The Book of Enoch: Lucky 7

By J. Don Wright

The siblings of the Family Enoch are named after the seven Archangels who sit in the presence of God. Anyone who knows them finds this ironic, as the seven are all equal partners in the most successful outlaw Motorcycle Club in Montana. Drugs, Protection, Trafficking in stolen goods, and Gun-running are all in a day's work. That is until the dark, moonless winter night when they're visited by their namesakes on the Interstate, riding home after closing their favorite watering hole. Each has their reason for deciding to help the seven visitors on their mission. Now, they must find and help the seven Asgardians sent to Earth with Dead or Alive warrants from the Council of the Nine Realms for Loki and his band of six giant demons. Loki and crew have destroyed Midgard and its 7 billion residents, and the Earth is next. The only real problem is; the siblings have to allow the Archangels to cohabitate within their minds in order for them to remain in an Earthly plane of existence. That and the Asgardians want nothing to do with them. They have seven days to find the demons and the world bomb they intend to use; somewhere in the Upper Cascade Mountains of Washington State. Otherwise, Rafael will go to the Sacred Mound in Jerusalem and sound the trumpet signaling the End of Days.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Front Porch Associates
• Release date: Mar 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393666783

J. Don Wright

J. Don Wright has been a public servant for over 45 years as a member of the US Military, Law Enforcement, Emergency Management, and being a general  Renaissance Man. Many of the details in his stories come from first-hand experience.

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ONE

THE BEER BOTTLER CLIPPED the top of my ear as it whistled past. I flinched and ducked involuntarily, even though that particular threat was over. I heard it shatter against the wall behind me. Rock was standing in his chair, arm cocked, ready to hurl another one in my direction.

Rocky, cut the shit, I bellowed across the crowded room. You’ll hurt someone.

As long as that someone’s name is Barry Enoch, I’m cool with it, he taunted, pitching the second longneck in my direction.

Rock got this way whenever he tied one on, which was every time he and his girl Darla had a fight. Which was more and more often lately; too often. It was a good thing he was a lousy shot when he was hammered. The second bottle actually hit the ceiling and caromed off the pool table without breaking, spewing a trail of foaming beer.

You do that again and they’re gonna throw us outta here, and then I’m gonna kick your ass, I said calmly. I was getting pissed, and I get quiet when I do. Folks who know me tend to leave me alone when I get quiet; but not my brother Zerachiel, or Rock as he was known. He enjoyed taunting me to levels of idiocy no one else could ever understand.

Like you could, he called, pirouetting in the chair, which danced dangerously under him but didn’t topple.

I waited until his back was to me and charged across the short distance. Grabbing him by the belt and waistband at the small of his lean back, I half-threw and half-dragged him to his knees.

Coward, attacking when my back is turned, he spit and fumed. Trying to elbow me in the balls from his hands and knees position, he succeeded in striking his funny bone against my shin. It didn’t feel good, but he collapsed to the filthy barroom floor, squealing and clutching his arm.

You scream like a little girl, I said, and cold-cocked him behind the ear. Dragging his limp 185 pounds into a chair, I propped him against the table on his uninjured elbow, laying his head on his forearm. Then I picked up the pool stick and went back to the game.

It’s a good thing he didn’t screw up my shot, I said to my other brother Rafe. I’m about to run the table.

In your dreams, said Gabe, the oldest of my six siblings. It was habit for us to ease the tensions of a long week’s work by unwinding at our favorite watering hole; Sheol Bar and Grille. The owner was Jewish.

You haven’t won a game of cutthroat in three months, Mike added. Michael was second-oldest, and different from the rest of us in every way that counts. Where all the other guys were tall and rangy with green eyes and red-haired, Mike was short, thickly-built, dark-skinned, and dark-eyes. Mom had been between husbands when he was conceived, and his father had been from Kenya. Mom picked him up in this same bar, and took him home for one night; Michael was born nine months later. Mom had never seen his father again, and had passed her pregnancy off as being the next sucker’s until Michael was born, when it became obvious. That clown left the hospital and never even came back for his clothes and belongings.

A commotion at the front of the bar drew all our attention. As we looked, an Amazon of a woman was busy kicking the shit out of a cowboy in a fringed leather jacket and red boots. Every time she kicked him as he lay curled up in a ball on the floor, her long red-gold hair fanned out behind her like a cape.

