“Shh. Shut . . . Shut the fuck up!” I quietly cursed my smoking habit as I continued to huff. The bar quieted down and I snatched the remote away from the young kid and turned it up. It was some old white guy from the Senate.
“The President’s decision to recklessly forge ahead with a plan to unilaterally change our immigration laws ignores the will of the American people and flouts the constitution.”
The Prez barged in from a back room, eyes locked on the television with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. This not only affected business, it was game changing, and now the news had the Prez’s attention. The report went on.
“It seems the executive order provides amnesty for over five million illegal immigrants. Opponents of the bill cite that no background checks will be done for illegal activity and another opponent purports that this bill will be a beacon for those wishing to illegally enter the country everywhere. Let us know what you, the viewer, thinks by tweeting @demingfive with the hashtag #immigration2012.”
“Holy shit . . .” the Prez bellowed, “Looks like the game has changed, boys. Church. Now.”
We followed him out of the saloon, everyone as silent as the dead, just the eerie stomping of our boots as they marched on the pavement. The sound bridged gaps in generations. No one cared what war you fought or when you retired. By the time we reached the club’s expansive wooden table, everyone was in a frame of mind that left the bullshit behind.
No one knew what to say. The sitting members entered the meeting room, while the others turned the news on above the bar in the clubhouse. Some gawked at Obama’s boldness, some acted as if this was the apocalypse.
Maybe they were right.
I shut the door behind me and found my seat.
“So . . .” The boss slapped the gavel on the table. “The President of these United States just issued an executive order allowing amnesty for five million illegals in the U.S. Now every shmoe from Tread’s great Auntie to the youngest foot soldier the cartels got will be trying to cross the border before that order takes effect.”
A hand shot up, and I face palmed when I realized it was the old screw-up, Benny. Prez mimicked my embarrassment.
“Benny, you just grab the fuckin’ beers and don’t ask questions, all right?” Harvey said, blowing him off.
“Sure, boss, I was just wondering what the hell an executive order is?” Benny asked, anyway.
At least my face palm wasn’t for nothing. “An executive order is a special power bestowed upon the President, typically during time of war, to allow him to make small decisions without going through Congress . . .” Condescending was an understatement at my tone with the old timer. I respected Benny for his time as my dad’s grenadier in Panama, but holy shit was he dumber than a two-handled pistol.
The Prez nodded towards me. “Can we get back to business now, Benny? Please?”
“Yes, boss. Sorry.”
“So, boys, I see two options for our stance on this. Do we lock our quiet part of the border down and feel patriotic or do we turn this into a business venture? Pros and cons?” Prez pointed to his right-hand man, Darnel.
“I’m all for making money, Prez. If we don’t, then some other asshole will.”
“And a con?” Prez asked.
“Regardless of what the hell we do, there’s gonna be criminals flooding into Texas, Arizona, Mexico, and Cali . . .” Darnel trailed off, pondering the meaning behind his statement. “There goes the neighborhood.”
Prez pointed to Lonny, the Road Manager. It was his job to plot the route for the runs to ensure it was low key and we didn’t go stepping on our neighbors’ toes with a bunch of cargo in tow. He had to know where the speed traps were, the rival MC’s borders, and setting up a safe place for us to stop for the night, preferably with a sister chapter of the MC.
“I don’t like it. If there’s no background check required, we’re going to be up to our assholes in cartel soldiers and maybe even Al Qaida shitheads.”
“Lookin’ for a pro and a con, Lonny, c’mon,” Royal interrupted, saving us from a long radical anti-Islam rant.
“Making that money will bring us the heat from Feds. We’re talking BP, ATF, DEA, and the FBI . . . That’s my con in case some of us are confused.” He leaned back and looked at Benny sitting in a children’s chair by the door.
“Let’s see, a pro . . . A pro could be networking, I guess. We could make a lot of contacts for future business as we screen who comes walking through our quiet town.”
“Good point, good point. Pete then Auggie, say your piece.” Prez continued in a counterclockwise motion around the table.
