by Amy Isan
He raises his eyebrows and stands up straight. "What kind of shit?"
"Shit like you're lying to the crew, that you're lying to me. That you've set all this fucking petty rivalry shit up for some reason."
"Who told you that?" Surge asks, puzzled. He isn't angry, which is what I expected. Is he just bluffing? I can feel the heat coming off him, and soon he'll be impossible to reason with, let alone talk to alone without involving the entire city block.
"Victor Martinez. You might know him, since he dropped your name and told me that you were informing him and his brother that Cassie and I were in Mexico. Just before I killed him."
A scowl appears on Surge's face, there's the man I know. "You fucking killed one of the Martinez brothers?" Surge says, his voice darkening and growing like a thunderstorm.
I slam my fist against the fridge. He doesn't flinch. "Who gives a shit? They were fucking us anyway. I want to know why you'd tell them about us. Why you'd do any of the shit I've heard about, like that you've been encouraging all this bullshit with the Skeletons and our crew."
"I did it for you, Logan," he says. I'm taken aback, and I reel away from him. His face and eyes are still plastered with rage, but his voice is calmer now. The storm is still brewing, but it hasn't burst open with a crack of lightning. "I was trying to make sure you wouldn't fuck everything up. Ever since you ran into that girl, you've been fucking off to do whatever you want."
"That's beside the point, it's none of your business —,"
"It's the club's business if one of their members isn't upholding his responsibilities."
"What the fuck? What about Rifle? Of all the people to be lecturing... You should be at his door step and whipping his ass for defecting to the Skeletons. He fucking laughed in all our faces and made us look like trash with what he pulled out in the desert. You weren't even there."
"Why wasn't I there, Logan?" Surge asks, his voice impatient and prodding. "Why? Because that girl," he says, and his finger points out the plastic window of the door right at her, "hit me with her fucking car. As for Rifle," he says, retracting his hand and folding his arms again. "He's none of your business. He can do whatever he wants for all I care. He's been nothing but a constant disappointment anyway."
"That's horseshit. I was president when he left, so it's still my business. You're just fucking with me again."
"You should be focused on trying to fix what she caused with the Skeletons."
"What do you mean, what she caused?" I ball my hands into fists and restrain myself from lashing out. I just want to wail on him. It's like he's getting more calm the more frustrated I get. Leading me in circles and avoiding me directly.
"If she wasn't involved, you wouldn't have killed Rattlesnake. They just found out about it. They let us know by pegging a brick through the window and nearly killing Petrol. It narrowly missed his head by a couple inches and slammed against the bar."
I stare back out the windowed door and try to see Petrol. He's out of view, but I can imagine the impact caving his skull in. I shake my head and turn back to Surge. "You're avoiding my questions."
"I don't have to answer any of them, you're not in the position to question me, or ask what I do on the side."
"It involves all of us."
"No— you involved all of us, with that girl. If it weren't for her, we'd already have started distributing the weed already. Our crew would grow stronger. They'd finally shed their teenage attitudes and we'd have a real club on our hands. Maybe if you had listened to me in California, we could have started the crew together, the right way. We could have made the men real men from the start."
"You didn't even initiate them. And we have the product! Again, that was Rifle who invited the Skeletons to our little get together like it was a buffet."
"They weren't ready for an initiation yet. It wouldn't have meant anything to them."
I hold up my hand and hold it up to his face so quickly that I almost slap him. "It meant a lot to me. Both in California and when I did it again here. We all have the scar. Even Rifle does." I trail off, but repeat the last part of my sentence again. "Even Rifle, Surge."
Surge is silent and not looking at me anymore. For a brief second, I feel like I see him for what he really is. An old man too used to old trends to move on with the times. He isn't who I thought he was.
"Now you've killed Victor Martinez. His brother will be rushing to kill you and that girl."
"It sounds like that's what you want anyway, if you're so sick of her ruining our club. If you're so pissed about me not doing everything you want. I'm not a dog for you to command, Surge. I never was."
