Jarred’s Revenge Prologue

Life has a way of turning into lemons, but like the adage says make lemonade and move on. I made lemonade all right… I made enough for a party… A party of my newly found friends. We all had interests that varied but when we were together, we’d find that our interests compliment one another, bringing each member together and bonding us into a tight-knit unit. I had been with the group for three years now and had been patched in for about two years.

Most of the people gathered around me have their own stories of why they joined an outlaw motorcycle club, and I certainly have mine. It’s a long and sad story as to why I’m here right now, on the edge of everything, on the edge of my seat. I had been a student of Electrical Engineering and was looking forward to a long and prosperous career developing Artificial Intelligence for robots. I thought life was clear cut… Concise… A neatly wrapped Prime Rib Roast with bone and a fine marbling, cooked till succulent.

Turns out I got hamburger… Raw… Unseasoned. I added some spice, some corn, some onion, and boiled a few potatoes. I whipped the potatoes with milk and butter and then made a light gravy from the leftover fat from frying the hamburger… I made Shepard’s Pie. Like I said, Lemons to Lemonade… Murdered parents to revenge killings. If things hadn’t happened, I would be well on my way to developing a robot full of speech, capable of carrying on a conversation with a human in any language you chose… The receptionist of the future… C3PO if you would… The first protocol droid. Instead, I was on a bike, and the future looked different than I had hoped.

A lengthy line of motorcycles swept up Highway 59, winding up the East side of Lake Winnipeg in the Eastman Region of Manitoba, near Brokenhead Reservation. We were headed for private property near Grand Beach and the next International Conference of King’s Horsemen. We would gather there and select our next International President to oversee global operations for the next three years. The International Body of the King’s Horsemen had voted unanimously that the Manitoba club would host the conference. Instead of going to the home turf of our Mother Club, which was down in Southern California, all the chapters would come to us in Manitoba. We, the local chapter, had to plan a two-week event and find the space for it.

We scoured the province and located an old resort on acres of land near Grand Beach that would fill the role of home base for the conference. It was secluded enough that snoops wouldn’t be able to interfere and also spacious enough for lots of people to camp and the hotel had 352 rooms, most with twin double beds, a dining room that seated 150, and a grand ballroom that could host 200 people at once. There would be a raffle to determine who got a room and who had to camp, but motor homes, fifth wheels, tent trailers, and pup tents were welcome.

We had expected at least 15,000 people to attend during the two weeks, coming and going as they pleased. There were 212 Chapters total worldwide and 28 of them were on other continents including Europe, Africa, and Australia. They all expected a marvellous time filled with entertainment, food, and activities. We planned on soaking up boat charters for fishing, sightseeing, water skiing, and parasailing. We had chartered two shuttle buses for going back and forth to the beach and had big umbrellas, beach towels and plenty of sunscreen on hand for our guests. There was a stage built near the resort used for live entertainment held nightly from 8pm till 4am. There was a midway with rides and carnival games arranged by one of our local carnival operators who was an associate.

We had secured a liquor permit and even had our own bar planned that would run 24hrs serving beer, spirits and wine. There would be 24hr entertainment in the bar featuring local acts vying for contracts with our recording labels. In between sets there was a jukebox to plug filled with any and every type of music imaginable. There would also be food available at the bar outside of regular mealtimes. The restaurant side of the bar featured a full menu with 56 menu items like the classical Cheeseburger and Fries, 12oz Steak and Eggs, Pulled Pork Sandwich with Sweet Potato Fries, and even Grilled Chicken Burgers topped with Lettuce, Tomato, Pepper Jack Cheese, and Mayonnaise complete with a side salad. The closer we got the more hungry I got and was looking forward to a cool beer after weathering the sweltering Sun on the highway.

