Out of everyone, I was sure I’d have the most difficult time accepting the changes. Nevertheless, I was eager to begin my new life.
“I’ve got one other thing,” I said. “The police department started a GoFundMe for Reggie’s dad. They’re trying to gather up funds to help him buy a fishing boat. If anyone has a few extra bucks that are legitimate, it’d be appreciated if you could make a small donation. Getting a boat is his retirement dream.”
“How do we make a donation?” Goose asked.
“Just type ‘Detective Ted Gottschalk’ into GoFundMe’s web page, you’ll see it. It’s up to about three grand right now.”
“I’ll toss him a few bucks,” Goose said. “I’m going to be strapped here in a while, I better do it before I’m too broke to make an offering.”
“I’ll contribute,” Baker added. “Out of the coin income from the carwashes.”
Cash looked at Goose. “Broke?” His eyes narrowed. “How the fuck can you be broke?”
“I’ve got something expensive in the works,” Goose said. “I’ve got a hell of a lot of money going out right now, and there won’t be any coming in for a while.”
“What are you doing?” Cash asked.
“Business venture,” Goose said.
“On the up and up?” Cash asked.
“Of course,” Goose said.
“What is it?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Cash rolled his eyes and then faced me. “I’ll give him a few bucks from the flower shop’s profits.”
“I’ll see what I can gather,” Reno said. “Coming up with money earned on the up and up isn’t easy.”
“I’m kind of limited on legitimate funds,” Ally admitted. “But I’ll think of something.”
“I can’t think of anything else,” I said.
“Meeting adjourned?” Cash asked.
“Meeting adjourned?” Reno laughed. “From here on out, Brother Cash, when they stop talking we just get up and leave.”
Cash shook his head. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
I took one last look at the clubhouse.
It sure is.
251
Reggie
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any better, it did. For the past few months I’d spent most of my days in a dream-like state, incapable of believing I was deserving of Tito and the love we shared.
Standing on the rooftop of a beachside mansion once owned by the infamous Uptown Abby, I looked around me. Perfectly pruned flowers were everywhere. Apparently, growing them was one of Goose’s many talents.
Two of Tito’s childhood friends were talking with my father. Cash, the tallest of the group, was telling a story.
Baker, once the leader of the now defunct MC, was trying to sync his phone to the sound system. It was the only time of the entire evening that there wasn’t music playing.
I glanced at Goose, who, along with his wife Ally, now owned the home. He was talking to Tito while putting the finishing touches on the meat he was cooking. From what I’d heard, Goose’s cooking was world class. If his cooking was anything like his ability to grow beautiful flowers, I was going to be in for a treat.
Wearing his normal attire of a well-fitted suit, Braxton stood to the side of the rooftop kitchen, talking to Detective Watson. Beyond them, Mel and Raymond were drinking wine and laughing.
“Quite a party,” Hap said, draping his arm over my shoulder. “Gotta love a gathering where they have an Uber pick you up and take you home. Never been delivered to a party before. Especially one like this.”
I chuckled. “I’m surprised you agreed to that.”
He took a drink of his Michelob Ultra. “Didn’t have a choice.”
Cash tossed his hands in the air and screamed boom! Then, he limped away from the group with one hand covering his crotch and the other covering his right ear. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder. My father and Reno laughed hysterically.
My life had turned into a fairy tale.
“Dance Mix!” Baker shouted.
I shifted my gaze to the “dancefloor”. It was identified by a string of lights that were draped overhead, around the perimeter of an expertly crafted wooden deck. Baker tapped his finger against his phone’s screen and looked up. The unmistakable introduction to V.I.C.’s Baby Wobble began to play.
Ally sprinted to where we stood and grabbed my hand. “Sorry, Hap,” she said. “But we’ve got to dance to this one.”
She took off for the dance floor, nearly yanking me off my feet in the process.
