Lara teams up with Ben Polecat in a tale of bikes, fights, 
revenge, and justice, with a little bit of romance thrown 
in 
	
	Author's note: Lara can exist in any time and/or 
campaign setting. The events of the game could have taken 
place in the present, the near future, or even further 
beyond. By my placing Lara '20 minutes into the future', I 
think that I am remaining loyal to both her character and 
vision. Ben Polecat and all events he refers too are from 
the game Full Throttle, by Lucasarts. There is a great deal 
of info that I either extrapolated or just plain made up. I 
hope that the various powers that be understand that and do 
not send me to hell. Oh, Corley Motors is an obvious clone 
of Harley Davidson. My Ben expert thinks that the name 
'Ultra Glide Classic' is too wussy for a Corley bike, but 
is an actual model of Harley, honest. This story can be 
considered either a stand alone, or maybe a preface to 
something bigger, if it is well received. 
	
	As a writer, I have always found it easier to put 
real faces to the character's in my stories. I wrote this 
with the following faces in mind for my characters 
	Lara: Every one has their favorite face for Ms. 
Croft, either Liz Hurley, Rhona Mitra or who ever. My 
personal favorite is Yancy Butler. She played opposite Van 
Damme in 'Hard Target' and Wesley Snipes in 'Drop Zone', 
and is currently on the CBS show 'Brooklyn South'. She 
doesn't have an accent, but her features are perfect.
	Ben: As far as looks, I think that Arnold from T2 is 
the best Ben. He has the look, the jaw, the jacket, and the 
bike. Of course, its harder to picture Arnie with out that 
accent, but he looks perfect.
	Gunny: Hulk Hogan without the mustache and with a 
crew cut.
	Jackson: Curtis Vondie Hall. He plays Dr. Hancock on 
'Chicago Hope', but is probably bets known as 'Captian 
Prince' in Romeo and Juliet.
	Big Willie: Jerry from ER.
	Father Torque: This one kinda stumps me. Jerry 
Garcia? Ernest Hemmingway?
	Flo: Susan Sarandon, all frumpy like she is in 
'Lorenzo's Oil' or 'White Palace'
	Williams: Thomas Gibson, the guy who plays Greg on 
'Dharma and Greg'. He also starred in 'Far and Away' and 
until this season was Dr. Danny Nyland on Chicago Hope. 
	Mo: Holly Hunter
	
	
	Ben & Lara
	Chapter One
	by Ross Jenkins, c 1997
	
	Prologue, Voice Over
	Sometimes I can't help but think about Lara. She had 
this scent: herbal shampoo mixed with gun oil and leather, 
and she walked like queen. When she walked in the door in 
that two bit desert bar, I knew then that she was trouble. 
She said that she was just passing through, taking in the 
sights. I know its not her fault, but my life went to hell 
the day after I met her. Even now, I still don't know if my 
meeting Lara Croft was a blessing or a curse, but one thing 
is for sure, I'll never forget her.
	Chapter I-The Kickstand
	The scene was timeless. The sun had always been hot 
here, the sky always cloudless. The rocks had always looked 
old and weathered, even when they were young and new. There 
had always been lizards and snakes, sunning on the heat 
blasted rocks. Lichen and cacti had always been the only 
vegetable matter hardy enough to eke out a meager existence 
amidst the rocks and dust. The road though, that was new.
	Nothing in this desert stayed new long, and this road 
was no exception. It was faded and cracked, the yellow 
lines bleached almost white under the sun. It had seen many 
tires of all types over its hundred years of life, but no 
repair crew in almost twenty. It stretched in both 
directions like a tired gray ribbon, a tired line that went 
from horizon to horizon. The signs had all been shot, 
smashed down or rusted out decades ago, and the impotent 
government that ran what was left of the USA had more 
important things to do - like clothing and feeding its 
tired and weary population - than fixing up a road that 
nobody drove in the middle of nowhere. Inhabitants were few 
and far between in this endless desert, but despite that a 
single rider on a single motorcycle defied the heat and the 
aging road.
	She wore no helmet, and her waist long auburn hair 
trailed behind her in a single long braid. She wore a faded 
black T-shirt and ripped jeans under a cotton poncho to 
ward off the heat and sun. Her skin was deeply tanned, 
earned from hours under the sun, and her body was firm and 
hard, yet undeniably feminine. The worn leather gun belt 
was far from dainty, though, nor were the dull black 9mm 
auto loaders that it held. If she was tired, hot, sore or 
thirsty she didn't show it. Her eyes were hidden behind 
oval reflective sunglasses, and her expressionless face 
could have been made of stone.
	As Lara cruised the faded and cracked highway she 
pondered briefly whether or not she had made a good 
decision. She was an adventurer by nature, a professional 
thrill seeker, and crossing the lawless Arizona desert on 
motorcycle certainly qualified as dangerous. The tabloid 
reading masses had a morbid fascination with the 'new old 
west', and a prominent magazine had hired - no, dared - 
Lara to cross them. With the same questionable wisdom that 
had taken her on a one woman war with Natla Industries and 
the secrets of Atlantis, she had accepted.
	Lara very seldomly regretted her actions. Regret 
didn't move you in a forward direction and was a waste of 
energy. Ever since Lara had been 'awakened' in that plane 
crash 10 years ago she had moved nowhere but forward. Her 
father had accused her of having a death wish, and perhaps 
he was right. She had broken a number of bones over her 
career on top of being shot, stabbed, scraped and bit by 
various nasties of the world. Each scar - and there were 
more than a few - was a medal, though; a testimony that 
said 'I survived whatever you have thrown at me. I have 
cheated death at your hands and I am that much more alive.'
	She had perhaps bitten off more than she could chew 
on this latest expedition. The situation in the various 
towns and shanties was truly appalling, worse than the 
third world. It was worse because they existed right 
outside the shiny mirrored towers of modern American 
'civilization'. There was enough money in the private 
sector, and indeed the government coffers, to repair these 
homes but those who had the money were unwilling to spend 
it on 'a bunch of outlaws and bandits'. Lara, in her 
previous installments to her patron, had written a great 
deal on the condition of the slums and the poor quality of 
life in the desert, but she knew that it would be 
'sweetened' by her editor. She knew what he wanted: sex, 
violence and damsels in distress, with a few car chases 
thrown in. She'd had all that so far, with an emphasis on 
the second and the latter. There was next to no law in the 
badlands, and the roads and towns were ruled by gangs. Lara 
had fought some gangs, run from others. She had helped a 
pair of star-crossed lovebirds from rival gangs start a new 
life, been in a wall shattering bar brawl, and spent a long 
time on the road, doing 'rolling meditation.'
	It was starting to wear her down: the heat, the 
fighting, the ever present smell of petrol fumes. The man 
next to her had been killed for no reason yesterday. He had 
sat beside her in the bar, was about to order a drink when 
his head had suddenly exploded, covering Lara in bits of 
blood, brain and gore. The shooter had been high on some 
sort of drug; he had shot the man because he had reminded 
the kid of his father. It was completely random and 
meaningless. She had taken a thorough shower but still had 
bits of skull in her hair. The feelings and memories of the 
incident would remain with her longer still. She was just 
tired, and wanted this whole damned expedition to end. She 
was over 30 now, although not much over. Maybe she was 
getting to old for this.
	Her ruminations were cut short as she spied a gas 
station/restaurant silhouetted against the giant bloody red 
setting sun. The Kickstand. Her growling stomach reminded 
her that she hadn't eaten a meal since that morning. She 
pulled her bike, a Corley Ultra Glide Classic, into the 
dusty parking lot. A rusted out pickup truck and rusty 
garbage bin shared the lot with her, along with a dozen or 
so low slung forms of motorcycles. Lara grimaced as she 
killed her engine and pushed down the kickstand. A bike 
gang. Just what she needed to make her day complete. 
According to the decal painted on their gas tanks, they 
were called the 'Polecats'. Their crest was a boot, fist 
and chains surrounding a skull. How charming.
	As she walked up to the door, Lara wondered what 
temperament the gang was in. She wasn't in the mood for a 
fight. With a resigned sigh, she opened the door and 
stepped inside.
	* * *
	Life was good. Just Ben, his bike, his gang, and the 
road. The Polecats finally were out of jail after that 
whole Malcomn Corley thing. His bike was all fixed up now; 
it even still had that booster jet on, which was great. And 
the road, well the road was always there. Always would be. 
If Ben had these three things, he could be happy. Ya, life 
was good.
	The Polecats and the Vultures had a kind of truce 
now. The Cave Fish didn't seem to exist anymore, heh heh. 
Rumour had it that those psycho religious albinos were all 
in the bottom of a hole in their cave. Hmm. Wonder how that 
happened. All of this suited Ben just fine. The Polecats 
liked to live hard, fight hard and play hard. Drunken 
brawls, races with other bikers, harassing newbies as they 
entered the desert; all that was good fun. It was the 
ultimate expression of living life on your own terms. It 
was freedom.
	Ben's gang had never been into the bad stuff; 
enforcement, drugs, prostitution, raping and pillaging, all 
the things that the bigger badder gangs did in this lawless 
land. Ben would have loved to go rumble with them, kick 
their asses, but those gangs didn't fight fair. They had 
guns and rockets and they liked to use them. They gave 
biker gangs a bad name. Oh well. They had their turf, and 
the Polecats had theirs. As long as no one strayed over the 
invisible border into Polecat turf, then every body stayed 
happy.
	Ben and his men had stopped off at their old haunt, 
the Kickstand at the end of a long hot ride. Quohog was a 
biker's barkeep. He knew when to talk, what to talk about 
and when to shut up. Too many people tried to fill the 
silence with stupid chatter, Quohog didn't. He also had the 
best home made beer in the desert. His place was made for 
bikers as well. It was run down, the tables were scratched 
and the place stunk of old fried onions. The handlebars of 
Corley bikes old and present adorned the walls, and the 
jukebox, an old CD one dating back to the 90's, had none of 
that country or techno crap. It was always on the fritz and 
played what in wanted to when it wanted to, but that was 
ok. No one ever put any money in the damned thing anyway. 
Right now it was playing George Thorogood, 'Bad to the 
Bone'. Ya, that was good.
	Ben was on his second brew, meditating on the finer 
points of life, when they all heard the single motorcycle 
approaching from the west. Jackson, his second in command 
and best friend, went to the window. "Some chick on a 
Corley Ultra Glide, looks like a `32 or a `33. Man that's 
hot." Every single member of the Polecats worshipped at the 
shrine of Corley, and could name every make and model they 
had ever made.
	"What's hot, Jack, the chick or the bike?" Ben asked 
in his low growl of a voice. The other guys chuckled.
	"Both, man. That bike looks cherry and the girl is 
stacked." A pause, then he continued in a more serious tone 
of voice. "She's packing, Ben. An automatic on each hip. 
Looks like old Browning Hi Powers." Jackson had been a cop 
and a gun collector before he joined up with the Polecats, 
and he knew his stuff.
	At the mention of the guns, the gang grew a bit more 
serious, and no one said a word as they heard the door 
handle turn and that stupid electronic chime that Quohog 
had on his door. The fading evening light back lit the 
woman in the door, and Jackson had been right, she was 
stacked. Thin waist, big knockers, and long legs. The first 
thing you noticed about her, though, was that she was hard. 
Her tanned arms had muscles and she wore those guns like 
she knew how to use them. Her face was like stone. Ben saw 
all this through the reflection in the mirror behind the 
bar.
	The chick stopped in the open doorway to survey the 
room. She still had her mirror shades on, so no one could 
see exactly what she was looking at. The ancient juke box 
chose that moment to quit, and to Ben this felt like a 
moment out of an old clich‚ western. There was total 
silence as every eye in the room followed the chick. She 
walked slowly to the bar and stopped two stools from Ben. 
Looking at the silent Quohog for a moment, she sat down. 
Ben could see her cool face in the reflection of the 
mirror.
	"Could I have a menu please, and a bottle of mineral 
water." The voice surprised Ben. It was upper class 
British, low and cool just like the rest of the lady. It 
suited her, Ben thought. Hearing her talk like a truck 
driver in a Midwest accent just would have been wrong.
	The guys snickered at her mention of mineral water. 
Even Quohog let a chuckle go. "Mineral water? What do think 
I am lady, a spa? Would you like the cold cucumber soup or 
the escar-the fried snails?" The guys snickered. The lady - 
even in jest Ben couldn't bring himself to label her as a 
'chick', she just wasn't the type - didn't even crease a 
brow.
	"I will take anything bottled, if you please, and 
something to eat that isn't fried." She took off her 
shades. Her eyes were a rich brown, and Ben was startled by 
their intensity. "I am not in a mood for cucumbers and 
detest fried snails, thank you very much." The corner of 
her mouth went up just a bit, or maybe Ben just imagined 
it.
	Quohog grunted and reached below the bar for 
something. "I got some chicken pot pies in the freezer, or 
lasagna if that's what turns your crank." He placed an old 
dusty bottle of Bud in front of her.
	The woman stopped and thought a moment. "Chicken pot 
pie, please." She took the bottle in dainty hands and 
twisted off the top. She looked at the dusty bottle 
disdainfully, then glanced at Quohog.
	He produced an equally dusty mug and placed it in 
front of her with a smirk. "It's frozen. It'll take about 
20 minutes."
	"20 minutes is fine, thank you." Her eyes were 
surveying the bar through the mirror as she poured the beer 
carefully into the mug. Every eye was glued to her as she 
sipped at the golden brew. Ben watched her in the mirror, 
still quietly drinking his brew. Her dark eyes met his in 
the mirror and locked on.
	I'm just as strong as you are her eyes said to him. 
Try anything with me and you'll regret it. Ben wasn't 
cowed.
	You don't scare me, Lady his eyes replied. I've got 
my gang with me. You're on my turf and a long way from 
home. She met his gaze coolly and without flinching. Ben 
noticed that her hands never strayed too far from the guns 
on her hips.
	"Please? Thank You?" A loud sarcastic voice rang out 
from behind her. Ben could see her body tense as she locked 
onto the person talking in the bar mirror. It was Bill, who 
the guys called 'Big Willie'. It was more for the size of 
his ego than any outsized body parts. "Where you think you 
are lady? Buckingham manor?" Big Willie walked up to the 
bar and sat next to her. Several other of the guys chortled 
as they watched the show.
	"Buckingham is a palace, not a manor," the lady 
corrected in her singsong British accent. Ben saw her hand 
opposite big Willie rest on her thigh next to her one 
pistol. "and it never hurts to practice good manners." She 
continued in her calm tone. "You should try it sometime."
	Big Willie's brow for a moment as he thought about 
what she had said. Eventually he came to the conclusion 
that she hadn't insulted him. He leaned into her and 
grinned, showing off his missing front teeth. "Why don't 
you teach me."