I, Diggs the newly minted Manitoba Chapter President, was riding a 1995 Harley-Davidson Fat Boy and was second in the rank and file of the column of bikes. They based the bike on the concept V-twin softail cruiser designed by Willie G. Davidson and Louie Netz in Milwaukee in 1988. The frame comes from a 1984 softail which appears to have a rigid hardtail chassis but really has a swinging arm with concealed springs designed by Bill Davis in the 70s. The bike was already a classic won new from the Children’s Make-A-Wish Christmas raffle promoted by 92.1 CITI FM back in 2020. The station was significant to Winnipeg and North America as a whole because on April 1st, 1978 it became the most powerful FM radio station on the continent as Highway Star played out over the Prairies to commemorate the event just like was playing on my radio.

My killing machine… I need her… I love her… She follows me close on every bend…. My bike is a classic… A real Highway Star. I thought my bike was a good fill in despite the song being about a car. That machine purred and whirled, never mind turned on… It was never turned off… I was always on the go… Always on the road. Now I led the pack. My girl and I led the way into the future… A place few would make it to… International Presidency of the King’s Horsemen and CITI FM led me there.

I had flashbacks to when I first heard 92.1 CITI in 2004, when I was a child. It was the morning show and I recalled hearing We Built this City and thought it was true to Winnipeg’s spirit. It reflected the generations as rocker after rocker rifted tunes inspired from this city, where dreams had a beginning, and lifted them up to the sky by Marconi’s dream, the radio. Local bands like The Guess Who, Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Crash Test Dummies, Harlequin, Streetheart, and Jet Set Satellite defined my generation and CITI played them all. Frequently heard on their airwaves were other classic bands such as Guns ‘n Roses, Metallica, the Rolling Stones, ACDC, and Pink Floyd. I didn’t think much of it back then, but that bike and the music that 92.1 CITI FM played came to define me through the previous two years.

Welcome to the Jungle meant something as we rolled down the highway, wondering what people needed and what they will do to get it. Hopefully, they weren’t willing to sink too low or whap, they’d get it. Turn the Page became my new reality as me and my crew would hit the road doing the roadie thing. Touring tiny towns with some up-and-coming band for a summer of festivals was all we cared about. Let it Ride was the new anthem in my transformation to one percenter as I learned to take risks and let the chips fall where they may. With the raffle win came the abandonment of my dream of a degree in robotics and the drying up of my left over student loan money as I travelled Against the Wind and burnt up everything in my path.

I used the last of my money to purchase raffle tickets for the bike to Kickstart My Heart. I liked drag racing and could relate to Mötley Crüe as I thundered down the highway with the cops trying to pin a triple homicide on me and following me everywhere. The three guys I killed in retaliation to my parents being murdered should have backed off long before I punched their one-way tickets. My bike was my heart and it had long ago been kick-started keeping me in perpetual motion to avoid them and their ghosts that seemed to find me anywhere and everywhere. Killing the trio made me a murderer, but joining the King’s Horsemen made me an outlaw. The image of an outlaw riding a two-wheeled steed down the road fit my newly developed persona.

I had long ago learned that I differed from the average person. I was God Himself and Jesus was my human enaction. He had returned just like the Bible promised, and I had struggled for a good portion of my life while in a spiritual slumber. When I awoke I found that things could have been different, but some enemies had known roughly when I would arrive and had prepared. It would take deception and skill to avoid losing the battle now that the endgame had begun. So we, the Apostles, Jesus and myself, planned from the past, before we started and the religion had caught on, countering the self-chosen enemies who wanted to ruin it for all else. Revelation was upon us, and Christ would redeem Fallen Christians like they cried out for.

They had played me as a fool for a long time in my life while I was in spiritual slumber and things happened through me that even make Jesus volatile and unreprehensible towards his own faith. The once dullard, spiritually lacking, epitome of wastefulness had awoken and was expected to take the blame for ALL that happened through Him but it had not been my idea, nor had I agreed to the spiritual slumber and the overtaking of myself through systematic physical, sexual, and mental abuse. I had been setup, labeled and dispatched by the trusted Angels of the Lord. They were the ones who had insisted they knew what needed to be done and had convinced people that a mere kid could not be God Himself.

