“My boy Dan didn’t notice a woman.”
“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.” Jed shoots me a sly look. “Place gets crowded.”
Bullshit. Ain’t never been more than a dozen people in there, any time I’ve been. Even when there’s a game on.
“Did Dan the bartender hear what they talked about?” I ask.
Creech shakes his head. “He said they were real cozy in a booth. Heads together.”
“Fuckin’ blown job,” Grinder declares.
“Fuckin’ blown job,” a couple brothers echo.
It’s the reason that the Rebel Raiders and Steel Bones have been feuding since ’93. We used to be one happy club. Then it all fell apart.
“If Slip hadn’t asked Stones Johnson to take that load for him, we wouldn’t be in this situation today,” Eighty says, gettin’ warmed up. This is one of the old-timers’ favorite topics of conversation.
“If Stones Johnson hadn’t let that boy of his drive, they would’ve never gotten pulled over on Route 29,” Gus opines. “Boy had a lead foot.”
“Stones should’ve taken the River Road. Cops ain’t never on the River Road.” Boots adds.
“If whoever had fucking planted those Kalashnikovs under the cigarettes had done a better fucking job, Sheriff Do-Gooder would’ve never found ‘em.” Eighty hawks and spits in an empty beer can.
Sheriff Do-Gooder is Senator Do-Gooder now. The bust was huge deal. Made the papers and the nightly news. He rode the publicity all the way to Washington, D.C.
“That’s dumb as shit,” Cue Ball scoffs. “Stones would still have been busted for the cigarettes. What you think the cops are gonna do with three pallets of name-brand smokes? Leave ‘em in the truck when it goes up for auction? You can’t hide shit in a cargo container.”
“The question is who put them guns in that vehicle.” Gus leans back and strokes his chin.
“I still say Stones did it himself. He saw an opportunity, and he went into business for himself.” Eighty’s a proponent of the “inside job” theory.
Grinder’s a true believer in the “government conspiracy” theory. “Sheriff Fuck-nuts planted those guns. You gotta ask yourself. Who stands to benefit? Stones is in jail. Fuck-nuts is on C-SPAN. Who came out on top, eh?”
I don’t know the answer to that, but I know the clubs lost. Steel Bones and Rebel Raiders.
Stones and his oldest kid Knocker got twenty-year bids. Stones died on the inside. His other boys—Inch and Dutchy—blacked out their Steel Bones ink and founded the Rebel Raiders with Rab and Book Daugherty.
We could have lived in peace, but then when Stones died, Dutchy went crazy and brained Heavy’s little brother Hobs with a baseball bat. Now, there can be no peace. Only lulls in a two-decade war. It’d be worse if the Raiders were organized. Besides the Johnsons and the Daughertys, they don’t have much heart for the fight. They’re busy dealing meth and brawling.
“We may never know.” Gus leans back in his chair, lighting up a smoke.
“No.” Heavy doesn’t raise his voice, but it still rings out, and every man listens. “We will know. As the man says, ‘My righteousness draws near speedily. My arm will bring justice to the nations.’”
“Leviticus?” Grinder guesses.
“Isaiah.”
It’s a particular habit of Heavy’s to quote Scripture. His mother, Miss Linda, was always thumpin’ her Bible. She was a passionate woman, may she rest in peace.
“Does that mean we’re gonna go after the Raiders. Put ‘em all down? It’s past time.” Jed is bloodthirsty for a man who’s never had to take a life as far as I know.
“’For everything there is a season.’” Heavy answers.
“If we’re goin’ to war, it’s gonna have to wait until next week. I ain’t missin’ Spank the Devil.” Cue Ball’s got his priorities.
“We’re not gonna make a move until the time is right.” Heavy says. “And Mando from Los Insurrectos is bringing me up an 81’ custom from Nogales. No one’s missing Spank the Devil.”
Thank the Lord and Spank the Devil is one of the biggest rallies on the East Coast. It’s always the weekend before Thanksgiving, and it’s always a wild ride. Sharon’s managed to time her emergencies, so I haven’t been able to go the past three years.
