Roll Me Away: A Smokey's Roadhouse Novel

by Jacobs, Jessa

  I headed back to Rawlins, cussing the fucking rutted road for the first half-hour. By the time I got to the highway, it was dark. I opened it up, running about ninety on the dark highway. This was the part I fucking loved about the life – the wind in my face, the open road, and no one to answer to. Out here, there weren’t even any Highway Patrol to bother me. I made Rawlins in forty-five minutes and blew into the apartment I shared with Pug.

  Snail, Gears, and Hoss had the unit next door, but there they were in our living room, sprawled all over the furniture along with Pug, and all high. I nearly got a contact high from the thick fog of weed myself.

  “Give me some of that shit.”

  Pug handed over a blunt without a word. I took a drag and held it. When I was ready to exhale, I let them know Bethanne was down with the errand I’d given her.

  “You fuck her?” Hoss asked. I always suspected he was partial to her, but there was no belligerence or disrespect in his voice.

  “Fuck, yes. You gotta fuck that woman senseless before she can understand a fucking thing you’re saying,” I answered.

  The others nodded their heads. We’d all had her – they understood what I meant.

  I woke up in my own bed the next morning, still dressed. Damn, that had been good shit. I pulled out my cell phone and discovered I’d let the battery run down. Fuck.

  I plugged in the phone and got an immediate message about a missed call. It was Bethanne’s number, so either we had a meet or I was gonna have to go back to the compound and beat her ass like I’d promised. Lucky for her, it was the meet. I looked at the time. Shit. I had forty minutes to get to the roadhouse.

  I stumbled out the bedroom door and tripped over Hoss, lying across my doorway. I kicked him. “The fuck you doin’?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Get the fuck out of my way.”

  He rolled over to the other side of the hall, and I stomped past him. I grabbed a cold slice of pizza off the counter as I passed, and left the apartment. It was going to be tight.

  I grinned as I thought about the civilians I’d be passing. Just the thought of the rush of fear they’d feel as I weaved in and out of what was usually bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-80 gave me a boner. This was going to be fun.

  Half an hour later, I slowed down as I approached the roadhouse. I parked the Harley and pulled out my cell, then leaned against the saddle for a few. I wanted to be exactly five minutes late for the meet. Just enough to say I was my own man and didn’t answer to Smokey or anyone else, but not enough to be an ass. Or not much of one, anyway.

  There was a fine line between letting them know who I was and being insultingly disrespectful. I estimated that line was drawn right at five minutes.

  Exactly five minutes past the meeting time Sarge had set, I walked through the front door of the roadhouse. A few stragglers from breakfast were lingering over coffee, but the few bikes in the lot had already told me it was mostly the officers I’d be meeting with. That was fine. They were the decision-makers anyway.

  I walked through the bar area and back to the meeting room, where I found the door open. Smokey spotted me right away.

  “Come on in, Jake,” he said.

  I walked in with a swagger, looking around the table to see who was there. Smokey, of course. My dad, who nodded at me. Sarge, Doc, and a kid I knew from somewhere. WTF? Then it hit me. Carl’s kid, from the chop shop. What was he doing here? And wearing a cut, no less?

  He must be a prospect, and I could think of only one reason he’d be in this meeting. They must be trying to show me they didn’t need us. Well, kid or no kid, they were wrong.

  “Smokey. Sarge. Doc. Good to see you. Hi, Dad.”

  No one smiled. The kid, whose name I couldn’t quite call to mind, was standing. Good. He hadn’t earned a seat at the table, which meant he was so new he was still wet behind the ears. I nodded at him, and took a seat, looking over at Smokey as I sat down. An expression of annoyance crossed his face, but I’d made my point. I waited for him to speak first.

  “Jake. For your dad’s sake, we’re gonna set aside the disrespect you and your buddies showed the club. Sarge tells us we got some mutual interests, your crew and the Devils. Whatcha got in mind?”

