True North: A Wordsmith Chronicles MC Standalone

by Harlan, Christopher

  “No, he doesn’t need to know about that right now. We just met.”

  “Ah, I see. So, fucking on the second date is okay, but intimate economic information needs to wait a little longer. I get it now.”

  “I don’t remember you being such a cunt when we were kids,” I joke.

  “My cunt-iness develops with age, like a fine wine.”

  We laugh again. We finish our lunch, and even though I’m still glowing from last night, Emily’s words ring in my ears. What is North up to? Is there a chance he’s into some illegal stuff? If he was, he probably wouldn’t tell me at this point anyways. My number one fear is being duped again, of believing that everything is good when it’s really not. I can blame my ex for that emotional damage, but that doesn’t make it go away.

  I like North, a lot. I just hope I’m not being played for a fool again.

  Fifteen—North—Way Back When

  I go to meet Travis alone.

  Joaquin offered to come but I told him to stay back. He asked me to do this for a reason, and it isn’t just because he thinks I owe the club one more pound of flesh before I leave it. It’s because he knows that I’m the only one of us who isn’t scared of Travis. I never was. Not even when it became clear to me that he was a man who made everyone else very afraid. I guess they had a reason to be. He just barely held back his true self when he was trying to work his way up the Mescaleros. Once he realized that he’d always run into me if he kept climbing, he gave up and ran to the Leviathans. His character traits served him well in that den of killers, thieves, and drug dealers. He rose like a helium balloon. Now, I have to deal with him again.

  I see him coming with his usual crew—he always brings guys with him wherever he goes. He’s paranoid. As he gets off his bike I fix my eyes on him. Like a tidal wave, Travis isn’t something you want to turn your back to. As he approaches, I feel a twinge in my stomach, along with the intense feeling of just wanting to get this shit over with.

  “You’re looking good, North. Civilian life suits you. Although, you can’t let the bike go, huh?”

  “I’ll never let the bike go, Travis. It’s who I am.”

  “But the lifestyle? Too much for you I guess.” I want to slap the arrogant smile off of his face right there and then. He’s too comfortable—like a man who knows that very few people will ever oppose him. He thinks I’m afraid of him like everyone else is, and that blind spot is his greatest weakness.

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

  “I guess it’s becoming too much for old Joaquin, too, if he’s sending you as his spokesperson. Too pussy to show up himself?”

  I was expecting this kind of dialogue, but that doesn’t make it any less maddening. Travis likes to push people’s buttons—he always has. It was one of the traits that cued me off that he wasn’t right for our organization. “If there’s anyone in this world I’d use that term for, Joaquin isn’t him. He just has other shit going on, and I came to help. I am still acting VP.”

  “Sure you are,” he says, condescendingly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. And if our old friend thinks selling fuckin’ tacos is more important that club business, maybe it’s time for him to get out of the game, too. Well, I guess that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  “What’s the offer?” I ask. I’m intentionally ignoring all the other things he said. Travis thrives off of intimidation and pushing people’s buttons, and showing him that he’s having an effect on you is just about the worst thing that you can do.

  “I’ll give $15,000.”

  $15,000? Talk about a low-ball offer. The place cost us way more than that, and that was years ago. “Not gonna happen.”

  “You act like this is a negotiation, North.”

  “That’s exactly what Joaquin called it, actually. Asked me to come and negotiate.”

  He laughs. It’s a smug, arrogant laugh. “That’s, um. . . interesting. I guess I wasn’t clear enough with him. You were always the smarter of the two, so maybe you’ll get my message.” I brace myself. I know that nothing good is about to come out of this man’s mouth, but I’m forced to listen. “I’m not negotiating, I’m telling. We’re buying that piece of shit clubhouse. The boss wants it. He has plans on expanding, and you boys have some prime real estate over there. And, shit, it’s not like you’re doing anything with it.”

  He’s starting to piss me off. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on, North. The Mescaleros are dead—what’s left of you, anyhow. What do you have, like twenty guys left? Most of you jumped ship to the Leviathans, and there are more that will soon.”

  What? This piece of shit is stealing even more of our guys. I want to jump out of my cool exterior and beat him where he stands. “That right?”

  “You know it is. Don’t be mad. I’m just speaking the truth, whether you like it or not. You and Taco Boy can wear those stupid colors and ride around on your bikes in circles for all I care, but this is Leviathan territory now. Times are changing, North, and you can either change with them and accept reality. . .”

  “Or?” I ask defiantly.

  “Or be left behind with all the other ghosts.”

  I should be the cool and collected representative of our MC right now. The level headed one. The steel exterior. But everything he’s said starts to accumulate, and I can’t hold back.

  “Fuck you, Travis. Take your low-ball offer and shove it up that ass of yours—I know how much you like that feeling.”

  As soon as I step to him and raise my voice, his boys reach for their guns. Travis puts his hands up to stop them, never taking his eyes off of me. “Relax boys, just some small talk between old friends, here. Our man North has balls, but he isn’t suicidal. How about this? For old times sake, I’ll give you one last chance to reconsider. Bring my offer back to Joaquin and encourage him to accept, for everyone’s sake.”