	The woman moved and suddenly Willie was standing, 
yelling in pain as his arm was held at an unnatural angle. 
"Very well," the woman continued in her prim tones. "Will 
you please remove your hand from my leg before you lose 
it." Willie said nothing and gasped in pain as she 
increased the pressure on her wrist lock, then without 
warning let him go. Willie deflated like a balloon and 
backed off, holding his wrist. "Thank you. You see, its 
simple enough that even you can get it."
	Willie bristled at her mocking tone and came back to 
her angrily. "You bitch!" he yelled and grabbed for her 
arm. The lady slapped his hand aside and slid back off the 
stool, her other hand moving to her pistol. It was only 
half drawn when Ben grabbed her wrist.
	"Don't start with the guns, lady." He growled, the 
first words he had said to her. "It's a fight you won't 
win." As he said it, there was the unmistakable sound of 
multiple guns cocking. The lady pulled her hand free of 
Ben's, not without difficulty, and looked about the room. 
Every man except Willie and Ben had their hands on or had 
drawn some sort of gun. Even Quohog had his hand below the 
bar, where Ben knew that he kept an old Winchester 
Defender. "Don't worry about Willie. He'll keep his paws 
off you." As Ben said this, he met Willie's eyes and added 
a non verbal or you'll answer to me. Willie backed off and 
sat down with a grumble.
	"I came hear to eat dinner," she lady said stiffly as 
she deliberately moved her hands away from her two guns, 
"not start a fight. I'm more than willing to eat in peace 
if you are." She turned to him and locked her gaze with 
his. No mirror this time. Her eyes continued the 
conversation. But if you aren't, I'll take as many as I can 
with me before I fall. It wasn't a hollow bravado in her 
eyes like Willie's. Ben saw strength and cold determination 
there. If it came to a fight, he was pretty sure that he 
could take her, but decided that right now it wasn't worth 
the effort.
	Ben looked away first, submitting in their visual 
duel. For now, he thought. He moved back to his bar stool 
and signaled Quohog to give him another brew. 
	"Ben Polecat," he said, by way of introduction. "This 
is my gang." He took a sip.
	"Polecat? Is that your real name?"
	"Real enough." But it wasn't, of course. It sounded a 
hell of a lot better that Benjamin Butterwell from 
Springfield, Indiana.
	"I'm Lara Croft." She waited and looked at him. What? 
Was her name supposed to mean something? If it did, he 
wasn't aware of it. He steered the conversation towards a 
much better subject.
	"Nice bike you got there," he commented in a neutral 
tone of voice. "It's a Corley. '32?"
	The lady eased back on her stool, but her eyes never 
stopped surveying the room through the mirror.. "Thirty 
three, I think. Whatever year it was before they switched 
away from the Intel engine processor." Her tone was as 
neutral as Ben's was, though perhaps a bit more guarded.
	"That's the '32. They switched to some damn Jap 
computer." His voice dripped with disdain. "It totally 
screwed the bikes up. They bought out Apple in '37 and 
switched processors again."
	"You know your bikes." She commented, sipping at the 
ancient beer in her mug and grimacing. "American beer 
tastes like piss."
	Ben grunted. "I gotta know bikes. They're my life, 
and you get used to the beer." He added. Behind them, 
seeing that there was no fight, the guys resumed talking 
and horsing around. Big Willie kicked the juke box until it 
begun playing again.
	"Not bloody likely" he heard her mutter. The two 
continued to drink in companionable silence for a while, 
until Willie brought her obviously freezer burnt pot pie to 
her. She looked at it doubtfully, gave a mental shrug and 
began to eat it. How she thought of it was obvious on her 
face after the first bite.
	"Anything in his freezer's been there at least 10 
years," Ben mentioned. "The only thing that Quohog can make 
that isn't gonna kill you is a burrito. And that's because 
his wife makes them in the morning."
	"Go to hell, Polecat." Growled Quohog. "If you don't 
wanna eat my food, you can get your ass out that door any 
time you feel like it."
	Ben ignored him and continued to drink. Quohog 
grumbled about respect and retreated to the kitchen. The 
juke box decided that it didn't like what it was playing 
and switched to the Eagle's Greatest Hits. Hotel 
California.
	"I apologize if I offend you, but is there something 
horribly significant about a Corley motorcycle? You seem 
very knowledgeable on the subject." She pushed the empty 
plate away from her and took another grimacing sip of her 
beer.
	Ben looked at her in astonishment. What was she, 
drunk? What was Corley motors? "Corley's are the only real 
bikes left on the market." He said with pride. "Only a 
Corley has soul. Any other bike's just a piece of metal." 
No truer words could come from a bikers mouth. Behind him, 
the other Polecats murmured agreement and clinked their 
glasses together. He even heard a sniff. 
	"I wasn't aware that is was such a .personal 
experience." Lara said.
	"I went to Corley Motors once." Ben's voice was 
thick. "It was like a kind of religious pilgrimage for me." 
Yah, one with lots of butt kicking he added to himself. 
"The old man passed on last year," he continued. "It was 
pretty hard. Old Man Corley was pretty important to all of 
us." He didn't add that he had been framed for the old 
man's murder, and that his gang had been arrested by the 
usually non existent cops as assessories. 
	"Who runs the company now?" Lara asked.
	"His daughter, Maureen." Emotion crept into his 
voice, he couldn't help it. Mo had a special place in his 
heart. If only. ah, hell. "She almost lost control of the 
company, though, to some fat slimy slob named Rip Burger. 
He wanted to make mini-vans." There was hatred and disgust 
in his voice, and it was echoed by the angry murmurs of his 
gang behind him.
	Lara looked at him blankly for a moment. "Is there 
some horrible sin in making mini-vans that I don't know 
about?"
	"Corley's about bikes!" Ben snarled. "It's what the 
old man wanted. It's how he ran the company. If they 
started making yuppie trash, then the old man and 
everything he stood for would have been nothing but dust. 
Luckily, Mo-I mean Maureen found out about it and put a 
stop to it." With a lot of help from me.
	"What happened to this Rip person?" Lara asked.
	His voice was flat. "He took a long drive off a short 
cliff."
	"I see." She finished off her beer and for a while 
they both drank silently. The jukebox changed its tune 
again, playing some Van Halen. Panama.
	"What's a fancy lady like you doing riding all alone 
across this desert on a vintage hog?" Ben asked after a 
while.
	For a while the gorgeous enigma named Lara said 
nothing, drinking down a second bottle of 'well aged' beer 
that had appeared in front of her. "Taking in the sights."
	Ben snorted. "What sights? There's nothing out here 
except desert and gangs."
	"Maybe those are the sights I wanted to see."
	Ben looked at her. "Lady, you must have some death 
wish." The comment seemed to shake her a bit, but Ben had 
no idea why. "You ride around by your self looking like 
that looking for gangs?" She said nothing. "You almost got 
taken out by us, and we're small potatoes next to the Rott-
wheelers, or the dragons." 
	She smiled enigmatically. "Did I?" Her eyes were 
steel boring into his. I would have taken most you with me 
they said to him. 
	Whatever. 
	Granted she thought she was tough, but one woman 
against twelve? No one was that tough, not even Ben. He was 
close, though. Against his own will, a charitable thought 
popped into his head.
	"We could escort you to wherever you're going." Why 
the hell had he said that? The Polecats weren't an escort 
service. Granted she was hot, but it took more than a 
pretty face and breasts and ass and legs to stop him from 
thinking straight.
	"That's awfully big of you."
	"For a fee, of course." Ben added. At least she 
hadn't addled his brain too much for him to forget the 
bottom line.
	"Of course." Her face was unreadable.
	It was like a slap in the face. He offered his help 
and she-what had she done? Not agreed, not thanked him, not 
turned him down. Why did that piss him off so much?
	"Look, lady, if you don't have some one watching 
your-"ass he wanted to say, but didn't. "-behind, its 
either gonna get shot off or gang banged. You need us."
	Lara slowly, elegantly, stood up and threw a bill 
onto the table. "Thank you for the offer Mr. Polecat, but 
I'm a big girl. I have been taking care of myself for a 
very long time." Again the juke box decided to quit, and 
again every eye in the bar, including Ben's, followed her 
and her swaying behind as she left the bar. No one said a 
word as they heard the motor start up with that special 
Corley purr. Her headlight headed off west.
	Jackson whistled after an appropriate moment of 
silence. "That is both the hottest and coldest bitch I have 
seen in my whole life." Ben just grunted. The juke box 
decided to turn on again, playing Nirvana this time. Ben 
stood up and slapped the counter. "Lets ride, Polecats. 
People to do and places to see." Without another word he 
went outside to his bike. Even in this screwed up country, 
nothing smelled better than desert air at night, unless it 
was desert air at night while cruising on a Corley.
	The other members of the Polecats straggled out of 
the bar, getting on jackets and starting their hogs. "I'll 
pay you later, Quohog." Ben yelled over the revving motors. 
"Once I've got some cash."
	Quohog yelled back some reply, but all Ben heard was 
'Deadbeat'. 
	Hmph. Jerk.
	Without another word or thought, Ben led Jackson, Big 
Willie and the rest of the gang onto the cracked faded 
highway. They headed west.
	
	Ben & Lara
	Chapter Two
	by Ross Jenkins, c 1997
	
	Chapter II-Calm Before the Storm
	Date line: Baron's Head
	As jaded as this land has forced me to be, from time 
to time some things still genuinely surprise me. Last 
evening as I entered a hole-in-the-desert bar with a 
parking lot full of motorcycles, the last thing I expected 
to be a part of was a religious experience. Religious is 
questionable, but the people I met were definitely an 
experience. I entered expecting a fight. Bikers are 
notoriously territorial, especially of their watering 
holes. After the come-on/grope session that has become sort 
of a tradition in these parts, I came up against something 
truly surprising. It wasn't the beer; I still haven't found 
an American beer that does not taste like watered down 
urine. It wasn't the food; it tasted like sawdust. It was a 
sermon about biking, complete with a congregation and the 
occasional 'amen'. The local gang leader, with the 
questionable name of 'Ben Polecat', which he surely wasn't 
born with, read me the holy writ of motor cycling. That 
writ is motor cycles, or more precisely, Corley Motors 
motorcycles. If I can remember his wording correctly 'A 
Corley has soul, any other bike is just a piece of metal.' 
I find it fascinating that these people, who probably don't 
know what the Magna Carta is or when it was signed, or know 
the birth date of George Washington, were able to identify 
the year of my bike at a glance as well as give me a run 
down of the nationality of its parts, and a brief company 
history. It would not surprise me if they all had lap top 
computers with stock portfolios-with only one stock. After 
saying all this I must congratulate Corley Motors, not only 
for instilling such fierce customer loyalty, but for 
seemingly also creating a way of life.
	Lara scanned over what she had just written before 
smiling briefly and uploading it to her editor in London. 
It wasn't a bad first draft. Her editor would probably axe 
half of it and send a mangled, unrecognizable version of it 
back to her tonight to 'correct'. She had learned not to 
take it personally. It was just that no one in the blasted 
newspaper community knew good writing if it bit them in the 
arse, that was all. She pushed her lap top computer away 
from her and lay back on the bed that she had been sitting 
cross legged on. 
	For a moment last evening she was sure that 
everything was going to break into violence. It wouldn't 
have been the first time. Perhaps she had been a bit flip 
with that biker and his hands, but she had always been a 
creature of the moment. Some things just felt right when 
they happened, like that did, consequences be damned. 
Despite what Mr. Polecat (surely he hadn't been born with 
that name) had said, she knew that she could have come out 
of the situation intact. She wasn't silly enough to start 
gunning down bikers in their own bar, but a show of force, 
of balls to coin the American term, was essential. If they 
didn't think that she was capable of drawing and using her 
guns then they would have walked all over her.
	Still, all in all, the evening had passed peaceably 
enough. The leader, Polecat, had been tougher than she had 
expected. There was iron in that man's gaze. He had been 
through a great deal in his life, but still was calm enough 
to extend the peace. He had even offered to protect her, 
for a fee of course. It was sort of charming in a 
chauvinistic way. Still, there was something about the 
man.she was sure that they would meet again.
	With a sigh she rolled out of the bed and into the 
shower, taking her gun belt in the washroom with her. She 
had learned that it was wise to be forearmed in this land-
in fact in any land. Or to coin another American phrase 
'your not paranoid when you know they're out to get you'. 
Both guns, Browning HP-35 Mk3's, were loaded with a round 
in the chamber. It was an act of questionable safety, but 
Lara cared for them well and did not often have the time to 
charge the weapons before using them.
	She had ridden into the small town of Baron's Head 
late last evening, two hours after leaving the charming 
company of the Polecats. Currently she was the sole 
occupant of the 'Baron's Head Hotel'. The owner of the 
place, and apparently its only employee, was a feisty woman 
in her mid 40's named Flo whom Lara had taken a liking to 
immediately. The paint in her room was faded and cracked, 
the sheets were old, the sink and tub were rusty, and the 
hot water was temperamental at best. Still, it was 
luxurious compared to some of the hostels and dives that 
she had stayed in during the last few weeks.
	After a short shower using the last of her herbal 
shampoo - the dry desert air was hell on her hair - Lara 
dressed in the same shorts and tank top that had gone with 
her to hell - or was that the depths of Atlantis? - and 
back. The were worn in a few places and had a few holes in 
them, but were comforting in their familiarity. She didn't 
plan to do any riding today, so the brief attire would do 
just fine. Lara had always been a sun worshipper and used 
strong sun block as a grudging concession to the severely 
depleted ozone layer. As she began the lengthy process of 
braiding her hair, she switched on the radio. It was 
playing a truly awful country song that had apparently been 
on the charts for a while. It was about a man who was happy 
about being the last man on Earth, because he could finally 
kiss his lady love. She shook her head in disgust. Only in 
America.
	The sun was about ¬ of the way up as she walked down 
stairs. Flo was sitting behind the counter reading an E-
zine. "Hey, honey," she called out in her thick Texas twang 
as she continued to recline against the counter. "I owe you 
a breakfast. I can make you some bacon and eggs."
	Ugh. Americans ate to much grease. "Could I just have 
coffee and toast, please?" Lara asked politely as she 
surveyed the area. No other vehicles in the parking lot or 
the road, and no one else in the lobby.
	"Sure, honey, if you like." Said Flo as she tossed 
the E-zine to the counter and moved to the door labeled 
'Employee's only.' Flo had obviously been a beautiful lady 
once, but time and gravity had taken their toll. Her hair 
was an obviously artificial shade of red and Lara was sure 
that her cleavage was somewhat enhanced. She reeked of 
cheap perfume and wore far too much makeup. Still, she was 
a sweet lady behind those old tired eyes. Lara liked her. 
