:oThere's this girl gang in the Midwest that likes to terrorize biker chicks, knowing that some of these women sell or run drugs in their area. Most of these women are strippers or dancers at local exotic dancing places. They make a lot of money, so the girl gang members always know they can get a few bucks out of these women whether they have cash stuffed in their jeans or one of the girls drags them off to the ATM to get money. They also run a scheme where they challenge women ages 18 to 34 to come fight local tough girls and win $500 to $1,000 in cash. The fights are usually held underground at undisclosed areas. The women have to text the number in the ad to get the address. The entry fee is only $25. Unfortunately for the women or biker chicks, they're pitted against some of the fattest and meanest girls in the gang. Hence, the average 5'5" 115-pound tight-jeaned biker chick or stripper has virtually no chance of winning.
One contest for the women is to fight this monster girl named Gretchen (age 18, 6'5" 456 pounds).who's not only a state champion shot putter but also a champion girl wrestler. The women can win $1,000 if they last even two minutes against this girl without getting knocked out. She'll even take two biker chicks on so they can split the money. To date, no biker chick has won a dime in this challenge in 25-plus attempts. They've gotten crushed. At least two were karate black belts, but Gretchen destroyed them. In fact, karate-kicking biker chicks usually get their asses kicked the worst because Gretchen likes to kick them repeatedly in return, even in the cxnt. And trust me, you don't want to sustain a cxnt-kick from Gretchen because you won't be able to have sex for a month.
All the women go home bloodied, battered and humiliated after an encounter with Gretchen. Of course, the women sustain a lot of broken noses and arms, black eyes, split or lacerated lips and concussions after fighting Gretchen, too. Sometimes, Gretchen even terrorizes them further by putting hoods over their heads during and after the fights. She's also been known to rip earrings from a bikers chicks' ears--some of which are on the upper part of their ears. It's absolutely brutal! Needless to say, a few of the biker chicks have pissed their jeans after these types of incidences. To further add to the humiliation, all fights are filmed and later downloaded to YouTube, which makes the girls even more money. Gretchen's just a sadistic girl who likes to take advantage of her size.
One of the worst scenarios is when the girls direct the biker chicks to an abandoned location--often to make a bogus drug drop. This is usually done late at night. Gretchen then makes a very stealthy appearance and terrorizes the women to the point of hysteria. Following is an example of something Gretchen did to a 31-year-old biker chick I know named Cheryl. Cheryl is about 5'6" and 114 pounds. She's blonde, very hot and dances at a local club. The club is a lot like Coyote Ugly where the girls dance on the bar in their tight jeans and go nuts. Here's the sequence of events that Cheryl had to endure because of Gretchen and her wicked scheme. I told Cheryl to file a lawsuit on the girl, but she won't. Biker women have their pride. They don't like to admit they got beat up by a high school girl. It's humiliating to them. Anyway, here's what happened a little over a year ago.
“Fire on the Mountain, run boys, run.
The Devil’s in the house of the risin’ sun.
Chicken in the bread pan pickin’ out dough,
Granny, does your dog bite? No, child, no.”
The fiddle in the song, The Devil Went Down to Georgia, blared inside Rodeo Cowgirls as five attractive young women danced on the bar and slammed their cowboy boots to the beat of the music. They clapped their hands, made a quarter turn in unison, strutted backwards, then dropped down and touched the bar counter with their hands.
The crowd roared as one girl pulled another through her legs. The girl then got to her feet and proceeded with the group dance.
The women stomped their boots some more, threw their hands in the air and shouted. When the dance ended, Cheryl Langley hopped off the bar, took a couple orders from thirsty patrons, then walked back to the breakroom.
“What time do you get off?” said Brooke Wilde, a stunning blonde who had just exited the breakroom. She was headed to the bar for the next dance.
Cheryl, also an attractive blonde, pulled her cell phone out of her jeans and checked the time. “In about ten minutes.”
“Are you doing anything afterwards?”
“I’m heading home after I make a stop in Perryville.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“A few of us are going to Perkins after work,” said Brooke. “I thought you’d like to come.”
