by Hazel Parker
The role of president meant that not just my own fate, but the fate of everyone and the club itself, rested on my shoulders. If I fucked up, it didn’t mean I got shot. It meant everyone got shot, or everyone lost their job. Jane had already screwed with my head by making me consider an outside world… if she got me even more screwed up…
And really, after everything that had happened with the last girl, did I really want to take the risk of losing Jane to a stable man? Did I really want that experience of being told my lifestyle would never let me marry someone? Did I really need the heartbreak, especially given that Jane and I went way back?
No, I did not. I did not need a repeat of Becky. I didn’t need to go down that godforsaken road. Talk about something that would have fucked with my head and prevented me from being the president.
I decided right then and there that while I would see Jane again, I would not take it further than a couple of casual encounters. My libido needed satisfying, but I couldn’t let it go beyond that for the sake of the club.
And in the spirit of truthfulness to those within, I had to say as much.
I just wondered if Jane saying she wasn’t looking for something serious was true.
I just also wondered if what I was thinking was the truth or what I wanted to be the truth.
* * *
I made it a point to get to the hall early the next day, though not to motivate the men or something else superficial that wasn’t necessary. Instead, I wanted to do some research for myself.
I grabbed Paul’s journals and began scanning through them, hoping that instead of an answer to the question of how to lead the MC, I would get an answer on how he felt about women. I knew, even at the age of five, that his wife had died giving birth to Jane, and though he had doted on his daughter as much as any father I had ever seen, including my own, I wanted to see what he had to say.
But on the issue of relationships, he remained surprisingly mum. He had a few notes in there about how he wanted the club to treat better the women who came through and a few points about enjoying the company of them, but there wasn’t much specific about relationships. Perhaps this was a sign that he knew someone would someday read these, or perhaps he simply had given up on relationships after the death of his wife. Neither scenario was implausible.
However, he had plenty to say about Jane, and I found myself absorbed in the words, amazed and appreciative of the love he had for his daughter.
“All of my life, I considered that I would know no greater love than that of my wife and my club,” he wrote. “None can ever have such love for someone as when they literally risk their lives for your protection, and no woman can ever have your heart as someone who was there from the beginning.”
A little different than us… or…
“But when Jane came into this would and Theresa passed on, I was left feeling that I could not live without this little girl I called my daughter. She was of my flesh and of my blood. She existed because of me—there was not anyone else in the world who could say that. The love I felt for her went beyond infinite, because though infinite means beyond measure, the word exists—the love I felt for her could not be described by such words, no matter how profound or meaningful they might have seemed.
“For the first time in my life, I have something that I would sacrifice the club for. Such a question is a false one, of course, because if I give up the club, I give up my means to support her. But I want to ensure that she lives as far away from this life of violence, gamesmanship, and deceit that exist in this role. I am happy to have maximized my capabilities as a man through this club. But only by giving Jane what she deserves to maximize her capabilities as a woman will I realize my own not as a man, but as a father.”
Wow.
Paul would have given up the club for her.
Paul Peters, the founder. If it came down to it.
I sat there stunned, as if I had just read that Jesus would have forsaken God for a woman that he loved. It was like realizing that everything that I thought I knew about the club had turned upside down, that whatever beliefs I thought Paul had were not quite complete… and what that meant for me, I could not say. There was too much in question, not to mention it was way too early in the game, for me to reach any sort of logical conclusion.
Would I someday feel the same way about Jane as Paul did? If I had a child… would it make me want to leave the club as well?
“Yo, Trace!”
I heard Splitter coming into the clubhouse and immediately shut the notes. I didn’t hide it in time, though, to see him walk in.
“Paul’s journals?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, figuring there was no reason to lie. “Trying to get some insights into how to handle these times.”
Well, there was somewhat of a reason to obfuscate, at least.
“I don’t blame you in the least for that, brother,” Splitter said. “I read some of that stuff, and… man, I’ll tell you what; it’s enough to make a man tear up.”
So you probably did, I thought. Probably for the best. We could all use a little humanity in this.
“What did you learn?”
“Huh?”
“What did you glean from reading the book?”
“Oh,” I said, taking time to light a cigarette. “I learned how to have the right frame of mind about things.”
Splitter looked at me for a long, long time with narrowed eyes and folded hands resting on the table. It was a position that said, “I know you’re full of shit, and I’m going to drag it out of you.”
But, perhaps mercifully, the rest of the crew trudged in at that moment, saving me from having to explain myself to my best friend in the club.
“All right, Trace,” BK said. “We ain’t do nothing yesterday, any of us. We went home, fucked some good pussy, drank some good beer, and we’re back. We want to crush some fucking Mercs. What say you?”
“Good,” I said, finishing the puff of my cigarette. “I say it’s time we deliver a message to our friends down south of here. It’s time to let them know that they’re little games are over. That is, if we can.”
I turned to Splitter and Mafia.
“How did the run go yesterday?”
“Over twenty grand pulled in,” Splitter said.