Too smart to get caught, those Angels who denied me had dealt me a bum hand and told me I was not who I claimed. One of them, Beelzebub by demon name, had laid claim to the title of God, even though he does not have ‘The Word of God’ written on his forehead. I persisted throughout enacted loops, or circular lives lived within a linear life, to insist who I was and finally the bum hand turned into allegations of Pedophilia, Sodomy, and Rape of Women. People accepted bribes, so they falsely convicted and sentenced me to many years in prison. I still would not shut up and they beat me to death just to live through it several times. Now I am different… I call my wicked side the Devil… I lived backwards to what I should have because of the coercion I had faced.

The vengeful, hate-filled side that they had taken advantage of and brutalized one too many times is what you face when you enter His Hell for things you may have intentionally done to upset the balance to your favour. The side of God that spawned the likes of Adolf Hitler and his high command, Benito Mussolini, Michinomiya Hirohito, and their middle man Joseph Stalin. The side of Him that spawned the Muslim faith that inspired Al Qaeda, Islamic State, Boko Haram, and many other organizations considered terrorists to the so-called free Western world. The side of Him that created organized crime and enacted gangs to rule over the Underworld through direct intimidation.

The Old Testament saying ‘Eye for an Eye and a Tooth for a Tooth’ did not matter much since Jesus’ resurrection, at least to the Ukrainian Orthodox Church that I attended as a kid. That was when the Sea of Forgetfulness came into being, even though the laws of God were still harsh. It was Jesus who preached forgiveness and forgetting and to tone down the Devil tricked the real evil amongst us.

He knew we could beat them at their own game and they would have no choice but to give up or be sealed in the Pit of Hell. The police would catch the real criminals from now on, not the ones falsely condemned by evil’s say so. When Jesus returned the truth hidden for centuries would be revealed and the Devil would willingly hand over the reigns to law enforcement, effectively relieving the Underworld’s scum of their secrets. We would now know people for what they had done, both good and bad.

That’s the way I understood the sermon I first heard as a kid. I was told that Jesus had died for our sins and would forget them in the depth of the seas, and His crucifixion would redeem and wash us clean. The priest giving the sermon had quoted the Gospel of Luke: “Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven.”. I tried to forgive those who had wronged my mother and father, but they refused to redeem through the laws of our Nation.

I had executed those who had wronged my mother and father, and an eye for an eye had long ago been enacted like in the Old Testament. I got what I got and they got what they got. I guess the law should prevail as Moses said, but when the law fails the faithful, what should happen? Should people just accept being taken advantage of, or should the adage come around into being as it did this time? When you won’t accept the laws of man or the forgiveness of sin, and act like a God yourself, you leave yourself open to a fresh playing field when you screw up. When you enter the Underworld and leave the grace of God behind, you face his other side, the evil side.

Branded a non-coward by friends, still accepted by family, I could reinvent myself with the new outlaw family. My nephew and niece revered me as one of the new protectors of the faithful, but I must now live as an unpleasant man in our society to fight corruption that police could not handle. I had gotten my vengeance and our family’s revenge where the police had failed, but I had to redeem myself. I redeemed myself from the sin of murder by joining the King’s Horsemen and helping society redeem itself in the Lord’s name. In the last two years I helped people through their turmoil and made sure they could resolve their problems, even if self-induced such as my burdens. If I could be helped, why then did others not deserve the same second chance?

That’s why I was here today, leading this pack of ravenous wolves on a shorter trip than usual to the International President’s Conference. I wanted to redeem myself through helping others overcome their struggles, even if violence contrary to the laws of this Christian Nation was to be a factor. When the law comes calling, I will turn myself in as best I can through negotiation, but if they don’t know, I ain’t saying.