“I’d love to if I could, but I really have to make that stop.”
“I understand.”
“Raincheck.”
“Yeah, we’ll head there again some night—or I should say morning.”
Cheryl laughed. Some guys started hooting and hollering. Another song started.
“Well, I’ve got to motor,” said Brooke, as she tapped Cheryl’s shoulder. “My number’s up. But wait a few minutes after you clock out before you leave. I want to talk to you.”
“Okay,” said Cheryl. “But come right back when your set’s over. I’ve got to be in Perryville by ten-thirty.”
“You got it.”
Cheryl strolled into the breakroom, which was adjacent to the locker room and prep area. She wiped some sweat from her brow and grabbed a Diet Dew out of the fridge. She then sat down on one of the sofas, hiked one her boots over the edge of a cushion and took a sip of her soft drink.
Cheryl had only been working at Rodeo Cowgirls for two months. She had recently moved to the Columbus area from Nashville, Tennessee. She had moved to the area to be with her two best friends, Brooke Wilde and Brandy Corbett, who also worked at the bar. They had all gone to the University of Tennessee in Knoxville together a decade ago, where they were members of the Tri-Delt sorority.
Brooke and Brandy were partners in a fledgling beauty supply company, which was run out of a warehouse building in Munroe, Ohio. The two women danced part time for fun and extra money. Cheryl had worked as a field marketing manager for a restaurant chain in Nashville but had lost her job in May. Brooke convinced her to come to Columbus and earn some money dancing until she found a job.
Cheryl had been hesitant at first but decided to move to Columbus in late May. She had worked as a Coyote Ugly dancer in her early- and mid-twenties, so the concept of dancing for money wasn’t foreign to her. It also gave her a chance to figure out what type of job she wanted. She loved field marketing in the restaurant industry but also had her sights set on working in corporate marketing. Wendy’s had a corporate office in Columbus, which housed a number of marketing professionals.
“Look at you, sitting there all serious,” said Brandy Corbett, a pretty brunette who had just entered the breakroom. She wore cutoff Wrangler jeans and a gray midriff blouse. “What’s on your mind, girl?”
“I’m a little worried about tonight,” said Cheryl, before taking another sip of her drink.
“What’s wrong?” Brandy took a seat on the sofa next to Cheryl. She tapped her on the knee.
Cheryl, who’d been staring at the floor for several seconds, looked at Brandy.
“Bear wants me to run a package over to Perryville before I head home. I came up here to dance, not run mysterious packages all over the place.” Bear was a local biker who had just started dating Cheryl. Brooke had introduced the two.
“It’s probably just a little marijuana or meth,” said Brandy.
“What?” said Cheryl, as she placed her left hand on her leg and leaned toward Brandy.
“Bear’s sending you on a small drug drop. He starts everyone out like that.”
“Oh, my God, Brandy. I had no idea.”
“It’s really no big deal. Besides, it’s quick money. Brooke and I have been making runs for a while now.”
“But I didn’t come up here to run drugs,” said Cheryl. “I just wanted to earn some money while looking for a marketing job.”
“Yeah, but you’re dating a biker, aren’t you?”
“True, but I didn’t know he was into the drug scene.” Cheryl’s heart sank. She was now even more worried.
Brooke Wilde traipsed into the room. “Don’t you have to be in Perryville at ten-thirty?” she asked Cheryl.
“Yeah, but I’ll just wear what I got on.” She pointed to her snug indigo Levi’s. “I’ll shower when I get home.”
Cheryl stood and turned toward the locker room, which was located through the large doorway to the left. She looked at Brooke, who was stripping out of her Wrangler jeans by her locker. She approached her friend.
“Why didn’t you tell me Bear was into the drug scene?”
“That’s just part of what they do up here,” said Brooke. “It’s no big deal. Is that why you’re going to Perryville tonight?”
“Yeah,” said Cheryl. “And I’ve heard about the Fiends and all the violence that’s taken place in that town. It made the news down in Nashville back in 2017.”
“Yeah, some fat cow named Andrea tried to bury some cowgirls from Oklahoma alive. She killed one of their friends in a fight before that.”
