Devils: Cutthroat 99 MC

by Evelyn Glass

  “They’re a big outfit out of Portland. They have chapters in Eugene, Salem and Medford. They control the I-5 corridor and rumor has it they have their fingers in all kinds of stuff. Drugs, guns, prostitution, protection, the works.”

  “Nice guys,” James said as he took a pull from the beer. “She came to Douglas to tell you all that?”

  “In a way. Her husband is a Chrome and he kidnapped her son a few days ago. She tracked him to here. She wants our help to get her son back.”

  “Her husband did?”

  “Well, soon to be ex-husband.”

  “Ah, that makes a little more sense. You think the Firechrome are going to try to take over the racing and they shot Kevin as a warning?”

  “That’s the only thing I can figure. Seems rather stupid to tip your hand, though. If she hadn’t told us about the Chromes sniffing around, we wouldn’t even know until they made their move.”

  “Are you going to help her with her son?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I want to, anyway.”

  “Dix, you need to be careful. Family disputes can get nasty, and quick. Believe me, I know.”

  “I know, James. But what she’s gone through isn’t right. If what she told me is true, Leo, her husband, is a low life son-of-a-bitch.”

  “No. No it’s not, and maybe he is. But it’s not really your problem and you need to be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Dix laughed. “I’m always careful.”

  “Right,” James drawled. “Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

  “I’ll be careful. Have I told you that you worry too much?”

  James nodded as he took another sip of beer. He wasn’t surprised Dix would want to help. The woman was pushing all his buttons, probably without even knowing it. Even though Dix hadn’t seen Roger and Silvia Montague in years, some wounds never fully heal.

  “Not since last week. So the Firechrome are bigger than the Cutthroats?” James asked to restart the conversation on a different subject. He could tell Dix was feeling his loneliness and just wanted some company.

  “Yeah, a lot bigger. Probably a hundred times our size, maybe more.”

  James whistled. “Thirty-five hundred members. That’s not a club; that’s a town.”

  “That’s just a guess, and that’s spread across four chapters, but yeah. They’re huge. Biggest outlaw club in the state probably.”

  “How are you going to handle them?”

  Dix snorted. “I don’t have any idea. I don’t think Cale does either. We obviously can’t go at them head on. They could wipe us out without blinking. Besides, the last thing we want a club war in town. We have friends and family here. Douglas is our home. We don’t want them coming in and shooting everything up.”

  “Glad you feel that way,” James said with a grin. “I may be getting on up there, but I’m not ready to kick the bucket yet.”

  “I pity the fool who tries to take a swipe at you,” Dix chuckled as he glanced at the Remington 870 twelve-gauge propped by the door. He knew it was loaded with double-ought buck and James knew how to use it. More than one thief had been sent running by a shot fired into the air.

  James smiled. “A helpless old man can’t be too careful.”

  “Helpless my ass!”

  “God created man. Samuel Colt made them equal,” James intoned solemnly, then drained the last of his beer. “Or in this case, Remington. Want the other?”

  “Sure, I’ll get it,” Dix said, emptying his bottle then picking James’s up as he passed. He chucked the two empties into the glass bin then returned a moment later with the two cold ones, handing one to James. One nice thing about working in a recycling yard, it was never a problem to dispose of the cans and bottles.

  “This girl, how long is she going to be in town?”

  “Don’t know,” Dix said, settling back into his chair. “A couple of days, probably. It depends on how quickly we find out if she’s right. I hope she’s not.”

  “But if she is?”

  Dix shrugged. “Then we’ll figure out how to deal with them. Maybe we’ll bring the bodies here and run them through the crusher,” he teased.

  “Just do it while I’m not around so I can honestly say I didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Make sure you’re not around, check. Wait a minute, when are you not around?”

  James grinned. “Good question. You seem to have a problem.”

  Dix chuckled. Talking to James always seemed to improve his mood when he was feeling down. He’d spent a long time talking to him after Kevin’s death, and apparently without even knowing, James had helped him begin to heal. His unwavering confidence, his steadfast refusal to believe he’d missed anything, and his absolute refusal to allow Dix to take responsibility for the accident had stopped the toxic spiral he was in.

  Daisy’s story had bummed him out a little, and he didn’t even know why. James was right: it wasn’t his problem, but he still felt an urge to help the woman. Nobody deserved to be treated like she’d been. By helping the Cutthroats he was helping her, so there was no reason not to help her. He understood James’s caution, especially after what he went through, but Daisy wasn’t part of his family.

  “I’m not going to be around much tomorrow. Daisy and I are going to ride through town and see if we can see anyone, or maybe a bike, she recognizes.”

  “Her name is Daisy?”