We should follow the law as best as can be, but while I’m in Hell with His authority, I’ll make a few things clear to our society’s authorities, including lawmakers and law enforcers. Manipulations akin to an undertow that safely sucks in those skillful enough to get the point and get away with breaking a few laws at the same time. It might not be the best way, but open debate is INTERDIT on quite a few topics long ago deemed Anti-Christian and outlawed. Drugs are one. Prostitution is another. Alcohol, although legal, is yet another.

At least according to Christian Doctrine, Jesus claimed his Father would make an appearance. Jesus, already proven to be an incarnation of Himself by dying on the Cross and being resurrected to ascend to Heaven, would come back. God his Father in Heaven has always been and always will be and Jesus sent the Holy Ghost to help guide Christian followers. When I awoke I had been told of the loops I had been through. This I was told was just another of them, a contest of sorts to see if we could set life back on track… A precursor to the Second Coming.

If I was to come back like a thief in the night and steal the weary back from the clutches of those who are below us, then I must use force some time. Some people are below the laws and will never get caught… But there are major players in the Underworld who know of them and will help keep decent people floating while they are in Hell. I had formed gangs of all types in advance, and all had specific missions set in place since before the self-chosen enemies of the church were ready. Me and my allies had travelled through time setting things into place… Starting gangs… Controlling every aspect of the Underworld we could and teaching His lesson plan where appropriate.

One of the decided gangs that help keep peace in the Underworld was the King’s Horsemen. They formed after World War II when many servicemen came home to find things had changed for them since they left. Wives who couldn’t take the loneliness had taken to cheating, kids had grown without their fathers, and some kids had kids of their own. Some wives had found their husbands too barbarian-like from the rigors and trials of war and wanted out of the relationships. Many veterans were still thrill-seeking, some were drunks and couldn’t settle down and get back into the mundane reality of domestic partnership. Many took to the highways and roamed in packs upon motorcycles. They seemed to gather and soon bike gangs became a thing, all with a similar spin on life.

Some eventually settled and did their best to exert dominance over the Underworld, and by 1946 the King’s Horsemen had taken over Southern California and spread North America from there. By 1956 they had spread to Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, Texas, Utah, Oregon, Washington, Colorado, Kansas, and Oklahoma. They were the largest one percent organization in the world and had more members than their closest rival, Death’s Doorstep. They claimed 18,000 members worldwide and had expanded to Montreal, Vancouver, and Toronto in Canada by 1982. In 1995 the King’s Horsemen showed up in Winnipeg and patched over a local bike gang, the Flaming Skulls.

There had been a contest on the local scene because there were multiple one percent clubs in Winnipeg vying for the coveted spot with the King’s Horseman, and the Flaming Skulls had been victorious. They were the largest club and had majority control of the drug trade in Manitoba for years now, plus hooks into industries like trucking, towing, entertainment, and they owned several restaurants. They used the pizza places they owned as fronts for drug trafficking, money laundering, and even as a point of contact for prostitution. Throughout a month, the Flaming Skulls had proven their worth and got to know the King’s Horsemen’s mother ship. They had beaten the two other rival clubs at almost everything the King’s Horsemen put them up to and had won the contest.

The patch over party had lasted three days and King’s Horsemen from all over North America had arrived to welcome the new brothers in style. The new chapter was to uphold the unique perspective of the King’s Horsemen and follow their rules of the road. They had a fire going and they gathered all the Flaming Skull patches up and burnt them in the flames during the party. They allowed the former members to keep one item of their choice with their old patch emblazoned on it. Most kept the Zippo lighters that had been custom made for them two years previously. When the bulk of the King’s Horsemen had arrived, the Skulls were presented with their new patches and given three days to get them sewn on their vests. I hear it was quite the affair and a close second to the party that awaited us at the conference.

My club had long ago established themselves as the top dog in the province, but accepted other established gangs and respected the treaties they had signed with us about turf, drugs, supply lines, and distribution. I thought, navigating a curve in the road, that we had been mostly fair in cutting up the province and sharing as warranted. This trip was the first I was to make as club president, and also the first time the club had nominated me for the position of International President. I had a superb feeling… Like I would win… Like they meant it to be. I focused in on myself, second to the head of the pack, riding in the president’s position.

