Watcher

by MariaLisa deMora

  “You got nothin’ to say, Watcher? Got nothing to give me? Years under my patch, and you got nothing for me?” Shooter sighed theatrically, propping his head in his hand as if all this were too tiresome to bear. “Years as an Outrider, and you got nothing?”

  “Oh, I got something, John.” A strategy, to take back the man’s road name, given to him by Mason. Take a moment to remind John he’d never called Watcher anything other than the name he’d earned in the service, but John Morgan had just been John when they first met. “You ain’t gonna like it, and you’re gonna have to suck that shit up, but I got something for ya.” Leaning forwards, Watcher tapped the table with one fingertip, his controlled motion a menacing contrast to Shooter’s wild slap moments before. “I got a big, fat hairy no for ya.”

  “’Bout right,” Shooter drawled, tipping his head back. It wasn’t a smart move because Watcher saw him swallow nervously and knew there was more riding on this meet than a simple route request. “Never did have any loyalty in your gut.”

  “And you never had any smarts in your head, considering it’s been shoved up your ass for fuckin’ years,” Spider spit out, and Watcher had to fight a grin when Shooter’s foot hit the floor with a thud. “Knew your daddy, see how you wanna be like him, but you don’t got it in ya.”

  Watcher held up his hand again, once again having to fight a grin when Spider harrumphed.

  “John,” Watcher began, then stopped when Shooter’s face flamed red. “Shooter,” he corrected himself, aiming barely south of respectful. “You had to know the answer’d be no. Especially when you didn’t come in here with a grateful heart I even bothered to fuckin’ meet with you.” Watcher shook his head, pushing his chair back from the table, catching the eye flare of half the men standing behind Shooter. Today’s meeting was more important than Shooter let on. The Outriders needed this for some reason. “I took the meet for old times’ sake. You”—he flicked a finger towards Shooter—“didn’t make the right move. And now”—he pushed to his feet, seeing Luke’s eyes narrow—“I’m done.”

  “You don’t do this, then I got no choice in what I do next, Watcher.” Shooter leaned one elbow on the tabletop. “I need a route. Not even asking for escort. Simply passage.”

  “You didn’t ask for anything,” Watcher reminded him. “Just came in actin’ an ass.”

  “You weren’t gonna give it anyway.” Shooter stood, made a motion with one hand and turned to follow his men from the room. Luke stood still, eyes locked on Watcher until after his father cleared the room. Then he spun on his heel and stalked out.

  “So…that went well,” Spider quipped, and Watcher turned to look at him. “What?”

  “Cracking wise ain’t makin’ me happy, Spider. You didn’t help, brother.” Watcher twisted to look at the door, swinging slowly back and forth in the wind, opening onto the darkness of the parking lot. “Make a couple of calls, get the brothers organized for a club-wide meeting tomorrow night. Everyone needs to know.” He shook his head. “Shooter’s a crazy motherfucker, and he’s not above pulling family into shit. Gotta get ourselves ready.”

  ***

  Juanita

  She leaned against the headboard of the bed with the welcome weight of Watcher’s upper body across her legs. He’d come back tonight edgy and anxious, and together they’d worked the tension out of his muscles. A workout for my muscles, too, she thought. She grinned down at him, watching her fingers push through his thick hair, enjoying the feel of it against her skin. She loved the way he looked, hair scarcely beginning to go gray at the temples.

  “What’s the grin for, honey?” Pressing his head back, he lifted his chin in a demand she welcomed, rounding her spine so she could bend down to press her lips against his.

  “Thinking that might be my favorite way to end the day.” She pushed her fingers through his hair again, combing it back from his forehead. “And then I thought this might be better.” She sighed, tipping her head backwards against the padded headboard. “I love spending time with you.”

  “Me, too.” He twisted, turning to his side so his face rested on her thighs. “Like spending time with me, I mean.”

  She laughed and his voice joined hers, filling the room with joy. “Love you, Watcher.”

  “Love you, too, ‘Nita.” Rolling forwards, he pressed his lips to her belly, gracing her with a soft kiss. “Love you.”