  I hadn’t studied these geezers my whole life for nothing. I knew the first to make an offer loses, so I kept my mouth shut, staring Smokey down. He waited a few minutes, until the kid got nervous and shifted.

  “All right, this is going nowhere,” Smokey continued. “So I’ll lay in on the line. You kids fucked up. You think you cain’t be replaced, and you waltz in here actin’ like your shit don’t stink. Say hello to Zach Hayes. He’s gonna do somethin’ for us in Sturgis. Then he’s comin’ back here to audition. Get it? You can be replaced. Now, if you want to climb down off that high horse and show some respect, we may be able to do bizness. Your call.”

  I won’t lie – it pushed my buttons. This wasn’t going the way I expected, but it was critical I get this deal done, or I was done, and I knew it. I glanced at Dad. He had that stubborn look on his face I knew meant he wasn’t about to give me an inch. Fuck it, the time to negotiate was past. Never had been possible, now I thought about it. I’d fucked up, and now all I could do was try to save face.

  “Smokey, we never meant disrespect. You, Dad, and all of you built something good here, and we appreciate it. It’s just, we could see times getting tough. We wanted to try something to bring in some scratch.”

  “How’s that workin’ out fer ya?”

  Shit. I had nothing to say to that. “It’s taking a little longer than we expected.”

  He could have gone on, and completely humiliated me in front of my dad, the prospect, and the others. I saw the glance he cut at my dad before he went on.

  “You ready to re-join, or are we talkin’ about a mutual job between two clubs?”

  Re-joining wasn’t what I’d had in mind, but the way he asked let me know my answer would let him know how to proceed.

  “I’d need to take something back to my crew, let them know what to expect. We’d take a vote. Not saying we wouldn’t look hard at re-joining, but what would that look like?” It was a fair question. If we had to start over as prospects, it wouldn’t be so good. My crew might still go for it, but I wanted them to know what they were in for.

  “I notice you don’t have a patch with your club name,” he said. “Why is that?”

  “We haven’t been able to agree on one. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “If you were an organized club, we’d be able to patch you over, after you proved you were in for good this time. Since you aren’t, we may have to let you come in as prospects again, have you prove yourselves all over again.”

  “Fuck that.”

  “Then get your shit together. We ride for Sturgis tomorrow. We’ll wait at Carl’s shop for you to show up. Your colors will decide how we treat you. Meetin’s over.” He banged his gavel and turned to talk to Doc, ignoring me. I gave my dad a look, and he followed me outside.

  “What the fuck was that, Dad?”

  “No more than you deserved, son. Did you think you could just take up where you left off? You know it don’t work that way.”

  “I thought you’d support me.”

  “Who do you think got you this far? You betrayed a trust. If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t give you the time of day. Like Smokey said, get your shit together. I recommend you get some kind of patch on those cuts that identify you as a legitimate club. Know you ain’t got much time, but that’s the quickest way back in.”

  I rode back to Rawlins slower than I’d come out. How was I gonna spin this to my crew?

  Six

  Zach

  I wasn’t sure why I’d been summoned to that meeting, but I wished I hadn’t been. From the sound of it, if those guys did patch back in, I wouldn’t be too popular with them.

  It was just like everything else. You had to get along with the people in your circle, or you didn’t have one.
From what I’d seen, that was doubly true in a motorcycle club, where there could be situations when your life literally depended on your brothers’ good will.

  I already knew I’d be riding shotgun to Sturgis in the chase wagon with Doc driving. My job was to monitor his oxygen tanks while he kept track of the pack ahead. I planned to take the best care of that old man that anyone could. But while I did that one thing, I’d have to think about how to stay on Jake’s good side if his crew patched in. And how to stay alive if they had to come in as prospects with me ahead in seniority. That would be the worst outcome possible.