Whistles of approval and some loud clapping came from the rest of the crew. Even Sensei had to show a smile of excitement at that, his eyes lighting up and his head nodding in rhythm with the rest of the crew.
“You boys get the first pick of the ladies at the after party,” I said, giving a knowing grin. “Well done, gents. This will buy us some time with the warehouse or some guns. Mafia, any chance you can pull down some weapons between now and tonight?”
“I can see, you see?”
“Yes, we can all see,” I said, continuing the lighthearted mood, although the time for jocular humor had now hit the stop sign. “But seriously, I need you to bring in whatever you can. We’ll give you ten grand. Get whatever you can out of that. Whoever you have to contact, you contact, whoever you have to negotiate with, you have the club’s approval to oversee that. When you head out, take BK. I want some muscle behind this.”
BK nodded, tapping the table with his left hand, his way of saying that he approved of this plan.
“For the rest of us,” I said. “Do I even need to take a vote on if we’re all going to strike tonight?”
“Yea!” they all said in unison.
I shrugged, leaned back in the chair, and took a puff of my cigarette. We seemed so eager to go into battle, and even I, at the start of this meeting, yearned to get out there and blow some Merc heads off.
But seeing the enthusiasm of the club, like bloodthirsty hounds who had not gotten to kill or even ate in days, left me wondering if my encounter with Jane had somehow dampened that vengeful spirit. It definitely wasn’t as strong as last night, just before she had shown up.
It also didn’t help that I had read Paul’s journals. Much as I admired the man
, I—
“Hey, Trace,” Splitter said, snapping his fingers in front of my head. “The hell? You all right?”
“Sorry, I was just, uh, contemplating best attack plans,” I said. “OK, yeah, we’re in agreement then. We roll out at ten. Splitter, stay behind and help me plan. Sensei, you too. The rest of you watch the shop or get on the tasks I assigned you.”
I banged the gavel on the table, and everyone except Sensei and Splitter rose, talking about how they were going to drink some wine after drinking the blood of the Mercs. The bloodthirsty hounds would finally get their needs quenched, and in doing so, we’d deal a critical, if not fatal, blow to the Devil’s Mercenaries.
It seemed too perfect. A lot could and would go wrong.
But I supposed I’d rather have that fiery spirit of excitement than I would a sense of dread or fear.
Once everyone but those two left, I finished puffing my cig to see that Splitter had resumed the same look that had started the meeting—hands folded, narrowed eyes, body posture leaning forward. Sensei had a look that said the same thing, albeit with different positioning—hands placed behind his head, leaning back in his chair, as if he was a therapist just patiently waiting for his patient to unload.
Two very different styles that merged together pretty damn well.
“What?” I said. “You think this plan sucks?”
“I’m not here to talk about the plan,” Splitter said. “We’ll talk about that in a second. I want to make sure your head is in the game, brother.”
I sighed as I leaned forward, looking down at the ground before laughing, as if in disbelief at this very notion. It also served as a mask of sorts against having to face the piercing truth of Splitter’s words.
“How could my head not be?” I said, holding up my arm. “In case you forgot, the fuckers shot me right here. I’m a couple of inches away from being bionic man. If you think I don’t have my head—”
“Trace,” Sensei said. “We know your body is in the game. We’re talking about your mind.”
Goddamnit. No bullshitting this one, huh.
“How was Jane last night? Good sex?”
“I’m sorry; you got a problem with my personal life, Split?” I said, anger billowing up in me like a volcano switched on. “You wanna get into who I fuck and who I don’t fuck? You want a goddamn camera into my room, make a porno of it?”
“No, but your reaction suggests he might have a point, Trace,” Sensei said.
“Sensei,” I started to snap, but I dropped back with a heavy sigh. I lit another cigarette, puffed out the air slowly to control myself, and turned back to him. “Let me handle my own life. I can do it just fine. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“We worry about it when it interferes with club business,” Splitter growled, making an obvious attempt to quell his anger by speaking slowly. “We know you went out with her last night. You keep it cool? Good. But try and keep it under control.”
“I’m sorry. Are you threatening me?”
I took a puff and blew it in his face.
“Enough!” Sensei roared. “Trace. Splitter. Enough of the egos. I’m sorry that we put this on you, Trace, but you have to take what we say seriously. Stay in the game, and stay on top of it, or we’re going to have to do something about it.”
“What? Make me meet Mr. Mayhem?”
Sensei visibly recoiled, his head tilting back so far, he had to catch his balance in his chair.
“For flirting with a girl and losing your mind? We wouldn’t have a club if everyone who did that met Mr. Mayhem. No, we’re just going to sit you down in front of the whole club, and you’ll have to explain your mistakes.”
I thought about the prospect of having to get in front of people like BK and Krispy, explain all that I had done, and explain how I had let my attraction to a woman get the best of me. I thought of their faces, how they would contort into anger, their eyes widening and their eyebrows arching. I pictured their muscles flexing as they primed themselves for a swing at their president for acting more like Bill Clinton and less like Abraham Lincoln.