Pete and Auggie were the first and second lieutenants, respectfully. They could be trusted to run side jobs with the permission of the Prez and VP.
“Pro . . . money and side action, which is more money, will be plentiful here. Con would be the possibility of rivalries starting and blood feuds,” Pete put it simply.
“I agree with Pete’s con. All this traffic, there’s going to be blood spilt. A pro would be the new additions to the Soiled Doves we could take on, with my approval of course.” Auggie laughed, the old timer had his mind on women at a time like this.
I shook my head. I couldn’t wait until it was my turn to hold a seat at this table, speak, and have a vote. The first generation was starting to get up there in their years. As much as I loved these guys and they were my family, I still couldn’t help but look forward to my generation’s reign.
It was Royal’s turn. He seemed uninterested and distracted at the table. “Let’s vote,” was all he offered for opinion. I had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from reaching over and smacking him upside his fool-head.
“All right, VP, all right.” Prez grabbed the gavel. “Aye for turning a profit the likes of which we’ve never seen, nay for protecting our precious little border town.”
“Aye.”
“Nay.”
“Nay.”
“Aye.”
“VP?” Prez asked.
After a long pause, “Fuck it . . . aye,” Royal voted.
Three to two. It all came down to the Prez’s final vote now. I couldn’t imagine he would be for letting all those people just waltz in without at least paying a toll, not to mention it went against what the club was founded for: keeping illegals out.
“After hearing everyone’s pros and cons, I thank the members of this table. After careful consideration, I vote aye.”
“So what’s the play now?” Lonny shot up from his chair. “Just wave as Osama Bin Laden walks in and heads for downtown Albuquerque?!”
Not waiting for a reply, he left the room, and as the door slung closed we heard him order three shots of Johnny Walker.
“Sounds like he’ll be having a shit fit for the rest of the night,” chuckled Benny, still waiting by the door.
Hendrix and I both stood, but a few of the brothers pushed us back down.
“All right, enough drama, boys. I want ideas and thoughts on how to best capitalize on this by the morning. We’ll brief at 1400 right here tomorrow and get to work. Royal, call Dromo’s boys. They need to up surveillance at the well and just got extended three days. Enjoy the night, boys.” He pounded the gavel. “Adjourned.”
I sat and watched everyone leave and got my spot at the end of the train. I tapped Royal, who instinctively spun around with his fist clenched.
“Easy, bro. What’s up with you today?” I asked.
“It’s nothing. Just worried about this announcement, is all,” he growled.
“Bullshit, man. Let’s get a beer. We need to work this out so we can come up with a game plan.”
“I’m not pouring my fucking heart out like we’re girlfriends.”
I wrapped a hand around his neck and pushed him across the bar, snagging two bottles on the way.
“Hey, Gracie.” She looked up and gave me a sweet smile. “I’m gonna borrow your room for a few minutes. We’ll be right back.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek, getting a nose ful
l of apples from her shampoo. “Thanks, doll.” I walked away without giving her a chance to derail my plans. Royal and I followed the stairs up to the only room that I knew for sure was vacant. Kit’s turned Grace’s.
Hitting the door with my shoulder and lifting on the knob popped it open. It was an old trick we learned as kids, but I wondered absently if anyone had bothered to tell Grace. The loud cough from behind the door had both of us reaching for our guns.
“Damn fucking dog,” I muttered, taking in the slobbering face and drooping eyes, even when asleep.
I turned and bounced on the bed, getting comfortable against the headboard, watching Royal roam around. Lost. He picked up perfume bottles from the zillion she’d always collected on the dresser and sniffed them before choosing another.
He lifted a green bottle with a poofy thing on the side and twisted to me. “I got her this one for her sixteenth birthday, you remember that?”
“Yeah, dude,” I answered, though I could barely recall why it was such a big deal at the time.
