Sonar grunted at me. "Get out, Jimmy." He indicated the door.
I stood, feeling like a used condom.
"And Jimmy."
I looked back at the vice president.
He was scowling. "Outstanding work."
I walked out feeling as if I were on top of the world.
CHAPTER 8
I stayed in the clubhouse with the other hang-arounds and the old ladies, including the prospect Miguel. The patched members filed out to the gated yard and further on into one of the garages where they repaired bikes.
I asked Grannie, "They hold church in that greasy shop back there?"
"Club meeting. They don't really sing hymns." She laughed with a slight wheeze, but nowhere as severe as her husband Gunner's.
Donna and Kristy were talking about something, probably girl stuff. But Donna was more like Dragon than Kristy. While I could picture Dragon and Donna riding together as members, I could never see Kristy being the patched type. Too vulnerable. Too frail. Like Angela. Not as bad as Angela, but more like her than a biker.
Miguel came out from the kitchen. "This prospect stuff is bullshit."
Smoke laughed at him. "Stick it out, if you wanna be a patched member."
He blew out a breath. "I'm done with that back there, anyway."
She muttered, "That was fast."
~ ~ ~
The club meeting was two hours long.
Grannie and Smoke seemed to think that was fast.
The bikers filed in, somber looks on their faces. A bunch of them surrounded Miguel. Sonar said, "Well done, Demon Rider."
Miguel chuckled. "The kitchen?"
Dealer patted him on the back and shoved a vest into his hands. "No, for making the cut."
Miguel's eyes lit up. He unfolded the colors Dealer had handed him. The nickname Demon Rider was over the left breast. "No more cleaning kitchens?"
The bikers laughed.
They shared drinks after that and then left Demon Rider to revel on his own as a fully patched member. I was near the bar with him as he was talking to Smoke.
"I'll see you tomorrow." He grabbed his helmet and stalked out.
I set my empty glass on the counter. I was staring after Miguel. "I'll be back in a bit."
"Sure thing, Jimmy."
I really, really hated that name. Made me want to go by Butch or Brutus. Anything but Jimmy. What was I? Some little kid in rags wearing his hat backwards? I got on my bike.
Miguel was already down the street and turning.
I started up and pulled out, slowly accelerating. My bike was relatively quiet compared to the others – unless I revved to demonstrate. Some in the club believed loud bikes saved lives – the people in cages could hear them coming, or riding along in their blind spot. It made sense, but the noise level to achieve that bordered on abusive.
I turned on C Street and saw Miguel turning left ahead. My heart started to beat faster. He was ahead of me but if I was fast, I could close the distance. I assumed he was going for the motel. On that assumption, I flew past C Street, going forty-five in a twenty-five. I ran the next light in a full on run against a red light. I hoped none of the three police on duty were parked nearby.
I flew up to A Street, my windbreaker whipping around me. It did nothing to stop the wind and left me chilled. But I was hyped from wondering if Miguel was going to that same motel. Why didn't I mention that to Sonar? Duh. But I couldn't text him now – not with Demon Rider being patched. Not unless I was totally sure of something.
I roared up A and coasted into the parking lot at the realtor's office. I killed the light and engine. A cop was parked, giving a ticket to some knob in an SUV. Miguel - Demon Rider - was passing him. He turned on A and entered the motel parking lot.
I pulled out my phone and captured a vid of him getting off his bike. There was no white four-door sedan there, but there was a white full-sized van. He knocked on the back door of it and it opened. He climbed in.
That's weird. Who knocks on a van door? Why not the motel room? Who sits in a van? The van had no windows except at the front. I waited. And waited some more. I began to wonder if Miguel had exited a side door on the other side when the back door opened.
He hopped out, patting his vest on the left side.
Why would he pat his vest? Envelope of money? Something else? He rode off.
I started my bike, then saw three men leaving the van and heading to the room Ace had knocked at earlier. This is rotten, for sure.
