Minus

by Jack Davenport

  Hatch shook his head. “Fuck me, Cricket, I have no idea what to make of all this.”

  “You think I do?”

  He shook his head.

  I rose to my feet. “Now, I’m gonna go hang with my niece and favorite sister. Please tell me you have beer.”

  He chuckled. “Who are you talkin’ to?”

  “And ice?”

  “The beer’s plenty cold,” Hatch replied.

  “No, not for my beer, for my hand.”

  “What did you do to your hand?” he asked.

  “Nothing big, I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, I just want to unwind.”

  I grinned and led my brother up the stairs and back into the family room, where me and my ice pack settled close to Poppy, and we all watched the rest of the movie. Well, Hatch and Maisie snuggled close and she fell asleep, but Poppy and I managed to watch it and I ended up crashing on the sofa long after Poppy went to bed.

  * * *

  Minus

  “Well, that could’ve gone better,” Cutter said, as he walked around his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and produced a bottle of Jim Beam and small black medical bag; the kind doctors would take on house calls back in the day. “There should be some bandages, and ointment, and shit for your face in here. You can use my bathroom to clean up,” he said, handing me the bag, and motioning to the bathroom door.

  “Cutter, what the fuck—”

  “Just get cleaned up and meet me out there with the others. Just don’t take too long. You and I can talk about all this later. I’ve got to go talk to the club, and tell them what’s going on, but for now, let’s just keep this conversation, and its details, between us.”

  I nodded, and he exited the office with Warthog in tow. I went to the bathroom mirror and got my first good look at my latest war wound. The minute I stopped applying direct pressure to it, blood would pour from my face. I was most definitely in need of a couple of stiches, and Cutter’s black bag had everything I needed, so I got to work.

  Cricket was right to belt me, and I was happy to know that she’d become an even stronger person than when I’d last seen her. After tonight, she’d never believe how much I’d changed over the years, or how sorry I was about what just happened, but for now the sting of the suture needle would have to serve as my penance.

  With Cutter’s whiskey serving as both antiseptic and pain killer, I got to work. When I was done, the bathroom looked like a crime scene, and my shirt was soaked in blood. I stripped it off, tossed it in the trash, and found a spare Harley shirt in Cutter’s desk drawer. I put my kutte back on, and with that, four crooked stiches and a whiskey buzz, I was ready for the ball.

  “Holy shit, it is Minus!” A familiar voice called out as soon as I opened Cutter’s office door. Apparently, my presence at the clubhouse had not gone unnoticed.

  “Hey, Grover. Long time, brother,” I said, greeting my old friend with an arm-wrestle handshake. Grover was one of the five I rode with back in the day including Clutch, Sweet Pea, and Ropes, who were brothers.

  “I can’t believe it’s actually you, man. I thought I saw you come in earlier... holy shit! What the fuck happened to your face?”

  I deflected his question with one of my own. “Hey, have you seen Cricket around anywhere?”

  “Cricket? No man, I haven’t seen... holy shit! Did Cricket do this to you?” Grover was grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and then went back for the rest of its family. “You’ve been in town for five fuckin’ minutes and you’re already up causing trouble? You’d better steer clear of Cutter, buddy.”

  “Me and Cutter are good, for now I guess,” I replied.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Grover asked.

  “Tell you what, Grover. I’ll let you know when I know. Now, where’s everyone else?”

  “They’re in the great room. Come on, man, let’s go see what the fuck’s going on. God damn, it’s good to see you back home, brother,” Grover said smiling, one arm draped around me as we walked down the hall to the great room.

  Just as we joined the others who’d already assembled, the floor shook with three loud thumps, immediately causing a hush among the rowdy crowd. Not a single Saint moved, or even dared blink. This was tradition among brothers; a sign of respect. Every Saint present knew the sound of these blows came from Red Dog’s staff.