He smiled down, looking happy for a moment, wistful even. “Her dad wouldn’t let her wear makeup or get any smell good shit, and she wanted something for prom. Said it wasn’t for the boys or anybody else. She just wanted to smell pretty.” He swallowed hard and set the bottle down gently in its place. “I gave her the first bottle she ever had, and she left it here like it was nothing.”
“I’m sorry, man. We’ll find her.”
“You’re fucking right we will. She could be anywhere in this goddamned country right now. Is she even in the country?” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What the fuck is she thinking? With this Obama thing, there’s gonna be every lowlife in South America coming here in our goddamned back yard.”
“Yeah, and you just voted to let them through.”
“What?” He spun around.
“Were you even in that fucking room just now?”
Royal stared at the dick apparently growing from my forehead.
“Yeah, bro, you just voted for the MC inviting cocksuckers with the right money to cross the border under our protection,” I explained to him. “Are you wearing your hearing aid?”
“Hell no, I don’t need that shit.” Royal protested, but clearly it wouldn’t hurt if he wore them.
“Well, what are we gonna do? We can’t just sit this one out because we don’t agree with it, and we have to get tabs on Kit. Furthermore, I cannot believe the Prez is even looking at this right now. His daughter is MIA. Family is supposed to be everything around here.”
“You got a good fuckin’ point there. Why wasn’t she even mentioned? Not even an update or new orders? What’s his game?” Royal asked himself as he trailed off again.
“Whoa, bud, come back to me.” I snapped my fingers at him and he glared my way. “Call it.”
He was puzzled. I felt like I was talking to a moron for a moment.
“Call the damn meet. Second gen. Choir practice, so we can fix this shit and get you back in the game.”
“All right, let the boys know,” he said as his gaze fell to the floor.
“All right, get your ass in the seat. We’ll be up in twenty. Screw your head on, brother. We need that tactical brain of yours.”
I stepped off smartly then rounded the corner, where I found some brother making out with a Soiled Dove. I passed them then opened the door behind them so they fell in, still making out like nothing had happened. I kicked their legs to the side and shut the door.
“Fucking cherries.”
I stepped around the banister and stomped down stairs, quickly finding most of my targets sitting at the bar chatting up my girl. I meant Grace.
“Sorry, doll, I gotta steal these assholes from you,” I addressed her with my arms opened wide over the shoulders of Mac, Alt, and Hendrix. The guys turned and looked at me with surprise, and raised brows.
“Upstairs in fifteen. Let’s go burn one.”
I turned to walk out front and the others stood up and followed suit. Outside, the sky was dark, the air was dry, and it was starting to get a little cool. I pulled down my long sleeves I had rolled up before sparking my cigarette. Thinking about what to say, I wanted to forewarn them about the meeting but that was against protocol, so I decided on misdirecting chatter to get their brains warmed up.
“So what’s y’all’s take on this Kit business?”
My gaze at the crowd was met with puzzled or blank stares.
“C’mon, guys, she’s like our little sister, which is odd because most of you nasty fucks have tried to take a run at her. Even with Royal all but claiming that. Don’t you think it’s kinda odd that we aren’t out there right now combing the whole southwest looking for her?”
“Hey, man, I’m worried, too,” Mac spoke out. “It’s just not our business until Prez makes it our business. You know that.”
“Yeah, you’re right, but I’m starting to think something happened between those two. Six months ago, I would put twenty large on us forming a frantic search party for Kit as soon as Prez found out. Now it just seems the old man is a little more callous.”
“Watch it, Tread, that’s the President of the Ronin MC,” Hendrix reminded me.
“No disrespect, just an observation, gents. I love that man and owe him everything I have. That my old man had. It’s just odd, is all. That’s his only kid.”
We finished our smokes, my mission accomplished. No one else spoke and I could see the gears grinding and whining in their heads. We shuffled back in and split up, a couple to the bar, a couple to the TV. I felt the urge to chat with Grace, and maybe take a few cheap shots at her horrible aim at pouring of liquor and beer, but I had other obligations.
I headed back upstairs to make sure Royal was where I needed him to be: at the head of the small table in the loft, with his head screwed on tight.