  ***

  Watcher

  Shaking his head, Watcher flipped his phone shut, disconnecting the call. He’d gotten off the phone with Mason, who had called him to check out the man Watcher’d sent to the Rebel Wayfarers bar. Andy had used Watcher’s name, which led to the call. Rebels would be a good fit for the kid, Watcher mused, looking down at the paperwork on the desk in front of him. Southern Soldiers were in the process of buying a new pawn shop, and he’d been looking through the financials when Mason called.

  Looks good on paper. He picked up the description of inventory, scanning down through the items listed, knowing fully a third of what was in the store wasn’t actually on the spreadsheet. Looks better in person. Phone to his ear again, he waited for Opie’s greeting. “Let’s buy this one.” Pulling another sheet towards him, he read off the name, “Locker Room. The pawn shop by the airbase in El Paso. We can have Devil on it, be good for him to get outta Cruces. Put Diamond on it with him.”

  Diamond needed something to do. Since getting winged in Mexico, he’d pulled back from the club, and Watcher worried about losing him. Putting him into play at a shop would give him a connection to the club, and him understanding how the shop’s success helped every brother would settle him in other ways.

  “Yeah, boss. I’ll make the call.” Opie agreed readily, and Watcher grinned. It had been Opie’s eyes that found it, his leverage which located the vulnerable spot for the current owner, and his research had pulled together the info needed to make a decision. “Take a couple of weeks to finalize, but since we can pay cash, it’ll go easier.”

  Watcher scoffed. “Easier once you show where the eighty-grand came from.” One of the laws that came into play after 9/11 was accounting for large amounts of cash, which was why these kind of cash-heavy businesses were prevalent with clubs.

  “You know I got it covered. Everything accounted for and logged, no worries, boss.” Opie reassured him, and his voice trembled with the force of the grin he had to be wearing. “We’ll be in possession before the end of the month, at least that’s what I’ll push for.”

  “Good deal.” His phone beeped, and he pulled it away, looking down to see an unknown caller, but by the Chicago number, it was probably Andy. “I gotta go, got another call.” He clicked over to accept the call, saying only, “Talk to me.”

  “My friend.” Heavily accented English came through the phone and he unconsciously straightened in his chair. Bones. “How are you this pleasant day?”

  “Good, Bones. How about you? You doin’ okay?” Speak of the devil. He hadn’t thought about the man in months and not fifteen minutes after Mason brought him up, Watcher got a call from him. Before Bones could respond, Watcher continued, “Heard you met my boy the other day. How’d you like him?”

  “Your…boy?” There was an odd pause, then Bones asked, a thread of clear pleasure in his voice. “Of who do you speak? I was not aware you had a boy. When did your beautiful Juanita gift you with a son? And why did you not call me? I would rejoice with you at the news.”

  Watcher’s stomach hollowed, lurching. Throat tight, he got out, “Andy.” He coughed. “Andy Jones. Understand you ran into him on a run. Liked what you saw. Liked it enough you gave him a marker.” The longer he talked, the farther he got away from the surprising pain, the stronger his voice became.

  Not quickly enough to fool Bones, though. As ever, the astute man on the other end of the phone remained on target. “My friend.” Bones’ voice was low, and quiet, sharing his own discomfort through strained tones. “I did not mean to bring you pain. Your words took me off my guard. I apologize
for the misstep.”

  “No apologies needed, Bones. Juanita…” He trailed off, not certain how to continue because he hadn’t talked to anyone about this. It was private, but Bones knew so much about them. He was more like family. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Watcher continued, stumbling as he tried to find the right words. “Juanita had to…there was another…but she couldn’t. It busted, so they had to do surgery. She cain’t…I mean, we can’t have more.” Sucking in a breath, he said, “We’ve got Isabella, and Carmela. All we need.”

  Silence for a long moment, then a ragged indrawn breath before Bones said, a curious intensity in his voice, “Of course they are. I am so sorry to learn of your Juanita’s difficulties. So very sorry. I wish I could lift this from your path, my friend.” Bones made a sound, clearing his throat. “Please tell her you are both in my thoughts. I will light a candle for her healing.”