“So we’re gonna do nothing? It’s clear the Raiders are trying to fuck with our business.” Big George says. “There’s no innocent reason Chaos was looking at those blueprints. He either knows or suspects something.”
This spy shit with Chaos is crazy, though. “Rab Daugherty is no criminal mastermind. If he was gonna come for us, it’d be with a gun.” It ain’t like the Raiders at all.
“No, he’s not,” Heavy agrees. “But Knocker Johnson is.”
And that’s the truth. In a club like this, everybody gets one thing. I know engines. Creech does tattoos. Cue eats pussy. Knocker Johnson was the smartest man anyone knew.
Until Heavy came into his own.
But that’s what everyone knows about Knocker. He had a Willie G special, and he was fuckin’ brilliant. He was older than me, but until he went away, we worshipped the guy. He was insane.
“Knocker’s got to be comin’ up for parole soon,” Pig Iron muses.
“Next month.” Heavy taps his fingers on the wood table.
“It look good?”
“No. They’re gonna make him serve out his sentence. But he’s only got four years left.”
“You think Knocker’s behind this?” Pig Iron asks.
“You think Rab Daugherty or Chaos had the idea to go after those blueprints?” Heavy raises his eyebrows.
I do not. Doesn’t seem like anyone else wants to argue the point.
“So what do we do? Chaos knew about the blueprints, so that means the Raiders likely know enough to get the Feds interested if they were so inclined. Or the Raiders can make trouble with our clients. We don’t know if she realizes it, but Dizzy’s house mouse has shit on us, too. We got a lot of exposure here.” Pig Iron looks to Heavy.
“I say you let me take that skinny bitch back to the basement. Alone. I’ll make her talk.” Jed makes sure to eye fuck me while he says it. From all the way over on the other side of the table. Pussy.
“We can go any time you want,” I remind him.
This wannabe badass. He thinks he can bait me. I ain’t uncertain about the size of my dick like he is. He ain’t takin’ Fay-Lee nowhere. I will be takin’ him to school, though. If not today, soon.
“Come on over here. We’ll see who the skinny bitch is.”
Heavy holds up a hand. “Now is not the time. I have a different idea. Pig Iron, when are you going up to SCI Wayne next?”
“I was thinkin’ I’d drop by on the way back from Spank.”
“Push that date up. Go on your way there. Ask Scrap what he hears about Knocker.”
“They ain’t in the same block. Knocker’s up the hill in medium security.”
Heavy nods. “Tell Scrap to let it be known that we will fill up the commissary, or bank account, of anyone who has information on our friend. Make sure the guards hear, too. I want to know who visits him. Who he calls. Who calls him.”
“We just gonna ignore the fact that we have a source of information prancing around out there in the commons?” Jed sniffs.
I push back from the table and make my chair screech just to watch him jump. It’s gonna be so unsatisfying to beat his ass. He’s such a poseur.
Heavy gives me a slight shake of the head. I raise an eyebrow.
“Pig Iron,” Heavy says. “Would you be okay with us taking Deb somewhere to get her to talk?
“You can’t shut her up.” Pig Iron chuckles. “But I believe you’re trying to make a point. So, no. You can’t touch my old lady.”
“The skank’s been here a hot second. She ain’t Dizzy’s old lady.” Jed must have developed a death wish.
“I’ll ask Nickel if he’s cool with us takin’ Story down to the basement next time I see him. When
he’s got questions, I’ll refer him to you.” Pig Iron claps Jed on the back. “You’re wrong, young blood. And you’re racking up the ass-whuppins. Don’t mistake Dizzy’s restraint for weakness. I been huntin’ with the man many times. He waits for his shot.”
It ain’t a lie.
Heavy bangs a fist on the table. “So if there’re no objections, I propose we release funds not to exceed ten thousand dollars to shake the trees up at SCI Wayne and see what we can find out about Knocker Johnson. Dizzy talks to his mouse. Finds out what she knows.”
“Motion seconded,” Grinder says.
“All in favor.”
There’s a smattering of “ayes” and an “I need a beer” from Boots.
“Motion carries.”
We file out. I notice that Heavy and Grinder wave Jed ahead. They’re only saving him time. We’re gonna have it out. I don’t know why he has a hate-boner for my woman, but he’s gonna learn he doesn’t speak her name.