"I make great bacon and eggs, though." She called out.
	Lara was still surveying the area through the main 
window. "No, thank you." She said absently as she watched a 
building that looked to be an auto garage. There were a 
number of bikes parked in front of the place.
	Flo clucked as she went back into the kitchen. "Your 
loss, honey."
	The town of Baron's Head looked even more tired and 
shabby by day light, and that was hard to do. It had looked 
pretty sad when she had first ridden in. Two out of three 
buildings were obviously abandoned. Any glass visible was 
cracked and covered in a steel cage. There were various 
forms of graffiti, some gang signatures (she recognized the 
Polecat's crest at one point) and others were just the 
results of restless youth. Street lights were bent and 
dented, or just removed entirely. There seemed to be no 
active trash removal system. Abandoned and stripped cars 
sat about, awaiting decent burial, vying for space with old 
boxes and newspapers. She reflected again on the sadness of 
it all as Flo came back into the room. "Breakfast's ready, 
honey. You'll have to come back here to get it though." She 
popped her head back into the kitchen.
	For a moment Lara contrasted this to her pampered 
life with her father and smiled. In every way, except 
perhaps for the freshness of the bread, Lara far preferred 
this. It was more honest. She walked into the kitchen where 
Flo had turned what looked to have been the employee lounge 
into a small dining nook. Steaming coffee in a chipped mug 
sat next to some fresh toast and margarine. Flo sat on the 
other side of the table, drinking coffee and leaving 
lipstick smudges on the cup. She chatted about men, the 
desert, and men as Lara ate.
	Lara spread what turned out to be soy-spread on her 
toast in silence, pleased that in this culinarily 
challenged corner of the world that they still couldn't 
screw up toasted bread. Butter, or even margarine would 
have been nice, though.
	"I thought all you English types drank tea." Flo said 
around her coffee.
	"I used to," said Lara as she sipped her coffee, "but 
I've been travelling for quite a number of years and have 
gotten quite hooked, I'm afraid. I find I need that jolt 
that coffee brings to get up in the morning." She a bite of 
toast. It tasted a bit old, but beggars can't be choosers. 
"I still drink tea in the afternoons, though."
	"I ain't got none, honey. I hope you know that."
	Lara smiled. "No worry, Flo. I brought my own 
supply."
	The lady laughed. "You're real prepared." She paused 
and looked at Lara. "What's a broad like you doing here in 
Baron's Head anyway?"
	Lara lifted her eye brows. "A broad like me?" The 
word didn't seem right coming from her mouth.
	Flo didn't seem to notice. "Yah, like you. Gorgeous 
like a Holowood star, muscles like Miss Universe and armed 
like Rambo." Lara chuckled at the imagery. "You ride a 
Corley, but you don't look or act like a biker chick."
	"And what do I act like?" Lara asked, amused. She 
sipped her coffee.
	"Well, shoot, you know." She gestured with her hands. 
Unfortunately, she still held the coffee cup, which 
sloshed. Lara quickly moved her toast out of harms way. 
"That accent, those manners. Like the queen or something."
	"Well I'm not the queen. I used to be a Lord's 
daughter, but he disowned me."
	Flo was shocked. "Disowned you? What the hell for?"
	"Being armed like Rambo, muscled like Miss Universe 
and acting like Indiana Jones." Lara said with a straight 
face. "He felt it wasn't a proper way for a lady to act."
	"No shit! What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"
	"I'm writing a series of articles about the New West. 
I look for what's interesting and dangerous."
	"No shit!" Flo repeated.
	"No shit." Lara agreed.
	"Is that what your looking for in Baron's Head? 
Trouble?" She gave Lara a worried look.
	"Yes, but I prefer to observe it from a distance when 
possible."
	"About the only place in town that's anything is the 
local watering hole, The Horny Bull."
	"Charming name." Lara commented.
	"Ya, well, anything interesting in this town's gonna 
happen there. If you want dangerous, that's the place, too. 
All the bikers hang out there, too. You might want to steer 
clear of them." Flo warned.
	"I've met some." Lara informed her. "I think that I 
can handle them."
	"You did, honey? Who?"
	"The Polecats."
	Flo cackled. "Ben?" Her voice was almost a shriek. 
"Now there is a hunk of man. Those shoulders, that jaw." 
Her eyes were bright. "I'll ride on his handlebars any 
time." She paused. "Shoot, honey, him and his gang are a 
bunch of pussy cats. They like to drive hard, get in a 
fight every now and then and growl a lot, but they are tame 
compared to some of the bad asses that ride in this desert. 
Why, shoot, there are some that would just as soon shoot 
you as look at you."
	"I've met some of those types, too." Lara said 
quietly, thinking of the man she had sat beside two days 
ago. "Thank you for your concern, Flo, but I can take care 
of myself." Lara wiped her hands on a napkin and stood. 
"Thank you for breakfast, Flo. it was wonderful."
	Flo snorted and shook her head. "It wasn't very much, 
honey. If you want to mess it up with the bad boys, go 
right ahead." She stood also and gathered up breakfast 
dishes. "Don't say old Flo didn't warn you." She began to 
turn away, but stopped. "But, honey?"
	Lara paused and looked back. "Yes?"
	"There is some new bruiser in town who is down right 
evil. Goes by the name of Gunny. They say he's truly bad 
ass and is recruiting for some new gang. Stay clear of him, 
whatever you do." She turned away and placed the dishes in 
the sink.
	"Thank you. I'll be careful."
	Flo gave some sort of 'mmhm' as Lara left the 
kitchen. The garage across the street peaked her interest. 
A name, 'Mike's', was spray painted over the door.
	"Excuse me?" Lara poked her head in the garage. An 
echoing conversation from the back stopped. "Excuse me, is 
there a mechanic here?" 
	* * *
	The Polecats drove into Baron's Head 15 strong. Their 
crest was displayed on both their bikes and jackets. Ben 
drove in his customary position at the head of the bikes, 
with the rest formed two lines behind him. All you could 
hear was the sound of well tuned bike engines. It was like 
a symphony from God. The column rolled to a stop across 
from the Baron's Head Inn.
	"Ben, what the hell do you want to see Flo for?" 
Jackson asked from his bike. "Last time you got within five 
miles of her it took all of us to stop her from dragging 
you to the alter. You changed your mind?"
	"Hell, no." growled Ben as he shut off his engine. 
"That broad has so much make up and perfume she's a fire 
hazard. Every time she light's up I think she's gonna 
explode." He had bad memories about the last time that old 
floozy tried to get her hooks into him. It still made him 
shudder.
	"Hey, Ben, I think you two make a cute couple," 
called out Duke, one of the younger members. "It's one of 
those May/December things." The guys laughed. "Or is more 
like a September/December thing?" 
	Everybody was a comedian. "You're a riot, Duke. Stow 
it."
	Jackson spoke again. "What are we doing here, Ben?"
	"I hear Father Torque's in town. Gonna pay my 
respects." It was at least partly the truth. 
	"Ya, it ain't got nothing to do with that gloss gray 
32' Ultra Glide parked out front of Flo's place?" Jackson 
asked as he got off his machine. "We all know who rides 
that thing." The other guys chuckled, whistled or howled, 
except Big Willie, who just scowled. "What was her name? 
Kraft?"
	"Croft," Ben answered. "Lara Croft."
	Jackson slapped his gang leader and friend on the 
shoulder. "There ain't nothing wrong with going pussy 
hunting, man, but at least admit it to your self that's 
what your doing." He chuckled. "And that's one pussy that's 
worth hunting, too."
	That much was the truth. Ben shrugged off the man's 
hand. "I'm just gonna see Father Torque," he growled. 
Jackson just laughed quietly and shook his head. "Put a 
sock in it, cupid. Take guys out and go get a drink. I 
gotta go see the old man."
	Ben trudged across Mike's Bikes as the others drove 
off in a cloud of oh-so-sweet exhaust. It was like cologne. 
Couldn't Jackson just stick to bikes? Ben didn't need 
anyone to tell him what he was thinking, and that lady 
Croft had nothing to do with why he brought the Polecats to 
Baron's Head.
	That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
	The garage was pretty empty, but still smelled of 
acetylene and old oil. Mike was probably sacked out; he 
liked to party pretty late, but the garage was open and he 
could hear the Father's gravelly voice echoing from inside. 
There was another voice, higher and feminine. Ben walked 
inside and went to the back where he knew Father Torque 
liked to work on his bike. He heard light gentle laughter 
that seemed too cultured to be here, and he knew who the 
Father was talking to. Croft. It sounds pretty, like a 
trickle of gas pouring out of a barrel. Ben scowled. Where 
the hell had that thought come from?
	He made plenty of noise as he walked back. Sneaking 
up behind a biker, even an gnarled old leathery one like 
the Father, was a quick way to get hurt. He had a feeling 
that sneaking up on Lara was bad for your health, too. They 
were both there, sitting on crates and sharing a thermos of 
coffee. Torque was saying something and Lara's beautiful 
laughter filled the air once more. Man, he thought, just 
shoot me now. He refused to notice how good looking she was 
in that tight tank top and short shorts. Her laughter cut 
off abruptly as she swung around and spotted him. Her eyes 
met his, sizing him up. Ben locked gazes to hers and 
smirked when she looked away first.
	"Ben," Father Torque raised his hand in greeting. His 
voice was as old and scratchy as the desert. "Good to see 
you." He could have been carved out of stone, that man. His 
skin was like old leather and his long hair and beard were 
solid white. "This is the guy who runs my gang now." He 
said to Lara. "He's done the Polecats proud, except for 
that whole jail thing last year."
	Ben returned the gesture and grimaced. Get your 
entire gang framed for murder once and you never live it 
down. "You used to lead the Polecats?" Lara asked the old 
biker.
	"Yup." He took a sip of coffee. "I threw in the towel 
a few years ago, gave the gang to Ben." He looked at Ben 
fondly.
	"For a guy who's supposed to be retired, you hang 
around an awful lot." Ben told the old man. "What's the 
matter? Run out of guys to beat up on the Old Mine Road?" 
He did his best to ignore Lara and her legs which seemed to 
on forever in those shorts. Torque chuckled and didn't 
answer. He extended his hand and Ben took it. The man still 
had a grip like a vice and Ben tried not to wince. The old 
biker motioned Ben to an empty crate between him and Lara. 
Ben sat with the sound of creaking leather.
	"Hello again Mr. Polecat." Lara said politely. Mr. 
Polecat? Ben couldn't remember any one ever calling him 
that. It seemed weird. Ben ignored her.
	Torque barked out a loud laugh. "Ha! Mr. Polecat, 
that's a fresh one." He slapped Ben on the shoulder, a blow 
which almost knocked him off the crate. The old man still 
packed a hell of a punch, and Ben wasn't a small man. "Call 
him Ben, darlin," Torque said. "Polecat may be what he 
calls himself, but he sure as hell ain't no mister." 
	That was the truth. Ben nodded to her, wishing she 
would go away so that he could pay his respects to the old 
biker. "Croft."
	"Charmed." She nodded back coolly and made no signs 
of leaving. Figured. 
	Father Torque looked at the two of them. "You two 
know each other?"
	Ben sighed. Looked like there was no way out of this. 
"She blew into the Kickstand last night. We said hi." And 
then she left his look told her.
	She was either too dense to figure out what he meant 
or was just ignoring him. Torque nodded and smiled. "Good, 
then I don't gotta introduce you two."
	Ben just shook his head and did his level best to 
ignore Croft and her long legs. It wasn't enough. "How you 
doin', Father?"
	Torque shrugged. "I need a lube job and new fuel 
pump. New set of shock of shock absorbers wouldn't hurt 
either. Other than that, just fine I guess." Ya, right. The 
only way that Torque would leave was if some one punched 
his ticket. He was too tough and stubborn to die.
	"How's the bike doin'?" Ben asked. Torque's bike was 
older than he was, which was saying a lot. It was a classic 
Corley that dated back to before the turn of the century. 
How he got parts for the damned thing was a mystery to 
everyone in the desert.
	Torque beamed and looked at his antique hog like a 
favorite child, which it was, really. "Better than me, 
that's for damn sure." He took a slug off coffee. "I just 
came into Mike's to change the oil and give the damn thing 
a check up." 
	Ben took a moment to admire the low rider's classic 
lines. "Treasure like that needs a lot of love." He 
commented.
	Torque chuckled. "Ya, love and a new set of plugs."
	Ben turned back to the older man, getting Lara out of 
his field of vision. "How long you been in town? Any one 
else been into see you?"
	"I came in coupla' days ago. Only people who came 
into see me were a coupla Vultures." The Father shook his 
head sadly. "Ain't like the old days, I tell you."
	Lara spoke from behind him. "What do you mean?"
	Torque sagged and suddenly looked 10 years older. He 
almost looked.frail. "That's what I was telling you before 
Bennie came in." His scratchy voice was full of sadness. 
"Back in my day, when the Earth was cooling," he added with 
a twinkle in his eye. Maybe the man wasn't so old after 
all. "Things were different. People had more respect."
	No. "Thing's aren't different." Ben's voice was hard. 
"You've got plenty of respect, where it counts." 
	Torque chuckled sadly. "Ha. You come see me, so do 
the Vultures, but there are lots of bikers out there that 
don't give me the time of day anymore. Times are changing, 
Ben."
	Ben struck his fist on his leg hard. "Ya, well, I 
ain't." It was a declaration. "When I'm on the road, I'm 
indestructible, and that ain't gonna change."
	The older man smiled and looked at Ben 
affectionately. "See what I mean, darlin'?" He asked Lara.
	Ben could hear her smile, even though he was doing 
his damnedest not to look at her. "Yes, I do." She said.
	"Huh?" Morbid curiosity got the best of him and Ben 
turned to look at her. 
	The Father seemed to have regained his good spirits. 
"We were talking about you before you came in." the old man 
told Ben.
	Oh great. Just he needed. "Hope it was the censored 
version."
	Torque laughed and slapped Ben's shoulder again. Pain 
flared. Man, that guy's hands were like bricks. "You don't 
have a censored version, Ben. Ain't been around long 
enough." He shook his head and chuckled. "We've been 
talking about the gangs and the Code of the Road. Your name 
came up."
	"I've learning all about you, Ben," she said with a 
smile. It softened up her normally hard features. Made her 
almost...human. "From a number of sources."
	Ben groaned. "Great. Just what I need."
	Lara's smile took a nasty edge. "Yes, I had a lovely 
conversation about you with a woman named Flo."
	Now everything was perfect. "Don't listen to a damn 
thing she says." Ben growled. "That lady ain't playing with 
a full deck."
	Lara raised her eye brows. "She seems quite taken 
with you."
	"Ya, well, it ain't mutual."
	Lara looked at him a moment. "She seems to think that 
it is."