I, like the rest, wore the typical vest of a one percent biker, made of leather and stitched with leather thongs at each of the seams to allow for expansion over outerwear. This being the uniform of the King’s Horsemen, or one of God’s Armies. I bore their marks with pride and dignity and felt blessed to be a member. I had placed the typical patches with care and showed my place within the organization. The top rocker, slightly curved downward, a merrowed border, and embroidered club’s name reading The King’s Horsemen, was on top.

The bottom rocker also featured a merrowed border with the club’s turf, Manitoba, in embroidered lettering curved upwards. The patch itself, a twisted chess piece or the Knight’s Horse-head in agony, full of suffering, undeniably bearing the load of his rider and thus the embodiment of the King, was dead-center in the middle of the back of the vest. There were two badges on the front right side of the vest. One said President and signified me as the chapter president, and the other had an X embroidered upon it, signifying a first time member.

Three strikes is the limit and those unfortunate enough to have them upon their chests are fighting for their lives as potential second death candidates because of what they encounter as a KH. Needless to say many only join for two incarnations or two lives not necessarily in a row. Some drafted into the outlaw motorcycle club to redeem themselves may already have crossed the line and are looking for redemption in the Saviour’s name. Some who have decided to join may have been bent out of shape and want the powerful family for support. Some join for personal reasons such as firm belief in the cause. Others may just be thrill seekers accepting the risk as they partake in the potentially wrongful sins of modern society’s underworld.

On the front of the vest, was the classic one percent diamond placed above my heart. This badge contains the numeral one with the percent symbol and signifies an outlaw biker who may not always see things the way the other ninety-nine percent of society does. Spawned in Hollister, California, in 1947 at a race, the concept of the outlaw biker came into being when there was trouble and a reporter said that ninety-nine percent of all riders out there are law-abiding. Some guy in the back of the crowed made a quip about belonging to the remaining one percent. Since then, the diamond represents freedom from the constraints of a restrictive society. Some things should be legal as they have always been popular and always will be, like drugs and prostitution.

Besides the diamond there is another badge on my chest, circular and merrowed, and bears the numeral thirteen, again embroidered. The thirteenth letter of the alphabet is ‘M’ and this stands for Marijuana. To a King’s Horseman this is significant of mindfulness, clarity of thinking, freedom from mind control, and rebelliousness amongst the law-abiding masses. Typical of what I grow and smoke is the strongest of high-test strains like Afghan Kush, a full-bodied and full-flavoured strain, full of Turpenes that promote goodness for my body.

In a pinch there is also the cultivation for the purpose of trafficking sort of thing to make a quick buck and to share my wealth of benefit with others who partake in consuming the almighty weed. Some in authority seem to think I cause ’Reefer Madness’ in their acquiescent society just by supplying it to their populace. Anyway, what people do with it is their own business. Drug dealing was one thing, but the club wants different, something new, something fresh.

I was to be different for the club. I was the new President who had climbed the ranks from Hang Around to Full Patch in just over two years, expected and beckoned into the fold. I would go places, do things others had not done before, like unite the one percent clubs and promote peace in the underworld. They destined me to be the International President of the King’s Horsemen. A leader amongst men, a righteous, holy man on two wheels, a holy terror who fought spiritual battles on a personal level using Catholic Marijuana Sword. I was to be the peacemaker for all of us, bring us to the forefront and deliver us from the clutches of the Devil as the Second Coming progressed and we sealed Hell up forever.

We were getting close to the rule of the Antichrist and that was why I was a King’s Horsemen. I was to rule over the Underworld and see fit to cut loose all those that were not worth redeeming. We would do our best to redeem everyone but some still wanted life their way and would not give in, they would not change, or they did not believe they were at risk of the Second Death. Those we had to abandon surely faced being sealed in the pit of Hell and would be overcome by the Devil. We, as an organization, had been in Hell for a long time now fighting for humanity and most of the membership looked forward to being redeemed and enjoying Heaven above.