  Dix shrugged. “That’s what she said. Daisy…” He paused as he tried to remember her last name. “…Watson. That’s it. Daisy Watson.”

  James grinned and began to sing. “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do…”

  Dix laughed. “That was the first thing I thought of, too, when she told me her name. I’m sure she was never teased about it growing up. You know, like having the name Dix.”

  James smiled. He remembered how young Dixon Montague would get off the bus, upset by the name-calling. Kids could be cruel, and he knew that, but Dix’s parents were useless, ignoring their son’s pain and frustration. That’s when he began taking Dix under his wing.

  He’d discovered an amazingly bright boy who had an instinctual grasp of mechanics. There was nothing he couldn’t take apart and put back together. As he taught Dix to use the tools in the machine shop, he also took the time to instruct him in life, when to fight and when to let things roll off of him. He’d grasped his lessons well, both in the shop and in life, and he’d grown into a fine young man, a man who knew when to fight and when to care, a man he’d be proud to call son.

  James smiled. With the loss of his own son so many years before, taking Dixon under his care and raising him had healed him and filled a hole in his heart, and he loved him as he’d loved his own son. The yard may not look like much, but it was a very profitable operation, netting a couple of million a year. Dixon didn’t know it, but after James passed away, it would all transfer to him.

  They sat in companionable silence for a time, Dix smiling at the way Old James looked at him, as a father would look at a son. That suited him fine because as far as he was concerned James McGhee was dad even if Roger Montague was his father. The best thing to ever happen to him was when James invited the young Dixon into the shop after school and…mentored him. James taught him all the things fathers should teach their sons: how to be self-reliant and how to treat a lady, and he’d given him something his father couldn’t. Pride. Pride in who he was. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for that old man and he’d mourn grievously at his passing.

  “I have to go,” Dix said standing suddenly, the thought of James passing upsetting him.

  James nodded and rose as well, if a bit more slowly. “Hot date tonight, huh?”

  “Oh yeah,” Dix drawled. “I have them breaking down my door.”

  James chuckled. “You could if you would ever go out.”

  “I go out.”

  “I mean on a date. You know, with a girl.”

  Dix laughed. “Oh…one of those.”

  Th
is time James laughed. “You should try it sometime. You might like it.”

  “Good night, James,” Dix said as he stepped out. It had rained while he was cozy in James’s house, but had stopped, at least for the moment.

  “Night, Dix.” He watched as he disappeared into the night then closed his door, shaking his head. He was no judge of male beauty, but if the admiring glances he noticed women giving him when they were out were any indication, Dixon wouldn’t be lacking for female companionship if he wanted it.

  Dix closed the door to his trailer. He knew James worried about him. Yes, he could have more women in his bed if he chose, but they would be nothing but casual hookups. He’d played the field for a while, sleeping with a couple different women a week sometimes, but those encounters had left him hollow. Now he had a couple of friends with benefits, women who enjoyed the excitement and speed of the races, who he’d call on if they, or he, had a need. They were beautiful and talented women, well-schooled in pleasing a man, but after the fucking was done, they would return to their separate lives until one of them needed an itch scratched again.

  He’d go to his grave before he admitted it, but he was jealous of Thad and Chuck and Cale, and most of the members of the Cutthroats. Especially Thad, and when he was alive, Kevin. Their wives were beautiful, sweet and supportive, and obviously head over heels for their men. That’s what he wanted, not the casual one-night stands or the friends with benefits.

  He pulled another beer from the fridge and sat down, leaning his head back and listening as it began to rain again. He sipped his beer, the patter of drops on the trailer roof relaxing him, until he became sleepy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You ready to go find your son?” Dix asked after Daisy opened the door to her room.

  “You bet! I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me.”

  “A deal’s a deal. You help us, we’ll help you.”

  “Your bike or my car?”

  “Bike. I saw your car running yesterday. If you drove all the way from Prineville in that, you’re a braver woman than I gave you credit for.”

  “Hey!” she said loudly, but with a smile. “That’s my baby you’re talking about!”

  “Baby, huh?”

  “Okay. It was all I could afford. It’s a temperamental beast, but has always gotten me to where I wanted to go.”

  He shook his head. He wouldn’t be caught dead owning a piece of shit like that. “Well, today, I think you can do a little better.” He handed her a helmet. “I even brought you your own helmet.”

  “You just happened to have an extra one lying around?” she grinned as she put it on. He probably had women wanting to go for a ride all the time, and not all of them on his bike. She grinned as she climbed aboard behind him. She had a good feeling about today, that she and Riley would soon be back together, and she’d slept better last night than she had in days.

  “Never know when you might need to give a lady in distress a ride.”