“You don’t need to say anything else,” I said as I put out the cigarette. “You have my word that I’ll stay focused.”
“See to it that you do,” Splitter said with a scowl.
The two of us stared at each other for a long, long time as he exited the room, the intensity of our glare made possible only by the strength of our friendship. We’d shake hands in an hour, be fine, and move on. Plus, Splitter would probably have an emotional breakdown at some point anyway.
“Be careful, Trace,” Sensei said. “It’s never going to be the DMs that split this club apart. It’s never going to be agencies, least as long as you don’t get the FBI up in our asses. It’s going to be us. We’re the only threat to ourselves.”
With that, he rose, bid farewell, and left me by myself in the room. I took out a new cigarette, lit it, took a puff, and said, “Fuck it,” before putting it out and heading out to meet the rest of the Saints.
Chapter 8: Jane
I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened the night before.
Which was something of a problem, given that it was two hours into my shift and I was having difficulty focusing on the task at hand.
Or, perhaps better stated, I was having difficulty returning to focus when the time came.
The first half of my shift had seen a young boy come in who had broken his arm falling out of a tree while playing. It wasn’t anything serious, at least not in terms of life or death, and there was nothing nefarious behind the injury. No clubs were involved, no retaliations were placed, and no individuals had claimed responsibility. The boy’s parents had said that he had fallen unexpectedly; there was nothing in any way related to the Savage Saints or anyone else that should have caused my mind to drift to that.
And yet, the instant that I stepped out of the boy’s room, I found myself replaying the night before, drifting off into my thoughts, ignoring my surroundings and the nurses who spoke to me.
I sat in the break room, looking ahead as I sipped on some early afternoon coffee to get me through the rest of my shift, alternating between the scandalous arousal that I felt and also the tormenting, self-inflicted guilt for what I had done.
On the one hand, this was not the Tracy that I had grown up admiring; there was nothing boyish about him anymore except for perhaps his slightly cocky demeanor. He had become much more thoughtful and introspective, to say nothing of hot and rugged. He was a welcome break from some of the uppity guys who had tried to win my heart in New York and Baltimore, a much-needed change from the rich spoiled brats who didn’t know the first thing about honor, respect, and fighting for what they believed in. Hell, such things were probably offensive to the tastes of those guys, who considered blood repulsive, even the doctors.
But then… it almost felt incestuous, really. The president of the club? That was my pops just a decade ago! Many of those guys knew me as Pops’ little girl, the one who slowly came to realize what he did but still loved him all the same. Many of them also knew what I had said and how I had felt about the club on the way out—and how I still felt, to some degree. It wasn’t so much that I disliked what the club did as I disliked what it could lead to.
“Jane?”
I looked up, nearly spilling my coffee on myself, to see Dr. Burns standing there, a calming smile on her face.
“Oh, hey,” I said, but I didn’t even bother to hide the effect of the feelings on me. I didn’t suddenly perk up, didn’t suddenly act like I was late for a shift, didn’t suddenly find a cheerful demeanor.
“Are you OK?” she said. “Dr. Grace was saying that you seemed a little bit out of it.”
“I… no, not really,” I said.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Any other doctor probably could not have gotten away with speaking to Dr. Burns so frankly. But, then again, any other doctor probably didn’t have the connections the last name Peters p
rovided in this town. Who was I to say no to such an opportunity?
“Can we, please?” I said. “Somewhere private. And off the record.”
“Of course,” Dr. Burns said, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder—which, though very different in nature and in meaning, only served to remind me of the touch that Tracy had given to me yesterday.
I followed Dr. Burns, who gave Dr. Grace instructions to check up on the little boy with the broken arm. She said she had it under control, giving me a curious look as she walked by. I shrugged and held up one finger as if saying I would tell her in a bit what was going on. I’d tell her a few things, but obviously not everything.
We entered Dr. Burns’ office, with her the first to sit down. I stood behind for a second to make sure the door was firmly shut so that we wouldn’t have any unexpected visitors while we spoke. Only then did I take a seat, plopped down.
“Is everything all right?” Dr. Burns asked. “Something in your extended family?”
“No, nothing like that, everything’s fine with them,” I said, ignoring that many of them simply no longer spoke to me after my decision to return to Green Hills. “It’s just…”
I took a deep breath. Did I really want to reveal what had happened last night to my boss? Did I need to go into every sordid detail to get the help I needed? Or did I need to get a cathartic release from everything in my head?
“You know that I’m only here for the next thirty months. That was the deal for me coming back.”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Burns said. “Are you needing to leave sooner?”
“No, actually,” I said, letting the word hang. “There’s a part of me that wonders if maybe I should stick around longer.”
Dr. Burns did her best not to betray any expression, but I saw a flicker of a smile that was quickly replaced by her usual stoic self. Of course, she wanted me there. Of course, she wanted me to stay at Green Hills General Hospital.