Saturday Night's Alright
A Pink Dormouse Production
At first she was shocked by how much she had missed the thrill of the kill. Then, after a few weeks of drinking more than she should, followed every time by brawling with the bouncers at chuck-out time, she decided that it was not so surprising after all. Everyone she knew ate well that winter.
But hunting for food was not the same as hunting for revenge. And nothing at all like pitching herself against an equal opponent.
So she ran with the Scorpions - souped up the Guzzi, bought an old jacket from the auction at the speedway and had an artistic ex paint it with serpents and rainbows, drank less beer and more moonshine.
She never bedded any of them, though. Banged plenty of their womenfolk, even went back with Nils and Mylo to watch them make like particularly violent bunnies, but she always stopped short of getting that deep into the gang.
Summer came and she got a job as a roadie for a bunch of popular, but not a patch on Hawkwind, psychedelic rockers. She hauled amps, drove the truck, even went up on stage after they sacked the bassist for being less reliable than the other four together. She kept in contact with the Scorps - they were her direct line to good drugs and news of home. But still it was strictly business between her and the guys.
Winter came around again and she went back to the city. She showed Dariel her new tats and the chain looping through three holes in her right ear. He led her into his office, sat her down and told her what he wanted from her.
So she was back to running with the Scorps, acting as the link between their sources of income and Dariel's more legitimate businesses. Months passed, seasons changed and she loved it. Forgot that the adrenaline rush always had a price in the end. She bought flowers in Roal's memory every full moon, but somewhere along the way she maybe forgot that he had died because of the last time they had begun to think themselves immortal.
"New gang in town," Mylo told the assembled bikers. "They're getting above themselves, but that ends at the next new moon."
Marianne sharpened her knives, cleaned and double-checked her guns, stripped the Guzzi down and rebuilt it. Then she was ready.
Nils was out of town, working a deal with one of the West Coast gangs. Mylo was on edge; it never did for him to be alone too long. The Scorpions coasted down to the building where their enemies were holed up, laid their bikes down without a sound, then with Mylo initiating the war cry they charged.
She fought; she watched men fall; she fought some more. At the end she stood in the centre of the old barn, blood and smoke rich in her nose and cascading through her veins. Mylo looked back at her. Then he took a step forward, and raked his tongue all the way up the knife wound that ran the length of her left cheekbone.
"Your place or mine?" he asked.
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