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The Emperor

Allan Onik

    The black and white photo of the biker sat on the Chief’s desk. “I suppose there’s no escaping you this time,” Chief Briggs said to no one but the walls, “I’ll have to get involved myself.”

    Chief Briggs stepped out of his Lincoln. He wore a black trench coat and aimed a Colt Anaconda .44 over his doorframe. He was flanked on both sides by police squad cars. The cops were decked out in anti-riot swat gear and carried shotguns, assault rifles, and a Rocket Propelled Grenade.
    Across from the cops and the detective were a group of bikers on choppers. The colors on the back of their vests read Satan’s Minions. They held handguns, knives, chains, spiked bats, submachine guns and far out numbered the law enforcement officials.
    The leader of the outlaws scooted his bike forward. He had a long white beard, white hair, and wore military sunglasses. “So, King Arthur has come with his cavalry to quench the demon hordes from Camelot. Tell me king, who is it that crowned you? Is it this country? The same one that binds you with its falsehoods?” The biker took a folded American flag from a satchel on the side of his chopper. He threw it on the dirt ground, covered it with gasoline, and flicked a match on it. The flag lit up in a blaze.
    “You know,” Briggs said, “That’s illegal.”
    The leader laughed “We’ve all spent time in the can here. That’s what we do. But today is different.” The horde cheered.
    “You can’t hide from The Law,” Briggs said, “even if you’re a one percenter. The whole station’s got an eye on you guys. Your only hope is to move to Vegas, and get out of our small town.”
    “But what good would that do us? And then you wouldn’t get to protect your precious men. No. This town is where we belong. And the pickings here are too tasty.”
    “Very well,” Briggs said, “men, sons, brothers. Prepare your arms!” The bikers and cops began shooting, circling, ducking, and swinging. A cop next to Briggs fell dead after a long chain from a biker whipped and shattered his face. An RPG round from one of the cops exploded on the grounds and caused a mass of torn bikes and bikers. A dismembered hand fell on Briggs’s windshield. The hand had long, pointed nails. “If men don’t care to follow or uphold The Law, it is my job to confront them. If Satan’s Minions leave town, I am prepared to offer a truce,” Briggs yelled in the cacophony.
    The leader of OMG frothed at the mouth. “Oh, but don’t you see detective? The Law does not hold the Outlaws, for we follow our hearts and minds and know that the constructions of society are mere reflections of flawed conceptions.”
    Briggs shot a biker off of his bike with the magnum. The biker’s brains splattered against the dirt ground. Briggs countered the leader, “But if The Law is not upheld, then Anarchy ensues. And Evil reigns supreme. The Law may put our desires in check, but our desires must fit into a framework of Natural Harmony.”
    A shotgun blast punctured the gas tank of a chopper, incinerating it with an ensuing explosion. A cop fell from a pierced flack jacket. “But that is where you are wrong!” The leader of the brood cried. The biker’s eyes were now glowing red, “For my desires matter more than the desires of my fellow men!!”

    A cop fell from a knife wound to his throat. A biker took automatic fire to the chest. “But now you must remember The Creator,” Briggs parried, “for this power will not let Evil shut out the light, as long as there is light in good men. There is always a Power that Preserves.”
    Only three cops and Briggs remained standing. The Horde surrounded them and revved their engines. “You see,” The leader lamented, “men are but pawns.” His hair had fallen out and his teeth were razor sharp. His scalp oozed puss.
    “No,” Briggs said, “Men are fathers and sons. It is now clear to me that Hell has found suitable capsules in your bodies, and that Evil reigns in your hearts.” A fleet of helicopters approached, choppers with police insignia on them and painted in white and gold. The brood squealed and dispersed as missiles and chain guns fired.
    “Where are they going?” One of the cops asked.
    “North. To Sin City, where they belong,” Briggs answered.

    Briggs drained a glass of Cognac. Uniformed cops surrounded him at the table in the bar. “To a successful venture. And many more to come,” Briggs said.
    “And to a great Chief of Police. And father to us all,” one of the cops said.
    “You uphold The Law with grace,” another said.
    “And stand up for The Righteous,” said another.
    They all put their guns on the table and downed a round of shots.

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