~ ~ ~
I worked my shift the next day after a particularly frantic fuck with my wife. The image of her senseless and getting bone-hammered by Viking was one I'd never forget.
I was standing outside the Daily Dollar with Twenty when two Harley's roared up. I recognized Slicer and Meatgrinder, right away. I tensed, not knowing what Twenty would do. I glanced at him, but he ignored me. He watched the two SOA members dismount.
Slicer nodded at me.
Meatgrinder mock-slugged my arm. "Hey there, Jim." At least he called me by my name. They walked into the bar.
Twenty pushed off the wall and followed them in. He was right on their asses.
I followed, wondering what was going to blow up. Twenty was the Iron Crow's Sergeant at Arms. He was the mean motherfucker who had manhandled me when I was chained and captive. Nice as all shit now, he had been all business when he had thought me a federal agent.
Twenty wedged himself in between the two SOA bikers at the bar. He had to pry his way between and he did it as if he owned both them and the bar. He said, "When things go down, where is honor?"
They didn't understand that. Neither did I.
Twenty said, "Some guys like the club. The camaraderie. The freedom. Others like fucking things up. I wonder what column you two fit in?"
Meatgrinder stiffened. "Are you saying we have no honor?"
Twenty muttered, "I'm asking."
"We're the new force in town and we aren't backing down."
Twenty straightened. "Going to beat people and push drugs?"
Slicer said, "We didn't sign on for that."
"And what did you sign on for?"
"Being in a motorcycle club. Being part of something with the brotherhood."
Twenty smirked. "How long did it take you to earn that patch?"
Slicer looked confused. "I earned it when we formed the club."
"Did you, now?"
Slicer nodded.
Twenty said, "Are you sure of all your... brothers?"
"What do you mean?"
I moved to the side and leaned against the bar.
Twenty said, "Are you certain that each of your brothers would be at your side even if you're outnumbered ten to one?"
Neither answered.
The Iron Crows sergeant at arms straightened and backed away. "Our club fights drug dealers, gang members... and government agencies trying to establish drug rings. Remember that when things go down. Enjoy your drinks."
I watched him walk out. So did Celia and the two SOA bikers.
Meatgrinder leaned over towards me, fast. "We were told the Iron Crows were dealers for the Outlaws."
I shook my head. "Nope." I told him the truth. "I took a knife helping one of the Iron Crows stop some Surenos from scouting around."
"Surenos?"
"Mexican gang trying to expand territory up here. They wear blue. Lots of blue."
Slicer nodded. "We saw a few of them some days back."
I pulled up the leg of my jeans. "There's my scar. Was twelve stitches."
Meatgrinder goggled. "How many were there?"
"Four."
"And just you and one Iron Crow?" He sounded disbelieving.
Something in me went hard and I stopped leaning, standing to my full height. But my chin was down and so were my eyebrows. "I wouldn't fucking lie about such a thing. It happened right out front."
He held up a hand. "No disrespect."
It struck me then how different the SOA bikers were to the
Iron Crows. The IC members didn't give a shit if they offended someone who wasn't a member. Who wasn't patched. These SOA bikers did. There was a boatload of difference between the two.
Slicer said, "What did he mean saying when things go down?"
I honestly didn't know. Was it something to do with the meeting they had? "I don't know."
~ ~ ~
I mumbled to Kristy at three in the morning. "I feel like something's going down but I'm clueless."
She snuggled her face into my chest. Her arm rested across my belly, lower than it had a few months ago; I was losing weight. "You felt left out of the meeting?"
"Church? Yeah, I guess. I wonder what they do in there? Is it some massive bloodletting and sacrificing goats or something?"
She giggled. "Grannie said they talk club business. Read minutes, go over business."
"Sounds dull."
She nodded. "Yep, that's what she said Gunner has said about it."
"Twenty seemed to imply things were going to happen."
She shrugged again. "They meet, they make a decision. Something happens."