	Couldn't she just drop the subject? "Like I said, she 
ain't firing on all cylinders."
	Lara shrugged. "Yes, well she had some information 
that you may find interesting."
	Ben shook his head. "What cock and bull story has Flo 
come up with now?"
	"It was about a new gang forming."
	That got his attention. "Hmm? I haven't heard 
anything about that."
	Father Torque spoke up. "I have. Some guy's in the 
area sending out feelers, trying to round up some 
independents."
	Not on my turf they aren't. "Either of you got a name 
or place where this guy can be found?" He bit out the 
words.
	Torque shook his head sadly. "Not me. Like I said, no 
one talks to old Torque any more."
	Lara broke in before Ben could respond. "Flo said 
that his name was Gunny, and that he might be in the Horny 
Bull tonight."
	Ben rubbed the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. 
"Hmm."
	"Gonna pay the guy a visit?" Torque asked.
	Ben got to his feet. "Ya, I think I will." He slammed 
one fist into the ball of his hand, planning violence.
	Father Torque stood and extended his hand in 
farewell. Ben took it and felt the bones in his hand creak. 
Lara stood as well. "Give 'em hell, Polecat." Torque said.
	Ben tried to ignore the fact that his hand had been 
turned into hamburger. Again. "Always." Without saying 
anything to Croft he turned and started to walk out.
	"And watch your back!" Torque called out.
	"Worry about his back, not mine." Ben called back.
	As he walked out of the garage, he could still hear 
the two of them talking. "Heh. That really got a bug up his 
shorts. Reminds me of me." the Father said. There was pride 
in his voice.
	Lara's voice came through faint but clear. "I'll try 
not to hold that against you." Ben frowned. Women. 
	Torque's laugh came through loud and clear. "Hah! 
What were we talking about before Ben came in?" He asked. 
Ben shook his head and got onto his bike.
	"We were talking about the petrol uprisings."
	"Right. Well, I was pretty young then, but I 
remember. pass me that wrench, would you." Anything else 
was drowned out in the rumble of Ben's bike. He drove off 
to meet up with his guys. The Polecats were going to spend 
the evening in Baron's Head, looking for a man named Gunny.
	
	
	Ben & Lara
	Chapter Three
	by Ross Jenkins, c 1997
	
	Chapter III-The Brawl
	"You heard of a guy named Gunny?" Ben yelled to the 
bartender in the Horny Bull over the cacophony of the live 
music. God knows how, but they had hauled in a live band to 
play tonight. They weren't bad either. The leader singer 
was a dark haired chick in a black leather mini skirt and 
she and her band were dishing out a kind of retro bluesy-
rock. [Author's Note: The band both looks and sounds like 
Alannah Myles]They were inside a plexi cage that showed 
signs of extreme wear with explosions from hurled bottles 
and mugs and various stains caused by beer, vomit and 
blood. It was part of the ambience that made the Horny Bull 
the classy establishment that it was.
	The bartender thought about Ben's words for a second 
and eventually came to the conclusion that they did not 
include the words 'beer' or 'drink'. He ignored Ben and 
turned to serve someone else. That jerk. Ben reached out 
and grabbed the man's collar, then pulled him bodily onto 
the bar. "You know," he growled into the bent over 
bartender's ear. "If I thought that you were pissing me off 
on purpose, I'd probably rip your head off and put it on my 
bike." The bartender froze like a deer in headlights. "I 
asked you if you heard of a man named Gunny. You might want 
to think about whether you got an answer for me or not." 
Ben pushed the bartender away from him. The guy almost 
fell, but caught himself and came shakily to his feet.
	"Well?" Ben growled. He was suddenly alone at the 
bar. Just the pasty faced bartender was left. The guy 
paused, licking his lips, thinking rapidly.
	"He-he never comes in before 10."
	"What does the jerk-wad look like?"
	"Big. Bigger than you. Older too. Has a brush cut and 
bad sunburn on his face. Guy's built like a tank." Hmm. 
Gunny may have been bigger, but Ben was tougher. And with a 
name like Gunny, Ben was smarter, too.
	Ben's face was stone. "You see the guy, you tell him 
the Polecat's want to see him." He cracked his knuckles. 
"And gimme a beer." The beer here was homebrewed, but 
wasn't as good as Quohog's stuff.
	The bartender, rubbing his neck, drew Ben a mug of 
dark beer. Ben took it and sipped slowly, scoping the 
scene. All the Polecats were here in varying states of 
drunkenness. He'd told them to try and take it easy 
tonight, but a gang leader's influence only went so far. He 
didn't want to push his men farther then they would go. He 
saw some Vultures around, which made him think of two 
things: Mo, and trouble. Before running off to head up 
Corley, Mo had run with the gang for who knows how long, 
and it was because of her that the Polecats had the uneasy 
peace with the Vultures that they had. It didn't help much 
that Ben had crashed their rolling headquarters, the 
fuselage of an old C-330 transport plane, into the Poyahoka 
gorge. The Vultures were mostly all chicks and they ran 
under the charge of this big fat cow named Suzie. Depending 
on which end of the PMS teeter totter she was on, the 
Vultures would either side for or against the Polecats if, 
hell when, a fight broke out tonight.
	The rest of the bar was full of various independents, 
groupies and wannabes. Father Torque was at a back table, 
sharing brews and stories with some other old war horses. 
He saw Flo off at the other bar in full war regalia, her 
ample charms oozing out of her too tight clothing. Oh, 
great. Like this can't get any worse tonight. 
	As soon as he thought it, he knew he was wrong, 
because then he saw her. Croft. She was playing pool with 
five guys drooling all around her. Her hair was undone, 
cascading down across her back and onto the pool table. It 
made her look a lot softer, like a real lady. She wasn't 
wearing her guns and still had that worn, almost 
transparent, tank top on, though she had changed from those 
shorts, too bad, to a pair of tight black jeans that fit 
her just as well. She was bending over the pool table to 
take a shot and was gathering a large group of admirers. He 
knew the guys that she was playing with, knew that it was 
only so long before they tried to grab what they were 
ogling.
	Not knowing exactly why he was doing it, Ben finished 
his beer and starting walking towards the group. He was 
protecting her, he told himself. She was up against five 
bozos with no guns to back her up. If she pulled the same 
crap on them that she had on Big Willie last night, those 
guys were going to eat her alive. She thought that she was 
tough, but no one survived five on one. Well, maybe me.
	The band broke into a slow bump and grind song, Black 
Velvet, that had all the local love birds flocking to the 
faded dance floor. The low heavy bass followed Ben's 
footsteps as he stalked towards the pool table. He couldn't 
really tell which of her fan club Lara was playing against, 
but whoever it was, she was kicking his butt. Somehow that 
didn't surprise him. He glared at the guys as he stepped up 
to the table. Lara was leaning over the table lining up her 
shot at the eight ball, giving all assembled a nice view. 
Ben shoved the nearest guy away, and stood next to Lara. 
"Get lost." He growled to the group as a whole.
	Some looked like they wanted to protest, but then saw 
look of impending violence in Ben's dark eyes. For a moment 
they wondered whether Lara's obvious assets were worth the 
beating that Ben would give them and decided that there was 
easier prey elsewhere. They left slowly, not wanting it to 
look like they were running with their tails between their 
legs, but they left. Only Ben was standing there as Lara 
brought her cue forward and sent the eight ball rolling 
towards the corner pocket. As it fell with a faint click 
she slowly straightened up. Like a cat.
	She surveyed the now empty table then looked over at 
Ben. "That was rather rude." She commented. 
	Ben shrugged and crossed his arms with the sound of 
creaking leather. "I flunked out of charm school."
	She might have had a hint of smile, but it might have 
been the shadows. "Hello, Ben. Having a good evening?"
	I haven't found Gunny yet, Flo wants to jump my bones 
and for some reason I'm here with you. Everything is 
perfect. "No one's died yet." He said dryly. "Can't be that 
bad."
	"Is that how you normally measure good nights around 
here?" Lara asked wryly. She moved to a counter set against 
the wall and picked up a half full mug of beer. "To what do 
I owe the pleasure of your charming company?" She asked, 
then took a sip of the homebrew and grimaced.
	Ben smirked. "Still haven't found a beer good enough 
for you?"
	She shook her head and put down the mug. "Not on this 
continent."
	A would be Romeo came to the table, smiling at Lara. 
Ben glared at him and the guy took off. "You picked the 
wrong place to come into unarmed." He grunted. Why do I 
give a damn? He asked himself.
	Lara moved around the pool table, pulling up pool 
balls. "I'll manage," she said lightly. With her hair down 
and in those clothes, it didn't look like she could manage 
much. She sure looked hot, though. 
	"You look like a slut." Ben snapped. "You keep up 
what your doing and your gonna end up pulling the biggest 
train that's ever gone through this desert." Pulling a 
train was slang for group sex.
	She raised an elegant eyebrow skeptically. "Thank you 
for your concern, Ben, but I can handle myself."
	Ben snorted. "Ya, right." Who the hell did this lady 
think she was? "Like you handled my boys in the Kickstand 
last night?"
	She smiled menacingly. Without her guns and dressed 
like she was, it didn't make much of an impression. "No one 
got hurt, did they?" She asked.
	Not because of anything she had done. "You got out 
safe last night because I let you." Ben growled. She moved 
around the table like a dancer. If nothing else, she 
certainly moved like Lady Grace.
	Lady Grace. It suited her.
	Lara stopped what she was doing, leaned against the 
table and crossed her arms. "You think so?" Her actions 
pushed up her cleavage and Ben couldn't help staring at her 
chest.
	"This desert's going to eat you alive, Lady Grace." 
He snapped, still not meeting her eyes. "You'd better get 
on that bike and keep running until you hit ocean."
	She didn't seem impressed. Why am I not surprised? 
"I'm quite capable of taking care of myself." She told him 
pointedly.
	I've had enough garbage for one night. "Have fun 
getting raped," Ben muttered and turned to walk away.
	Behind him, Lara was racking the balls. "You seem to 
have chased off the competition," she called out to his 
back. "Would you like a game?"
	Ben turned. She held out a cue to him, but he shook 
his head. "I've got better things to do." Anything else 
would be better than this. 
	She put the cue back into the wall rack and leaned 
over to take her breaking shot. "Like finding this Gunny 
person." She said. The tank top she wore revealed every 
line and curve of her back as she leaned over. 
	Ben just stared at her. "Ya." He said absently. "Like 
that."
	She had a good break, sinking three balls. She was 
good. "Any luck so far?" she asked as she inspected the 
table. Ben said nothing, just watched her as she leaned 
over the table to sink the thirteen.
	They said nothing for a while as Lara cleared the 
table. She was really good. After the eight ball went down 
and Lara had another grimacing gulp of beer, she spoke up 
again. "What is a Gunny, anyway? It seems sort of an odd 
name."
	Ben snapped his attention back to the present. 
"Marine corps term." he said without thinking. "Gunnery 
sergeant. Usually tough as nails."
	She turned towards him, her dark eyes large and 
luminous. "And how do you know that?" She asked.
	Ben grimaced. He'd gone a mighty long time without 
even thinking about marines. "I called the psychic friends 
network." He growled. I've spent too much time here, 
popping eye candy. He turned to leave.
	Again she called out and he stopped. "Ben?" There was 
concern in her voice. "Be careful."
	He crossed his arms. "Worry about your self, Lady 
Grace, not me."
	Her smile had an edge to it. "Say hi to Flo for me."
	Great. Now they're teaming up against me. "Not in 
this lifetime." He stalked away, looking for some kind, any 
kind of trouble. Its gonna be a long night.
	* * *
	Well, he certainly seemed sensitive about that marine 
thing, Lara thought as she played billiards. Despite what 
she had said to Ben, she was thankful for the solitude, 
however short lived it was going to be. The Horny Bull had 
so far proved dull and bothersome.
	She had spent the afternoon and evening here, after a 
wonderful morning with Father Torque. The man had truly 
seen it all and had given Lara enough fodder for a dozen, 
maybe a whole series worth of articles. It was interesting 
to see the area's various bikers defer to the old, but by 
no means weak, man. It was also a novelty to see Ben 
respectful; she had a hunch that he was the one man on 
earth who Ben respected.
	Afterwards she had gone back to her room and changed 
into more appropriate evening wear. Flo had been cackling 
about seeing Ben tonight and 'not letting him get away this 
time'. She wished Ben luck. Against Flo, he was going to 
need it. Lara wasn't sure why she had left her guns behind 
or undone her hair. She was here on work, and this was most 
certainly not the place to let one's guard down. She had 
told herself at the time that she wanted to blend in, 
appear non confrontational among these bikers. She wanted 
to hear more about this Gunny character, and felt that they 
would tell her more if they thought she was a 'biker 
chick'.
	It may have seemed a good idea at the time, but she 
was definitely regretting it now. These gorillas had been 
panting and drooling over her since she had gotten here; it 
was impossible to get a moments peace from them and even 
more impossible to get a shred of respect. Dressed and 
acting as she was, she was purely a piece of meat to them; 
something to jockey over and compete for. It got very old, 
very quickly.
	She had been keeping half an eye out for Ben the 
entire time she'd been here. The moment she had mentioned 
this Gunny person to him, he had become more alive. If he 
had been a dog, his ears would have perked. That was why 
she knew that he would be here at the Horny Bull. Even the 
possibility of finding and confronting this potential 
threat to his turf had to be explored.
	It was good stuff, and would make a great article. 
Between Ben, his gang dominance and all the tales of Father 
Torque, this place was a gold mine. It might be worth 
sticking around for a while. She also couldn't wait to see 
whether Flo netted Ben or not.
	"Hey babe, wanna use my stick?" came a crude voice 
from her side. Lara looked over at the biker with the 
incredible sense of humour and tried not to laugh. Instead 
she gave an inviting smile.
	"I'll use my own, thanks." She began to pull up 
billiard balls. "Five dollars a ball if your up to it, 
sport."
	The guy smiled. "When I win, how 'bout I take it out 
in trade?"
	Lara just sighed. If something happens tonight, she 
thought, it had better happen soon, before she was forced 
to injure someone.
	* * *
	What a night. That damned Gunny hadn't showed, and it 
was after 11:30. Ben was beginning to wonder whether the 
guy existed. When he wasn't looking out for him, he was 
dodging Flo. Ben had no idea what he had done to deserve 
that broad. He hadn't given her any come on's; in fact he'd 
done everything short of punching her out to get her to go 
away. The damn woman just wouldn't give up. She just kept 
on coming onto Ben and shoving her cleavage into his face. 
If the dame had just wanted a roll in the hay he'd probably 
have obliged her. She wasn't bad looking even though she 
had about 12 years on him. He could just tell, though, that 
if he ever fell for that she would have him chained up so 
fast his head would spin. Ben had been chained up once 
already, in the Vulture's hide out, and that was once too 
many.