“That makes me feel better,” said Cheryl, as she stuck one of her boots out and pointed at her pants leg. “I’m dressed like a cowgirl.”
“But you haven’t said anything nasty to any Fiends,” said Brooke. “The cowgirl who got killed ran her mouth and gave Andrea the middle finger. That’s what I heard anyway. She was just asking for trouble.”
“There were a couple other incidences, too,” said Brandy, as she got off the sofa and approached the two women. “The Fiends were responsible for the deaths of two woman three years ago, and some girl named Alice killed some biker chicks back in ’05 or ’06.”
“So, that’s supposed to make me feel even better about making this drop? I’m dating a biker, which makes me a biker chick by association.”
“You’ll be fine,” said Brooke. “Besides, the Fiends are history. They arrested a group of those troublemakers two years ago. And nobody’s heard from them since.”
“Yeah, but there was a decade gap between incidences in the past,” said Cheryl. She finished her Diet Dew and tossed it into a nearby trashcan.
Brooke, who now stood there in her panties, stepped toward Cheryl and raised both arms up in question. “The Fiends are history. There’s nobody left from that gang. Besides, who the hell’s afraid of a gang of high school girls anyway. I’m certainly not.”
“You would be if they confronted you,” said Brandy, “and some of those high school girls are pretty damn big. I wouldn’t mess with them.”
“Hey, I can handle myself,” said Brooke. “I’ve taken karate, plus I’ve been practicing and teaching Tae Bo for ten years. I’d dare one of those high school punks to come after me. I’d put each and every one of them on the ground.”
“Whatever,” said Cheryl. “I guess the point’s moot. The Fiends are gone, and I have a package to deliver. No big deal, right?”
“That’s right,” said Brooke. She slapped Cheryl on the shoulder. “I’ll go with you if you want.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Cheryl grabbed her purse from her locker and made her way to her car. The night air was warm, with very little breeze. The parking lot was chockfull of expensive cars—everything from Corvettes and Porches to Mercedes and BMWs. One hot shot had even arrived in a late-model Ferrari, which was parked perpendicular to the curb on the far end of the parking lot.
Cheryl drove a 2016 Kia Optima. She’d purchased it in Nashville a couple years ago and paid less than $14,000 for it. The car had ample power and got decent gas mileage. And Cheryl loved driving it. It was also a reliable car that handled the snow well.
Cheryl clicked the car door open with her fob and hopped in the driver’s seat. She leaned her head back against the headrest and took a deep breath before starting her car. She was exhausted from the afternoon and evening of dancing. She had worked the earlier shift, which usually went to the new girls. She was scheduled to work late Friday, which was tomorrow.
Cheryl was glad she had a GPS with her Kia Optima. It came in handy as she familiarized herself with the Columbus area. She plugged the address to Kurt’s Bar and Grill into her GPS, then pulled out of the lot onto the main road.
A stream of automobile headlights pierced the darkened road as Cheryl drove to her destination. She stayed on the main road, then made a right exit about 10 miles down. Kurt’s Bar and Grill sat about thirty feet back from the main road, with its neon lights, pediment-style marque and wide double door.
Cheryl pumped her brakes a couple times to slow her car down, then took the first driveway into the bar’s parking lot. She drove into the lot and followed the parking sign.
The lot was half filled but Cheryl pulled around the back of the building. She’d been instructed to knock on the back door at 10:30 p.m. She was meeting a guy named Wilson, which was likely the dude’s last name.
As Cheryl made her way to the back of the building, she noticed the lone streetlight that extended out from a telephone pole at the back corner of the lot. The light seemed a bit dim for a bar and even flickered a couple times as Cheryl pulled up next to it. She then turned her car engine off, stepped out of the car and grabbed the package out of her trunk.
Cheryl’s heart was pounding as she walked across the gravel lot, where patches of dust were still billowing from her car’s entrance. She waved a cloud of dust away from her face and headed for the back door of the bar.
Crickets chirped in the nearby woods and grass and an occasional lightening bug flashed in her peripheral vision. And as Cheryl approached the back of the bar, she could hear the faint beats of some rock song.