  The next morning, true to Smokey’s word, Rooster had the whole club stop at Carl’s place and wait for Jake and his brothers. One minute before the deadline, they rode in with blank faces. Every one of them sported a hand-drawn patch on the back of their cuts. If it hadn’t been the best thing I could have hoped for, it would have been laughable. Everyone pretended it was normal, but I wondered how they’d be received in Sturgis.

  I’d always thought the Dust Devil moniker was tongue in cheek – a nod to our dry weather and the mini-tornadoes that sprung up and whirled dust and debris around for a few minutes. They kept to themselves – didn’t terrorize the nearby towns or roll into Rawlins looking for trouble. In other words, I’d never taken the Devil part seriously.

  Apparently these dudes did. Their patches sported a painted red devil, horns and all, without the swirling representation of the dust storm that the parent club had on theirs. And the name, painted in a circle around it, was Just Devils. What a joke.

  As soon as they rode up, Rooster revved his engine, the signal to head out. The club peeled away from Carl’s parking lot two by two, the Just Devils bringing up the rear of the columns, with our vehicle right behind. Other than lunch and pit stops, we’d ride non-stop to Sturgis, about five hours. We expected to be there just as the fun began on the first afternoon of the rally.

  Two of the guys I’d met on my first night at the clubhouse had gone ahead to stake a claim on the motel where they always stayed. We’d have most of the rooms, and the clerks would be well prepared to leave us alone.

  I’d been told that Sturgis was a prime event to pick up women to bring back to the club, and I’d finally learned the full name of the Bunnies the guys kept talking about. Dust Bunnies. Because if you were bad-ass enough, you’d find them in, around, and under your bed. I was looking forward to not having to wait for my turn for a change.

  I’d gone through enough hazing in the last couple of days to let the brothers know I could take it. Sarge told me I’d have some tasks to do for the club at Sturgis, and they’d help me along in my quest to patch in as a full member.

  So far, they hadn’t told me much except to keep my eyes open for likely women, and they’d told me they preferred them young-looking but legal, with big tits and nice asses. Well, that sounded good to me. If I could get one or two to follow us back to Wyoming, that would be all to the good. Whatever else they wanted me to do, I’d learn in good time. I was up for it.

  Doc wasn’t much of a conversationalist. I didn’t mind, because I didn’t want to say anything that revealed how clueless I was about the world I’d entered. Of course, I’d heard things.

  I knew the Dust Devils weren’t AMA certified, for example, which made them an outlaw club. Whether they were actual outlaws, I didn’t know. I didn’t know how they made their money, but I would in good time. I didn’t think they had any enemies, so I didn’t think I’d be called on to kill anyone. Not that it would matter if that happened.

  I had enough anger in me, I didn’t think it would be a problem, especially if the someone needed killing. Like if they hurt a kid or something.

  But I played it cool. I’d seen where swagger got Jake with the officers. Put down with barely an effort. No, thank you. I wanted respect, and to get it you had to give it. So I stayed quiet, did what I was told, and observed. That was the way to get along.

  The second time I checked the content gauge on Doc’s oxygen tank, I did a double-take. “Doc, are you okay? You breathing?”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Course I’m breathing. The fuck do you mean?”

  “Well, you’ve used less than half the oxygen between Casper and here than you used between Rawlins and Casper. Why is that?”

  “More oxygen in the air, moron,” he answered. He looked at me again and decided to explain more. “Lower elevation. I can get more oxygen down here. Even better in Sturgis. Probably won’t need the extra at all.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good, I guess.”

  Doc shook his head and kept driving. What the fuck did I know about air? Deciding I’d made enough of a fool of myself for this trip, I stayed quiet the rest of the way in. True to his word, Doc was hardly using any of the supplemental oxygen by the time we reached Sturgis.

  When we pulled into town, I could have used some of it myself, though. I’d never seen so many people crowded together in my life. Rawlins is a small town, under ten thousand residents. I’d been told Sturgis was even smaller. But it looked like half the population of the US was crowding its streets this afternoon.

  We pulled in behind the bikes, and we all waited while Rooster called the advance guys, who came out of their rooms and went in with him to the office. They came back with keys and room assignments for all of us.