I guess we know who Jude is taking home tonight, Uri said quietly from the stool in the corner. She was always soft-spoken, even in a noisy bar; yet we always heard what she said. Tiny to the point of being child-like, my baby sister was the product of Mom’s last great love affair. He was a junkie, and had used just about every drug known to man, and some other things he’d just experimented with to see what they’d do. Uriel wasn’t supposed to have lived, being born three months premature, and addicted. We all agreed she was just too mean to die, yet.

Our bikes were lined up outside, and the parking lot around them was packed. But no one parked near the bikes. The last drunk who had knocked one over leaving the lot had been in a coma for six days.

I think the beer helped you make that shot, Michael said, gesturing at the spreading wet spot on the green felt.

Nah, the only cue ball ever affected by alcohol was the previous club President, I said casually. That man had been naturally bald, had no facial hair at all, and stayed indoors a lot. He and Gabe had disagreed on the direction of the MC, and Cueball had mysteriously disappeared, Heritage Classic and all.

If you make that shot, I’ll kiss your naked ass and give you 20 minutes to draw a crowd, Mike said, grinning. The last of my five balls sat near a corner pocket, with three of theirs in between it and the cue ball.

Turning my back to them, I said, Three rails, and smacked the cue straight on. It hit one cushion, bounced off in a line cleanly through their blockade, and hit the rail high above my remaining ball.

Mike laughed out loud. I knew you couldn’t make that shot, but then choked when the ball rolled down the rail and gently nudged the eight ball into the corner pocket.

That’s not possible, Gabe shouted. There’s no way you could put that kind of English on with two rails.

You guys keep forgetting that rail is dead, I reminded them. That cheap bastard Liminowicz has never fixed it.

I’m not honoring my bet because you cheated, Michael declared.

And what makes you think I’d let you or your woman-lips near my backside? I teased.

Michael could have his pick of women in most situations because he had the fullest, most sensual lips anyone had ever seen on a man. He’d had to punch out his share of amorous, too-drunk cowboys who fell in lust with his lips. Michael didn’t blush, but he did swell up.

"But, I am buying the next round with your money," I said, diffusing the situation as I picked up one of the three twenties from the counter next to the powder cone.

LOUD SCUFFLING DREW our attention to the corner by the restrooms. Rock had woken up and was trying to get into the ladies room. He was either too drunk to tell, or needed to go to bad to wait and the men’s was full. Two women waiting in line had other ideas. Before any of us could move, Uri danced across the room and grabbed Rocky by the crotch. Any need he had was temporarily curtailed, and she used her momentum to guide him out the back door. Rafe and I followed them out, because Rocky was a mean drunk.

Just piss against the building and quit being such a douche bag, Uri was saying.

Ahm nought a dush bag, he slurred, nearly incomprehensibly. But he did manage to find his fly and free himself before he wet his jeans. Zipping up, he rounded on Uri, finger extended. You ‘ave no righ’ toushin’ me dat way, he started, but Uri cut him short by tazing him. Rock yelped one brief note before collapsing in a heap on the oil-stained gravel.

He’s going to be royally ticked at you when he wakes up, Rafe said noncommittally.

He won’t remember it when he wakes up, Uri said quietly. She walked back inside, leaving us to tend to our wayward brother.

The sound of a big bore starting up greeted us as we bum-dragged Rocky around to the front. He was in no shape to ride, so we poured him into Gabe’s sidecar. Uri usually rode there, but she’d just have to ride bitch with one of her brothers, a fact she really hated. Jude was straddle of her Springfield Dark Horse and was making the straight pipes roar.

Get on, sweetie, don’t be afraid, she coaxed the still-bleeding cowboy she had recently been kicking on the floor of the bar.

Looking dubious, he swung a long leg over from the right side of the bike, earning him a swift elbow in the gut once he was settled. Always mount from the left, shit-for-brains, she snarled. Stamping the big 111 into first gear, she let the clutch out fast, not giving the cowboy time to do anything but grab two handfuls of her. Gravel flew against parked cars and trucks as she screamed out onto the highway. They were instantly swallowed up by the black night outside the pool of light in front of Sheol’s.

If he pukes in Gabe’s Tomahawk, he’s in for another ass-whippin’, Mike said, joining us and nodding at Rock.

Yeah, except Gabe will wait until he’s sober to deliver it, Rafe replied.

I wasn’t talking about Gabe, Mike said. "Uriel will stomp him if he ruins her hack. Hell, she paid almost eight grand for it, plus convincing Gabe to buy that Screamin’ Eagle to haul her skinny little ass around."

Don’t forget the three grand to bump it to 125 horses, either, Rafe added. With the hack off, he can almost take Mikey.

Yeah, but he still can’t take my one sixty, I added. Speaking of the Devil, and Gabe walked out the front door.