	If it wasn't for trying to find this Gunny guy he'd 
have just ducked out, but the prick hadn't showed so he'd 
ended up dodging Flo all night. At least the music was 
good. The crowd was kind of tense. Normally, at least one 
brawl would have started by now, but so far nothing. 
Everybody knew that Ben was waiting for Gunny, and they all 
wanted to be around for the main event.
	Croft was still here too, shaking her booty by the 
pool tables. Whatever. He'd tried to warn her off, and if 
she ended up getting banged by every biker in the bar it 
was her problem. So far it seemed that all she had done was 
separate a bunch of fools from their money. Not a very good 
way to make friends, either. 
	He'd run into Suzie the Vulture a couple of times. 
She and her gang were still here in force, though he had no 
idea which way they were leaning tonight. As much as she 
tried to act relaxed, he could tell that she was on the 
look out too. The Vulture's turf bordered the Polecats, and 
any new gang in the area would be a threat to them too. He 
watched as Big Willie got into an arm wrestle with one of 
the Vultures and lost. Poor guy was getting nailed on all 
corners these days. He had been taken down a peg by Croft 
yesterday in front of the whole gang, and knocked down 
again right now by another woman. It wouldn't have been a 
big deal if Willie's head wasn't so big, but that guy had a 
lot of pride. Ya, well, life was tough some times and 
Willie would have to deal with it just like everyone else.
	Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw a hand at the 
bar point towards him. That idiot bartender that Ben had 
bullied earlier. He was pointing some tall bear of a guy 
towards Ben's table. The guy was wearing faded desert 
fatigues, combat boots, and a tank top shirt. A blue, faded 
tattoo of the globe and anchor was on his left arm. This 
must be Gunny. Good. It was time for some butt kicking.
	Ben stood and began to walk towards the guy, the 
crowd parting before him like the Red Sea. Gunny saw Ben 
coming towards him and just smiled. Tension filled the air 
like electricity.
	As Ben neared the bar he realized just how big this 
son of a bitch was. Ben was 6'2" and 220 lb. but this guy 
had at least 6 inches and 100 pounds on him. He didn't have 
rippling muscles on him but there sure wasn't any fat. 
	It didn't matter. He was still in Ben's way and that 
meant that he was going to go down.
	Ben stopped about two feet away from the guy and just 
stared at him. Ben had stared down bigger guys before, it 
was just a case of knowing that you were a bigger badder 
mother who took no guff from anyone. You had to make him 
know that you were more than willing to take the guy apart 
with your bare hands. It was the same glare he had used to 
stare down Lady Grace. Ya, but it didn't work so well on 
her, did it? Well, it would work on Gunny.
	Gunny's eyes were pale blue, a colour that was 
intensified by the redness of his face. They were intense, 
too intense. The guy looked like he was going to flip out, 
that he wanted to flip out. It was meant to intimidate Ben, 
and it almost worked.
	"You Gunny?" Ben's voice was low and controlled. 
Despite the sounds of the band, he knew that his voice 
carried.
	Gunny's grin was one step away from being maniacal. 
His voice was like chewed metal. "Ya. You Polecat?"
	Ben said nothing, just clenched his fists. It was 
going to be a fight and they both knew it. It was just a 
case of when. "I hear you want to start a gang." He said 
after a moment.
	Gunny flexed his whole body. It started in his fists, 
moved up his arms to his shoulders and ended in his chest. 
Jesus, this guy was one big muscle. The guy was wearing a 
tight muscle shirt, which made it even more impressive, 
which Ben realized was just the point. Its just a scare 
tactic, to put me on edge.
	It wasn't going to work.
	"This is Polecat turf. You wanna start a gang, you 
gotta go through us." Ben paused and smirked. "Jerk."
	Gunny eyes popped out even more, which Ben didn't 
think was possible. "That's the idea." Gunny yelled. He 
reared back his left arm and swung a fist the size of an 
oil can.
	The collective crowd let out a cheer. They had been 
waiting for this all night. The evening's entertainment had 
just begun.
	* * *
	Lara had felt the tension for the last hour or so. 
She had made over $200 on hormone ridden morons who had 
thought her an easy mark, and had been on the look out for 
Gunny. She saw the crowd form around the two next to the 
bar and heard the cheer that signified that the inevitable 
fight had begun. Its about time. 
	Gunny was huge. He towered over Ben and Lara was 
worried for Ben's safety. If Ben's analysis of the name was 
correct, this man had spent a great deal of time in the 
military, and was most likely an experienced combatant. 
Still, Ben had fought his way to the leadership of his gang 
and was acknowledged by Father Torque as the toughest biker 
in the area, which was no faint praise. Still, if she was a 
betting woman she would give Ben one chance in three.
	In no time at all, the central fight had grown to an 
all encompassing brawl. Any one with a hint of a grudge 
against another person started a fight, and often just 
punched the guy next to him. Lara would have liked to stay 
out of it but was sure that violence on her part was a 
foregone conclusion.
	The man she had been trouncing at billiards made her 
point for her. As she scanned the bar area for a glimpse of 
Ben, her companion grabbed her arms. "I've been losing 
enough money to you. You owe me big." He pulled her close 
for a lustful kiss.
	I don't think so, sport. Lara broke his grip on her 
arms easily and drove her palm into his chin. His mouth was 
forced closed with an audible 'clack' "No, thank you. I 
haven't had my shots." She would have backed away, but he 
had her backed against the pool table.
	The mans eyes flashed in anger. "You bitch!" he 
yelled and swung at her. How charming. Why was it that 
every man in this half of the world seemed to have the same 
unoriginal battle cry? Lara caught his arm with an Aikido 
move, pulled him in an arm lock, and used its leverage to 
smash his face into the corner of the table. When he still 
showed signs of struggle, she repeated the move. His face 
met the table three times in total before he stopped 
moving.
	Looking about, the brawl was in full swing. The band 
was still playing, although they missed a beat when a 
person was thrown bodily against the plexi cage, causing it 
to shake. The show must go on. Curious as to how Ben was 
doing, she started to make her way to his last known 
position. Its for my story, she told herself, nothing more. 
A big, beefy person came flying at her and she deftly hip 
tossed him into a table. The tables at the Horny Bull were 
made with bar brawls in mind, and the man just bounced off 
of it. When he finally hit the ground, he just stayed 
there.
	Lara continued to make her way towards the bar.
	* * *
	Ben had been in a lot of one on one fights, and they 
could be broken down basically into two guys the same size 
or big guy/small guy. If they were the same size, the two 
guys pounded each other until one guy stayed down, but when 
they were different sizes it was different. The big guy 
crowded and tried to get his hands on the small guy, and 
the small guy dodged out of the big guy's way and used 
speed to get past his guard. Usually Ben was the big guy, 
but this time the tables were turned. He wasn't used to 
using his speed and trying to dodge, but with Gunny he had 
no choice.
	Gunny had connected with Ben twice. He'd been hit 
once in the arm and once in the ribs, and he couldn't take 
much more of that kind of punishment. His arm was killing 
him and it hurt to breathe. Ben had given as good as he had 
got, though. One of Gunny's eyes was swollen shut and he 
was limping from where Ben had stomped his foot with his 
steel boots. Take that. The huge bruiser still had that 
wild, out of control gleam in his eyes and Ben was starting 
to wonder if the guy could feel the pain. Maybe he likes 
it. 
	They had moved around through the course of the 
fight, and now Ben was backed against the stage. Gunny 
drove a powerful fist from his hips which Ben dodged. It 
smashed into the plexi with a resounding clang and starred 
around the point of impact. Ben tried to circle around to 
his side but Gunny was too canny for that. It was time to 
try something else. Ben grabbed a bar stool and swung. 
Gunny grabbed it in mid swing and ripped it from Ben's 
grip. Gunny smiled maniacally for a moment, then threw it 
over his shoulder. 
	It was the opening Ben needed. While both of Gunny's 
hands were occupied, Ben put his fists together and caught 
the larger man in the side of the head. Gunny reeled back 
from the blow and fell to the floor.
	Chivalry had no place in a bar brawl, and Ben had no 
compunctions about hitting a man while he was down. Sucker 
punches were part of the thrill and charm of bar brawling. 
It was part of the unwritten code, like the fact that the 
only weapons you were allowed to use were chairs, tables, 
beer mugs and pool cues. Once one guy pulled a knife, or a 
gun, it stopped being fun and all rules went out the 
window.
	He was about to drive his boot into Gunny's ribs when 
he heard glass break and everything went white. Some jerk 
cold cocked me with a beer mug Ben thought as he lost 
control of his body and fell to the floor. He tried to move 
but was unable as he saw Gunny loom over top of him with a 
manic grin. That's it, the game's over. Ben thought. I'm 
sure gonna miss my bike. He waited for the final blow to 
come when he saw a chair catch Gunny across the head. On 
any one else it would have been a felling blow, but it just 
pissed Gunny off. Whoever swung that should have gone for a 
more vital organ, Ben thought, like his balls.
	Slowly, body control came back and Ben staggered to 
his feet. He looked over and saw who it was that had taken 
on Gunny and saved his bacon. It was Croft. Well, it was 
one thing to hit a target from behind, but another to face 
Gunny head on. Ben's punches barely phased the guy, and 
Lara's little love taps weren't going to do crap. She was 
dodging pretty good, jumping and flipping around, but Gunny 
was a juggernaut, and she couldn't dodge him forever.
	I gotta stop him, Ben thought and grabbed a beer mug. 
As he did so, he saw Lara slip on something and go down. 
Gunny smile was chilling as he raised his huge boot and 
prepared to stamp her out of existence. Ben reared back and 
threw. The glass exploded on the back of Gunny's head just 
before his blow could land and he staggered. Eyes blazing, 
Gunny turned to face Ben with a roar, blood streaming down 
his face. Behind him, Lara got to her feet, unnoticed. 
	"Pick on someone your own size!" Ben snarled. There 
is no one his size he thought just after he said it, but 
was pretty sure that Gunny got the idea. They just stared 
at each other, eyes locked, and then Gunny backed off. "See 
you later, Polecat. Gotta go." He disappeared into the 
crowd.
	I showed him Ben thought, and turned around to see 
Jackson, five other Polecats, as well as Suzi and few 
Vultures. Oh. Ben cast a glance over his Polecats, then 
looked at Suzi. "Thanks." The head Vulture just smirked and 
walked off, her gang following. Bitch. He turned to his 
gang. "Jackson." They clasped hands and gripped shoulders 
in the kind of camaraderie that only fellow warriors 
shared. "Good timing, man."
	"Man, are you alright?" Jackson asked, concerned. "I 
saw you go down, but didn't see who got you."
	Ben rubbed his head. Whoever hit me with that beer 
mug is gonna pay for what he's done. "Either did I, but 
I'll live. I gotta find Gunny and finish him off."
	"He went behind the stage." Jackson informed him. "He 
probably ducked out the back door."
	Ben cracked his knuckles. "Let's go."
	* * * 
	Lara counted herself quite lucky to have survived 
unhurt from her scrap with Gunny. She had faced more 
dangerous opponents, but she'd had her guns with her then, 
and most of them weren't human, either. Admittedly Gunny 
didn't hold a candle to Natla's final monster, or even 
Natla herself, but he certainly gave everyone else she had 
encountered a run for their money.
	She had stopped Ben from being stomped by Gunny, and 
he had in return stopped Gunny from squishing her like a 
bug. It made things even, which was all right, but it would 
have been nice to have something to hold over him. Maybe it 
would put a stopper on that insufferable attitude of his.
	She saw Gunny take off out back, and pursued him 
outside. He was making his way to a motor cycle. "Get this 
chick off my back!" He yelled in his chewed steel voice. 
Easily a dozen men in leathers materialized out of the 
shadows between them. He called as he started the bike and 
drove off.
	Lara preferred to face her problems head on rather 
than run away from them, but she knew impossible odds when 
she saw them and tried to withdraw. Unfortunately, retreat 
was not in the cards and soon she was fighting for her 
life. Again. 
	Well, its more exciting than marrying some aristocrat 
and going to tea parties, she thought as she roundhouse 
kicked her nearest opponent in the head.
	* * * 
	Ben slammed open the bar's fire door with his 
Polecats behind him. In the dim light he saw Lara fighting 
off a crowd of brawlers and took a moment to admire her 
before coming in to the rescue. The lady was grace in 
motion. She moved like water, flowing around people and 
behind their defenses, catching some in a ninja lock and 
judo throwing others that came near her. Still, the odds 
were stacked against her and sooner or later she was going 
to go down. As he watched, one managed to get behind her 
and get her in a bear hug.
	"Get 'em Polecats." Ben called out, and his gang fell 
upon them. Ben took out one guy with a fist to the face, 
and got hit in the ribs by another. It was right on the 
same place that Gunny nailed him and for a moment all Ben 
could do was gasp in pain. Then he tromped on the guy.
	Lara was still struggling with the one who had her 
grabbed from behind. She kicked out and hit the guy in 
front of her who had been about to nail her, but it was a 
light hit and only pissed him off, As Ben tried to get 
closer, the guy reared back and hit Lara in the face. She 
sagged, but didn't go down, and then Ben was there.
	The guy's arm was reared back for another hit when 
Ben grabbed his wrist. The guy managed one startled look at 
Ben's frowning face and cold eyes before Ben smashed the 
guy. The one holding Lara backed away and stumbled on a 
crate. When he looked back to check his footing, he 
loosened his grip on Lara and she did some ninja trick to 
break out. When the guy looked forward again, Ben hit him. 
The guy went down and stayed there. 
	Ben looked around. Jackson, Willie and Kramer were 
still standing, but that was it. All the bad guys were 
either on the floor or were wrapped around furniture. Lara 
came to her feet.
	"Where's Gunny?" Ben growled to her.
	Lara waved her hand towards the desert night. "Gone, 
I think." She rubbed the cheek where she had been hit. 
"These gentlemen did an excellent job of delaying us."
	Ben swore. "I'll meet up with him later." He looked 
behind him. The scrap was pretty much over. The only ones 
left standing either had no one left to fight, or were too 
sore to continue. Ben looked around and cursed.
	Ben grabbed the nearest guy who looked even remotely 
conscious and slammed him against the concrete wall. "Who 
are you, jerk?" Ben yelled menacingly. "What gang do you 
ride with?"
	The guy smiled with bloody teeth. "We're the 
Leathernecks," he said proudly. "We're gonna run this 
desert."
	Ben drove his fist into the guys face, feeling teeth 
break. The guy slid to the ground, dead to the world. "Not 
in this lifetime." Ben muttered.
	Lara looked at the unconscious man coolly. 
"Leathernecks?" she asked.