  Watcher nodded, even knowing Bones couldn’t see him. “She’d like that. I appreciate all you…your care for her.”

  “She is your queen. I can do no less.” The statement was filled with meaning, and Watcher again swallowed hard, because every nuance was true. Juanita was his queen, his life, the breath in his body, and knowing his friend recognized the commitment and bond between them filled Watcher with a deep satisfaction.

  “So Andy is yours? Why is he in Chicago?” Bones changed the subject, and from the surprise in his voice, Watcher knew this topic wasn’t why he had called.

  “Not mine, mine, but I sent him Mason’s way. He was in Las Cruces a while. Worked at a bar we were buyin’, got interested in the life. Hung with my Soldiers for a little bit, never got past the hangaround phase. He’s a solid man, like so solid I was ready to patch him in. Woulda done it in a heartbeat. Had him ride into Mexico with me. Was there the day we brought back Mela.” Watcher found himself recounting the story again. “She latched onto him, trusted him, even with blood runnin’ down his leg. Dogs and kids, man, they tell the tale.”

  “I can see that about him. He was very collected when I ran upon him. We were mid, shall we say conversation? Yes, midconversation with the Dominos. He did not seem concerned about being caught up in our conversation, even as it raced down the street in front of him.” Bones laughed, the sound rolling quietly through the speaker. “So he has landed at Jackson’s and found a home in the Rebels. Why am I not surprised? Mason seems to be collecting quite the menagerie of people.”

  “What does that mean?” Even from Bones’ own words, he had to know Andy wasn’t odd. Andy was a solid guy, one of about a million simply looking for a place to call home. Not an oddity which would attract Bones’ attention, except as someone he might like to recruit for his own club. This meant something else was going on. Rumor and speculation, the bikers’ gossip mill.

  “He has found a woman. She lives near to hand.” Interesting. Mason wasn’t known for taking tail home. “Mason has lost…focus.”

  “Lost focus in what way?” Unsettling news, because if the Rebel Wayfarers leadership wasn’t stable, it could negatively impact dozens of smaller organizations in the Midwest. Mason had dedicated himself to cleaning up his old club, and once the members had settled onto their new path, he then devoted himself to expanding and growing the Rebels, but only in a sustainable way. Mason hadn’t sounded unfocused when they were on the phone five minutes ago, but people could hide shit.

  “I have known Mason almost as long as you.” Bones was one of the few who knew about the childhood connection between Mason and Watcher, not a tie they tried to hide but didn’t bring it out to chat about. Bones had met Mason back when he first came to Chicago, before he became the man he was. From Mason’s stories, Watcher knew the history with Bones was forged in blood, Bones offering support in critical ways. “I have seen him in many situations.”

  Bones paused, and there was soft laughter in his voice when he continued. “Many situations. Stitched up his first encounter with a member of the nine tribe.” Watcher grinned at the code for 9mm. “He has always held the club first. Even when the club itself did not deserve the loyalty, when it was under the reign of Deacon, a man who did not mind the streets running red, as long as it was not his blood painting them. Mason has loyalty and dedication bred deep in his bones. So you know I do not speak lightly when I say he has lost focus.”

  “A woman?” There’d been scuttlebutt about lots of things to do with the Rebels over the past several years, because Spider hadn’t been the only one who believed Mason had acted a traitor to the idea of clubs. The Rebels had been cut out of several large sit-downs because of the way Mason took over, the bloody day when he killed patch brothers to save his club. Along with Bones, Watcher had worked behind the scenes to get Mason a seat at those tables again, even as Mason had done his own part to earn it, too. Remaining silent on the cause of his discontent was part of the reason the other dominant clubs let him back in, because other than strength, one of the things they most admired was the ability to keep a secret. “Where’d he meet her?”

  “Interesting story there. She was Duck’s obsession first.” Duck was a Rebel member who came from West Texas. Someone who should have, by rights, been a Soldier, but he found himself in Chicago instead. “Then, she acquired housing next door to Mason. From day one he has been working to win her.”