"That was always the problem, even in the Los Devils. I couldn't persuade you to follow me on anything. You were reckless."
"Me? You were the one constantly pushing the president to do shit he didn't want to do. Growler saw you as the troublemaker, and then you just left. You're no better than Rifle, if you'd stop to think about it."
In an instant, he unfolds his arms and shoves me out the door into the bar. I stumble backwards in surprise and slam against the pool table's edge, nearly rolling on top of it. The rest of the crew stare at us in shock, none of them daring to move. Surge reels back to punch me in the face, but I manage to regain my composure just in time to push him off me. He back steps until he hits the bar and he stares hard at me. "Don't compare me to that trash, he's the most useless son I ever had."
"Son?" I say, leaning over and catching my breath for a second. We have everyone's attention now, including Cassie's, but it doesn't matter anymore. I'm sure they could hear everything we were saying, anyway. "Rifle is your son?"
"Yeah, if you can call him that. He's always been a little shit. A fighter." Surge's face is bright red. "I thought it was admirable when he was younger, but he never grew out of it. In fact, he started turning it toward me. I thought if we got this club going for real, into some gritty shit, he'd turn face. And he did, he fucking left." Surge sounds out of breath, ragged and exhausted from his burst of energy and rant. His eyes are scorching points. "And now you're doing the same. God. Damn. Thing."
"I never wanted to fight you," I say. I stand up and puff out my chest. I feel pride swell inside myself. "I want to bring it to the Skeletons. I want to settle this shit before we both get fucked by Gustavo. He's got more resources than both of our clubs combined, I'm sure."
Sword perks up and sticks his head into our conversation. "What? Who the fuck is Gustavo?"
"The brother of the drug dealer who I killed in Mexico."
Sword scratches his beard and rubs his fingers on his mustache. "You fucking killed our drug dealer in Mexico?"
"I did a lot of shit in Mexico! I've been doing shit! What have you all been doing? Did you at least move all the product to the warehouse?" I shout at him, at everyone in the club. Cassie retreats a little as I raise my voice, and I regret it. "I could ask the same damn question to the Skeletons, what the fuck have they been doing? How could they just have found out about Rattlesnake? That shit happened days ago."
"The police didn't report it because of the vest. They figured it was a gang-related case and didn't want to create a waterfall," Tank says. "It was only released yesterday."
"Christ. I need to go to them," I say.
"No, Logan" Surge says. He tries to grab my arm, but I shove him off. "You can't. They'll kill you."
"They didn't kill Rifle. Maybe he'll talk to me, too." I stare hard at him and turn away. I grab Cassie's hand and pull her toward the entrance. I open the door and the sunlight flushes into the dark room and a blast of air blows against our backs. Standing on the sidewalk, I realize I don't have a bike anymore.
Cassie stops and stares at the bikes, the same realization coming to her too, I'm sure. She looks at me and I blow air out the side of my mouth. "What is it?" I ask.
"What if Surge is right?"
"At this point, we're literally safer with the Skeletons than in there. They only want you cause it'll get to me, which w
ill get to Surge. I'm going to find out the truth. If Rifle is his son..." I laugh, the ridiculous obviousness of it finally hitting me. "Then he'll know way more about Surge than I ever did."
I look at the bikes, each flashy and clean, save for Tank's and Surge's. I can't go back inside to ask for a loaner, not after that fucking theater performance.
Thankfully, I don't have to. The door to the bar opens and I catch the fervor that's exploding inside and a blast of cold air. Driver steps out onto the sidewalk and stares at me. He's frowning, and looks pissed beyond reason. He shoves his bike key into my hand and shakes his head.
"Don't fucking abandon us. I don't know what the hell happened before, but don't do what Surge did to you to me," he says. Still upset, he turns and pulls the door open again, disappearing into the argument and hissing, air-conditioned building.
Cassie walks along the parked bikes and locates the one that has "Driver" written on the fuel tank. "This one?"
I clutch the key in my hand and nod. "Yes."
. . .