  “Fifteen years ago, a brother named Red Dog laid down his life for this club.” Cutter’s voice boomed as he broke the silence, staff raised high. “All of you in this room have heard of him, and what he did in sacrifice for his club. Many of you rode with him. A few of you, like me, were there when he died. Red Dog’s staff has become a symbol of leadership for our club, and a symbol of assembly. So, with this staff I officially call this meeting to disorder!”

  The staff landed on the floor, three more times, causing the room to erupt in cheers and clinking bottles.

  “Alright, you filthy fucking animals, calm down,” Cutter said, and the room began to hush. Warthog brought Cutter a high barstool, and took the staff from him.

  Red Dog’s staff had started its life as a county hospital crutch he’d needed after a bad crash. Over the years, it had been modified several times, including extending and reinforcing the base, and once he’d died, affixing Red Dog’s actual skull on top. No one was sure how the club had obtained Red Dog’s skull, but there were many rumors and stories on the subject.

  “I know you’re all wondering why the fuck we’re here tonight, and I also know that you’ve all been gossiping like a bunch of bitches since I called the meeting, so I won’t kill you with the suspense any longer,” Cutter said to laughs all around, as he kept direct eye contact with every Saint in the room. “Brothers, the time has come for me to hang up my riding gloves. I’m retiring as president of the Burning Saints.”

  Clutch shot me a genuine look of surprise that let me know he had no idea this was coming. I simply shrugged back. Why would Cutter intentionally keep his Sergeant at arms in the dark, and yet try to give me, someone he hates, the staff?

  “That’s not all,” Cutter continued. “Due to some serious health issues, it turns out I may not be with you brothers for much longer. As it turns out, I don’t have a whole lot of road ahead of me.”

  “Bullshit, Cutter! Can’t nothin’ kill you!” a brother named Wolf shouted, with cheers from the crowd.

  “I appreciate that, boys, I do, but it’s true. I’m too sick to ride, and we all know the code. If you can no longer ride, you can no longer hold office, so it’s time for the staff to go to someone else. Normally, that person would be the club’s VP, but we all know that Big Frank here is a lazy bastard, and has apparently worn out his knees doing God knows what.”

  The crowd laughed as Big Frank raised his hands in mock resignation. I laughed too, but my head was throbbing. Partly from Cricket’s right cross, but mostly from the mental strain of trying to figure out what the fuck was going on here.

  The crowd of assembled Saints murmured among themselves as they too processed the news. This was a big deal in our world. Cutter wasn’t only our president, but the club’s founder, and a change in leadership would clearly bring about huge changes for the club itself. Knowing all of this made our earlier conversation even more puzzling. Cutter and I had never seen eye to eye about the future of the Burning Saints, and he’d made it very clear that my input about such matters was not wanted.

  Cutter fixed his gaze directly on me, causing me to sweat through my borrowed t-shirt, before saying, “I’ll announce who Red Dog’s staff will be going to very soon. I’ll be meeting with the presidents of the Nevada, Savannah, and Florida chapters soon, but I wanted to tell you all face-to-face, beforehand. Please rest assured that I have this club’s best interest in mind, and that I will continue to serve and protect this club until my dying day. I love every one of you brothers and it’s been an honor to ride with you.”

  Warthog raised his beer and shouted, “To our commander and chief! Long live Pre
sident Cutter!” and the place went ape shit.

  The next several hours contained some of the most violent debauchery I’d ever seen at any club gathering. Ladies showed up, as did a few cases of the good stuff. The Saints were in a state of mourning, and sex, booze, drugs, and rock and roll were gonna help ease the pain, even if it killed them. I spent most of the evening catching up with old friends, and matching them shot for shot. I don’t normally drink to excess, but I was gonna do everything in my power to erase this nightmare of a day.

  Minus

  The demonic spirits that had cooked up last night’s events now lived inside my skull, and were jabbing me awake with their pitchforks. As I awoke, strange scenes replayed in my mind like a slide show of someone else’s bizarre life. I could barely make sense of what was real and what was imagined. The last thing I remembered was a tray of shots, and two very handsy women. For all I knew, I was currently in bed with one of them.

