CRASH: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Outlaw Series)

by James, Nicole

  “Yeah, and don’t you forget it,” he replied while she locked up.

  The three of them stepped down off the sidewalk. Crash pulled a spare helmet out of his saddlebag and held it out to her.

  She took it, her eyes running over his bike. “God, I miss riding.”

  “You get rid of your bike?” Cole asked surprised.

  She nodded. “Sold it. Needed money to start this place.”

  Crash threw his leg over his bike, reaching to start it. “This place making you any money?”

  “Only because Ace makes a fortune with his pieces. He just got commissioned to do a piece for the lobby of an office building in downtown Atlanta. Peachtree Towers, I think it’s called. Last month one of those snooty restaurants up on Highland Avenue bought one for its courtyard. Paid fifteen thousand.”

  “Hell, that’s some nice pocket change.”

  She climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms around him.

  “How are the guys?” she asked over his shoulder.

  “Good. You should take a trip out. I’m sure they’d love to see you. I can think of one in particular that would love it,” he teased.

  She laughed, and he gunned the throttle. The two bikes roared off down the street, turning heads.

  They were sitting in his Grandmother’s dining room. Crash moving his tall drink glass around in small circles on the lace tablecloth, the wet ring soaking through to the plastic covering underneath. The ice cubes in the tea clinking softly. His belly was full, and he was happy.

  Gram had been at the stove, frying up some chicken the old fashioned way in a cast iron skillet on the stove when they’d arrived. She’d turned when they’d come through the door. She’d wiped her hands on her apron, shrieking with joy as she ran across the kitchen, her arms in the air, and grabbed Crash in a hug. He’d wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet.

  “My boy! You came home!”

  He’d set her back on her feet as she’d kissed his cheek. “Hey, Gram. Miss me?”

  She’d taken his bearded face in both hands and shook it. “Of course I’ve missed you! And look at this scruff on your jaw, I can hardly see your pretty face. Where are those dimples I remember? Buried under there somewhere?”

  He’d laughed. “I smell something good cooking, Gram. You gonna feed us?”

  “Of course.”

  “Move outta the way, I want a hug,” Cole had ordered with a grin, pushing Crash aside.

  “Cole!”

  He’d picked her up in a hug as well. “How are you Mama Rose?”

  “I’m old. How do I look?”

  “Beautiful!”

  “Ha!” She smacked him on the shoulder. “You always were a flirt.”

  He laughed and grabbed her cheeks and laid a kiss right on her mouth.

  She shrieked. “Owee. Boy, stop that! Gentlemen callers in my kitchen, and here I am with no lipstick and without my pearls,” she teased with a wink.

  “Is that fried chicken, I smell Gram?” Crash asked.

  “It’s Sunday, isn’t it? Don’t I always fry up some chicken after church on Sunday?”

  “Yes, ma’am. As long as I can remember.”

  “Please tell me there’s cornbread?” Cole begged with a puppy dog grin.

  She turned back to the oven. “Of course there’s cornbread. What kind of fool doesn’t have cornbread with their Sunday dinner?” She grabbed a potholder and pulled a square pan out of the oven, slapping it down on the counter. “Can you reach up there on the top shelf, and get me down a plate to put it on, son? These old bones aren’t so good anymore, I can’t reach up there like I used to.”

  “How old are you now, Mama Rose?” Cole asked.

  “Getting on in years, son. Be eighty next month.” She turned to Crash, shaking a wooden spoon toward him. “You can take that as a reminder, boy.”

  Crash smiled. “I’ll remember. I always do, don’t I.”

  She patted his cheek. “You do. You do, son.” She turned to Letty. “Well, don’t just stand there, hon. Get these men some tea!”

  Cole turned to her and smacked her bottom. “Yeah, get these men some tea, girl.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Gram.” She smiled sweetly at her, and then turned and gave Cole the evil eye.

  He burst out laughing.

  “There’s chicken, fried okra, butter beans, cornbread…” She turned to the boys. “Well, make yourself useful. Help me carry it into the dining room, boys.”

  And now here they sat, having stuffed themselves with some good southern cooking.