	Ben knelt over the guy he'd just knocked out and 
turned him over. There was a patch, his 'colours' on his 
coat: a bald man with a thick leather collar and huge arm 
flexing his bicep. "Another marine term." He stood up, 
wincing at the pain in his side. At least I'm still 
standing. It's more than I can say for these jerks. He 
looked over at Lara. Her flowing hair hid her face in 
shadows. "You were, ah, pretty good." Ben admitted 
grudgingly. 
	He barely saw her eye brows lift. "Thank you." Her 
voice was slightly surprised.
	Ben smirked. "You wanna get on my bike, thank me in 
private?" He didn't figure that he stood a chance in hell, 
but if he didn't at least try then he would never live with 
himself.
	She arched her eye brows. "Is that really your best 
pickup line?"
	He knew that she was going to turn him down, but it 
still hurt. "I don't let just anyone on my bike." The last 
woman on his bike had been Mo.
	She smiled. Even with the ugly bruise forming on her 
cheek, it still made her look gorgeous. "Thank you for the 
offer, Ben, but the only bike I'm gonna ride tonight is my 
own."
	Ben shrugged. "Too bad, Lady Grace. Your loss." He 
smirked and crossed his arms, ignoring the pain in his 
ribs. 
	She frowned. "Everyone in this desert seems to have 
some wretched nickname for me." She said crossly. "Could 
you please call me Lara?"
	Ben slowly appraised her from head to foot. "You 
wanna ride on my bike?" Ben asked after a moment.
	Still frowning, she looked him in the eye. "I already 
said, no." Her voice was cool, but her eyes were less 
polite.
	"Then it's Lady Grace." Ben's voice was smug.
	She walked up to him slowly, hips swaying. Leaning in 
close to him, she whispered. "I'll get over it." She turned 
away abruptly, her voice going back to its normal levels. 
"If you really want a riding partner, though, however, I 
know Flo is available."
	Ben's mood shattered. "I'm not that drunk."
	She smiled over her shoulder. "Then I'm afraid your 
out of luck." She walked off, hips swaying, into the desert 
night.
	I've spent long enough bullshitting. Ben slammed his 
fist into his palm. "Jackson," he snapped out. "See how 
many guys you can peel off the floor. Gunny's out there 
somewhere, and we're gonna find him." He stomped off 
towards his bike.
	
	Ben & Lara
	Chapter Four
	by Ross Jenkins, c 1997
	
	Chapter IV-The Betrayal
	It was the morning after the fight in the Horny Bull 
and Lara ached. She had taken a few good hits in that 
brawl, especially near the end. She had an impressive black 
eye and there were a few other bruises and marks about her 
body. It was nothing new; Lara had spent more than a few 
mornings like this, nursing her wounds and exulting that 
she was still in one piece. She still had memories of her 
Natla adventure, injecting antibiotics with shaky fingers 
while dizzy with pain, or stitching up wounds with a sewing 
needle while miles underground and alone. It was hard to 
keep the terror away in times like that, but Lara had 
managed then -somehow- and next to that last night was 
nothing. 
	Lara was normally a solitary person and enjoyed it 
that way. It drove her matchmaking parents crazy. 
Sometimes, though, it would have been nice to have some one 
to share things with. After a brush with death, to have 
some one to celebrate life with. Maybe it was more base 
than that, more physical. It had been a very long time, and 
she was a healthy woman. 
	Rubbish. Lara overcame problems, and that included 
any itches she may need scratched. She knew what brought 
those thought on: Ben Polecat. He was an arrogant, rude, 
insufferable chauvinist but also strong, tough and 
determined. This is pathetic. She was mooning about like a 
school girl, but still those broad shoulders, dark brooding 
eyes, that firm jaw.
	Ben may of caught her interest but if there was ever 
a relationship more doomed to failure. They were too 
different, no that wasn't it. They were too alike, each 
used to being the toughest in the room and trying to 
dominate the other. He couldn't handle a tough woman, she 
thought, he needed them meek and submissive and that wasn't 
going to happen with her.
	Lara shook her head in disgust and finished braiding 
her hair. She wasn't wearing her shorts and top today. They 
showed off her bruises too well and were dirty besides. Not 
that she hadn't worn them for days, weeks, straight before 
but this morning she felt like wearing something fresh. A 
faded black Nike T-shirt and equally faded blue jeans, with 
her boots and gun belt. She'd gone out unarmed one evening 
to many and didn't care to repeat her mistake.
	She looked in the mirror and examined the deep purple 
bruise there. Nothing could hide it, so she didn't bother. 
It was a war scar, and she'd bear it proudly. Checking the 
safety's on her guns, she left her dingy hotel room and 
went down for breakfast with Flo. She hadn't survived last 
night unscathed, either, Lara saw, with a bruise on her 
cheek, but most of her bruises were on her knuckles. I bet 
who ever picked on her regretted it.
	"Morning, honey!" Flo called out in her western 
twang. "How'd you like our fine town's entertainment last 
night?" She handed Lara a cup of coffee which had been 
waiting on the counter. Lara took it happily and took a big 
sip. Ahh, caffeine.
	"Charming." Lara placed the coffee on the counter.
	"I see you didn't get out of that place without some 
sort of scrap, I see." Flo said, indicating Lara's black 
eye. "You all in one piece?"
	Lara smiled and drank some more coffee. "I'm in 
somewhat better shape then the man who did this to me." She 
didn't add that Ben had been the one who had taken him out, 
not her.
	"So I heard. You left a bunch of guys on the floor." 
Flo chuckled. "Where'd you learn how to do that anyway? You 
looked like you were doing some Bruce Lee thing to them."
	Lara shrugged. "Aikido and a bit of karate. I started 
studying when I was in college." As a way to deal with 
stress and grief, after I watched my fianc‚ die in front of 
me.
	Flo smiled. "Well, you sure cleaned up. You want 
breakfast? Toast?"
	"Yes, please." Lara looked out the window. It was a 
lovely morning. "Could you bring it to me outside, please? 
I think I'd like to be in the sun."
	"Sure thing," Flo said as she bustled back the 
kitchen. "You take my electro-mag out with you, and I'll 
bring out toast and fresh coffee." She disappeared into the 
back. Lara took the E-zine outside with her and downloaded 
the London Times. She made her way to a faded and dusty 
picnic table and sat in an equally faded chair. Lara idly 
flipped through stories while sipping her luke-warm coffee. 
The weather was nice. It was still early, so the oppressive 
desert heat hadn't swept in yet, and there was a mild 
breeze. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked.
	She tried to find something of interest in the paper 
but found herself unable to do so. Current events: the 
latest Royals scandal, what bill was passing in parliament, 
the latest round of aggression in the middle east, all 
seemed trivial. She spent her time solving 2000 year old 
mysteries or fighting off toughs that had no idea where the 
middle east was. It was like she was in a different world 
sometimes.
	Flo came outside then, interrupting Lara's musings. 
She had a carafe of coffee, toast and that wretched soy-
spread. . "Thank you, Flo."
	"Ah, shoot, its just toast. You should have let me 
make you something." Flo sat down and refilled both of 
their coffees. 
	"No thank you, toast is fine."
	"Hey, did you see Ben take on that Gunny character?" 
Flo asked, her eyes dancing. She went on with out waiting 
for an answer. "Man those two went into each other. I swear 
that man is never as handsome as when he's pummeling 
someone."
	Flo regaled Lara with a somewhat slanted version by 
blow of Ben's fight. In Flo's version, Ben was just as tall 
as Gunny, Lara fit no where into the equation, and Gunny 
was sent off with his tail between his legs. Lara ate in 
silence, letting Flo go on with her story. The woman was 
allowed her fantasies, and this tale certainly had little 
anchorage in the real world. Lara tuned out the words, 
listening to the flow of the older woman's voice as she 
studied the landscape. She was finishing off her last slice 
of toast when something Flo said brought her back to 
reality.
	Lara sat up straighter in her chair. "I'm sorry, Flo 
what was that last bit you said?"
	"I said, I'm pretty sure Willie didn't mean to nail 
Ben with that mug, but it sure knocked him for a loop."
	"I'm sorry, do mean Big Willie, one of the Polecats?"
	Flo nodded. "Yup. Ben's probably tanning the guy's 
hide right now, but anyway, when Ben got up he was more 
pissed off then ever." she continued to talk as Lara's mind 
raced.
	How can you hit some one in the head with a beer mug 
by mistake? Lara hadn't liked Willie from the moment she 
had first met him, two days ago in the Kickstand. It was 
more than his being rude and fast with his hands, the man 
seemed untrustworthy, and this proved it.
	Things like this happen in gangs all the time, Lara 
reminded herself, and this one had nothing to do with her. 
Ben seemed like he was more than capable to handle 
discipline in his ranks. Lara was sipping her coffee, half 
listening to Flo, when someone caught her eye.
	Speak of the devil, and he show's up. Big Willie, 
looking cautious, walked down the street. "I'm sorry, Flo, 
excuse me please." Without waiting for an answer she got up 
from the table and walked down the street. The way Willie 
was moving, quickly and looking over his shoulder often, as 
well as the way he jumped at any sound, set off Lara's 
suspicion alarms. The man was sneaking around for some 
reason, although he wasn't doing it well. Lara managed to 
stalk him easily as he walked down the street without being 
seen. The question was what was he doing in Baron's Head 
that he didn't want anyone to know about?
	Willie walked up to an abandoned boarded up store 
front and looked around him. Lara ducked behind an old 
stripped Toyota, and when she popped her head up, he was 
gone. 
	She crept across the street to the building where she 
had last seen him. Peeking between the cracks of the 
boarded up windows, she peeked inside. Her field of vision 
was pretty limited, but after scanning about for a bit she 
saw him. Willie was shaking a man's hand whom she couldn't 
see, then the unknown man put a large wad of cash in 
Willie's hand. This does not bode well. She went to another 
window, trying to catch a glimpse of who Willie was talking 
to. When she saw who it was, for some reason she was not 
surprised. It seemed appropriate, somehow. The man was 
Gunny.
	After a concluding handshake, Gunny and Willie parted 
ways, and Lara made her self scarce. If Willie and Gunny 
were dealing together, then this had to be bad for the 
Polecats, and for Ben. It's none of my business Lara chided 
herself. Ben can take care of himself.
	For a moment she almost convinced herself, but then 
she was running back to Flo's, to get her bike and warn 
Ben.
	* * *
	The Polecat's home roost was secret. Ben didn't like 
other gangs and independents knowing where he parked his 
bike when he slept. All of the Polecats were sworn to 
secrecy, and when one left they changed the location. 
Currently, it was in a small steep sided canyon about 65 
miles out of Baron's Head. The guys lived in tents, prefab 
houses or motor homes. There was an old circus tent that 
they used as a communal garage and storage depot. The gas 
tank, a portable 200 gallon fuel trailer with electric 
pump, was kept a ways away from everything else, just in 
case. Power for the place ran off a gasoline generator. 
Most of the set up and tear down stuff was handled by 
Jackson, but it was Ben's camp, and he was proud of it.
	Ben's pad was a prefab wood framed tent. His bike and 
an old worn ramp with day glow flames sat outside his door. 
Inside, it had a marine issue cot & foot locker. A hardwood 
dresser, booty from a raid, sat in the corner with only one 
piece of ornamentation, a worn and bedraggled battery 
powered yellow rabbit. Dirty clothes littered the ground as 
well as several used paper plates and empty beer cans. It 
wasn't the Hilton, but it was home and Ben liked it a hell 
of a lot better than one of the other places he had stayed, 
Portsmouth.
	It was after noon but Ben was still in bed. He was 
dressed in what had once been a white T-shirt and a pair of 
tan air of surplus fatigue pants. He and the guys had been 
out late, scouring the desert for any sign of Gunny or his 
wannabe gang, the Leathernecks. All it had gotten them were 
headaches and a bunch of empty gas tanks. That Gunny had 
vanished off the face of the damn Earth, but he couldn't 
stay hidden forever. When he raised his ugly crew cutted 
head, Ben would stomp on it once and for all.
	In the mean time, though, Ben was hurt, although he 
would never admit it to anyone. That Gunny packed a hell of 
a wallop. Next time Ben had a few tools that might put 
things in his favour, like his tire iron, chain, chain saw, 
or best, his lever action Winchester 12 gauge, which Ben 
liked to call Betsy. He still wished that he'd had Betsy on 
him when he got into that whole Corley thing last year. It 
would have gone a lot differently.
	"Riders!" The call came from the look out that Ben 
had posted at the top of the canyon. Ben had two lookouts 
posted at any one time, unless the gang was out riding. Ben 
had learned a big lesson last year to watch against 
ambushes. He got out of bed with a curse, holding his side. 
Gunny had nailed him there, and one of his Leathernecks had 
too. Well, Ben was tough. He could take it.
	He got to his feet and grabbed his jacket, which hung 
from a peg on the wall. Ben had gotten this jacket from 
Father Torque himself when he first joined the Polecats 
twelve years ago. It fit him like a second skin and was his 
second most proud possession next to his bike. He put on 
his shades and stepped outside. Most of the guys were still 
sacked out, but Jackson was up and so were a few others. 
Heads poked out of doors at the call, though no one was 
really alert yet. The sentry hadn't called 'attackers' or 
'code red', which was short for 'every body arm your self 
with something'. Still, the guy hadn't sounded an ID or all 
clear yet, so Ben strode over to his bike and grabbed Betsy 
from its holster. Better safe than sorry. He levered a 
round into the chamber.
	"Its father Torque!" the sentry called out. "And 
Ben's chick!" Huh? Ben didn't have a chick. The only person 
he could think of was either Flo-if it was her he was going 
to shoot on sight-or else. "Croft." Great. Just what he 
needed. He was pissed that she knew where the Polecats 
called home, but if the Father brought her here, then it 
must be on the up and up. He'd strangle her later.
	Ben could hear the bike coming now, the loud cutting 
roar of Corley engines. He but Betsy back with a swear. He 
thought that he'd seen the last of Lady Grace, but it 
seemed that at least one more meeting was in the cards. 
Walking towards the camp entrance, Ben waited for the two 
riders.
	They were both on one bike, Croft's, which was weird. 
Torque never took anyone else's bike unless something 
serious was up. The hairs on the back of Ben's neck began 
to rise. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel 
it. Both of their face's were grim.
	Torque stopped the bike in front of Ben and handed 
the keys to Lara. He got off and extended his hand to 
Ben's. "Sorry to stick my nose in, Ben."
	Ben's hand was crushed in the Father's grip like 
always. "No trouble's, Father. You're always welcome in my 
camp." The reply was custom, but Ben's tone was pissed off.
	"The little lady said she had something really 
important to tell you." He indicated Lara.
	Ben frowned and narrowed his eyes, glaring at Lara. 
