The Life of Jim Bianchi

BeanHands · September 15, 2021

My name is Jim Bianchi, I moved to Chamberlain hills with my Italian grandmother Suzanna when I was a teenager, but I was born and raised in Bell Buckle Tennessee. As a kid you could usually find me and my half-brother Judd horsing around and calling each other names out by the creek. I was always trying to catch crawdads and other little critters. My mother died when I was young and neither me or Judd got along with our dad. We spent a lot of time with our uncle growing up, exploring his garage and staring at the huge engines he had set up everywhere. Uncle taught us everything we needed to know about engines and cars and even let us drive around when we helped out more than usual.

My father was Percival Bianchi, or Percy B as the fans of Love Fist knew him. He still plays lead guitar for the band to this day, which is why all of his children have different mothers. As you could imagine, the guitarist for a hair metal band would see a lot of action and not settle down much. Judd and I saw him every few months for a couple of days but he would usually be piss drunk and not exactly in a “fatherly” mood. Just before my 12th birthday party he showed up out of the blue and told Judd and I that we have a half sister that neither of us ever met named Roxy before disappearing a few hours before the actual birthday party. We never saw him again, but we didn’t have much to miss in the first place so we were ready to settle down with Unc and go wherever he took us.

As a teenager I moved with Judd to Los Santos with my Uncle. He would let us drive his Dukes to school as long as I got my homework done and helped in the shop when it got busy. As I was heading home from school one day this little rich boy in his daddy’s Obey 9F approached me and started pressuring me to race him. I usually ignore these types of people but this kid had been on my bad side for a long time and to make matters worse he was now riding around with the only girl in school that I liked. As soon as the light hit green I floored it, never even glancing at the kid. We rounded a corner and his car slid into my uncle’s Dukes and he lost control. The last thing I saw was the top of their car as they lost control and flipped. Both of them were killed in the crash and our vehicle barely had a scratch.

Graduating from High School I was riddled with anxiety. The crash had broken me psychologically and Judd didn’t speak for two weeks. I grabbed my diploma and hurried off the stage straight into work at the local Burger Shot. At the time I believed I was too nervous to do anything like racing ever again, so I climbed up the ranks to become a corporate drone until Judd came to me one day and told me about these exciting new people he's been meeting around the city. Tired of the same routine day in and day out, I quit my job at the Burger Shot and used all my savings to buy Judd’s extra motorcycle. It wasn’t in the best running condition but we would fix it up over time.

Judd got me involved with his brothers at the Lost MC after I left Burger Shot. We mostly just ran the roads together, taking leisurely mountain road trips and hanging out at the trailer park listening to good music. I soon learned that was just to see if I could be trusted in the group and they began involving me in some of their more “extra-curricular” activities. All was going fine until one day we were nearly killed in an accident while fleeing the scene and all of my anxieties returned. I was no longer confident and in control of my emotions, I felt like I had gone back in time. The brothers never stopped supporting me along the way, until the day I went to prison.

It started much like any other day, more peaceful in fact. The streets were empty and provided a safe and pleasant ride to the trailer park. Once I arrived I was quickly put in the roster for an upcoming job with Judd and some of the boys. I was feeling a little nervous but nothing too serious, until the job began and one of the boys told me the building we were robbing belonged to a police officer. My heart dropped, along with everyone else on the job I'm sure, we had no idea what we had walked into. All of the guys began to seal up their bags and get out of dodge but my hands were shaking so bad I dropped all of the money and my bag. I tried to gather it back up but it was useless and the boys were on the radio screaming at me so I just hoofed it. As I rounded the corner my bike was behind, I saw an AR-15 in the hands of a Sheriff pointed right at one of my brothers and he began firing. My brother went down and I caught a stray bullet in the throat but was able to get around the corner to safety. I was hobbling around the building with no real destination, blood oozing from my neck and between my fingers, when the Sheriff fired two warning shots at my feet and I passed out.

Prison was the fastest 6 months of my life. I got into great shape and met a few criminals who really helped me see that I wasn’t cut out for this kind of life. Upon my release, I called a taxi and had him take me straight to the paleto wheat farms. I was done with the criminal life, I was ready to return to my southern roots of farming and big trucks. I worked the farm long enough to clear my record and applied to a few government jobs, none of which seemed to really feel natural, until I stumbled upon an ad in the papers for a mechanic. All I could think of was the good times Judd and I had with Unc, all those old muscle cars we made look brand new and all the smiles he put on his customers faces. Finally, something that felt comfortable, but will it stay that way?