  “There’s more banana pudding, Cole. Don’t be shy.”

  Cole grinned and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. “Mama Rose, I’ve already had two helpings. You trying to get me fat?”

  She grunted. “Huh! A man should have some meat on his bones, in my opinion.” She turned to Crash. “You look more like your mother every day, son. You’ve got her eyes.”

  Crash looked away. “I really don’t remember her eyes.”

  “No?” his grandmother asked.

  “Nope. The only real memory I have of her is her reading us that book about the train that takes the kids to the North Pole.”

  “The Polar Express,” his grandmother clarified.

  “Yeah, I guess. I was six or seven.”

  “You were seven. It was the last time you saw her.” She looked down at the table cloth, brushing non-existent crumbs.

  “Yeah.” He looked at his grandmother, knowing she was remembering that day. Six months earlier, his mother had dumped him and his little brother and sister with her mother, their gran. She’d already been raising them full-time by that time. His mom had been a young mom. Sixteen when she’d had him, twenty-one when she’d had Trevor and twenty-two when she’d had Letty. She’d gotten messed up with drugs. She’d take off for days or weeks at a time, bingeing on drugs most likely.

  He remembered that day was the last time she’d ever come to see them. She’d been gone more and more often. He’d hardly missed her anymore by that time. She’d become a stranger to him. He remembered it felt uncomfortable at first, having to sit next to her on Gram’s sofa while his mother read him the book she’d brought them. He remembered Trevor wouldn’t sit next to her, she was a stranger to him. Gram was mom to them by that time. So, Crash had sat next to his mother, even though he didn’t really want to any more than his little brother had, but he was the big brother, and he always took care of his little brother and sister. Letty sat next to their mother on the other side. She was too young to think in terms of people being strangers. She liked the pretty lady with the long hair that smiled at her.

  But Crash knew. He knew even then that she would leave again. And he wanted her gone. And then she was. For good. And he realized too late that he couldn’t ever get her back.

  “That was the month before they found her overdosed in that Southside apartment,” his grandmother explained. She shook her head, and Crash reached over and laid his hand over hers, squeezing.

  What could he say? She loved you, Gram? Nothing you could have done, Gram? None of those trite comments made the pain go away. He knew that. And she knew how much he and Letty loved her.

  “Well! Enough of that. You staying here tonight? You’re both welcome.” She took in Cole with her offer.

  “We’ll probably stay at the clubhouse tonight. But we’ll be back to see you after the funeral tomorrow.”

  After they left his grandmother’s house, Crash and Cole dropped Letty back at her shop and met up with Ace, who took them both out to Sloss.

  Crash was crouched down in a squat, in the huge open-air #2 West Cast Shed, watching as Ace and a couple of the other artists manhandled the hot furnace and chimney that poured the molten iron into the sand casting. They were dressed in heavy coveralls and gloves.

  Crash was fascinated by the whole process. Earlier, Ace had given him a tour, showing him the giant East Cast Shed and the west end of the site, where the artists recycled old radiato
rs, tire drums, and other scrap metal to make it into works of cast iron art. He showed him how iron, coke—a coal product, a few pieces of limestone and a furnace that brings it all to three thousand degrees Fahrenheit turned it all into molten iron that was then poured into sand molds they designed.

  He also introduced him to some of the other artists.

  Crash had seen a variety of their work and was especially interested in the different methods they used to sculpt with metal. He’d never known there were so many techniques. It was like his world was opening up to him, expanding his narrow view of what he currently did with his wrought iron, expanding his possibilities, inspiring him in a way he hadn’t been inspired in a long fucking time. It was exhilarating and humbling. Goddamn, he wanted to try this shit!

  Ace looked over at him, and seeing the excitement in Crash’s eyes, he grinned. “Wanna try it?”

  “Hell, yeah!”

  Ace jerked his chin up, motioning him over.

  Late that afternoon Crash and Cole returned to Letty’s shop. Walking back into the store, they could hear two feminine voices laughing and joking. Moving toward the back of the shop, they found Letty and Skylar talking near the cash register.