A quick ride on the highway and we're in Rifle's neighborhood. I hope he's home, because the last thing I want to do is actually engage him at the Skeletons' clubhouse. I have a vague awareness of where it is and what building it's in, but that sounds like a death trap. If I can reach Rifle, I'm sure I can get something useful out of him. Hopefully.
We pull alongside the curb outside Rifle's house. Driver's bike rides smoother and a lot better than mine ever did. I'm too neglectful. He probably takes supreme care of it, considering the condition of the paint on the fuel tank and the way the chrome flashes. I step off the bike after powering it down and invite Cassie to join me.
She's reluctant. "What about last time? He hit you with a gun."
"Yeah, he hit me with a gun. I doubt he'll shoot me this time. Especially since I know he's Surge's son."
She nods and takes my hand with only some hesitation. She has to trust me. After everything in Mexico. She should trust me. With her soft hand in mine, I feel her bruised and cut open palm and swear I can feel my own scar throb in response. You can't plan for everything, and sometimes the timing for things is fucked up enough to work.
We cross the dried and dead lawn and reach the crumbling steps up to the door. I knock on it hard and wait for an answer. Nothing. I ring the doorbell but don't hear it ring inside the house, so I shout. "Rifle! Open up!"
A few moments of silence. I brace myself for anything. What if his whole crew is here? What if they were planning on me coming? I feel my hand go to my gun, almost without my power. I graze the metal surface, feeling for pits or rust on the barrel. Movement behind the door bristles me, and I throw my arm in front of Cassie in defense.
The door opens and Rifle stares through the screen, his face full of disgust. He shakes his head and pulls up the shotgun he butted me with last time. "What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk." I say firmly.
His eyes go from me to Cassie. "What's she doing here? We have nothing to talk about, remember?" He holds up his gun. "Get the fuck out of here, Bomb."
"No. You're gonna let me in and we're going to have a fucking chit-chat." I pull out my gun and point it at him through the screen. He actually bursts into laughter, breaking down, complete with his hands going to his knees and everything. When he stands up again, he wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head. "Chit-chat? With the guy who threw a punch at me the first time we met? No."
"I know Surge is your father. I'm sure the Skeletons wouldn't want to hear that little detail."
He opens his mouth to answer, but closes it again. His eyes look past me and his shoulders drop. "Fucking hurry it up then and get inside," he says. I slip past him and lower my gun, but I don't holster it. Cassie brushes up next to me as she moves down the entryway.
The air is stale with smoke. A lone and worn bed-couch is opened in the living room, the sheets messed up and pillow on the floor. Rifle throws the pillow into the corner and collapses the frame back into the couch. He grabs two cushions, missing one, and tosses them onto the couch. He leans back against the window, his gun still pointed in our general direction, but at the ground. I have my pistol held in my hand, my wrist resting on my knee.
Cassie shifts uncomfortably next to me, scooting closer to me until our legs are touching. Rifle frowns. "Make yourselves at home, sure." He gestures at us huddled together. I ignore his taunts.
"Cut the shit. Why'd you leave the Ruin Outlaws?"
He shrugs and his grip on the gun loosens some more. His resolve must be slipping, or at least he's given up trying to intimidate me. He knows I don't respond to threats very well. "Better drugs, benefits you could say."
"I know it has to do with Surge."
"What about him? I told you last time I don't want to talk about that old man. He's so... fucking..." he trails off, his lips twitching with words unspoken. I try and goad him to answer.
"So what? So frustrating? A liar? A thief?"
"Controlling."
Cassie speaks up, startling me somewhat. "Controlling... like manipulative?" she says, speaking slowly as if she's dipping her toes into a pool. Will the water drown her or freeze her? "My parents were like that — until I left for school."
Rifle shrugs and shakes his head. "School, so you're rich?"
"No, not at all."
"It doesn't matter, you don't understand. I'm not talking about not letting you stay out with your girlfriends, I'm talking psychopathic controlling."
"So am I," she says, her words gaining more power and strength. Her voice grows more assured and she stares at Rifle. Meanwhile, I can't take my eyes off her. Watching her get worked up like this is incredible. "They keep you in a prison, or at least, make you think you're in one. They twist every word you say, every action you take, every thing you do to make it look like you're wrong."