I chuckled at her simplicity, wondering why I didn't have the same view.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No, just wondering why I'm obsessing over it all."
I had a feeling things were happening. The problem was, I didn't know how fast they were going to happen.
CHAPTER 9
I wandered into the clubhouse the next morning with Kristy and headed to the kitchen. The smell of bacon permeated the building with welcome. Smiley was crossing in front of us.
He stopped and smiled, typical for him. "Morning."
I waved at the club secretary. "How goes?"
"Very well, I think." He winked at me – uncharacteristically.
What the fuck was that? I followed him into the kitchen and told Grannie I'd take scrambled eggs. Just like my head – all scrambled to shit. There was a bite of chill in the air out and in the clubhouse. I resolved to ride to town and buy some denim shirts and jacket after breakfast. Couple hours to get there, couple hours back and I'd still have plenty of time to make my shift.
I sat with my eggs. Gunner was on my left and Ghost across from us. Ghost was the club's treasurer. He was always scowling, so I didn't take it personally when he scowled at me this morning; I just ignored him and ate my eggs.
Gunner nudged me. "So you're turning into a Sons of Aggression member?"
I coughed. "Um, no."
"You've been hanging with them."
I didn't know what Dealer had said to him or any of the others. Or if Sonar had. I didn't want to step on club business, so I said, "I was invited and Dealer said I should accept. Most of them seem like decent guys. Not like Ace."
Gunner grunted. "The blind leading the blind?"
I wasn't sure what to make of that, so I chewed some bacon instead. Why is the old silverback getting up on my ass? I'm doing what I was told to do. "I tell the club everything I know."
Gunner didn't answer. Ghost scowled.
Fuck, I am who I am. I do what I'm told. I got up, yanking my plate off the table.
Kristy looked up at me, but I ignored her.
My plate hit the counter with a small clatter and I stalked out, much like Miguel – Demon Rider – had the night before. I saw him, coming in. He pressed his vest on the left side when he saw me.
You still carrying that cash around?
Dealer came out of his hallway and called to Demon Rider. "Hey, Demon. We're throwing a little bash for you at the Triple Shot tonight at seven. You come, too, Jimmy."
I waved at him.
Miguel ducked his head and pressed against his vest again.
I went outside and got on my bike.
~ ~ ~
The ride back to the town I had left was somber. I felt no connection to where I was going, but rather to what I was leaving. I felt better than I had months prior when I married Kristy. It seemed like marrying her was the turning point in my life. And not just because we loved each other and fit so well together. But also the events of the marriage that had led us to this place.
I had gone from a life of exclusion to including Kristy – and in her, much the same in reverse. She had included me. Then, taken captive, we had found a strange sort of justice and honor with a motorcycle club that we had first thought a gang.
But the Iron Crows were not a gang. They didn't extort or threaten. They went about their lives as human beings with a bond. Their family was the club. Instead of raping old women and pushing drugs, they fought to keep child molesters off the streets and gangs from pushing in and soiling society.
I wondered, as I rode, what had become of the child molester that Sheriff Jefferson had given information on to Dealer. I heard nothing else of it at the club. But the club held a stack of newspapers that were often read by the members. Maybe I'll go back some weeks and look.
I pulled into the Fairview Mall and parked in a motorcycle spot up front. Three of the four motorcycle spots were taken up by some dick in a new Camaro who had parked across all three spaces. I got off my bike and quickly keyed his car all down the opposite side. Fucker.
I went into the mall feeling better.
I shopped at a Levi's outlet. I passed on the pre-greased, pre-stressed jeans. They all looked disgusting to me. I chose several pairs of boot-cut Levi's in black and piled them on the counter. I picked up a few Levi's blue denim shirts and added them.
The girl at the counter looked at me as if I might be trying to scam her. I ignored the little bitch. I next fingered through several jackets until I found a Levi's trucker jacket that was lined. I took one and added it to the pile. "Ready."
Gail looked at me suspiciously.
I said, "I assume you accept cash?" I stressed her name. "Gail?"