  “No shit? She was Duck’s and Mason stole her?” That wasn’t right. Women weren’t allowed to come between brothers, and certainly not between a member and his president. You didn’t go there because it showed a lack of respect which could tear the fabric of a club wide open.

  “It seems she was not Duck’s in that way. An obsession, but not for himself. I am certain I do not have the full story yet, but you can be assured I am pushing aside the layers even as we speak.” No doubt, because Bones would want to know as badly as Watcher did now.

  “Tell me what you learn about the connection, yeah?” Still didn’t say what Mason’s deal was. “But what about Mason and the woman now? He’s tied up in his neighbor?”

  “He is tied in knots as I have never seen before, but the woman seems either immune to his charms, or ignorant of his interest.” Bones’ voice quietened, lowered when he continued, “He is distracted in dangerous ways, my friend. Many would use this opportunity to try and weaken the Rebels, and this I cannot allow. As things stand now, Mason and I have balanced the community in Chicago in ways which make us both strong. If he falls, there will be a void, and I am unsure of my Skeptics’ ability to fully fill it, which would mean another player in town. I do not want that, Watcher. I have grown comfortable in my current role, and I’m happy here. My men live large in our world, ample supplies of everything they want or need. Mason’s Rebels have their place, straddling the line as he has determined they will do. My Skeptics veer farther over into the darkness than the Rebels, and we are happy to because we reap many benefits from this relacion cooperativa. I called to speak to you because Mason is endangering my world, and he will not heed my words of caution. All I receive in return are reassurances of strength which exist only in his mind at the moment. I would like it if you could call him, talk to him, take his measure. See why he is wound about with the woman. Make him see sense and talk sense to him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do—” Watcher hesitated, and then offered Bones something he’d been withholding for a long time. “—brother.”

  At the audible breath, Watcher knew it was the right thing to do. And then he knew what it meant because he got it back from Bones. “Thank you, brother.”

  ***

  Watcher bent over and pulled a bottle from the melting ice and cold water in the bottom of the cooler. He fished around for a moment, coming up with a second bottle before kicking the container, letting gravity slam the lid closed. Twisting the other direction, he held one of the bottles out, drops of water coating his fingers. “Here,” he grunted, “last soldiers of the night.”

  “Thank you,” Raul told him, reaching out to take the beer from his grip. “I need
ed…need to talk to you.” Water dripped from the bottle, creating small darkened circles on his pants. Five hours in and Watcher still didn’t know what had brought Raul north of the bridge. Carmela was at a sleepover with a friend, so he hadn’t even gotten to see his daughter, even though Juanita offered to call her home. The way Raul demurred had caused shadows to gather in her eyes, and shortly afterwards Watcher brought the man to the bonfire area near the barn. He’d been waiting since, knowing sooner or later Raul would speak his mind. He hadn’t expected it to take a half a case of beer to get him here.

  “So talk.” Watcher gestured with the bottle in his hand. “You got about ten minutes, then I’ll have to get up and piss before I grab another six from the fridge.” He settled back in the lawn chair, feet propped on a block of wood. “Talk. I’m listening, man.”

  “Carlos made many enemies.” Carlos Estavez, the man Watcher most hated in this world. Before Watcher could respond, Raul continued, “Dangerous enemies. Men who I have cultivated over the past year and a half. Men who may not be my allies, but share my animosity for Carlos. This gives us a common goal which I can leverage in my favor.” Lifting his beer to his lips, Raul took a deep drink. “It’s time to move towards this goal. I wanted to give you a heads up, because come tomorrow night, my hope and prayer is the fabric of my world in Mexico will look very different.”

  “You’re making your move tomorrow, then?” Watcher’s thoughts were hurtling a hundred miles an hour. If Raul took over the Machos, it would shift the entire dynamics in this region. Who else knows? “You bringing in other clubs on this, Raul?”

  “No.” Another lift of the bottle, another deep drink. “I will not be having conversations with anyone else on this. I know you understand why.” Watcher nodded. He did, because Machos were large, international, and cartel supported. If Raul was successful, it was likely that particular affiliation would be severed, since they were the group who kidnapped Carmela. The cartel had their hooks in many places here in the southwest, including MCs like the Outriders.