  “Good morning, lil’ cowpoke!” Clutch burst through the door.

  “What the fuck Nicky? What time is it, man?” Every ray of sunshine creeping into the room felt like a paper cut to my corneas as I forced my eyes open.

  “It’s nine-thirty,” he said, setting a cup of coffee, and an iPad on the night stand next to the bed.

  I pulled the covers back, and checked the bed for anyone else, but I was currently it’s only occupant. “Thank God,” I groaned out before sitting up, and grabbing the coffee.

  “What are you looking for?” Clutch asked.

  “Not what. Who,” I replied.

  “Nah, man. You passed out here all alone. Not for lack of trying from a couple little honies, might I add,” he said with a sly smile.

  “Yeah, I remember... sort of.”

  “Shit, man, they wanted to bring you back here together, but you were havin’ none of that. What’s up? You find Jesus down there in the Bible belt or something?” he asked.

  “Where exactly is here?” I asked.

  “My place. It was getting wild back at the club house, and you were in pretty rough shape by the end of the night, so I brought you back here. I figured you probably didn’t have a place to crash, so welcome to Casa de Clutch.”

  “Thanks brother, I appreciate it. What’s this?” I asked, motioning towards the iPad.

  “That is all the info I could find out about Viper and his crew. Once you brighten up a little, you and I are gonna ride out, and pay him a little visit,” he said.

  “How are we gonna ride? I don’t have a bike here,” I asked.

  “Apparently, Cutter took care of that,” Clutch replied.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Come see for yourself,” he said, producing a set of keys from his kutte pocket, and tossing them to me.

  “What the fuck are these?”

  “They’re keys, shithead. Come on,” he said.

  I grabbed the coffee and handed the iPad back to Clutch. “I still haven’t agreed to help you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, and I followed him out to the garage. Clutch hit the lights, and I could see his old shovelhead parked next to a brand-new Fat Boy.”

  “You get a new bike?” I asked.

  “Fuck, no! I could never replace Charlene,” he exclaimed. “That one’s yours. Grover brought it over this morning.”

  “Please tell me they didn’t steal this for me?”

  “No, you idiot, it’s a gift from Cutter. There is a card around here somewhere, too.”

  “A card? What is this? A fuckin’ Hallmark moment?”

  “I dunno, man. After all the shit Cutter said last night, all fuckin’ bets are off. Maybe he’s goin’ soft because he’s dying.”

  “You don’t even know the half of it,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I replied.

  “Well, you can ask him yourself in twenty minutes when we go see him.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yup. He told me last night before I left that he wanted us at the Sanctuary by ten o’clock. I let you sleep as long as I could, but we’ve gotta go.”

  “You’re killin’ me, brother. I’m not fully functional yet. I haven’t even finished my coffee.”

  In truth, I was going to need a lot more than coffee to clear my head. Why the fuck was I at the very top of Santa Cutter’s nice list suddenly? Was this bike some sort of bribe? Either way, I was parking it on Cutter’s front lawn when I left, which would be very soon I hoped.

  “Put that coffee in a to-go cup,” he said. “C’mon man, let’s go.”

  I had to admit, even as fuzzy as I was, the Fat Boy was pretty sweet looking. I slugged down the remaining contents of the cup and grabbed the helmet sitting on top of the seat.

  “You gonna be able to get that brain bucket over your swollen mug?” Clutch asked.

  My head was pounding so hard from last night’s partying, I’d momentarily forgotten about my eye, and who’d hit me.

  “That’s strange. I don’t remember one of the books I sent you being a joke book,” I said.

  “Come on, Rocky, let’s see if you still remember your way around town,” Clutch said, and fired up Charlene.

  I put the key in the ignition and started the Fat Boy. The engine came to life with a roar, and my pace quickened as I revved the throttle.