Cheryl spotted a lone security light toward the middle of the building, which helped her locate the back door. When she got to the door, she pulled her cell phone out of her front pocket and checked the time. It was 10:30 p.m.
Cheryl stood at the back door for several seconds, holding the package in her hands. It was more like a small packet that the post office used, yet it was cardboard brown. Cheryl turned and studied the perimeter of the parking lot for her own safety. She then wiped her sweaty left hand on her jeans, took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, a guy with long blonde hair opened it.
“You got the package?” he said, scouring her from toe to coif.
“Yeah, it’s right here.” Cheryl held the package up.
“Don’t do that.”
“You asked if I had the package.”
The guy rolled his eyes. “Come inside. I’ve got the money in my office.”
Cheryl heard the strumming of a guitar as she followed the guy down a poorly illuminated hallway. The beats of the instrument emanated from the AC/DC song, It’s a Long Road to the Top (If You Want to Rock ‘n’ Roll) inside the bar area. The hallway smelled like beer and cigar smoke.
“It’s a couple feet up on your right,” said the guy, as he held his arm up and let her pass by him.
Cheryl saw the doorway and walked inside the office. A silver nameplate on the outside of the door said Manager.
“I’m Wilson by the way.” He extended his hand as he walked behind a large oak desk. She shook it.
“Cheryl.”
“Have a seat.”
“Thanks.”
The office was a bit brighter than the hallway, but not by much. And the dark brown paneling covering the office walls didn’t exactly brighten the mood. The muffled sounds of Van Halen’s Panama started playing inside the main bar as Cheryl took a seat on a vinyl-padded chair.
“Great song,” said Cheryl, trying to make small talk.
“Yeah, it is.”
Wilson looked down to his right. He opened a drawer behind his desk and pulled out a small yellow envelope. “I believe the total amount was eight hundred fifty dollars, correct?”
“Yes,” said Cheryl.
Wilson handed the envelope to her. “No need to count it because it’s all there.”
“I trust you,” she said.
“Good.”
He frowned. “Say. I’ve never seen you before. Are you new or something?”
“Yeah. I just moved to the area from Nashville a couple months ago.”
“And you’re Bear’s girlfriend?”
“Correct.”
“That dude’s a riot,” he said. “If I had more time, I could tell you twenty stories about him—most of them good. But I’ve got another meeting at eleven, plus I have to inventory the liquor tonight.”
Cheryl nodded. “Oh, here,” she said, as she handed the package to the guy. He grabbed it and set it inside the drawer he’d just opened. He then stood and escorted her out of his office and to the back door.
“Well, it was nice knowing . . . I mean meeting you Cheryl.” She frowned at the odd choice of words but returned Wilson’s smile.
“It was nice meeting you, too.”
Cheryl stepped out into the darkness of the evening. A cool breeze stirred up and tousled her long blonde hair as she headed toward her car. The temperature had dropped a few degrees since she’d arrived at the joint. She shivered a bit as she only wore a short-sleeve blouse.
As Cheryl strolled toward her car, she noticed a large dark shadow, just beyond the outstretch of illumination from the streetlight. She studied the figure as she slowed her gait, trying to discern whether she was looking at an actual object or strange play of light. Whatever she was looking at was large and irregular in shape and not squared off like a building or structure.
A wave of anxiety surged through her as she approached her car, still keeping tabs on the shadowy configuration. She finally looked away from the shadow, hastened her pace and beeped her car door open.
Cheryl had just sat down, slammed her door shut and placed the yellow envelope on the passenger seat, when she saw the shadow moving toward her.
“Oh, shit,” she said. “I should’ve never come out here.” She had just started to insert her key into the ignition slot and push the start button when someone knocked on her driver’s side window.
Cheryl jumped and grabbed her chest with both hands, dropping her keys somewhere between her legs on the car seat. She reached between her thighs and groped for the keys but couldn’t locate them.
Cheryl was paralyzed with fear—her heart pounding in her throat—not knowing whether to lock the door manually or call for help on her cell. But when she turned her head, she saw the large shadow figure standing next to her car. The person was of considerable height and weight.