  Letty had changed out of the overalls and into a pair of low riding jeans, biker boots and a halter top that left her belly bare. Both wrists held multiple strands of beaded bracelets, and there were more funky necklaces around her neck. The hippie child look fit her.

  Crash’s eyes moved to Skylar. His gaze moved over the girl that had been his little sister’s best friend all through high school. She still wore her dark silky hair long, almost to her waist. She, too, had low waist jeans, but instead of a halter top, she had a simple white racer-back tank that hugged her like a second skin. Her slender body had always been on the athletic side, but her curves had filled out a little since he’d last seen her. She looked more womanly than the girlish eighteen year old he remembered. Well, what did he expect, it had been ten years. No biker boots for her, though, she wore a pair of black high-heeled sandals. Skylar always did have a bit of class to her. Her jewelry showed it to. The simple silver hoops in her ears and the matching silver cuff at her wrist.

  She turned to them, her eyes following Letty’s. He’d forgotten how beautiful her blue eyes were, especially in combination with that gorgeous dark hair of hers.

  “Crash!” she yelled, moving toward him for a hug.

  He squeezed her tight. “Damn, Skylar. Haven’t seen you in forever.”

  “I know. It’s been too long.”

  He released her, stepping back. “You look gorgeous as ever, squirt.”

  She grinned up at him, and then looked back at Letty. “Same old Crash. Still calling me squirt.”

  Cole stepped forward. “Remember me, Sky?”

  She turned from Letty, and her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Cole!” She flew into his arms next. “I can’t believe it. It’s been forever!”

  He laughed, hugging her back. When he released her, he reached up and ruffled the top of her head. “You coming to the party tonight, little sister?”

  She looked back at Letty. “Umm, I don’t know.”

  “She’s going,” Letty answered for her with a grin.

  Crash pulled Skylar by the hand, stealing her away from Cole. “Come on, squirt, you’re on my bike. Sorry, Letty, but not showin’ up at the club with my own sister riding bitch on the back of my bike.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I remember your stupid rule about that.”

  Cole grabbed Letty’s hand. “Come on, girl. You’re with me. I don’t mind you wrapping those long thighs around me,” he teased.

  Twenty minutes later, they rolled up to the clubhouse of the Birmingham chapter of the Evil Dead. It was buried back in the poor neighborhoods that bordered the old steel plant. They rolled up several side streets coming to a huge old two story clapboard house that sat, looming large, on a big corner lot. Next to it sat an empty lot with overgrown grass. The two properties consumed the entire short block that ran between two side streets. The back of the clubhouse was surrounded by a six-foot privacy fence and backed up to an alley that faced a junkyard on the other side. Across the street was a burned out house, next to that an abandoned house. Obviously, the neighborhood was not primo real estate, and they liked it that way. The fewer people and neighbors to fuck with them, the better. The front yard was overgrown, the sides overrun with tall bamboo and kudzu vines. There was a waist-high chain link fence around the front yard and a rusty gate no one ever used. The metal mailbox out on the street was painted black with Evil Dead MC in white stencil across it. Up on the front porch in a chair by the door sat a skeleton holding a scythe like some leftover Halloween decoration, except for the Evil Dead support tee shirt it wore.

  The bikes turned the corner and circled around back to the alley, which led to the only entrance members used. There was a double wooden gate with the club name, Evil Dead painted, top-rocker style across it. One word on each portion of the swinging gates that when closed formed the name. Up on the back side of the house was painted a winged skeleton holding a scythe, looking down at the back of the property as if guarding it.

  Crash and Cole rolled through the back gate and into the large gravel lot that took up over an acre. The sun was sinking low on the horizon, its bright setting light hitting at a sharp angle and turning everything a brilliant golden and a bonfire had been started in an old oil drum in the center. About a dozen members were gathered around it, more members at picnic tables or milling around. The place was packed, the wake being a mandatory turnout. In addition to club members, there was also a strong showing of support clubs. A line of bikes three deep were parked around the outer edge of the property, backed up to the wood fence. Cole and Crash rolled along the line and backed their bikes into a couple of open spots.