  I’m waiting for him to use some tough guy expression like ‘or else’, but it never happens. He’s threatening us, and it makes my skin crawl to have to walk away and not settle this like men, but it’s what has to happen. I turn my back and walk towards my bike. Just as I’m about to ride away I hear his voice, one last time.

  “You always think the worst of me, North.” I turn and look at him in his beady eyes. “I’m not that bad of a guy, you know?”

  I dream of a day when I never have to lay eyes on him again.

  Sixteen—North—Way Back When

  Delilah said that she wanted to cook for me, and I’m not about to say no to that.

  It’s been a while since I’ve been to a woman’s house to eat. The kind of women who used to hang out around the club weren’t the cook-you-dinner sort. I got invited over to many houses back in the day, but it was never to eat anything except their pussies. Not that I was opposed to that. But Delilah actually wants to make me a proper meal, and after hanging around that devil it’ll be a welcomed change of pace. But before I see her I’m going to stop by Joaquin’s food truck to deliver the bad news about our meeting, personally.

  Standing face to face with Travis reminded me of all the reasons that I don’t want to do this anymore. The whole scene has changed so much since Joaquin and I formed the Mescaleros. For us it was about the lifestyle—being accountable to no one, getting to work on bikes, riding the open road whenever the fuck we felt like it with zero accountability to anyone but each other. That’s what it meant to be in an MC for me. Then the whole scene started to change. More and more guys started showing up who were interested in the kind of activities that we’d always avoided. That’s when it all started going downhill.

  The gangs. The turf wars. The heat from cops. The drug trafficking. All of it flooded the scene almost overnight, and all of a sudden, the kind of people I wanted to be around were either leaving the life, or joining up with one of the gangs so that they could make a quick buck. The allure of a criminal life is real, but most men don’t realize the cost of it. I’ll always ride, and I’ll always be a Mescalero, b
ut I’m out of this life as soon as this deal is done.

  I pull up behind the truck about an hour before they’re going to open for lunch. I know that Ana will be busy prepping all of the peppers, onions, garlic and tortillas that they’ll need for the rush, leaving Joaquin free to talk for a few minutes. I go to the front first to be polite.

  “North!”

  “Hey, Ana. My mouth is watering already. What is that smell?”

  “Homemade mole sauce for the tacos.”

  “Jesus, Joaquin is a lucky man. That smells incredible.” Just then I see Joaquin pull up in his pick-up truck with bags of groceries. “Hey. I was just saying how lucky you are for having a wife who can cook so good.”

  “Ha!” he laughs. “You think she makes mole at home? Not after cooking here all day. I’ve had pizza every day this week. The good food is for the gringos, like you.”

  “Well, on behalf of all gringos, we thank you. Keep making that homemade mole. Screw your husband, let him have his take-out food if it means these smells keep filling the air around here.”

  Ana smiles and makes me a quick taco for me to try. “You’re too kind, North. Here.” I take it from her and take a bite. My senses start to tingle as I chew. It’s so good. “Jesus, Ana, I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how you’re not being featured in one of those fancy food magazines as one of America’s best chefs. This shit is terrific, as always.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” she laughs.

  “From my lips to someone’s ears, anyhow. If not God, then maybe some food magazine editor. Either way I’d put your food up against any one of the so-called celebrity chefs I see on TV every night. They can’t hold a candle to you.”

  “Gracias, North,” she says. “What happened with that girl you brought over the other night?”

  I was wondering how long it would take for Ana to ask about Delilah. Even though we’re about the same age, Ana’s always been like a mother hen with me—encouraging me to settle down and meet the right kind of girl. Mostly her advice fell on deaf ears because there was no right kind of girl in this life. There were the girls with the biker fetishes, the girls who wanted to be with the outlaw biker sort, and the ones who were more into bikes than I was. All of those categories were no good for me.

  “Unfortunately, she’s cooking me dinner tonight at her place,” I tell Ana.

  “Why unfortunate?” she asks.

  “Because, no woman can compare to your cooking. I’m gonna have to fake my way through dinner just to make her happy.” Ana smiles because she knows I’m not flattering her, I’m telling the God’s honest truth.

  “Oh, stop bullshitting, North, we both know you’re not going over to her place for the food.” Joaquin approaches carrying what looks to be about ten bags of groceries from the market in town. “Here.” He hands Ana the bags. “I’ll be up in a minute, me and North just need to discuss a few things.”

  Ana takes the stuff into the truck as I take the last bites of the killer taco she made for me. Joaquin looks troubled. I know he wants to know all about my meeting with Travis, so we walk a safe distance from the truck so that no one will hear what we’re about to discuss. He’s not going to like what I have to say.

  “So?” he asks. “How’d it go?”

  The look on my face foreshadows the words I’m about to speak, so much so that he grimaces with disappointment before I’ve even spoken a syllable. “You know how he is, man. Did you really think he was going to go for the deal that you offered him?”

  He thinks about it for a second, looking up at the sky before turning his frustrated face back towards me. “I guess not. I mean, I don’t know, I’d hoped he would, anyhow. I guess it was stupid.”

  “A little bit, yeah.”

