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Rated: E · Fiction · Family · #2072705
A Motorcycle Mama's stolen cub Nightmare from doctorhowlersnightmaresblog.wordpress.com.
Harley-Davidson motorcycles, a missing cub, and the Mojave Desert provide the backdrop for this Nightmare. And, like the old adage says, "Hell really does have no fury like a woman scorned" or a Mama Bear on the prowl.


I am a woman with a heart of gold. The kind who would not even harm a flea. But, I am also a new mother and my baby son is my whole life. Don't mind the tattoos that cover my arms. I ride a Harley and belong to a motorcycle gang. And, your point is, amigo? I am also a peaceful woman, to a point. But, do not press me. Especially where Hunter is concerned.

My divorce was particularly nasty. Chalk that up to the moron I married. Biggest mistake I ever made. What an absolute L-O-S-E-R! Hey, maybe I loved his hog more than I ever loved him.

Hunter was only ten weeks old, and I have full custody of him. I provide him with everything a growing boy needs including food, diapers, and plenty of spoiling love. I also had a real bad feeling about having to, believe me by court order only, allow my ex-husband, and I use that term very loosely, to take Hunter for the weekend.

This was the first time he would have my son without supervision, and I had an uneasy feeling something was going to happen. Needless to say, it did.

The weekend passed and it was now Monday morning. Hunter had not been safely returned back to me. My ex-old man had skipped town. He was not supposed to leave with my son to go anywhere. Now this Mama Bear was on the warpath. I was royally pissed off, and, as they say, there is nothing worse than a scorned woman. All out war had been declared to get my baby back

Rumor had it the dipstick I had once been shacked up with had ferreted Hunter across the state line to California. Somewhere out in the middle of the Mojave Desert. All kinds of red flags were waving. See, he had done time for doing things to little tykes he should not have done.

That was long before I ever hooked up with him. He had ridden with my boys under the stars one night, and I guess rocks got in my head. One thing led to another and spreading my legs just felt so right. So, into lust I did give. Told you it had been the biggest mistake of my life.

Now, two things were going to immediately happen. I grabbed my Glock and called the boys. All for one and one for all. That is the creed of our gang. When one of us needs help, no doubt about it, it's there...in spades. My boys wanted blood, almost as much as I did. The law of this jungle says the fittest survives. And, as the gang's leader, no one questioned my call. They just mounted their rides and we headed west.

It would not take us but about three hours to reach our destination. Then, all Hell would break loose. Still, I remained as cool as the other side of the pillow, and as collected as a she-wolf on the prowl could be. Of course, what I planned to put my ex through did run rampantly through my mind. Oh, he would rue the day he was born. That would be all the pleasure he would ever know again.

The sun was blasting down as we made our way into the desert. I raised my clinched fist, and my boys circled their bikes around me waiting for my instructions. Which were simple. Reportedly, the small hole-in-the-wall known as Redwood was our stopping point. I had been informed of this before we began our trek.

I told the boys to ride in and ask around in the only beer joint I saw on the dusty dirt road that ran through the town. I also informed them if we didn't get the answers I wanted to tear the place up. My boys liked the sound of those words. They wanted some action, and with my baby on the line, I was not going to deny them their enjoyment.

We rode into town with a cloud of dust trailing behind our bikes. Arriving at the two-bit joint, I dismounted first. My companions in tow. Then, I made my way into the bar, slowly looked around, and found the bartender. He was about to sing the blues. The patrons in the packed place smelled the trouble we intended causing brewing, and some of them narrowly escaped out the back door as fast as they could fly. I got right up in the bartender's face. I could smell his whiskey breath.

I forcefully demanded what I wanted to know, and he, wiping the top of the bar down with a damp rag, told me, "Ma'am, I don't want to problems."

Ma'am. I liked his manners. Proved he knew his station in life, and indicated he had a remote possibility of living to see the sun come up tomorrow.

"That's your call," I shortly told him, saying, "all I want is my little boy back. All safe and sound like. Seen him?" I demanded.

"Was here an hour back," the bartender told me. He stared at my boys just milling around waiting for my word to trash him and his establishment.

Then, the bartender told me, "There's an old shack half mile outside of town. He had a few. Said he planned to turn the kid over to some people. Something about ten big ones."

I patted the bartender gently on the side of his cheek, and said, "That's all I needed to know. Now, here's your ticket to breathing air. GET!!! Before one of my boys here gets a little antsy and starts a little carving party I won't be able to stop."

Never saw a seventy-year-old codger run so fast in all my live long days. I grabbed a bottle of his best from the counter and sauntered out the door, giving my boys a two-finger salute. While they had their fun dismantling the place I'd wait for them outside.

The shack the bartender told me about seemed deserted as we rode up revving our throttles loud as thunder. I spotted my ex's Goldwing half concealed behind it. Just like him to be too stupid to even conceal his bike so it could not be seen from the road. Ever wanted to push a motorcycle over with a loud crash? He would not be needing his any more. But, the sound made his crawl out of his hidey hole.

"You got one half split second to give me Hunter!" I adamantly warned him, remarking, "And, time's up!" With the loaded Glock in my hand I said, "Then, I blow your brains out where you stand!"

He froze in place. "I can explain," he uselessly tried to tell me knowing I had the bead on him.

"Here's all the explaining that's going to happen," I snapped back at him, telling one of my boys, "grab your chain. I see a little dragging party in your immediate future."

My comment terrified my ex. And, well it should have. Being dragged behind a roaring bike, at a high speed, doesn't leave much of a body behind. And, that I decided, was my ex's fate. My boy turned to his saddlebag and extracted a ten foot long metallic chain. My ex stood there knowing his worthless life was over.

Heading inside the run down, dilapidated, rickety old shack, I instructed him, "Let me grab Hunter first."

Inside I picked my son up and cradled him closely in my arms. Then, I walked back outside and remounted my Harley. I fired it up and told my boys, "Meet you back in Nevada."

And, that is how the deal went down. I am one Mama Bear who's cub you do not mess with. My boys and I still ride, and we are our peace loving selves, as we have always been.

Sleep tight my little munchkins!

Until next time -- Doctor I.B. Howler, Nightmareologist

© Copyright 2016 Brett Matthew West (brettmw at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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