All the women—Ally, me, Cash’s wife, Kimberly, Baker’s wife, Andy, Reno’s wife, Carma, Detective Watson’s wife, Taryn, Mel, and of course, Raymond converged on the dance floor. We danced as if we were puppets being controlled by one master, each taking the same precise steps to the well-known line dance.
With his beer in one hand, Hap sauntered onto the dance floor and into the group. As we danced, he stood amongst us, studying my feet.
After a few steps, he gave me a puzzled look.
“Jump forward,” I said, jumping forward. “Shake your hips. Hips. Hips.”
I jumped back. “Jump back.” I gyrated my hips. “Then, hips. Hips. Hips.”
“Twist to the right,” I said. “Hips. Hips. Hips. Twist to the left. Hips. Hips. Hips.”
In no time, Hap joined the fun. His rhythm was off at first. Convinced his beer bottle was throwing off his ability to dance, he tossed it into the air.
“Heads up, asshole!” he screamed.
Braxton, in the midst of talking to Watson, leaped forward and caught it. He shook his head.
“You old prick,” he shouted.
Hap was right. After getting rid of the beer bottle, he was right there with us, dancing like he was forty years younger.
Halfway through the song, everyone was dancing except for my father and Detective Watson. With their arms crossed, they stood on the edge of the dancefloor watching us make fools of ourselves.
“Leave it to the only cops at the party to stand out like a couple of turds in a punchbowl,” Cash shouted.
Watson glanced at my father at the same time my father glanced at him. Then, they stepped onto the dancefloor and joined the fun.
The entire group danced, some in time with the music, and some not. Everyone, however, had fun.
During the Cha Cha Slide, Ally and I were laughing so hard at my father’s lack of rhythm that we couldn’t dance any longer. Standing at the edge of the dancefloor nearly out of breath, I looked at her and smiled. “I’m about to pee my pants.”
“Follow me,” she said. “I’ll take you to the bathroom.”
I followed her inside. After using the bathroom, I took a quick tour of the gorgeous home. From what she said, it was a mixture of how Abby left it and how she and Goose wanted it to be. All I could say was that it was nothing shy of perfect.
When we finally got back to where we started, I paused. “So, what do you do?”
She gave me a funny look. “About what?”
“For a living?” I asked.
She returned a blank stare. Maybe she didn’t need to work. Afterall, she and Goose inherited the home, so there was no mortgage payment.
“Do you work?” I asked.
“Oh.” Seeming amused, she chuckled and opened the door. “I’m a semi-retired race car driver.”
I looked at her like she was crazy. “Get out of here.”
“No,” she said, straight-faced. “I’m serious.”
It sounded like an exciting career. “For real?” I asked excitedly. “A race car driver?”
“For real.”
“Do you have a race car, and everything?” I asked. “Like Danica Patrick?”
“Follow me,” she said.
She led me to the garage. She punched a code into the keypad and opened the door. Four motorcycles and a spotless red BMW SUV were parked in the stall on the left. On the right, the stall was empty. A framed poster of a s
ilver Porsche sliding around a corner with the words “the road to excellence takes many turns” printed below it was hanging in the center of the wall.
“See that silver 911 Turbo S in the poster?” she asked, gesturing to the framed wall-mounted print.
I nodded. “It’s cool.”
“I set a track record at Lime Rock Park’s racetrack in Connecticut in one of those,” she said.
I glanced at the poster and then at her. “Oh, wow.”
“I used to have one. It was silver, just like that one.” Seemingly sad, she glanced at the red SUV. “Now, that’s my baby.”
I faced the SUV. “This red one?”
“Eight hundred horsepower.” Her voice was laced with pride. “It’s a beast.”
The SUV was bright red, had tinted windows, and extremely wide tires that looked like they were fitted to racing wheels. Even though it was an SUV, it looked menacing.
“I like it,” I said. “What happened to the car like the one in the poster?”
Her gaze dropped to the garage floor. After a moment, she looked up. “I sold it the other day. A guy in Florida bought it sight unseen.”