  Climbing off, they stashed their helmets, as well as the girl’s. Crash looped his arm around Skylar’s neck and walked toward the fire. Cole did the same with Letty, pulling her close. They greeted several of their brothers, recognizing some faces from the old days. Others were new members they’d never met, but brothers just the same.

  An older man who had shoulder length gray hair, a beard and wire rimmed glasses that had always reminded Crash of Jerry Garcia, came forward as they approached the group by the fire. The patch on his cut read President, just like it had fifteen years ago when Cole and Crash had first prospected with this chapter.

  First Cole and then Crash enfolded him in a bear hug, slapping his back. “Butcher, good to see you.”

  “Cole. Crash. Wish it could have been under other circumstances.”

  “Amen, brother.”

  His eyes moved to Letty, who was standing next to Cole, and he squinted, not quite sure for a moment. Then he turned to Crash. “This your little sister?”

  The corner of Crash’s mouth pulled up as he fought a grin. “It’s the dreadlocks. Wasn’t too sure, myself.”

  She shoved his arm. “As if.”

  “Well, shit, darlin’. I haven’t seen you in years. Give me a hug, gal,” Butcher exclaimed, pulling her to him.

  She gladly went, laughing. “You haven’t changed a bit, still trying to break my bones with your bear hugs.”

  He let her go, laughing, his palm patting her cheek. “Just because your big brother took off for that freak-land they call California, doesn’t mean you’re still not welcome, girl.”

  “Thanks, Butcher. It’s good to see you. I’m so sorry about Bulldog. He was like an uncle to me and Crash.”

  Butcher nodded. “He was a good man. We’re all gonna miss him.” His eyes moved to the girl standing back a bit, and he frowned. “Is that the girlfriend you used to always drag with you to our parties? The shy one?”

  Letty turned, smiling. “Skylar? Yep, that’s her. She’s been gone for a while. I finally convinced her to come home.”

  “Good for you.” His attention returned to Letty. “Don’t be such a stranger, you hear?”

  She
nodded, grinning. “I won’t.”

  Crash found his arm sliding back around Skylar’s shoulders. She seemed a little off balance around his brothers, and he wanted her to feel at ease. He remembered she’d never been as outgoing as his sister had always been. Skylar had always been more reserved. His protective arm around her tightened, and he looked down at her and winked.

  Butcher introduced him to a couple of new brothers that had joined up since he and Cole had moved away.

  “This is Ghost,” Butcher nodded to a young guy with shoulder length dark hair, a beard and dark brown eyes.

  Crash’s eyes glinted with humor as he shook his hand. “Ghost, huh?”

  Butcher grinned and filled in the details he knew Crash was wondering about. “Yeah, we never hear him coming. He’s a sneaking son-of-a-bitch. Has a habit of appearing and disappearing like a fucking ghost.”

  Crash nodded. “I see.”

  Butcher turned to the man next to him, he had light brown hair shot through with gold that fell just past his collar. His strong jaw was covered with a couple of day’s growth of beard, not really a full beard, more like he shaved if and when he felt like it. He had a pair of aviator sunglasses on as he squinted against the glare of the setting sun. “This is Shades, you remember him? He was prospecting when you left.”

  Crash’s eyes narrowed at the reminder, and then his memory jogged. He grinned. “Yeah, sure. Sorry I didn’t get to stick around and vote you in, kid. I do remember giving you hell a time or two.” He felt Skylar beside him stiffen and tremble. He noticed Shades’ eyes slide past him to Skylar. He looked down at her and saw the stricken look on her face. His eyes moved back to Shades, studying him. His eyes were boring into Skylar’s, and if Crash wasn’t wrong, he was pissed.

  Crash pulled his arm from around Skylar and extended his hand to Shades.

  Shades shook it, dragging his eyes from Skylar. “Good to see you man, it’s been a long time.” At the reference to time passing, his eyes slid meaningfully to Skylar again. Crash was picking up all kinds of vibes moving between the two. It was reinforced when she clutched his waist and practically hid up against his side as he released Shades hand, and his arm settled back around her.