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-Get Lost-



We buried Jim a week after the prison raid.


It was somewhere quiet, in Colony Island.


Jackie and the kids, both of them, came. So did some of the boys from the Broker chapter, so did us guys from the Alderney chapter. At least what was left of us. Three bums and a cripple. By then I'd cut off all the patches on my jacket, so I looked out of place amongst the out-of-placers. A lone jackass with an empty cut, staring into space as everyone mourned for a guy they barely knew, or knew too much.


I remember Terry saying something about Guineas while the priest was doing his thing, standing over his closed casket, talking about forgiveness, love, God and other assorted bullsh*t.


All meaningless. Regardless, I told him to shut the f*ck up and respect the dead.


I couldn't stop staring at the casket. At Jim. At the man who gave me the best years of my life, my brother in arms. Dead on a cheap pinebox, to be thrown inside the dirt for all eternity, still forever.  I couldn't think of a worse fate.


There wasn't even enough left of him for an open box. When Ash told me about Jim, I didn't ask her how she'd found out. Turns out it was all over the news.One of Ray's guys found Jim while he was trying to gather his guys in Northwood. For some reason or another, they thought nobody would be stupid enough to chase them into the subway tunnels.

As it turns out, they were. Thinking back at what happened back at the museum, I could guess who Ray sent to kill him. That crazed polack f*ck. I never saw him again, but I couldn't see a guido doing that, chasing two bikers in-between trains.

Jim lost control of his bike and slammed head-first into the L-Train. Clay told me his body split in two all over the cab, his bike trashing the engine block and almost derrailing an entire subway train.


Line shut down for a day, name and face plastered all over the news, scraped off enough pieces and powerwashed away enough blood to shove him into a casket and sent to Jackie after the reporters were done tearing her apart.

I couldn't look at her straight anymore. This was all my goddamned fault.


One of the Broker guys said he died doing what he loved, f*cking up public transport.

It took all of my inner strenght not to tear him a new asshole on the spot, right there.


I thought about going after Ray when the funeral was done, just show up in Drusilla's, with Terry and Clay and a six-pack of molotovs, leave no man standing.

But I didn't have it in me. It didn't matter anyways, someone killed him in a car bombing a month later. Just as Stubbs said.

After that, I just kind of… wandered off. We dug up the money eventually, I gave Jackie half and split the rest with the boys. Then I  Left. I didn't have it in me. Not anymore.  I wanted to think there were good times, that it was worth it, but it wasn't. After everything that happened, seeing brothers turn on brothers, family killing each other, it all became hollow. Burning the bar was the final word, and Jim's funeral was the closing dot.


I got a cheap house somewhere quiet, somewhere I wouldn't be bothered. Got a sh*tty job, got sh*ttier everyday clothes, brought a cheap cage to ride around, put the hexer under wraps and left it there, it wasn't the original anyways, that one got blown up.

There was no point to it, the outlaw lifestyle. I'd be easy to say we thought we were cowboys, but really weren't,  but in a way, we were. We were pariahs that society casted aside and that progress stomped over while we killed each other over sh*t that didn't matter. We looted, f*cked and killed our way into an early grave and a sh*tty life we thought was our own. It wasn't.

Terry and Clay disagreed. Didn't matter much, we lost contact after the funeral. We hung a couple of times but what was the point? 
They joined up with the Broker chapter, and that was it for them, last thing I heard they were living somewhere on Hove Beach.

And Ash? Dead. Only way her story was gonna end was in a dark corner somewhere, the needle half stuck in her limp arm. I couldn't even bring myself to see her one final time, there was nothing left of the girl I loved in there. Just a dried up husk.

As for Angus, only one I still talk with. He moved on. So did I, I suppose. He told me the other day about an article The Liberty Tree did on us, a perspective on Billy's "Reign of Terror" and what happened when I took over. They didn't really bother trying to contact me.

Maybe it's for the best. Fade away forever. Let the past rest for once.

I think writing this helped. Even if it was only a little bit. I may do this more often.

-John Klebitz, August, 2015.




Creator's note: If you actually bothered reading this, I give you my most sincere thanks. I don't know what came over me but I had to write something and I had TLAD fresh on my mind. Special thanks to @Jeansowaty and @BrynnaDaRosa for beta reading and giving me ideas and @donnits for the cover.

Edited by Datalvarezguy
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  • 3 weeks later...
Jimmy Cast

Very well done sir. I've always been intrigued by what happened to Johnny Klebitz in the years leading up to his death and this is very interesting take.

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