I took a peek over my shoulder towards Kit’s old room as I was nearing the top of the stairs to make sure the door was secured. I hung a right towards our meeting spot. To my relief, I found Royal sitting at the head of the table, slowly bellowing out cigarette smoke. He made eye contact—a good sign—and nodded towards my seat at his left.
“You good, bro?” I asked as I plopped down in my metal folding chair.
“Yeah, thanks,” he responded as he placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Anytime. I got the boys’ wheels turning a bit, but they’re still in the dark about what the meet is for. Hell, I know the meet had to happen, but where do you want to go with it?”
“Just wait and see,” he replied. “And I haven’t figured it out yet specifically.”
Silence filled the room, periodically broken by the faint sounds of a member entering and taking their place at our table. No one spoke. All eyes were attentive on Royal. As the last man took his seat, Royal snuffed out his cigarette and cleared his throat.
“All right,” he started, “we’re at this meet to discuss three topics. One: what’re the old men playing at with this move? Two: what are we going to do about Kit? Because it doesn’t seem like the old timers are doing much of anything. Finally, and this one depends on the first two, we’re going to discuss battle plans to brief Prez tomorrow.” He paused for effect as he surveyed the room. “Let’s brainstorm it out.”
“Firstly,” started Hendrix, “we gotta tighten our shot group. What I mean is, we’re getting lax about these meets. We need more time to plan and infiltrate without being conspicuous, otherwise we’re shot.”
“Noted.” Royal nodded to me and I nodded back.
“Secondly, I don’t know what the old timers are up to, but I don’t like writing off family such as Kit to go chase Mexican blood money. This club has more values than that.”
“Agreed.”
Everyone was taken aback a little by Royal’s agreement, given his vote. I knew he put it through, but all these guys knew Royal’s loyalty and that he had an eye for Kit since we were all sixteen, if not earlier.
“I think it’s fucking
bullshit. We protect our own. This is family. This is personal. One of ours is hanging out there by a thread waiting to get cut by our enemies. I know it wasn’t a flush vote, but what the fuck are the old men thinking? Money at a time like this? We’re doing all right God damnit. Why not rein in our own?” Mac protested, ending a little on the loud side.
Royal placed his index vertically on top of his lips. The universal signal for shut the fuck up.
“Yeah, Mac, I agree. I want to take this opportunity to apologize. I was . . . in another place at the table. I wouldn’t have voted the way I did if I were mindfully present.”
This took the table aback again. Apologies didn’t come from a VP very often. Never, really. It was a little unbecoming from a power position, but all of us at the table were brothers since diapers. That worked to our advantage over the first gen, and maybe a little to our disadvantage. Only time would tell.
“I see a retirement plan for some of the members. Some of the old timers may be looking at retiring from the game and leaving us to hold up the MC real soon. Except for Lonny. You could practically see the dollar signs in their eyes,” Alt admitted.
“Aye,” I stepped in. “Lonny and Auggie are getting older, and they’re already pulling their families towards the MC retirement home out in Deming. As it is, he was the voice of reason in there, and he pretty much just sleeps all damn day in the shop while the rest of us get work done. I would say he’s about ready to be done.”
“Shit, man, you think so?” Mac asked, obviously not thinking more than a few minutes ahead.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I can’t say I blame them. Twenty-five years on the job after their time in the military. This life ages you well before your time.”
“True,” the table repeated and nodded, having seen their parents be put in jail, in the ground, or fading before their eyes.
“Okay, so what the hell are we going to do about it?” Royal piped up.
The group quieted and turned their gazes towards the head of the table.
“I propose this . . .” Royal tapped his finger on the desk. “We have to support what was voted in. All right, we got it. We can do that, and track down Kit and try to bring her in. While most of us will be working either on missions or on the drill at the oil well, two of us need to ride out and hit up our old friend Stevie. He can hack into anything. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that she wouldn’t have left to do anything other than be a nurse. She always wanted to do it.”
Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) Page 10