My woman.
Shit. I can’t think that way. She’s over a decade younger than I am. She’s pretty and bright and happy. If I claim her, what’s stoppin’ shit from going down the same way it did with Sharon?
Maybe it’ll be good for a while. Maybe we make it official. Have a baby or two. And then she grows up. She wants more. A class at the community college. A promotion. A dude who cuts his hair and wears a suit.
And then I’m a weekend dad again, alone in a house full of shit I didn’t buy. But it’d be worse. ‘Cause I’ve known Fay-Lee only a few days, and I can’t stand it when I don’t know where she is. What’s that feel like in a few months? Years?
It’s a fuckin’ mistake even thinkin’ down that road. She’s more girl than woman. As evidenced by the fact that she did not stay where I put her. When I come back to the commons, she’s coming down the stairs from the bunks.
That—coupled with my bleak thoughts—riles me up.
“What were you doin’ up there?”
She blinks, surprised. “I was looking for something I lost.”
“What?”
People are staring. I ain’t bothering to keep my voice down. My temper’s rising. Jed talked all that shit, and I was frosty. But this girl makes me worry for a second, and my blood’s hot.
“You’re not the boss of me.” She raises her chin.
Wrong. “Oh, I am.”
She gets an ornery look, and her gaze darts left and right. She’s gonna bolt. I grit my teeth so I don’t grin, my grumpiness evaporating.
I hope she does. My dick perks to life. I’m gonna give her a head start, and then I’m gonna catch her, throw her over my shoulder, and—
“What’s for dinner?” Carson comes racing down the hall and skids to a stop, slamming into my thigh. Oof. This kid’s getting meat on him.
Fay-Lee breaks into a wide, lop-sided smile.
She’s gonna regret that tonight.
“I don’t know. What’s for dinner, house mouse?”
That dims her smile. My stomach sinks. I want it back.
“There’s mac and cheese in the cabinet. You could make that,” she sasses. “I like it made with milk, not water.”
“Who makes it with water?” Carson turns up his nose.
Fay-Lee bristles. “You’ve never been out of milk?”
But you can just tell it wasn’t a matter of being out of milk. How hard was it where she came from? I assumed she was naturally thin, but I’m curious to see what happens when I feed her.
“Let’s go get Parker. I’ll make dinner.”
I want my woman nice and full. I’m gonna wear her out tonight. She’s gonna need her strength. She’s gonna tell me why she was wandering around the clubhouse all by herself. And I’m gonna love makin’ her tell me.
7
FAY-LEE
I searched the clubhouse top to bottom for my phone. It’s definitely gone. No one has seen it. The only places I didn’t check were the occupied rooms upstairs, and it’s probably not there. The longer I’m here, the more I realize that Steel Bones is sitting pretty. None of the brothers would be interested in a crappy prepaid phone.
As we drive to pick up Parker, nerves start swirling in my stomach. If my phone’s well and truly gone, I don’t have a Plan B. I don’t know anyone’s number by heart except my Gram’s, and she passed three years ago.
What were the guys meeting about? It seemed like serious business. Prospects were posted at the door, and no one dared walk past. People who wanted to go out to the yard went out the front and circled around back.
They couldn’t have been talking about me, again, could they? I thought it was settled. I took the deal. I’m the house mouse, and I pretend that they’re not acting really weird.
A reasonable reaction to catching me squatting would be to have the sweetbutts beat my ass and send me on my way. But they decided to keep me close. Like I got something they want. Or I know something I shouldn’t.
It’s hot in the cab, and somehow, Carson smells like wet dog. He’s got his earbuds in, cackling and snorting randomly. I think he’s watching cartoons. I roll down the window. I need fresh air.
It’s only six o’clock, but the sun’s going down. The gust whipping in the window is deliciously cold. I stick a hand out to ride the wind and let the chill numb my fingertips.
Dizzy shoots me a quizzical look, and I turn to meet his eye.
“Am I in trouble?” I ask.
He searches my face. “I ain’t gonna let anyone hurt you.”
Shit. That’s not a “no.”
“Does someone want to hurt me?”