So much for the next round, Welch, he said, punching me in the left pec as he walked by.

I threw a leg over my Triumph Rocket III and thumbed the beast to life. Following the Prez’ lead, I filed in behind him; my place in the pack. The rest formed up behind us.

TWO

PLEDGE, IF YOU DON’T have that oil changed in 10 minutes, you’ll be eating off the floor the rest of the week, Rafe snarled at the newbie. The poor kid was scared spitless already, having just been recently accepted as a prospect. He’d hung around the bar and the clubhouse for almost a year before working up the nerve to actually ask.

Yes, sir, I’ll be done in five, he replied, a quaver in his voice.

And if you spill any on my ride, you’ll lick it off, once I get the motor good and hot, Rafe snarled again. He was doing a really good impression of Sgt. Hartman from Full Metal Jacket.

Rafe, Gabe needs to see you, Uriel called from the office door.

When I come out of this meeting, my ride better sparkle like a new penny, Rafe snarled one last time at the cowering pledge. Rafe was inordinately proud of his Victory Hammer High Ball, and lavished more attention on it than any current woman of choice in his life.

Close the door, Gabe said as Rafe walked in. I was already seated; as the Vice President, I attended or called every business meeting. Gabe and I took care of the business side of the club. Mike and Rafe took care of public relations, and Rock, our Sergeant-at-Arms, did the mean work when there was mean work to be done.

There’s a new club over on the west side of the state, he said, thumbing over his shoulder at a map of Montana behind his desk. They’ve started running Fentanyl and meth in from Seattle, thinking we either won’t notice or won’t care.

It’s 350 miles from Billings to Missoula, and we’ve got territory all the way to Casper, Rapid City, and Bismarck, Rafe looked puzzled. What’s the big deal?

The big deal, little bro, is that Montana is our state, Gabe said, jabbing the desk top with his finger for emphasis. And anyone wants to do business in our state pays tribute. So I need you, Mike, and Rocky to take a little road trip and explain to our new business partners how they will receive our undying support for 20% of their take. And we’ll want to see their books, of course.

And if they decide they don’t want to pay tribute? Rafe asked.

That’s why you’re taking Rock.

THE SEMI LOADED WITH Canadian whiskey is supposed to be here any time, I told the two pledges with me. It’s a very easy snatch and grab. The driver knows we’ll be here, and will pull over. He wants to make sure his wife and little girl stay safe and snug in their home in Billings, and he’ll make a nice payday as well.

On cue, the truck rolled around the bend on I-90 just north of Toluca and immediately began to slow. Coasting past the two bikes on the roadside, it stopped 50 feet away. Neither pledge had wanted to ride bitch for the 40 miles from the club to this spot, but I didn’t ride any man on the back of my Triumph.

Right in the middle of the straightaway, just like I asked, I said. We can see almost a mile in both directions.

I walked over to the cab on the passenger side and opened the door. Beautiful day for a drive, hey, Perkins? I smiled.

Caleb Perkins was not in a smiling mood. He had been having second thoughts about this whole deal.

I... that is... I’m really worried about losing my job...I’ve got a baby on the way, and, he stammered.

Just calm down, Cal, I said. We know about the new baby, so we’ve sweetened the deal with another five hundred."

But, without insurance... Caleb began again.

The driver’s door whipped open and a large, beefy hand reached up to unfasten the seatbelt. Shall I help him out, boss? asked the pledge, eager to impress.

No, that won’t be necessary, will it, Cal? I asked kindly.

As he turned to get out, I shot him in the right calf with a 22. Predictably, he screamed and grabbed his leg.

Why? he cried. I was cooperating! he screamed.

This way, your boss won’t dare fire you, I replied. Three armed men forcibly stopped you and you tried to fight back, I explained. It didn’t hit anything vital, in fact, look, I said, pointing at the trickle of blood from his leg. It’s almost stopped bleeding already.

I smiled. Now, when they find the empty truck, they’ll find your blood in the cab, I explained. You’ll be a hero. You might even get a raise for your heroic attempt to save the company’s assets. Besides, they’re insured, so nobody really loses.

You’re going to leave me out here, shot in the leg?" Caleb cried incredulously.

It’s too early in the season for the wolves to be out of the high country yet, and there aren’t very many Grizzlies in these parts, I said. So someone should come along to help before things turn bad for you.

Wolves? Caleb stammered. Grizzlies?

He’s just screwing with you, man, there’re no Grizzlies in this part of Montana, the big pledge said.