  Naturally, I was on the first floor, next to Doc’s room. He could’ve climbed the stairs, he grumbled, but they’d been thinking of his COPD. They put me in the room under Jake’s, and someone laughed about how little sleep I’d be getting. I didn’t care. With any luck, I’d be getting the same kind of action he would and wouldn’t be trying to sleep anyway.

  “Okay, gang, gather round,” Rooster called. We huddled up right there in the parking lot. “You know why you’re here. You’ve got a few days, so let’s get some brews to get the party started. Pug, you take Zach under your wing and teach him the ropes. Jake, you’re responsible for your crew and Zach. We’ll scope out the marks. Meet back here at nineteen hundred hours and we’ll get some grub together. Got it?”

  There was some muttering from the direction of Jake and his guys, but no one objected out loud. I moved over toward them, only to be met by Jake’s outstretched arm.

  “Hold it right there, hotshot,” he said. “We need to get something straight. You ain’t one of us. You keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Don’t give my boy any bullshit, and we’ll get along okay.”

  “Okay, Jake,” I returned. I kept my voice mild. One day, there’d have to be some words between us, but this wasn’t the time or the place. I’d earn my patch, and then we’d see about mutual respect.

  Jake

  I knew why my dad had saddled us with the prospect, but it didn’t make me happy. The kid probably didn’t know a damn thing about Sturgis or why we were here. It was up to us to break him in. I pulled Pug aside. “Ignore him for now. Let him figure it out on his own.”

  “You got it, man.”

  We started down the street on foot, since the prospect didn’t have a ride and we were only going about a block anyway. The better to spot the babes, too. Gears and Hoss walked next to me, with Pug, Snail, and Prospect bringing up the rear.

  Walking three abreast and not stepping aside for anyone, we soon attracted some attention. Civilians muttered and got out of our way. Girls turned to look at us pass. We were the kings of the goddamn street, and everyone knew it. Felt good.

  We got to Downshift, the bar where we hung out every year, just about the same time the rest of the club were parking their bikes. There’d be some jostling for position if other small outlaw clubs were there, but when my crew and I walked in, they’d dive out with no more protest. We didn’t try to horn in on the bigger clubs’ hangouts, not looking to make enemies we didn’t need. Regular clubs, ‘social clubs’ they called themselves, kept to their own bars, too.

  There wasn’t usually any rival club trouble at Sturgis. It was neutral territory, as long as everyone
kept their cool and respected other clubs. Downshift wasn’t really big enough for more than us and some women, anyway.

  We pushed our way in and grabbed beers, then headed outside to watch the world go by. The sidewalks and even the street itself teemed with all kinds of people, from civilians to members of Hell’s Angels, self-appointed to make sure no trouble went down.

  By and large, beefs between the well-known outlaw clubs were set aside for the rally, but now and then a club trying to make a name for itself would start something. Usually, the Angels would put it down quickly, before it got out of hand.

  Eventually, we attracted some chicks. It never failed. Put enough of us together in a group, and we’d draw a crowd. I didn’t usually think about my looks, but I had plenty of evidence that women liked them. Before long, we had a crowd of women, a few teenage boys, and some jail-bait girls hanging around watching our every move.

  Some of the ladies were even bold enough to go in and get a beer, and then come out and chat us up. Now it was time to cut the better looking women out of the herd and see if any of them were ready for some fun.

  I had my eye on a girl-next-door type who’d made an effort to break the mold. She had on a tank-top with Wild Thing printed across the boobs, barely visible through the gap in her sleeveless black leather vest.

  The funny thing was, she didn’t look all that wild. Her brown hair was piled up in a messy bun, and she had creamy skin that hadn’t seen much sun yet, even though summer was almost over. I’d seen her flash a mouthful of straight white teeth at one of the guys who let out a wolf whistle, and her blue eyes were clear of any hint of drug use.