in sheer disbelief as I either stared at his twin, or was simply losing my mind.

It can’t be…

“Staff Sergeant Jacob!” I yelled.

The man immediately straightened his posture and turned to face me. For a long moment, he stood and gazed my direction. As he slowly walked away from the man in the hoodie, his mouth began to curl into a smile.

“Sergeant Todelli? The fucking Toad? Holy shit, Brother, I thought you were dead,” he exclaimed as he approached.

“Fuck, I got medevaced out, treated, handed a Purple Star, and went right fucking back. But I watched you get killed,” I said as I stretched my arms outward.

“Holy shit, I thought you
died
from that wound. I was out damned near six months with mine, but far from dead. Longest six months of my fucking life. Had to beg those bastards to send me back; when I got to battalion they said you were dead,” he said.

“Far from it,” I sighed.

“The medevac chopper flew out, and I laid in the fucking street returning fire until a Corpsman drug me behind that building. Cocksucking sniper shot me twice, but your chopper hadn’t made it out yet. Hell, I had to stay and make sure my Marines got out of there safely,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me and slapped me on the back.

“
Ready for anything, counting on nothing
,” I said, reciting the motto of the 2/7 Marines.

“Isn’t that the truth. Damn, it’s good to see you,” he said as he leaned back and studied me from head to toe.

“Good to be seen,” I said, “And fuck it’s good to know you’re alive.”

My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. Full of emotion, adrenaline, and memories of the battle, I looked down at my hands. Shaking almost uncontrollably, I was filled with the excitement of being reunited with a Marine who I was certain was dead. Not only was he a 2/7 Marine and a true brother, he was someone I perceived as a modern day hero; a man who risked his life in an effort to save the lives of many others who were in much better condition to fight than he was, including myself. On many occasions and many nights, I recalled the battle in Haditha and his heroism. I also attributed my having lived through that particular day of combat to his act of selflessness. I lived my post-war life filled with the deepest feelings of regret; knowing I could never repay him for saving my life. Standing before him now, I began to wonder how much of my PTSD, and more particularly, what portion of my Survivor’s Guilt could be attributed to my
belief
that he gave his life in exchange for mine on that memorable day.

As I gazed upward, I noticed all of the men gathered in a circle around the few bikes which remained parked. The man in the shorts and the man in the hoodie stood by Otis. Axton stared in the mirror of his bike as he pressed his index finger against his ear. As Axton glanced in my direction, he grinned.

“I’m guessing you two fuckers don’t need an introduction?” he growled.

“Not at all,” I chuckled, “So what the fuck are you doing
here
?”

“Trying to start a new chapter for our club. Just trying to make sure we don’t step on any toes,” he responded.

“One percent club?” I asked.

“I’m not a one percenter, no. We don’t claim territory, and we don’t have any hustle. We just ride and have a deep brotherhood. It’s a nationwide group of firefighters, military, and friends of. We can talk about it at the bar. Damn it’s good to see you. Let me introduce you to the soon to be Vice President and Sergeant at Arms. Two of the best motherfuckers to ever grace this earth,” he hesitated and held out his right arm.

As the big bald headed man in the tennis shoes approached, Staff Sergeant Jacob patted him on the shoulder.

“Big bastard here is Mike Ripton, but just call him Ripp. Ripp, this is Toad, a Marine brother of mine. Toad, this is the one and only Ripp,” he nodded.

I looked at the man dressed in cargo shorts and a wife beater. As I held out my hand, I chuckled, “Nice to meet you. Do you ride in those fucking tennis shoes?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet ya, but these ain’t tennis shoes, Brother. They’re fuckin’ Chuck’s,” he said as he lifted his leg, grabbed his foot, and held it at chest height. “And fuck, yes, I ride in ‘em. Hell, I even keep ‘em on when I fuck.”

God damn, that big son-of-a-bitch is limber.

“Ripp’s going to be the SAA. And this fella here,” he paused and pointed toward the man in the hoodie.

Holy fucking shit.

“You’re Shane fucking Dekkar,” I shouted.

He rolled his shoulders, extended his hand, and smiled, “Sure am. Pleasure to meet you, Sir. And call me Dekk.”

“You’ve got to be fucking shittin’ me. You’ve got the Heavyweight Champion of the fucking World as your Vice President?” I chuckled, “Otis, did you see this?”