Perkins looked at him beseechingly, and the big kid clapped him on the back. You’ll be fine, dude, buck up. He offered Perkins a hand, and he took it, lowering himself gingerly from the cab.

Just sit down on that rock over there, out of the way, I told him. Someone will be along shortly, it’s the middle of the day, I finished.

Go, I said to the big kid, who clambered into the rig and started it. In less than a minute, it was on the highway, gaining speed.

We ran back to the bikes and roared away. As we turned the curve and lost sight of Caleb Perkins sitting on the roadside, I saw a semi in my mirror round the turn behind him. Gunning the big motor, I raced past the hijacked semi and motioned him off the Interstate onto Fly Creek Rd. We’d be at the staging yard in Corinth in 10 minutes.

GET THOSE VANS LOADED quickly, I yelled to the rest of the club. They were on-site and ready to move when we rolled up. We don’t have as much time as I’d hoped; Perkins got picked up within a minute of us leaving.

So, what’s the rush? one of the new patches asked.

"He got picked up by a semi, that’s what’s the rush, I shouted. More work, less talk."

Why you gotta be such a dumbass, man? one of the older patches asked the first. Semi’s got CBs and cell phones. Some of them have tracking centers with GPS tattletales in the trucks, so if they stop unscheduled, it sets off alarms. They’ll have MHP looking for us in 15 minutes.

"And we will be out of here in ten, unloaded or not, I yelled. Anything left behind comes out of your cut. I glared at all ten of them. Form a fire brigade, you idiots, I barked. Line up and pass the cases down the line instead of carrying them two at a time. Move," I screamed.

Ten minutes later, the last van door closed and all five vehicles, loaded to the roof, left in five different directions.

THE CLUBS AND RESTAURANTS in Billings almost cleaned us out on the booze, Jude told us as we sat around the officer’s private area in the clubhouse. No patched was allowed in without invitation, and prospects didn’t enter under any circumstances.

I hope you saved a case or two of the good stuff for us, Rock grumbled.

I could have saved Ten High bourbon and you wouldn’t know the difference, she teased him. Rock just glowered and said nothing.

What was the total take? Gabe asked. He trusted his sister implicitly with the sales and marketing aspect of the club, but he was still the President.

One hundred eighty-seven cases of mixed quality Canadian hooch, discounted 40%? She reached in her large shoulder bag and pulled out two thick wads of bills. Just over fifteen large.

That should keep us liquid for 90 days or so, Uriel said. Most of the accounts payable are clear for the next two weeks, and we’ve only got nine thousand outstanding.

Pay it all, now, and get us settled, Gabe ordered. Several heads came up around the room. "I have something working which will require us to be ready to move quickly, without any hesitation by our various suppliers, he advised. If they’re settled out, they won’t hesitate to run our credit up again. Several of the same heads nodded. Anything else?" Gabe asked the room.

Are you not going to tell them about Missoula? Rafe asked.

Tell us what? Jude asked.

I’ll let you tell it, seeing as how you’re itching to, and you were there, Gabe replied.

Rubbing his hands together, Rafe addressed his family. This new club, not much of one really, started moving China and Meth into Missoula and parts west, he started.

So Gabe sent us, with Rock, to get our tribute, Mike added.

Hey, who’s telling this story? Rafe objected.

"If you tell it, they’ll all die of old age before you finish," Mike replied.

Mike, let him be, I said softly.

Mike swelled up for an instant, but settled back with a wave of his fingers in the air.

We get to their clubhouse, run-down shack that it is, and it’s; ready for this? he paused for effect. A bunch of Asian girls on crotch-rockets.

And what’s wrong with girls making money? Jude asked, affronted.

Nothing, sis, nothing, Rafe continued. But these girls have got the big mouths and big attitudes to go with, he continued. Told us to take our fat, slow, Anglo bikes and go fuck ourselves.

They did not! Uriel exclaimed.

Bold as brass, Mike confirmed. And mine’s a Jap bike. Well, not like theirs, mines a classic cruiser.

Just because your Intruder weighs as much as ours, and cranks 123 horses, and sounds like a big bore, does not make it an American ride, Rocky offered.

Neither is the Rocket, but you guys don’t dis Bear, Mike fired back.

That’s because Triumph’s are classic Americana, and Suzukis are...wannabes. Rock replied.

Yep, and my wannabe is faster, more fuel-efficient, smoother riding, better balanced, and prettier than yours, but who’s counting? Mike replied.

Can we hear the rest of the story before I turn into an old man, or die from listening to you two old ladies compare farts? Gabe interjected.

"Well, what did you