Cheryl sat there in a catatonic state for several seconds as she stared at the individual. She couldn’t tell whether it was a man or woman, but she was frightened out of her gourd.
She reached between her legs again, ran her hands near her right thigh and located her fob. She had just jammed it inside the slot and started her car when the door opened, illuminating the interior of the vehicle, engaging the open-door alarm warning.
The interior light made it even more difficult for Cheryl to discern the individual’s gender. But the mystery was soon unearthed when the person spoke. The voice was relatively deep but definitely female.
“Turn your car engine off.”
Cheryl shook her head and raised her hands in front of her. She was so stunned by the intrusion she didn’t know what to do.
The woman slapped her left shoulder. “Turn your fucking car off. Now!
“Okay . . . okay,” cried Cheryl. She pushed the button, turned the car off and pulled her fob out. She dropped it on the passenger seat.
“Now grab the envelope on your car seat and hand it to me.”
Cheryl hesitated again as she took a deep breath and glanced at the envelope on the passenger seat. Her hands were trembling.
“You hear me, you dumb bitch? Give me the envelope. Right now!
Cheryl’s heart sank. She knew she’d be in deep shit coming back without the money, but she had no choice. The girl was huge and she was frightened to death of her.
“Am I getting through to you yet, biker chick?”
“Yes,” Cheryl managed to squeak out.
“Good. Then let’s get this done.”
“Okay,” Cheryl whispered.
The girl took a deep breath and exhaled. Her breath smelled like fried chicken. “Don’t look at me when you give me the money. Just keep your eyes on the windshield.”
Cheryl nodded. She grabbed the envelope with her right hand, then moved it to her left one. She extended her left arm and felt the woman grab the envelope. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest.
“Great. Now step out of your car and place your hands on top of it.”
Cheryl just sat there in shock. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Her throat churned.
“Right now, bitch. Move it!”
“Okay. Okay.”
Cheryl held her hands up in front of her. She scooted her rear end around and extended her left boot over the edge of the doorway. She then swung her right boot around, placed her hands against the driver’s seat and stepped out of the car.
Cheryl started to look up at the woman’s face, but the chick pushed her head away.
“Don’t look at me, bitch, or I’ll level you right here.”
Cheryl gazed toward the building as she turned toward her car. Her heart was pounding. She placed both hands on top of the roof.
“I’m going to pat you down for weapons. You hear me?”
“Yes,” Cheryl muttered.
“Good. Now spread your legs.”
Cheryl spread her legs about shoulder width. The woman stuffed the money in her pants, then started patting Cheryl’s legs. She briefly run her hands near her pubic region, then patted the pockets of her Levi’s.
“I don’t have any weapons,” said Cheryl. “So, please, just let me go.”
“You’ll go when I say you can go, bitch.”
“Just take the money and let me go. I won’t say anything about this.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Precious.”
“Let me go,” said Cheryl.
“No.”
“Please,” Cheryl begged, as she lowered her head toward the roof of her car. Tears started welling in her eyes.
“You better shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.”
“I’m just scared, that’s all,” said Cheryl.
“You should be scared, bitch. Selling drugs to teenagers is pretty serious shit.”
Cheryl still had her head down. Her legs were shaking. “I said I was sorry.”
“Well, it’s too late for that.”
Cheryl raised her head up. She thought about kicking the girl in the shin with her boot but thought better of it. She didn’t know if she could get to the front of the bar fast enough to get someone’s attention. The distance from the front of the building to the back was at least eighty feet. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll scream for help.”
The woman chuckled. “Go ahead and try. I dare you.”
Cheryl grew more terrified. She didn’t trust the fat chick. Maybe her imagination was running wild on her, but something wasn’t right here. Violence seemed rampant in this town from what she’d read in the Nashville papers. She needed to get someone’s attention before it was too late. With her heart pounding and body trembling, she took a deep breath and screamed as loud as she could.
“Help! . . . Help me, somebody. Please hel . . .”
Cheryl’s plea for help was short-lived as the girl grabbed the back of her head and slammed her face against the roof of her Kia. Cheryl’s body went limp, chest pressed against the window, arms across the roof of her car. She then slid down the side of her car and collapsed to the gravel.