She seemed rather sad about not having it. I felt bad for asking and tried to keep the conversation upbeat. “Maybe you can get another one of these days.”
“They only made 345 of them, so they’re stupid expensive,” she said. “I’m going to start saving for another one, though.”
“Hopefully you’ll find one better than the last one,” I said. “What are you going to do for work to save money? Race this red one?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “I’m also an amateur magician.” She laughed. “Maybe do some stand-up shows at the Looney Bin, or something.”
“Can you show me a trick?” I asked.
She stepped to the side and faced me with her arms crossed over her chest. “Sure.” She nodded toward my hands. “Where’s your watch?”
I looked at my wrist. My watch was gone. “Oh my God,” I gasped. “It’s gone. My dad bought me—”
She raised her left arm. Two watches were on her wrist, one of which was mine.
“Holy crap!” I exclaimed. “How’d you—”
She unbuckled it and handed it to me. “A true magician never reveals her secrets.”
“That’s crazy,” I declared. “Do you know a lot more?”
She smiled. “Quite a few.” She tilted her head toward the door. “Come on, they’re going to wonder where we are. I’ll get a deck of cards and show you some more, later.”
Short of Mel and Raymond—neither of which knew any fancy magic tricks—I hadn’t really hung out with many women. So far, I really liked all the women in the group. Getting to know them better would come with time. It excited me to think about it.
“How often does everyone get together like this?” I asked.
“I suppose from here on out, it’ll be our once a week meeting.”
“Like this?” I asked excitedly. “Food, music, all the women? Once a week?”
She closed the garage door and turned toward the stairs. “We’re close-knit,” she said with a smile. “We do things like this as a family. It’s something you’ll have to get used to. You’re part of it, now.”
I followed Ally to the roof. The air pulsed with the sound of techno music. The women—and Raymond—were all dancing. At the far edge of the roof, my father had his hand on Tito’s shoulder, telling him a story.
Goose was leaning over the stove, cooking something in a large pot.
Cash was talking to Detective Watson. Hap and Baker were sitting on a wooden bench beside the dancefloor, sipping beers. Reno was at the corner of the roof with Braxton, having a talk.
One week earlier, I hoped to never meet the men of the motorcycle club. Now, I couldn’t imagine a life without them and their wives in it.
I took a step toward the dancefloor. The smell of fresh flowers lingered. I paused. Soon, it was replaced with the aroma of the meat that was smoking on the grille. I took another step. A hint of honeysuckle brought with it a smile. I closed my eyes and relished in the fragrance.
The music stopped. I opened my eyes.
Beyoncé’s Single Ladies began to play. Andy screeched and waved for me to join in the fun. Midway through the song, the dancefloor was filled with everyone except for Goose.
In watching him put the finishing touches on the food, it was obvious he was doing something he loved. Each over the shoulder glance toward the dancefloor revealed an ear to ear grin.
When the song ended, Goose raised his hands high in the air. His eyes glistened with delight. “Time to eat!” he announced.
I stood at the edge of the dancefloor, watching the people meander toward the rooftop kitchen in small groups.
Tito draped his arm over my shoulder. “That was fun.”
“I’m having a blast,” I admitted, counting the people as I spoke. “I can’t wait to do this again.”
He kissed my neck. “What are you doing?”
“Counting,” I said. “There’s sixteen people here.”
He chuckled. “Slow night.”
I may not have had much of a family growing up, but I was sure going to make up for it now. Over the course of the summer, I allowed fifteen new people into my life.
Fifteen people I was sure would remain with me until the end.
Epilogue
Reggie
Twenty miles off the shore of the San Diego Bay, the water was unbelievably calm. So far, our morning on the forty-two-foot boat—which my father had dubbed Reel Therapy—was gorgeous.
