Thread: Freedom on Two Wheels (Salinaahmed & Casketslinger)

Johnny Killer Kane woke up early, well early for his peer group anyway. It was actually mid afternoon and the sun was already high in sky but it's light barely cut through the smoke filled room in the back of the clubhouse. Beer bottles and needles were scattered on the nightstand next to the bed and as he tried to sit up he knocked it asunder causing quite a ruckus. The two naked hippy girls laying in bed next to him groaned and complained at the disturbance. Johnny gave one of their naked asses a slap before rising and starting the search for the clothes he'd discarded last night. His tall 6'4 frame was covered in homemade tattoos which filled most of his heavily muscled torso. He brushed back the oil slick of dark shaggy hair from his eyes and rubbed his face trying to fight off the hangover he was feeling. One of the beers he'd knocked over still had some left in it and he reached down and drank the flat, room temperature swill down hoping that the hair of the dog that had bit him would help a little, it did not. Johnny found his dirty blue jeans draped over a bar stool and pulled the stiff things on, taking note of his matted pubic hair from last night's escapades. His motorcycle boots weren't far away and he slipped them on next. Finally he found his 'Cut' underneath one of the unconscious hippies on the bed. The Cut was a sleeveless jean jacket covered in patches, the most important one being the large grim reaper on the back of it. That was the Club's insignia and above it on a banner called the top rocker read, 'Reapers' ,while the bottom rocker read, 'Chicago IL'. In the year of 1969 the Reapers were one of the most dangerous biker gangs in the midwest and Johnny Killer' Kane was there leader. The police watched them at every step because of their nefarious reputation for extreme violence, drug abuse, and dealing, as well as running guns to the west coast. All very profitable and highly illegal, these were the trades that were the bread and butter for the gang. The fringe benefits of this lifestyle were what Johnny liked best though, the hippy girl groupies, all the speed you could pump into your veins and the knowledge that you were the baddest motherfucker to ever walk the planet earth. There was business to attend to this morning afternoon which is why he was up this early. Johnny was supposed to go and meet with a contact that could get him large quantities of pot for dirt cheap prices. The guy lived far out of the city on some farm in the backwoods and the ride was gonna take some time out on the highway going west. His head was still foggy from the night before and the beer hadn't helped so he grabbed the syringe and popped some speed into his arm. That did the trick and Johnny walked out into the bar in the front of the Clubhouse. The 25 men that filled the ranks of the Reapers ranks were spread out throughout the bar, sleeping and snoring. Hey! Any of you Fucks awake enough to ride with your Prez out into the country? He called out but only got a few hungover groans in response. Fucking light weights! He hollered and then walked outside into the bright sunny day. The light burning his eyes he grabbed his shades out of his jacket and put them on. Johnny walked over to his first and only true love, a 1954 knuckle head chopper that was painted flat red. He kicked the engine over and revved the engine a few times before doing a burn out and setting off down the road.