She blinked and said, "Of course." Her suspicion was dismissed.
Carrying the bag out, five hundred dollars lighter, I went to a sporting goods store and bought a backpack and leather boots. Out in the courtyard, I removed all the tags and put on the jacket and boots. Then I stuffed all the rest into the new backpack.
Out in the parking lot, I approached my Harley. Asshole in the red Camaro was still parked there. I took my key and keyed up and down the near side. Then I got on my bike and rode away. Maybe the stupid fucker wouldn't think his shit didn't stink and take up car spots instead of motorcycle spots next time.
I rode back to Keystone, enjoying the cool breeze that touched my face and not my body. I'm going to throw that stupid, useless windbreaker away.
I dropped the backpack at home and set out the new jeans for Kristy to handle. I tossed the fucking windbreaker in the trash. No use hanging onto shit I'd never use again. Out with it; just like the plastic.
I rode to the Daily Dollar, even though I was early.
Six bikes were parked out front.
I frowned, wondering if they were trashing my bar. Why so many? What the fuck? I strode in with a scowl, ready to face-punch anyone harassing Celia. Or yank my Beretta Nano and start laying waste.
The bar was peaceful. Five Iron Crows were in there and one SOA member: Slaughter, their VP.
I waved to Slaughter to put him at ease. He was at the other end of the bar, facing off against the five Iron Crows.
He looked relieved to see me. "What's up, Jim?"
I grunted, "Bah, nothing."
He got up. "Come outside with me."
The five IC members looked at us with searching eyes, but said nothing. Among them was Gripper.
I followed Slaughter out. "They treat you okay?"
Slaughter jerked as if in realization. "Yeah... actually. But there's something else." He looked very disturbed.
"What is it?"
"Ace went missing."
I stopped outside, facing my bike. "What do you mean?"
"I went to his house. In his garage, things were knocked over as if there had been a fight. The garage door was open. Outside the garage was a blue bandana." He g
ripped my jacket and tugged, forcing me to face him. His voice was low and dangerous. "Do any of the Iron Crows wear bandanas?"
"No, except for Gunner, and he wears red. But blue..." My mind was racing.
"What is it?"
"The Surenos we fought wore blue bandanas."
"The Mexican gang?"
I nodded.
"Why would the Mexicans want Ace?"
"Maybe they knew he wanted to open up drugs in Keystone. Maybe they didn't want the competition."
He released my jacket and rubbed a hand back through his shoulder-length hair. "Will they ask for a ransom or something?"
I didn't answer, just shook my head.
He sighed loudly in exasperation. "Everything's ruined. We just wanted to ride."
I was quiet for a moment, letting the realization that Ace might be dead sink in. "Maybe you still can."
"What do you mean?"
"Approach the Iron Crows. They've fought against the Surenos. They fight to keep Keystone free of drug dealers."
He glared at me, but his gaze softened. "I don't know. Would they really even consider us?"
I nodded very slowly. "They might scrutinize you a little closer than normal, but if you love to ride and want to keep drugs out of Keystone, they're your club."
He laughed incredulously. "Ace seemed so sure they were all a bunch of posers."
I laughed. "I think that's how they've been referring to you guys."
He firmed his lips and looked down. "I wondered if we had gone about forming the wrong way."
"You did."
"You seem to know a lot about these guys."
I held up my hands. "I'm an outsider, swear to Jesus."
He looked me in the eyes for a long time. He slowly began to nod. "I trust you, Jim."
"You should."
He blew out a loud breath. "I need to gather the club. Have a meeting."
I leaned towards him, placing my hand on his shoulder. From what Gunner had told me, it was a direct sin against the colors. But Slaughter didn't even react. I said, "Do the right thing, Slaughter." I squeezed his shoulder and shook it in affirmation. I knew by his reaction that he wasn't even aware of the violation of his colors. Because he hadn't earned them by learning.
The night was about to get a lot more interesting.
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