  “Gee, thanks for the support, brother.”

  “You don’t need my support, Joaquin. Get support from your wife. What you need from me as club VP is the truth, and dealing with this son of a bitch is bad news. You should have just told him the place wasn’t for sale and been done with it.”

  “And you really think that would have been the end of it? I say no, and he just goes away? Come on, man, now who’s being stupid? And don’t pull that club VP shit on me when it’s convenient for you, you haven’t really been involved in a long time.”

  He’s pissed. It’s obvious. And it’s not just about these dealings with Travis. He’s pissed at me for not being around when maybe I should have been. “Look,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder, a gesture that’ll either soothe him or make him want to fight me. “You’re right, okay. I haven’t been nearly as involved as I should have been. I know I’m leaving you high and dry, and it kills me, but I have to do what’s best for me. We all do. I can’t stay in the club to make you happy, or because you need a friend. That’s not what the Mescaleros were supposed to be about.”

  “And what were we supposed to be about, then, North? You tell me.”

  “About the life. About the open road. About freedom and brotherhood. About being individuals in a world full of human robots working nine-to-five jobs. But it all changed over the past few years. You know that. The Travis’ of the world started replacing the guys like you and me, and quite frankly I don’t want to be a part of a thing where being the VP means I have to negotiate a fair price for our enemies to buy us out of our own space. That shit isn’t what I signed up for.”

  “It isn’t what any of us signed up for, North, but it’s the world that we live in now. Things change. Reality changes. Compromises have to be made.”

  “No, Joaquin, they don’t. See, that’s where you and I differ. Used to be that, back in the day, if a man who’d abandoned our club, took some of our best guys, and was now actively our enemy came around looking to low-ball us on our own property, we would have fucked said man up, taken his woman and his bike, and generally made an example out of him to scare away other potential assholes looking to exploit us. And now? Now we’re sitting across a table in no position of power, about to get on our knees and suck his dick before asking for seconds. What the hell happened to you?”

  “So, what then? What’s your brilliant idea, North? Take Travis on with the handful of guys we have left? Start a war where we have even less power? Go full scorched earth? Is that the plan?”

  For the firs time in our tense back and forth, he has me dead to rights. It’s true that we’d stand no chance against Travis in an open war. But my pride won’t allow me to just bend over, either. “I don’t know, man. Maybe there’s no good choice here. Maybe it’s truly about the lesser of two evils. All I know is that the Joaquin I started this club with would have had more fire in his belly. Now the only fire is being started inside that truck by your wife.”

  “Hey, fuck you, North. Get the fuck out of here. I’ll handle this situation myself.”

  “Look, that’s not what I was. . .”

  “I said, get the fuck out of here before this gets physical.”

  Joaquin’s never threatened me before. We’ve had our moments, like all guys, here and there, and we’ve had more than our fair share of disagreements over the management of our MC, but we’ve never once almost come to blows over something. As he steps closer to me I can see the rage on his face, but it’s his eyes that tell the full story. He’s disappointed in me. He’s hurt. He’s confused as to what to do. But I can’t help him right now. I just can’t.

  “Is everything okay?” Ana heard her husband yelling and came out to make sure we’re alright. He puts up his hand without even looking at her, his eyes never leaving my own.

  “It’s alright, Ana,” I yell. “I was just leaving. Thanks again for the taco, it was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome,” she yells back. “Tell Delilah I say hello, and enjoy dinner.”

  “I will.”

  I turn and walk away. I’ll do a lot in this world, but throwing down with my best friend and brother isn’t one of them, no matter how pissed he may be at me. Better to walk away.

  Walking
away. I’m getting a little too good at that.

  Seventeen—Delilah—Now

  “Just tell me everything, okay? Spare no detail.”

  I’m sitting with Colton Chase and Grayson Blackman—two men who my husband is really fond of. He talks about them like he was their book father. But this is no social visit. They’re the last people to see my North, and right now I need every little bit of information that I can get. Colton speaks first.

  “It was during the cocktail hour. We were all celebrating Grayson’s new book hitting the New York Times bestseller list when we heard a bunch of bike engines. When we went outside there were all of these guys. . .”

  They tell stories like writers, but I’m not looking for them to weave a narrative right now, I just want to know what happened. I don’t want to jump at them and have my concern come off as anger—they didn’t do anything wrong, they’re just the messengers. Nonetheless, every little point of the story might be relevant in some way to helping me find out where James is.

  When they get to the last part—the part about the man—I know that they’re talking about Travis. They describe him to a tee, but more than that, they describe North’s reaction to him perfectly. I thought he was dead. We both did. He should be for the things he’s done.

  “So, he got on this man’s bike and they rode off. That’s all we know. I’m so sorry, Delilah. I don’t know where he is. No one does.”

  Colton stops talking and I can see the pity in his eyes. I hate the way it looks. North isn’t a victim, and neither am I. I’m not just going to sit around and wait for him to be found. I have to think of a way to find him. I try to keep up my steely exterior, but I know what Travis is capable of. I saw it firsthand. We both did. I can’t believe he’s back in our lives. I try to stay calm, but I’m worried sick about him.