  Clutch hit the garage remote on his key fob, and we sped off toward the freeway entrance. I’ve always said that riding is the best cure for the common cold. No matter how shitty I may feel, the minute I hit the road, my mood always improves. The fact that I was riding a brand-new Harley equipped with a 114-cubic inch big twin engine certainly didn’t hurt, and although I didn’t know why Cutter had given it to me, I was more than happy to see what this baby could do.

  * * *

  Cricket

  Hold this pace until you reach that tree, then sprint for one minute.

  I did as I’d instructed myself to do, and ran at top speed up the inclined path. My burning lungs gladly took in the cool morning air as I counted backwards from sixty. Once I reached zero, I slowed my pace back down to a jog, once again starting the cycle.

  This was how I managed my life in all things. I’d set a short-term goal, hold myself to achieving it, and once I did, set another. This process of progress made perfect sense to me and I saw no reason to change my methods. Why would I? Everything was going great. Well, most things were going great. Some things more than others, I suppose. But the point was, I had a plan for how my life was going to go. I also had plans for how I was going to erase whatever last night was, and those plans included running through Cedarwood Park until my legs were jelly.

  This was my favorite running spot in all of Portland. I loved the way the trees changed color from one day to the next, the peaceful serenity of the winding trails, and the absence of reminders of modern life. The park was just about perfect. I say just about, because there was one thing I absolutely did not enjoy about these trails, and as I rounded a sharp turn I was face to face with one; or should I say face to snout? Whatever you call the front part of a horse’s face... said snout was right in front of me, and believe me when I tell you, I do not like horses.

  “Ho, girl!” A beautiful blonde rider said, stopping her horse on a dime. “Sorry about that, we didn’t see you there.”

  My heart raced as I felt the ground shake beneath me; the giant animal standing mere inches away. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that close, but it sure felt like it too me.

  “No, that’s okay. That was my fault, really. I was lost in thought and... the corner... I...,” I said backing up quickly, hoping I wouldn’t spook Horsezilla into a killing frenzy.

  “Her name’s Tasha. She’s super friendly. Would you like to pet her?” the rider asked, unaware that I’d rather wrestle a rattlesnake away from a rabid Pitbull than come near her (or any other) horse.

  “Oh, no. No thank you, I’m... I... I don’t care much for horses,” I sputtered, still backing up from the fiery red beast. Th
e rider looked at me as if I’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language in the middle of our conversation. “Sorry again, enjoy your ride,” I called out while giving them an extra wide birth to pass. The blonde simply smiled, and with the slightest flick on the reins, she and her two-thousand-pound terror continued down the trail.

  My fear of horses comes from one of my earliest childhood memories. My parents took me to a petting zoo when I was very little. I remember holding an ice cream cone that was filled with green pellets, and feeding the goats. I can recall laughing because the goats preferred to eat the cones, and the feed pellets would spill all over the ground for the chickens and bunnies to eat. I did this over and over, laughing harder and harder each time, and my dad bought cone after cone, just to keep me happy.

  This was also one of the only items of video evidence my parents captured before Mom died. So, whether it’s a memory from childhood, or a continuation of the movie playing in my mind, I don’t know. But I know I was blissfully happy.

  Until...

  Mom thought it would be a good idea for us to stand in the hot sun to have my picture taken atop Jonah the Wonder Pony. Apparently, he’d been a big deal in Atlantic City in his prime. He was in one of those high dive horse acts, but had since been retired from the big show.

  Jonah now spent his days in petting zoos, wearing a rhinestone saddle, posing for pictures at five bucks a pop. I didn’t know if I was going to pass out from the heat or the anticipation, but by the time we got to the front of the line I was near delirious with joy and sunstroke. My father, holding my hand, led me ever so carefully up the steps to Jonah’s picture area. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The pony bowed his head, and I reached out my tiny hand to pet him. This was the happiest moment I’d ever known, right up until the moment he leaned forward, and bit me on the shoulder. I cried all the way to the doctor’s office, where I had to get several shots, and then I cried all the way home. From that moment on, I could do without the equine species.

  I reached my car, my run now over, and decided I needed some sister processing time, so I dialed Maisie.