My father cut the engines to an idle. He glanced over his shoulder, making eye contact with Cash. He gestured to the left side of the boat. “Did you see the Blue Fin break the surface on the port side?”
Gazing toward the watery horizon, Cash nodded excitedly. “Two of ‘em.”
“Probably an entire school over there,” my father said. “Let’s give it a try.”
He stepped from beneath the canopy of the massive boat and flipped open the live well. “Get ‘em baited, boys!”
The boat’s deck was bigger than my living room. The $750,000 Freeman 42LR was much more boat than my father ever expected to own, that was for sure. After a Twitter post about his GoFundMe miraculously went viral, his account peaked at well over a million dollars.
According to my father, the participation of the primarily anonymous contributors was driven by his selfless service to the community. I couldn’t help but wonder if Tito played a part in the Twitter post going viral, but I didn’t embarrass him by asking. Either way, my father now had his dream boat.
I was pleased that all the former Devil’s Disciples and their female counterparts agreed to attend the massive vessel’s maiden voyage. Dressed in our swimsuits and covered in sunscreen, the five women watched from a seated position while the men baited their hooks and cast their lines.
I nudged Kimberly and gestured toward Cash. “Cash is having a blast.”
“You should hear the stories he tells about fishing,” she said, letting out a sigh. “He tells the same stories over and over, and they’re all about when he was a kid in Montana.”
“Maybe he’ll have some new ones to tell before long.”
She laughed. “I sure hope so.”
The men, situated on both sides of the boat, exchanged curious glances with one another, each apparently worried that one was going to catch a fish before the other. Tales of remember when began, most of which ended with a story of Cash being the luckiest fisherman of them all.
Although Tito seemed to often butt heads with Cash while in the motorcycle club, they were nothing but friendly with one another now. Personally, I liked Cash. He was polite, had a fantastic sense of humor, and was very protective of those he loved.
“If you catch the first fish, I’m going to whip your ass,” Tito said, directing his comment toward Cash.
“There’ll be no fighting on this boat,” my fa
ther declared. He glanced at each of the men. “Anyone breaks that rule they’ll be cast overboard.”
Reno secured his pole in one of the many holders positioned along the side of the boat and faced my father. “Aye aye, Sir!” he said with a salute of his right hand.
My father chuckled. “I can’t decide whether to make you guys call me captain, or not.”
“Holy shit,” Cash bellowed, arching his back. “I’ve got one.”
“You better not,” Baker seethed. “I swear. If you do—”
“Ted!” Cash shouted. “I need some help. It’s—”
Cash’s pole was bent at a ninety-degree angle. Every muscle in his body was tensed as he attempted to crank the reel.
My father scrambled to his side. “Keep the tip up, Son. Reduce the drag and let him take what he wants. When he’s tired, get back what you can. You’re not fishing in a Montana creek. This is the Pacific Ocean.”
The level of excitement heightened amongst us all. The other five men continued their efforts to catch a fish, but it seemed they were more concerned with Cash’s status than their own.
Inch by inch, Cash fought against whatever he had hooked, taking what little line he could when the fish became too exhausted to fight.
Fifteen exhausting minutes later, Cash was obviously worn out. Drenched in sweat and visibly shaking, he continued the fight against the aggressive fish.
Seeing the exhaustion on Cash’s face, my father reached for the pole. “Let me help you.”
Cash resisted. “I’ve got it. It’s…he’s…” He cranked the reel a few turns. “He’s a fighter.”
My father slapped his hand against Cash’s shoulder. “He doesn’t know who he’s up against, does he?”
Wincing in agony, Cash managed to offer a crooked smile. “He sure doesn’t.”
“Ted!” Tito hollered. “I’ve got one!”
My father spun to face him. The tip of Tito’s pole swayed to the left and then to the right. In the distance, out a hundred and fifty feet or so, a massive silver-blue fish cleared the top of the water. Its long nose came to a point, like a spear.
Devil's Disciples MC Series- The Complete Boxed Set Page 133