She leaned against her bike like she didn't have a care in 
the world. "So. Tell me." He crossed his arms across his 
chest and the only sound was that of creaking leather. This 
had better be good.
	* * * 
	Well, Ben certainly looked angry. If his sunglasses 
were off, she was sure that his dark eyes would be spitting 
fire right at her. He was angry now, but after what she had 
to tell him he was going to be furious.
	"Hello, Ben." She said, leaning against her bike, 
trying to set a light tone. Everyone near Ben and Lara made 
themselves scarce, leaving the two of them alone. I wish I 
could join them.
	"Don't 'hello Ben' me, Croft." His jaw could have 
snapped chain. "What the hell are you doing here, and why 
did you drag Father Torque into it?" Well, he certainly was 
angry
	"Father Torque is the only person who knew how to 
find you." She answered calmly. "I thought that it was 
important enough, so I asked him."
	His frown grew bigger, if that was possible. "What 
was important enough? What are you talking about?"
	Lara took a breath before continuing. He really 
wasn't going to like this. "You have a spy."
	She saw his knuckles turn white, and could almost 
hear his tendons creak. "Spy? for what?"
	She didn't answer immediately and began walking 
towards the communal garage. She could hear Ben stomping 
along behind her, impatient. "I would guess the location of 
this camp."
	"That's sure as hell easy enough." He snapped off. 
"They just have to follow you here. This place is supposed 
to be a secret."
	She was handling this wrong. She wasn't here to bait 
Ben, as much fun as it may have been. "This isn't about me, 
Ben. I saw Big Willie take money from Gunny."
	He looked as if some one had hit him with a plank. 
"Huh?"
	She tried to explain. "They made a deal for 
something." She brought her hands up in frustration. "It 
makes sense that Gunny would want the location of this camp 
so that he can launch a pre-emptive strike against you." I 
didn't betray you her eyes told him.
	He either didn't notice, or care. "Willie would never 
betray me." Ben said flatly.
	Lara sighed. "He already did. I saw it."
	Ben leaned over and glared at her. "I'm his gang 
leader." He poked his finger into the air in front of her 
face to emphasize his point. "No polecat would move against 
me like that." He poked his finger at her again. "It's 
against the Code of the Road."
	Lara brushed it away in irritation. Was this man that 
blind? "Well, I suggest that you ask him, then double your 
guard, and move this camp to somewhere else." Her 
irritation began to get into her voice. This man has 
concrete for brains.
	He pointed at her again. "The Polecats are my gang, 
Croft. Don't tell me how to run them." Or else he added non 
verbally.
	Lara had enough. "Look, get pissed off at me all you 
like, but if you don't double your guard then you are just 
being stupid." This conversation was getting no where. What 
did she care if his entire gang was wiped out?
	If looks could kill, Lara knew that she would have 
been beyond resuscitation. "Not one more word, Lady Grace." 
His voice was dangerous.
	Unfortunately, the argument was interrupted before 
either of them could speak further. From the side of her 
vision, Lara saw something large and flaming fly from the 
top of the steep canyon walls and land in the middle of the 
camp. It was a truck, she saw, and it burned from every 
window. It smashed into the middle of the camp where it did 
a grotesque rolling flip. Every eye in the camp watched the 
twisted vehicle as it eventually came to rest on its side 
in a groan of abused metal.
	"Every body get down!" Ben yelled incredibly loudly, 
breaking Lara's reverie. Before she could think, or even 
react, he had grabbed her and pulled her to the ground. Not 
even two seconds later, the vehicle exploded with a 
tremendous roar. A wave of petrol smelling hot air 
assaulted her as Lara tried to become one with the ground. 
	She felt Ben get up as soon as the explosion stopped. 
She saw his broad shouldered run towards a wood frame tent. 
"Polecats!" He bellowed. "Ride for your lives! Ambush!" 
Lara got to her feet and ran towards her bike. Her ears 
were ringing but still she could hear the approach of many 
motor cycle engines. She drew her guns as she ran towards 
her bike. 
	Even before she got there, the first riders broke 
into the camp. The first made to run her down and Lara 
jumped to the side. She could smell the bike's exhaust as 
it missed her by less than she would have wanted. She hit 
the ground and shoulder rolled, coming up in a crouch with 
her guns tracking the bike. The rider had a gun in his hand 
and was targeting someone but never got the chance. Her 
first two bullets were off, but the next four caught the 
guy in the back and head. He jerked and lost controlled of 
his bike, which skidded to the ground.
	Only the sound of gunning engines behind her alerted 
her to more bikes, and Lara turned just in time to see 
another bike coming. She dived to the left, missing the 
tires by inches and rolled to her feet. Yet another bike 
was there, and it was too close to turn and shoot.
	She managed to jump and plant one foot on the front 
fender, then use that foot to force herself over the body 
of the bike before it struck her. Unfortunately, that put 
her right in the path of the rider. He swerved to avoid her 
but they struck and tumbled as one from the bike.
	Lara's shoulder screamed at her but she ignored the 
pain, knowing that if she gave into it now that she would 
die. She disentangled herself from the biker and drove her 
knee into his chin. That should keep him out of it for a 
while. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she got to her 
feet and looked about for a means of escape.
	* * * 
	The moment he saw the truck fall Ben knew that it was 
only a distraction; the grenade thrown to soften up the 
room before you rush it. Damn it, this was the worse 
possible time. Bikers were always vulnerable while 
roosting, but the sentries were supposed to take care of 
that. If Croft was right, Willie must have traded shifts 
with one or killed them before the attack. He was gonna die 
for what he'd done. There was time for that later. Right 
now Ben and his bikers had to survive.
	Even as he was running for his bike and Betsy he 
heard the riders. He heard some pistol shots ring out and 
heard a bike crash. Sure hope that was a bad guy. The sound 
of multiple bike engines was deafening as Ben finally 
reached his bike. He mounted and started it up, then 
reached down and pulled out Betsy.
	He held it in one hand and turned, looking for a 
target. There was one coming right at him, and Ben shot him 
in the face. The guy was killed instantly and the bike 
flipped. One down. Ben gunned his throttle and used his 
other hand to lever the gun. It swung back up, and Ben 
looked for someone else to kill.
	A leatherneck was chasing down Kelly's girlfriend 
with his bike. Ben gunned his bike towards the guy and 
fired off a round from Betsy which missed, but was too late 
for the girl. The Leatherneck rammed into her from behind 
and slammed her into the canyon wall. From the weird angle 
of her neck, Ben knew that she was dead. So was this guy. 
	The Leatherneck barely had time to look up as Ben's 
raised front wheel caught him in the chest. The biker flew 
from his ride right into Ben's path. He managed to get his 
head up just in time for Ben's boot to catch him under the 
chin.
	Gritting his teeth, Ben pulled to a stop, Betsy 
extended, looking for more targets. He shot two more 
bikers, killing one and wounding another. As far as he 
could tell he was the only one on his side inflicting any 
damage. The Polecats were getting tromped and there wasn't 
a damned thing he could do about it. Killing off the guys 
who waxed his gang may have given them revenge but it 
didn't bring the Polecat's back.
	He saw a Leatherneck throwing a molotov cocktail into 
Jackson's RV and sped towards him. He brought Betsy to bear 
over the handlebar and fired. The guy fell, the cocktail 
breaking at his feet. The flames went up around the bike 
but some caught on Jackson's RV.
	Ben stopped next to the RV and ran inside. 
"Jackson!!" Looking around frantically, he saw his friend 
and right hand man dead on the bed next to his girlfriend, 
who had also been killed. They'd both crawled there and 
died in each other's arms.
	A cold rage crept into Ben and he stomped out of the 
RV, counting his shotgun rounds and comparing it to the 
number of Leathernecks. If he ran out of shells, well there 
was always his fists. He was so intent on the thought of 
killing everyone he never saw the Leatherneck riding at him 
until it was too late. Ben tried to bring Betsy to bear, 
but the rider smashed his pipe into Ben's ribs first. Ben 
flew back, gun flying. Laying on the ground, gasping for 
air and trying to move, he saw the rider turn around to 
make another pass.
	* * * 
	Lara put her back to some rocks and reloaded both 
guns, panting. She only carried two extra magazines, and at 
the rate this fight was going, it wasn't going to be 
enough. She had taken out one and wounded two others. The 
Polecats were being slaughtered. The element of surprise 
was effective, despite her efforts, and had worked to the 
Polecat's detriment.
	She heard a person to her left and brought both guns 
to bear. It was Father Torque. She relaxed. "Glad to see 
you're OK, darlin'." He looked dirty, and winded, but 
unharmed.
	"Likewise. Can you see any way out of here?"
	"Best I can figure, your bike is still out there in 
the open, untouched. If we can make it out to that, we're 
probably home free."
	Lara charged her guns. "Right then, let's do it."
	She ran into the main clearing where the trashed 
truck still lay in flames. Her guns were held out in front 
of her, ready to fire at any target. She ran towards her 
bike with Torque behind her. She saw Leathernecks all over 
the place and opened fire. She may have taken out one but 
mostly she was keeping their heads down. It used up her 
bullets quickly, but if it kept her alive she wasn't about 
to complain about it.
	She and Torque made it to the bike just as her guns 
ran dry. Torque jumped on and started the bike up as Lara 
jumped on behind him. She was reluctant to leave without 
knowing if Ben made it out and glanced around for either 
him or his bike. Torque was just pulling out when she 
spotted his bike next to a burning trailer. Ben was getting 
to his feet woozily and a biker was bearing down on him 
with a pipe.
	"We have to get Ben!" she yelled into Torque's ear 
and pointed out the scene. The two bore down upon Ben and 
his assailant and were unable to do anything as the biker 
struck Ben again, sending him crashing to the ground. The 
biker was pulling around for a third pass as they pulled up 
to Ben. He truly looked like crap. There was blood running 
down his shirt and his left arm hung at his side. "That 
biker's gonna pay for what he's done." Ben growled under 
his breath as he struggled once again to his feet.
	Lara leapt off the bike. "Ben, we have to leave!" she 
yelled at him. He didn't seem to hear her, he just kept 
muttering. "That biker's gonna pay for what he's done. That 
biker's gonna pay for what he's done." She looked at Torque 
desperately. "We have to get him out of here!"
	Ben seemed to notice them for the first time. "Not 
without my bike." He growled. Lara just rolled her eyes. 
Why could men never pick convenient times to be stubborn?
	Torque got off Lara's bike and went to Ben's low 
rider. "I'll get him out on his bike. You follow on yours."
	Lara heard a revving motor cycle nearby and looked up 
to check on Ben's assailant. "Torque, that rider's coming 
back!" she called out. If only she had one bullet.
	Torque was already on Ben's bike, which had been 
idling the entire time. The weathered old biker grinned. 
"Don't you worry about that." He reached down to the side 
of the bike and brought up a tire iron. "I was fighting 
road duels before this kid was born!" He drove off towards 
the cyclist.
	Lara watched as the two rider's closed. Torque seemed 
to belong on the bike. With a speed that defied his age, 
the old biker swerved his bike out to avoid the other man's 
swing, then swerved back in and thrust the tire iron into 
the rider's back wheel. The bike locked out and skidded, 
with its rider caught beneath.
	A bullet impacted next to Lara's head, and she saw 
three other bikes closing on her and Ben. She cursed her 
lack of ammo and could do nothing other than duck. Torque 
drove back and Lara pushed Ben towards him.
	"Get on the damned bike, Ben!" she commanded, "and 
for once in your life do what your told!"
	"In your dreams, Lady Grace" she heard him mutter 
under his breath. She had to help him, but he got on the 
bike reasonably quickly.
	"Betsy," he groaned.
	She looked at Torque. "An old girlfriend?"
	The old biker shook his head, "His gun. There!" He 
pointed to it. "Better give it to me or he'll never shut 
up!"
	Lara grabbed the fallen weapon and handed it to 
Torque, who slipped it into a scabbard on the side of the 
bike. "Now ride!" She yelled, then Torque was spitting 
gravel and Lara was alone facing three charging bikers.
	She leapt onto her bike and spit gravel herself, the 
three Leathernecks right on her tail. Ben's bike was 
carrying two and couldn't maneuver quickly or else Ben 
might fall. He wasn't going to get away unless Lara did 
something. She saw the stubby form of a rocket launcher 
laying next to the form of a fallen Leatherneck and formed 
a plan. Leaning out the one side of her bike, she grabbed 
it as she rode by. A bullet flew by her shoulder. This had 
to end now.
	She roared past Torque and Ben and came to a 
screeching stop facing an overhanging section of valley 
wall. She looked at the rocket she had nicked. It had 
convenient diagramed instructions indicating how to 
assemble and fire. Just extend, point, and shoot. Good. 
Very simple was about all she had time for right now. As 
Torque and Ben passed her, she shouldered the rocket and 
fired at the overhang.
	There was a loud explosion, and the overhang 
collapsed just as the first of the three riders came under 
it. He managed to gun his engine and shoot out from 
underneath the collapsing rock, but his two mates weren't 
so lucky. The one who made it out was bearing right down on 
Lara and barely had control of his bike. She was dead 
stopped and barely managed to jump clear as the two bikes 
and one rider became a tangled, bloody mass.
	At least Ben got away, she thought, although she 
could guarantee that he wasn't going to be very happy when 
he came to his senses. Right now she had other concerns, 
such as getting out of here in one piece. No transport, no 
weapons and a number of people who wanted her dead not very 
far behind. It was just like old times.
	She heard bikes heading down the canyon towards her. 
She climbed up to an escarpment and hid as they passed. To 
her surprise, though, they stopped below her, at the base 
of the rockslide. She poked her head out and looked down. 
Gunny and two other bikers sat idling, looking at Lara's 
rockslide and the mess of her bike. A fourth person walked 
over the rockslide. It was big Willie, still in his Polecat 
jacket.
	"Who got away?" Gunny asked, his voice like chewed 
steel.
	Big Willie looked nervous. "Polecat."
	Gunny shut off and dismounted his bike. "I said that 
getting Polecat was the first priority." He growled.
	Willie shrugged uncomfortably as the bigger man came 
towards him. "I'm sorry. He got away"
	Gunny loomed over him. "Incompetent fuckwad."
	Willie shrunk six inches. "I can find him." He said 
in a small voice that Lara barely heard. "He was with that 
chick of his-"
	Gunny cut him off. "The one from the bar?"
	He nodded eagerly. "Umm, ya."
	Gunny turned away from Willie and looked at the 
canyon wall opposite of Lara's hiding place. "Good. I got 
business to finish with her."
	That didn't sound good.
	"He was with Father Torque, too. He helped Ben get 
away."
	"We can grease two bikers just as easy as one." Gunny 
said, and turned to look at the other canyon wall. Lara 
ducked behind the escarpment.