Rifle straightens up a little, clearly coming to her side of the conversation. He doesn't reply, but his eyes have changed. He looks... emotional. I've never seen him display anything but anger. I lower my gun further and disarm it, trying to be as quiet as possible. I need Rifle to work with us.
Rifle turns to the window and parts the blind a little, his eyes staring at nothing outside. He licks his lips before he starts talking. "Surge was always like that. I was never good enough. Always a disappointment." He asks me a question, without turning his head. "Did he ever call you that?"
"A disappointment? Yes."
"It sliced deep didn't it? Like there was something you could have done better, but the truth is, there wasn't. No matter what you do, he'll think you're a disappointment." He turns on me and raises his gun again. His eyes are rimmed red, his expression is strained. "Then, you came back. He never shut up about you since he came back to Arizona, and how mad he was you wouldn't leave that club. How pissed he was that I couldn't be more like you. No fucking shit, Surge. I'm not this Bomb guy." He walks closer to me, his gun still pointed at me. I stare hard into his eyes but don't move a muscle.
I feel Cassie tighten on me, but I try and ignore it. It's okay, I want to tell her, but I can't. He needs to release it. Rifle presses the tip of the barrel against my chest and digs it against my leather vest. "So he made sure you'd come. He made sure you saw what a mistake California was. He planned everything to the finest detail and made sure that your crew disintegrated. When all you were left with was dust, you'd come looking for any water that was on offer, he figured. He offered it."
I stare past him, the idea slowly turning in my mind like a clock. I can't believe I never pieced it together before. It all makes sense, that's why I was the only one left alive. The only one that escaped custody. It wasn't luck or skill. It was Surge. "He said he did it all for me."
"He did," Rifle says. "He always did it for you."
He points the gun at Cassie. "Then she showed up, and everything got even worse. I knew immediately, I hope you know. Maybe because Surge knew."
Cassie's visibly shaking with the gun pointed at h
er, and I grab the barrel and bring it back toward my chest. "This isn't about her. It never was. It was about Surge."
Rifle hesitates, so I continue. I might have his attention. "Listen, I'm here because Surge revealed to me that he was working with the cartels to keep the Skeletons and Ruin Outlaws fighting. That he wanted Cassie dead, that you were a disappointment. I don't think he thinks he's wrong."
"Why should I give a shit?" Rifle presses the barrel harder against my chest. "I could kill both of you right now, and then maybe Surge would be proud of me for once. Maybe he'd welcome me back into the Ruin Outlaws with open arms. Maybe he'd be the father to me that he was to you."
"No, he won't. You know that. He'll only blame you for everything. The blood won't ever be on his hands." I dig my chest against the barrel, testing Rifle's guts. Testing his attitude. I want to see if he has it in him. To finish what he started back at the bar that first day I met him.
"We," I gesture to Cassie with a tilt of my head, "killed one of the Martinez brothers in Mexico. His brother, Gustavo, is going to be out for blood."
"Why does that matter?"
"It involves both of our clubs. He has more resources. The Skeletons are bigger and older."
"I could just let him come. Hell, maybe he'd join the Skeletons and help us drive your club out of the state."
"No, he'll be out for vengeance. It won't be justice. It'll be a slaughter. He'll go after us, then after your crew." I'm bluffing. I wish I knew the truth, of how strong Gustavo was. "Gustavo knew enough about Cassie and I, and if he's in contact with Surge, then... Surge might just give me up."
"Why? Why should I help you at all?"
I make a bold statement, unsure if I'm right or not, but based on the idea that when I scared Smoke away from my house, his crew didn't know about Rattlesnake's death yet: "Because Rattlesnake was working alone. Because then you won't be just like your father. So you don't participate in the destruction of your brothers' lives. You have the scar, we all do. If you stand aside and let Gustavo mow us all down, then you're no better than Surge leaving Los Devils and getting them all imprisoned or killed."