“No, baby. Just—” He works his jaw, focusing back on the road. “If you know something, you got to tell me. There ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle. But you gotta tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
He thinks a long minute. “If Chaos asked you to do something. Take something. I ain’t mad. You didn’t know us then. You were in a hard way. But you gotta tell me now.”
“He didn’t ask me to do anything.”
“You can tell me the truth, Fay-Lee.”
My face heats. I’m not a liar. “If you’re accusing me of something, spit it out.”
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Goddamn.”
“They think I stole from them? More than some food?”
Is this a trap? Did they let me go with Dizzy so they could watch me, see if I led them back to whatever it is they think I stole? Like I’m a fuckin’ pirate who buried some booty?
“Calm down,” Dizzy says.
“I am calm.”
“Your knee’s tapping.”
“I didn’t steal anything.” Besides the food. And booze. And a few bucks I lifted off folks who’d passed out.
We pull up at Carl Baker’s big ol’ house, and I’ve got my arms crossed tight, and I’m glaring out the window. Dizzy tries to catch my eye. I hike up my chin.
He sighs.
“Be right back.”
He’s in there a long time. Long enough that the truck cab cools. I didn’t think to buy a jacket when I sprinted through the store earlier like Supermarket Spree. That was a missed opportunity. Carson’s playing on his phone, passing gas in the back like an old dog. It’s so cold that I deal with it. Breathe through my mouth.
When they come back, Parker wrenches open the back door, hops in, and slams it shut. Dizzy hauls himself up, head low, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.
“What happened?” Carson’s phone is off, and he’s all ears. An asteroid could have hit this car on the ride here, and I swear he wouldn’t have noticed, but now, he’s fully present.
“Nothing,” Parker mutters.
“Not your business,” Dizzy says.
The atmosphere in the cab gets even more tense. We drive about a mile in total, stewing silence, until we turn down the road to home and Parker breaks, blowing up.
“I didn’t call him a pussy!” He tries to keep it cool, but in no time, he’s shouting in earnest, face brig
ht purple. “I said Smith is a pussy, and he is a pussy! I didn’t pick ‘em. I wouldn’t pick a pussy to play! And I sure as shit wouldn’t be a pussy and tell my daddy about it, if someone did call me a pussy, which I didn’t!”
The snort slips out before I can stop it. And then a snicker.
Dizzy frowns at me, but Carson’s giggling now, and I can’t stop. Soon, we’re both howling, and Parker’s baring his teeth, clenching his fists. Carson better watch out. He’s in range.
Dizzy pulls into the driveway. Parker lunges for the doorknob, and Dizzy engages the locks with a snick.
“No one goes nowhere.”
Shivers zip down my spine. It’s a voice you can’t ignore. Some primitive part of me whimpers and bares her neck.
We all simmer down. I’m only a little scared. I don’t think he’s going to lose his temper. He hasn’t yet. But the nerves are delicious. Like at the top of the Ferris wheel at the carnival.
Dizzy gazes into the rearview. “Look at me, boy.”
Parker raises his chin the minimum acceptable amount. His black hair’s sticking up at all angles, and his young face is hard and mean. He’s the one who resembles his daddy, but they have such different temperaments.
Dizzy starts, “It ain’t about calling him a pussy or not. You disrespected that man’s house. He invited you as his son’s guest, and you disrespected his home. You apologize for that.”
“We were in Carl’s bedroom! No one heard but us. Carl’s brother was saying way worse shit.”
“Don’t matter.”
“Carl’s a goddamn snitch.”
“Don’t matter.”
“I should’ve just told his dad I didn’t say it.” Parker hunches over.
“Then you’d be a liar, wouldn’t you?” Dizzy lets his head fall back against the headrest. “Listen. Carson, you listen, too. There are three things to learn here. One. You disrespect a man in his own house—I don’t care if you meant to or not—you apologize. A man’s home is his castle.”
Carson nods sagely, as if he’s heard this before, and it doesn’t get more true. I wouldn’t know. I do know that a woman’s home is more or less a motel for ingrates, in my experience. Don’t know about a man’s house. Until Dizzy’s, I never been in one.
Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel Page 11