	"You know I can't trust you, don't you, Willie?" she 
heard Gunny rasp.
	"Wh-what do you mean?" Willie's voice squeaked.
	"You betrayed Polecat, you might betray me." Gunny's 
voice was quiet.
	"No way Gunny I-" Willie's protests were cut short 
and he started making gagging noises.
	She heard Gunny get back on his bike. "Make sure you 
hunt down every last one of these pricks." Gunny growled as 
he started up his bike. "I've got orders to make sure no 
one survives." What in blazes did that mean? Three motor 
cycles pulled away and drove out of the canyon. Lara waited 
five minutes before poking her head over the escarpment. 
Big Willie lay face down on the ground, a pool of blood 
under him. Lara slid down the rocky face and made her way 
back into the destroyed Polecat camp. There had to be one 
working bike in there and she had to find Ben and Torque.
	
	Ben & Lara
	Chapter Five
	by Ross Jenkins, c 1997
	
	Ben & Lara V-The Code of the Road
	Ben hurt. His side was on fire from Gunny's hit and. 
something else. That was a bruised rib if nothing else He 
groaned and tried to open his eyes. Bright light flared and 
he tried to raise his arm to block it out. More pain 
flared. He squinted and the light became bearable. A blurry 
form blocked out the light. a face?
	This all seemed too familiar. "Mo?" he asked in a 
voice that didn't sound like his own. Where was he? What 
had happened?
	"No, not Mo. Lara." A cool feminine voice with a 
British accent told him. He felt a hand brush his cheek.
	Lara. Lady Grace. Everything came back. Gunny. The 
Polecats, slaughtered. "Jackson!" He tried to sit up but 
pain flared in his side.
	Strong hands pushed him back down. "He's gone Ben, 
I'm sorry." Lara's voice said soothingly. "Just lay down. 
There's nothing you can do now."
	"Like hell." Ben sat up anyway, minding his side and 
ignoring the pain. "Gunny did this." It was a statement. He 
looked around. He and Lara were in a wooden shack with one 
wall missing. Lara sat next to him on the dirt floor, legs 
curled beneath her. Her hand, which had been near his face, 
started tracing patterns in the dirt.
	"Yes." She agreed quietly. "He paid off Big Willie to 
take out the sentries then attacked with his Leathernecks. 
We're the only ones that made it out."
	"Willie." Ben clenched his fist and felt fire move up 
his side. "That turncoat's gonna die for what he's done."
	Lara smiled sadly. "I'm afraid Gunny beat you to it. 
He slit Willie's throat."
	"Well, that's one thing I owe him." Ben grunted. As 
well as his balls on a plate. 
	Lara said nothing and Ben looked around. He couldn't 
tell where he was; the desert outside could have been from 
anywhere. "Where are we?" he asked. Once I find out where I 
am and where my bike is, I'm that much closer to hunting 
down every leatherneck that ever lived.
	"Father Torque's storage shed." Lara answered him. 
"He took us here to hide out until he could find out what's 
what.".
	
	"Hmm." Ben rubbed his chin stubble thoughtfully. 
"I've never been here before. No one has. Everyone knows to 
stay clear of Father Torque's place."
	"Why?" Lara asked. "Is it booby trapped or something.
	Ben shook his head. "No. You just don't. Its part of 
the Code of the Road."
	"We should be safe here, then."
	"Maybe. I don't think these guys follow the Code, 
though."
	"Why not?"
	"The way they do things. Its one thing to try and 
muscle in on another guy's turf, but you do it straight up, 
in a rumble. You don't ambush his camp and shoot everything 
that moves." Ben's voice was bitter.
	"Ben, I'm sorry. I wish there was more I could have 
done."
	"You did enough. They're all gonna die. Gunny, the 
leathernecks, all of them. Dead!" He struck the dirt to 
emphasize his point, and pain flared up his arm.
	"Ben, there's more you should know." Lara said.
	"Ya," he turned to look at her. She had trouble 
meeting his eyes. "What?"
	"I overheard Gunny talking." She said slowly. "He 
said that he had orders to make sure that no one survived." 
	Huh? "Orders?" Ben asked roughly. "from who?"
	"I have no idea." She paused. "But whoever that 
person is, he wants you dead, and he ordered your gang 
killed."
	Ben's eyes narrowed. "I'm gonna find out who, and 
then there's gonna be a reckoning." Ben got to his feet 
with a grunt. He put his hand to his side and felt wetness 
there. I don't have time to bleed. 
	"Ben, where are you going?" Lara asked with concern, 
coming to her feet smoothly.
	"To find Gunny and rip out his heart." Ben swore.
	"Ben, you can't." She put her hands on his shoulders 
and tried to hold him back. To his surprise, she almost 
succeeded. "Not like this."
	He grabbed her wrists and shoved her aside. She moved 
around his push like water. "I'm good enough to kill that 
bastard."
	You barely broke even with him when you weren't hurt 
her eyes said to him. He'll kill you like this. He frowned 
down at her
	They both heard the sound of an approaching bike. 
Looking out, they saw Torque pulling up on his classic 
Corley. "You two had better make yourselves scarce." The 
old man called out as he got off his bike. "There's a posse 
coming after you."
	"Leathernecks." Ben grunted.
	"Yup," Torque nodded. "And that Gunny guy, too."
	Ben opened his mouth, but Torque stared at him. The 
old biker knew exactly what Ben was about to say and do, 
and under Torque's gaze, Ben subsided with a grumble.
	"What about you?" Lara asked.
	"Don't you worry about me, darlin'" Torque said 
gravely. "They want Ben's hide, and yours too because you 
helped him."
	"You helped us too, and they saw you." Lara pointed 
out. "You're in as much danger as the rest of us."
	The old man shook his head, white hair and beard 
swaying. "I'm neutral and everyone knows it." He paused, 
and his eyes darkened. "Besides, if we all high tailed it 
they'd get all of us." He looked at Ben. "I can stall 'em 
while you two make tracks."
	"Father, no!" Ben growled.
	The old man was firm. "Don't worry about me, Ben. I'm 
an old biker and old bikers never die." He smiled wryly. 
"I'll get out of this, don't you worry." He slapped Ben on 
the shoulder with less than customary force. "Get out of 
here!"
	Ben stood there stubbornly. Torque stepped over and 
gripped his shoulder. "Go, Polecat." His voice was soft, 
but booked no argument. "I used to be your leader, and I'm 
giving you one last order." His face softened. "Let me do 
this for you." The biker backed slowly towards his bike. He 
was going to die and all of them knew it.
	For once Ben had nothing to say. Lara tugged on his 
good arm with both hands, and reluctantly he turned to 
leave. "Ride low, ride hard, Father." Ben's voice was 
thick.
	"Always." Answered the Father of All Bikers. "Get 
your butt out of here! Head up that path and don't stop!"
	There was something missing. "Where's my bike?"
	Torque smiled and shook his head "You make me proud 
Ben. I stashed it about five miles off behind the old 
interstate sign. Just follow the path and you'll get there. 
Now go!"
	His face grim, Ben turned his back on Father Torque 
and stomped up the path. Lara was in front of him, but this 
time the sight of her swaying butt didn't move him one bit. 
"I'll come back, Father, whether you like it or not." 
	* * * 
	"I'm going back there." Ben declared as his hidden 
bike came into sight. It didn't surprise Lara one bit; she 
was surprised that it had taken him this long to say it. It 
made sense for them not to turn back. The best thing was to 
take the opportunity that Torque had bought them with his 
life and not look back. In her gut, though, Lara wanted to 
see with her own eyes if the valiant old man had made it 
through.
	Lara didn't make friends easily. Most women were too 
flimsy for her to get along with, and the men that weren't 
intimidated by her were usually so full of themselves as to 
be completely insufferable. Torque and his gruff ways had 
been different. He was totally accepting of who she was and 
charming in a gruff sort of way. He had also volunteered to 
give his life for her, which added a lot. He had only done 
that, she knew, because of Ben, but she still wanted to 
know how the Father of All Bikers had faired.
	Ben's bike was hidden behind some tumbleweeds and it 
took him a moment to clear them. After that, though, he 
mounted his bike and started it with a sound like thunder. 
"You coming, Lady Grace?" He yelled over the engine. Lara 
hesitated a moment, then climbed up behind him.
	"Watch your hands," he called back.
	"In your dreams, sport!" Lara yelled to him and put 
her hands around his waist. The bike spun onto the faded 
hardtop with a spray of gravel.
	Ben rode his bike like a madman, skidding around 
corners and pushing the machine to its limits. The trip 
that had taken an over an hour on foot took less than two 
minutes on the road, and soon they were pulling up to 
Father Torque's shack. A white haired body lay on the 
ground in a pool of blood.
	"No!" Ben cried painfully. As soon as his bike came 
to a stop, he was running. "Father Torque! Are you all 
right?" he knelt by the bikers side. Lara approached 
quietly behind Ben. She stayed respectfully silent.
	Torque was obviously not all right. For the first 
time since she had met him, he looked old. His leathery 
face was ashen and filled with pain. Blood flecked on his 
beard. A moment after Ben spoke Torque opened his eyes and 
slowly turned his head towards him. "Of course I'm not all 
right, you idiot." His voice was faint and filled with pain 
"I've been stabbed. I'm dyin'."
	Ben shook his head furiously. His voice was panicked 
"No, your not. I'll get you to a hospital. I'll-"
	Torque cut him off. "Ben, Don't." He lifted his hand 
up, shaking with the effort, and Ben took it. "I lived a 
long life. It's ok. I'm a gonner and we both know it."
	"I'm gonna get Gunny." Ben swore. "He's a dead man 
walking."
	Torque just smiled. "I know." It was barely a 
whisper. He squeezed Ben's hand. "I-" he stopped and 
gasped. Ben leaned closer. "I want you to have my bike."
	Ben swallowed hard and nodded. "I will." They were 
silent for a moment.
	The old man smiled, his eyes sad. "I told you old 
biker's don't get no respect any more."
	"You got respect where it counts." Ben was fervent.
	"I know." Torque closed his eyes. He was like that 
for a minute, and Lara was sure he was gone, but then the 
old man spasmed and began coughing blood.
	"Ben!" the old man managed to get out. "Ben! Gunny 
he-" he coughed, deep racking coughs that were painful to 
listen to. "Gunny said something."
	"What, Father Torque, what?"
	Pink froth covered his lips. "He said he had to meet 
a man-" coughed,. "in Fulsome, day after tomorrow." 
Torque's eyes bulged and he arched his back, gasping. "He-
he-said he going to-to-" He drew a huge breath, his last. 
"The Rebar." he gasped the last word, and Lara watched the 
life drain from his eyes. Ben just knelt there, holding the 
dead man's hand.
	A minute passed, then five. Lara and Ben were 
unmoving, staring at the corpse of a man who had given his 
life for them. Lara was a hard woman, she had made herself 
so, but there were still tears in her eyes. She began to 
get uneasy. "Ben." Her voice caught. He didn't move or even 
seem to hear her. She put a cautious hand on his shoulder 
and gently shook him.
	"Ben." Lara said again, her voice firm but hoarse. 
"Ben we have to go. The Leathernecks may be coming back."
	"Let 'em come." Ben slowly got to his feet, moving 
like a man 10 years older. He turned to face her and she 
gasped. He looked.frightening. His face was harder than 
stone and his jaw was clenched. It was his eyes, though, 
that truly chilled her. They were as dark and as cold as 
death. He walked past her stiffly towards Torque's shed. 
"I'm going to bury him. He deserves that much." His words 
were quiet, but hard.
	They said nothing as they dug a grave for the Father 
of All Bikers. When they rode away one hour later, there 
was a fresh pile of dirt in the desert with a simple wooden 
grave marker. On it were words carved with a belt knife.
	Here Lies Father Torque
	He died as he lived
	A Biker
	* * * 
	A few miles out of Torque's place, Ben pulled his 
bike to the side of the road and stopped. Neither spoke and 
the only sound was the ticking of the engine. "Baron's 
Head's about 10 miles up road." Ben said dully. "You should 
make it there by nightfall."
	She didn't move from behind him. Figured. Women. "Get 
off my bike, Croft." He wasn't in a mood to argue.
	Her voice was soft, but firm. "What are you doing, 
Ben?"
	His jaw set. What was she, dense? "What does it look 
like I'm doing? I'm kicking you off.
	"No. I don't want to leave."
	Well, one of them had to get off the bike. He 
dismounted and stared down at the highway with dead eyes. 
"This isn't your problem, Croft." He said softly. "You 
warned me, we're even, now get out of here."
	"This isn't about keeping score, Ben."
	He turned back to her. She was still on his bike, 
arms crossed. "Then what is it about?"
	"Gunny wants me too, you know." She told him, head 
cocked. "He said so."
	Ben snorted. "You're just a trophy. He won't chase 
you if you leave the desert.
	Lara shook her head. "I didn't know Torque long, but 
I liked him. He didn't deserve dying like that."
	Amen. "That's not enough." Ben glared at her. "You 
have no stake in this, Croft. I don't trust you."
	She raised hr eye brows. "And if I told you why it 
might make you trust me?"
	He was regretting this conversation already. "It 
might."
	"All right then," she dismounted and leaned against 
the gas tank. "I think it might make a good story."
	Huh? Ben blinked. "Story?"
	"That's why I came to the desert. She looked over his 
shoulder down the endless road. "I'm writing a series of 
articles on the New West for a newspaper."
	"You're doing all this for a damned newspaper?" his 
voice rose. Why am I arguing with her? I just don't care 
right now. "You're crazier than I thought."
	She raised her chin. "My reasons are my own, and I 
don't need your permission to do anything."
	"You're right, you don't." He walked past her and 
mounted his bike. "Good bye, Lady Grace." He started his 
engine and revved it loudly, shouting over its noise at 
her. "Thanks for the tip. I hope you get a Pulitzer."
	She reached over to the handle bars and killed the 
engine before he could put in into gear. Ben glared at her. 
"I'm going to be sticking around, Ben, whether you want me 
to or not." She looked at him hopefully. "I thought you 
might like the help.
	"I work alone." He growled, but it sounded 
unconvincing even to him.
	"Ah, like you worked alone this morning in your camp. 
I saved your life."
	This morning seemed like an eternity ago. "I said we 
were even, Croft." Ben growled. "I don't owe you nothing."
	She looked behind him with alarm "Actually, I think 
that the decision has been taken from us. Riders!"
	Ben looked behind him and cursed. Five shimmering 
forms are on the road, a mile or so distant. "Get on if 
you're coming." He growled and started the bike. Lara leapt 
on, and they burned rubber.
	"Can you shake them?" He heard Lara ask over the 
engine. He looked back and the bikes were closing. They're 
not carrying two people. They'll g