Mad Powers (Tapped In) by Mark Wayne McGinnis

encircled me, some coming at me from the park. I only noticed the woman after a silver-haired biker killed his engine and stepped away from his Hog. Without a doubt this guy was their leader. His woman, smiling, stayed seated and seemed to be enjoying herself. He was about sixty, easily six-five, and I estimated he weighed upward of two hundred and fifty pounds. Both he and the woman wore jeans, boots, and black leather chaps … their black leather vests hung open enough to display the sizeable chests on both bikers.
    I’d been lost in thought with Jill on my mind. Their presence was juvenile and an unwelcome distraction from what I needed to do.
    “Well, if it isn’t my friend from Denny’s,” Russell said, back to his cocky bravado.
    “What do you want, Russell? Brought your pals to fight your battles for you?” I kept my eyes on the older guy, though, now standing several feet in front of me.
    Russell moved to get off his bike, but the older biker held up a hand and shook his head.
    “My name is Tag. You’ve already met Russell, Jordan and Wriggly. You’ve probably also noticed that they’re idiots. There’s nothing I can do about that. But I do value their loyalty. What’s a gang of bikers without loyal dependability?”
    “Was that a rhetorical question or do you actually want me to answer?” I asked, straight-faced.
    Tag was not amused, and he looked tired. He looked like a man no longer inclined to do the types of things expected of him from the gang’s less-bright members. I almost felt sorry for him. He stood tall and puffed out his chest.
    “I’m not going to kill you … What’s your name?”
    “I appreciate that. You can call me Rob.”
    “Rob, you will need medical attention after this. Hopefully, you have health insurance.” His last comment evoked several chuckles from the bikers.
    Tag’s mind was definitely on something else. I’d been peering into his thoughts. He had killed a lot of men—more than he wanted to remember. He feared an accounting was coming due. Not karmic, nothing so esoteric. But he was realistic enough to know every leader, such as himself, eventually faced his own reckoning.
    “Listen, Tag. I don’t think you want to fight me. As you said, those three are idiots and you certainly must know they got exactly what was coming to them. I have no beef with you. How about we just—”
    Tag was moving before I finished my sentence. He leapt forward, thrusting a hand out for my throat.
    I blocked it and countered with a left punch to his lower lip, then a follow-up right to his temple. He staggered, caught himself, and stood with his fists raised.
    “Do you really want this to be that day, Tag? The one you’ve been worried about?”
    He looked at me as if I’d uncovered his deepest, darkest secret. Maybe I had. I continued: “When I put you down, right here in front of your gang, your woman—it will be too late. You’ll never regain their respect … it will be the beginning of the end.”
    He lashed out with a wide haymaker to my head, missing me by a mile. He came at me again—eyes full of spite and teeth clenched and bared, like a crazed animal. He threw two more punches, one connecting with my cheek. I stepped back and let him follow after me. He’d regained some confidence, but had dropped his guard. He’d let his fists fall too low, instead of keeping them up, where he could block a punch. Or in this case, a crescent kick to the side of his face. His head jerked violently to the left, which caused his whole body to spin. With his back partially exposed and totally unprotected, I kicked out again, hitting him behind the knees. As Tag fell backward, I sent him to the ground with an uppercut to the chin. He was down for the count. On his back he looked up at me. I saw fear in his eyes. His thoughts were crying out for help. Don’t let this be the day. His eyes stayed on mine for a long minute, then drifted to the crowd of onlookers. He took in their