That fat girl chuckled. She then reached down, pulled the biker chick up by the front of her waist, hoisted her over her shoulder and carried her toward her vehicle, which was located in a field near the woods.
When Cheryl awakened, everything was hazy. She heard the clattering of tires on pavement and felt the acceleration of a vehicle. She tried to raise her chin off her chest, but it dropped back down.
“Rise and shine there, cowgirl,” said the girl.
Cheryl raised her head up, and through slitted eyes, gazed through cloudiness of the windshield. It wasn’t that the window was dirty. She just couldn’t shake off the dreariness from getting knocked out.
“Thatta girl.”
Cheryl snapped back to reality. She was strapped into a seat belt in some large truck.
“Where are you taking me?” she said.
“It’s a surprise. You like surprises, don’t you?”
Blood dripped from Cheryl’s nose and mouth. Her lip was puffy. She dabbed at both of them with the fingers of her left hand, then turned her head and looked over at the fat girl. Her large belly and huge chest barely fit behind the wheel of the vehicle.
“Who are you?” said Cheryl. Her throat churned. She was parched and in desperate need of some water.
“That’s for me to know and you to . . . never know.” The girl cackled.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“What’s that?” said the girl. She turned her head and glared at Cheryl. The icy stare sent shivers through her spine.
“You’re one of those . . . those Fiend girls.”
“Who?”
“Don’t act dumb with me,” said Cheryl. “You’re a Fiend. One of those girl gang members.”
The girl was now looking at the road again. She slowly turned her head toward Cheryl and said, “That’s right, you skinny little bitch. And you’re one of those skanky biker chicks who sell drugs to high school kids. That’s why I’m taking you someplace where they’ll never find you.”
“You can’t do this. I’m not a biker chick. I just date a biker. I just moved here two months ago from Nashville.”
“Is that right,” said the girl. “Well, that was the biggest mistake of your life.”
Cheryl reached down and started to unbuckle her seat belt. Seconds later, the back of the girl’s hand whacked her cheek and sent her head crashing against the side window. Cheryl’s chin dropped to her chest as she fell into a deep state of unconsciousness. When she awakened, she found herself lying on her back near the bank of some large body of water. All she could hear was the rushing water.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” said the girl, “because I want to introduce you to your permanent resting place, the Scioto River.”
Cheryl’s eyes widened. She tried to push herself up but didn’t have the strength. An intense pain surged through her right temple where a knot the size of a golf ball had formed.
She turned her head to the left and looked at the girl, who was standing on an elevated part of the river embankment. She looked ten feet tall from where Cheryl was lying.
“Relax, little biker chick. I’ll make this quick and painless for you.”
Cheryl tried to scream but couldn’t muster up the energy. She was soon overcome by an intense bout of nausea. She turned to her right and vomited. Before she could roll to her back, the girl grabbed the back of her belt, picked her up, wrapped her arm around her throat and carried her down to the river.
Cheryl gagged as she squirmed in the girl’s immense arms and pedaled her legs in a last ditched effort to free herself. But her boots came into contact with nothing but air. The next thing she knew, she was dangling above the murky river about four feet from the shore.
“Let this be a lesson to all the biker chicks who sell drugs to school-age kids.”
“Please don’t do this to me,” cried Cheryl. “I’m really sorry for what I did.”
“It’s too late for apologies, biker bitch.”
To further humiliate Cheryl, the girl grabbed her by the back of her hair, then clutched her down below by the crotch of her Levi’s. Cheryl grimaced in agony as the girl held her body above the roaring currents. She then screamed when the behemoth lifted her up and plunged her face into the water. Cheryl thrashed her arms in the water and contorted her head as the girl’s grip grew tighter. A crush of bubbles formed underwater as she cried out in terror and agony. Seconds later, the girl pulled the woman out of the water, dragged her over to the shore and tossed her on the ground.
"Oh, God!" the biker chick cried. "I thought you were going to kill me."
"The next time I will. Now, get your skinny ass out of here before I change my mind..