We looked forward to operating legitimate businesses, being part of something new, and not having to subsist on illegal means. We looked forward to the police and other agencies delving deeper into the pit of Hell like we did, in fact sinking right to the bottom and policing for the government instead of us handing out strappings, broken fists and setting people up for jail. I bet the police would be less brutal than we are, in fact have to be. Some people just don’t get it, just don’t understand and would like to make life Hell for the rest of us. They are the rapists, the pedophiles, the ones who hurt the rest of us, just because we are having a quality time, a fortunate life, or have had a wonderful childhood.

Some of these terrible people see you coming and will lie in wait like a predator to take advantage of you negatively. They will use you to get what they want, they will hurt you into helping, they will threaten you, they will hurt your family, friends, or coworkers. The destructive elements of society belong in jail, but the problem is most of the seasoned ones are good at what they do… Some have learned from the mistakes of others and some have learned from their own mistakes that led to incarceration. Others they have not caught are more cautious and may never be caught. These are the people the King’s Horseman come across and help stop from destroying our society. They are the criminals that don’t care, couldn’t give a shit about our society and couldn’t be concerned for other people. They are the ones that give being a criminal a terrible name.

There is nothing wrong about operating in the Underworld if you follow the generalized unwritten rules. Many have heard of honor amongst thieves and understand that you don’t step on the toes of other criminals. This is only one sort of unwritten rule governing the Underworld. Many organizations have formalized rules like the Pirate Code, Omertà, or like us, a formal Charter listing the rules of operation for our club. We have a Sargent-At-Arms responsible for club discipline and hands out punishments. We expect other gangs to drop us a line if they will be on our turf and to come to us first when they want to deal. These sorts of formalities lead to good relations amongst the other clubs and organizations that operate in the Underworld.

We, the Manitoba Chapter, were not alone and decided to be as pleasant as we could be in dealing with other organizations. Our charter was first and foremost determined to display the prowess of a warrior when dealing with others and tried to settle all conflicts peacefully because ultimate excellence lies not in winning every battle but in defeating the enemy without ever fighting. Each of us were conversationalists first and foremost… We would talk people out of things before threatening… Bribe if needed… Pay off to keep peace. Take this trip… We agreed to all the rules of law enforcement… All they had wanted to let the event happen.

The Road Master, Pam, led the pack, and had been in charge of sorting out all the logistics of the trip and then enacting them through the ride and the rest of the time we were gone. Continuing in formation, was myself, Diggs the President. Following the standard order of precedence, Hurst, the Vice President was next, followed by Bach, the Secretary, then Gigs, the Treasurer, following the staggered double-formation. Next all the non-ranking Full Patch members followed in formation, the Prospects behind them, the invited Associates, and finally Dogs, the Sergeant-at-Arms.

Bringing up the rear was the support vehicle, the Crash Van, with tools, parts, and all our personal gear for the week-long event. Fried was driving with Minnie in her cage, squeaking the entire time, thinking of food like the hungry bikers that Fried liked to feed. Thinking with a pack mentality, we meshed as one and flew down the road, moving in union like a well-oiled machine.

Pam suddenly extended his left hand and pointed to the road while simultaneously pointing his right foot to the same. This signal relayed back through the pack as the bikers slowed down to avoid a deer carcass that was dangerously close to the edge of the lane they travelled in. Pam extended his left arm, ninety degrees at the elbow, and pointed to the sky with his index finger. Again the signal relayed back and the bikers formed into a single-file configuration. After passing the carcass, Pam again extended his left arm, crooked at the elbow, and pointed to the sky with his index and middle finger. The signal again relayed backwards and the bikers reformed into a staggered formation. After a brief time, Pam extended his left arm and made an upward motion with his palm. This relayed back and the pack sped up to the speed limit, leaving behind nothing but a vapor trail.

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