  She giggled as she tucked in close, feeling giddy. Just having him talk to her like he did, like an equal and with humor and warmth, made her all gooey inside. Her girlfriends talked about how great their sex lives were but she couldn’t understand it, until maybe now. Leo had taken her virginity and had been her only lover, and she knew sex was supposed to be fun and exciting, but with him it hadn’t been. Like everything else with Leo, she now suspected there was something better than what she had and she wondered if Dix knew how to please a woman. Looking like he did, she suspected he could have all the practice he wanted.

  She’d let Leo take her whenever he wanted her, but she hadn’t wanted sex in years. Now, sitting on the back of the motorcycle with Dix, she felt a stirring, a yearning, she hadn’t felt in a long time…and it felt great.

  He slowed suddenly and pulled into the parking lot of motel. “See anything?”

  “No,” Daisy said as they slowly cruised through the parking lot of the motel. “I think the Chromes only ride Harleys. At least that’s all I ever saw.”

  “Okay,” he said as he accelerated around the building and paused before turning out onto the main road again.

  Douglas was a bit of a Mecca for riders in the Pacific Northwest. Near the Siuslaw National Forest, 630,000 acres of forestland crisscrossed by dozens, if not hundreds, of roads that rose and fell as they twisted and turned through the mountains and valleys, Douglas was a natural stopping point. Riders flocked to the area to ride the roads and watch the whales.

  Because of the constant influx of riders, a thriving industry had built up in town catering to the bikers, in addition to the whale watchers and the dune riders. Douglas lived and died on its tourist industry, so no potential went untapped.

  Most motels were motorcycle-friendly and several motorcycle speed shops had opened in town. The Cutthroats were well known by riders who came to Douglas and so long as the visitors didn’t act the fool, everything was good, but one word from the Cutthroats and bikers could find the town, and its hospitality, were closed to them.

  The police were aware that, often times, business owners called the Cutthroats if they were having problems with bikers before they called them, but so long as the Cutthroats were only dispensing friendly advice, they appreciated the help.

  “So basically, the Cutthroats are like the first line against problem bikers?” she asked as he explained it to her.

  “That’s one way you could put it, I guess.”

  “And you do that for free?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Isn’t it obvious? We live here. We ride motorcycles. We don’t want people from out of town causing problems for our friends and neighbors, and we want to keep the town motorcycle-friendly. It doesn’t cost us anything, and if the bikers want to be the assholes, we simply call the cops and let them deal with it.”

  “How often does that happen?”

  “Not often. Once or twice a year, maybe. Most people come back year after year and are no problem. Especially after we warn them what will happen if they keep on. But every now and then…”

  The more he talked, the better she liked him and the Cutthroats. She’d sworn off bad boys and motorcycle clubs, deciding she wanted to date accountants and computer programmers from now on, but if the bad boys could actually be the good guys, like Dix and the Cutthroats, maybe she wasn’t quite ready to give that up after all.

  He curved the Harley into another motel and putt-putted through the parking lot, but there were no bikes. “Breakfast?”

  “I thought you’d forgotten.”

  “No, I didn’t see any reason to backtrack out here since we were passing them on the way to where I want to go for breakfast. It’s where most bikers go.”

  They stopped in a place that looked like a Denny’s, or some other converted chain store, whose parking lot was full of bikes of every make and description. They took a couple of slow passes through the lot as she looked the bikes over.

  “I saw one that looked like Leo’s, but it wasn’t,” she said pointing. “Leo’s doesn’t have the backrest thingy.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive, unless he added it in the last couple of weeks.”

  Dix wheeled the bike around and backed into an available space. “We’ll check it out once we get inside. If you see him, don’t do anything. We don’t want him to know you’re here in case he puts two and two together.” They stepped in the restaurant, joining the rest of the people waiting for a table. “See him?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you go to the restrooms, back that way,” he said with a nod, indicating the larger of the two rooms.

  “Good idea.”

  Daisy made her way to the back, washed her hands, then returned. “I didn’t see him.”

  “Not over there either?”

  “No.”

  He relaxed. “Okay. We’ll hang here for a couple of hours until the breakfast rush is over.” They had to wait twenty minutes, and pass up tw
o tables, before the one Dix wanted opened. They sat so she had a good view of the door.

  They were done eating, but taking their time, patrons still arriving, though the crush was passed. “So tell me, Dix, why are you the only one of the Cutthroats that rides a Harley?”

  “Because I have more class than those other jokers.”

  She twittered out a laugh. “Really?”

  He chuckled. “That’s part of it. I just like the look of the Harley better and since I ride a Switchback, I can put the windshield and bags on mine, or take them off, as the mood and need dictates. The crotch rockets those other guys ride, they’re for one thing only: going fast. But they all have cars. I don’t.”