“Sure as fuck did. Already met the man while you were zoned out,” Otis nodded.

“Pleasure to meet you Mr. Dekkar, call me Toad. And that fight a while back, against Brock? Best fucking fight I’ve ever seen. We all watched it in our clubhouse. Son-of-a-bitch that was a good fight,” I said excitedly as I shook his hand.

“Thank you, Sir, I appreciate it. He was a tough opponent,” he grinned.

Humble prick
.

As we all stood between the motorcycles and the building, I stepped away from the men and turned to face Staff Sergeant Jacob. Otis, Biscuit, Ripp, Shane Dekkar, and Staff Sergeant Jacob stood to my right behind our bikes. The bikes they were riding were several feet away, closer to the door. Axton stood to my immediate right, beside his bike and in front of the rest of the men, still fucking with his ear. With all of the men facing me except Axton, I proudly raised my hands. 

“Fellas, I want you to meet Staff Sergeant Jacob. Known by his Marine brethren as
The A-Train
, because when he’s coming, not a fucking thing can stop him,” I shouted as I raised my hands in the air and pointed toward Staff Sergeant Jacob.

“Well, if all you fuckers are done swapping spit and hugging each other, maybe we should head out to the bar,” Axton growled as he continued to study his ear in the mirror.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Ford Taurus from across the street slowly rolling into the narrow parking lot through the entrance on my far right.

“Axton, my two o’clock,” I said under my breath.

Axton lifted his blood soaked finger from his ear and stared at it. The car was slowly approaching behind him. As the Taurus began to speed toward our position, Staff Sergeant Jacob instinctively turned to face the car.

“Axton,
behind you
,” I said through my teeth as the car began to approach more rapidly.

Everyone turned around except Axton, who continued to fuck with his ear. Standing to my right, Staff Sergeant Jacob narrowed his gaze as he studied the driver. As he made eye contact, he bent his knees slightly and raised his hands as if preparing to fight. I didn’t like what I was seeing. I glanced toward the car. The driver slowly raised a pistol into sight.

“Remember me, motherfucker?” the driver said as he raised the weapon and pointed it in the direction of Axton and A-Train.

As the muzzle of the pistol tilted slightly, I realized he was going to fire the weapon. I instinctively jumped between the car window and where Axton and A-Train stood.

The deafening sound of the weapon being fired filled the air, immediately followed by a crushing pain in my chest. A burning feeling slowly washed over my entire upper body. Incapable of standing, and certain I was knocking on death’s door, I collapsed into Staff Sergeant Jacob’s arms.

As the noise of screaming and screeching tires became faint and indistinct, I heard the dull sound of a motorcycle start and speed away. Slowly, everything around me started to fade into a faint, fuzzy black and white. I began to feel as if I was being forced down through a tunnel of water, and to survive I needed to swim to a surface far from my reach. Paralyzed from moving a single limb, I continued to sink deeper and deeper. I realized all I could do was attempt to speak.

I’m coming to see you, Nonno.
I’ll be there real soon.

“God damn it, Sergeant, hold on. Open those eyes for me, Todelli. Talk to me…” a muffled voice said, “Get a fucking ambulance; we don’t have a way to get him out of here!”

I opened my eyes and stared blankly at Staff Sergeant Jacob. Regardless of my desire to do so, I couldn’t seem to force myself to talk. Eventually, as my eyes fell closed, the words began to roll from my dry tongue.

“We’re…you and me…we’re…” the blood vibrated in my lungs as I attempted to speak.

“Hold on Sergeant Todelli. Medevac’s en route. You hear that chopper, brother? It’s almost here,” the voice said.

As much as I realized I was dying, I felt I needed to say it. It was crucial to my recovery from a life I had lived for almost a decade; running from the fact I survived while others had lost their lives. I dug deep within my being and fought against the pain in my chest.

The blood filling my lungs gurgled as I struggled to force the words from my lips.

Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned. I pray that you may give me the strength to speak one last time.

Cradled in his arms, I stared upward and attempted to focus on Staff Sergeant Jacob’s eyes. Although I knew what I
wanted
to say, forcing the words from my lungs required more strength than I was capable of gathering. Channeling every bit of energy I could muster, and pushing against the pressure building in my lungs, I heard myself begin to produce audible sounds.

“We’re…even,” I eventually muttered.

And slowly everything turned to black.