The no–holds–barred first novel from Sonny Barger, author of the New York Times bestseller Hell's Angel . The mass market edition will be an ideal format for Sonny's legions of fans. ⏡tch⟋inkade thought that things were winding down. The former President of the Infidelz, the most powerful motorcycle club in Northern California, Patch has drifted east, hoping to start a new life in Arizona. He wants to forget his old life, a life where being the President of the Infidelz cost him his family. Now, he is responsible for no one but himself. But everything changes one night in Nevada, as bad blood between members of the Infidelz and a rival club, the 2Wheelers, errupts into a firefight, littering a casino with the corpses of both club members and ordinary citizens. The newspapers call it ⁩ke Wars,⟡nd Patch knows he's needed, either to help make a peace––or win a war. Responding to the call to duty, Patch straps on his knives and wipes the dust off his Harley, ready to cruise down the highway for what could be his final ride. “A wild ride.” - Albuquerque Journal “”[A] high octane, testosterone-infused story about revenge and freedom... Barger burns rubber with this joyride of a story...[A] story so vivid you can practically smell the bike exhaust...manages to purr along like a well-oiled hog. - USA Today “Dead’s one for the road. - Maxim The no–holds–barred first novel from Sonny Barger, author of the New York Times bestseller Hell's Angel . The mass market edition will be an ideal format for Sonny's legions of fans. ⏡tch⟋inkade thought that things were winding down. The former President of the Infidelz, the most powerful motorcycle club in Northern California, Patch has drifted east, hoping to start a new life in Arizona. He wants to forget his old life, a life where being the President of the Infidelz cost him his family. Now, he is responsible for no one but himself. But everything changes one night in Nevada, as bad blood between members of the Infidelz and a rival club, the 2Wheelers, errupts into a firefight, littering a casino with the corpses of both club members and ordinary citizens. The newspapers call it ⁩ke Wars,⟡nd Patch knows he's needed, either to help make a peace––or win a war. Responding to the call to duty, Patch straps on his knives and wipes the dust off his Harley, ready to cruise down the highway for what could be his final ride. Ralph "Sonny" Barger (1938-2002) was the author of Hell's Angel: The Life and Times of Sonny Barger and the Hell's Angels Motorcycle Club . Dead in 5 Heartbeats By Barger, Ralph HarperTorch ISBN: 006053253X Chapter One Incident at Trader's Trader's Roadhouse was bike-friendly and colors-welcome, a neutral hangout for riders of all stripes. It was a gigantic rectangular Quonset playground that sat on the dusty city limits of Hayward, California, a small blue-collar town a dozen miles southeast of the Oakland flatlands. The joint was shaking wall-to-wall, shoulder to shoulder at Trader's Thursday Bike Nite. Topic A screaming over the cavernous din among the men propping up the long mahogany bar: Which Johnny Cash "prison" album kicked it more? At Folsom or At San Quentin ? An assortment of barroom anthems played as customers jammed the jukebox and voted with their quarters. A wide variety emerged: Willie's "My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys" followed by Kid Rock's "American Bad Ass." Arthur Conley's "Sweet Soul Music" flowed into "Sweet Child o' Mine" by Guns N' Roses. No logical pattern, just a mishmash of rock, soul, and renegade country. Sweet musical chaos. Since this was California, the only missing barroom ingredient was the stale smell of cigarette smoke. The loud crack of the opening break of a rack of pool balls pierced the bar's ambience, followed by the unmistakable deep thunk of the first cluster of balls rolling toward their not-so-final resting place below the green felt playing surface. A muted television set mounted up behind the bar broadcast an A's-Tigers game but was roundly ignored. Motorcycle memorabilia was plastered throughout Trader's, with Easyriders pinups, a mural-sized David Mann painting, tools, wrenches, and scooter parts hanging from the walls. Entire bikes were suspended from the ceiling. The blonde behind the fryer was doing bang-up business. She handed out red plastic baskets of deep-fried zucchini, jalapeño poppers, chili bacon burgers, and cheese fries to the waitresses as fast as they came off the grill and out of the grease. Popular American brews, assorted premium lagers, and Mexican beers were sold on tap. Top-shelf whiskey, single malts, and Mexicano tequila brands moved briskly off the back line while fancy liqueurs gathered dust behind the plank. Suicidal mixed drinks were served in Ball mason jars. Customers ate peanuts and threw the shells on the floor. The "male?female ratio" was impressive for a weeknight, close to fifty?fifty. There were more than enough eye-catching, m