Chapter 3: Embers of a Coward's Fire
The smell of smoke still hung heavy in the morning air when Jack Morrison arrived at the community center.
He leaned heavily on his wooden cane, stepping out of Dutch’s battered pickup truck. Sirens had blared through the night, and the local fire department had managed to save the main structure, but the front of the building was a charred, blackened ruin. The shattered glass crunched beneath Jack's boots.
A crowd of locals had gathered. Mothers holding their children's hands. Teenagers who used the center for tutoring. Their faces were painted with shock and sorrow.
Dutch stood beside Jack, his massive hands clenched into fists. His gray beard twitched as he stared at the neon green spray paint on the surviving brick wall: a skull with a snake through its eye.
"Black Skulls," Dutch growled, his voice a low rumble of pure violence. "That little punk from the diner. I should have broken his jaw right there on the checkered tiles."
Jack didn't speak immediately. He walked slowly to the bronze plaque that bore his name. It was covered in soot. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the grime away.
"They’re cowards, Jack," a younger Iron Rider named Kael said, stepping up behind them. "Give the word. We’ll hunt them down. We know they squat out by the old railyard. We can have fifty men there by noon."
The crowd of onlookers murmured in agreement. The town wanted blood.
Jack finally turned around. His face was a mask of perfect, terrifying calm. He didn't look like an old man needing a cane; he looked like a general surveying a battlefield.
"No," Jack said softly.
Dutch stared at him. "No? Jack, they burned the kids' center. They disrespected you, and now they’re terrorizing the town."
"Violence is loud, Dutch," Jack replied, leaning on his cane. "And loud is exactly what that boy wants. He wants a war in the streets. He wants to prove he's tough enough to take on the Iron Riders. If we ride in there with chains and bats, we validate him. We make him a martyr to his own twisted cause."
"Then what do we do?" Kael asked, frustration bleeding into his voice.
Jack pulled his old flip phone from his jacket—the same phone he had used in the diner.
"We teach him what real power looks like," Jack said. "A boy like that thinks power is a loud engine and a crowbar. He doesn't understand that true power is invisible until it closes around your throat."
Jack dialed a number. He held it to his ear.
May you like
"Mayor Hayes," Jack said smoothly when the line connected. "Yes, it’s Jack. I’m standing outside the youth center. It seems we have a pest problem in our town. I need a few favors. Yes... the zoning board, the sanitation department, and Chief Miller. It’s time to clean house."
Dutch watched his old friend, a slow smile finally breaking through his gray beard. He realized what Jack was doing. Jack wasn't going to fight the Black Skulls. He was going to erase them.
