“Still full of piss and vinegar I see.” Travis turns away from me and stares at Joaquin. Even without knowing anything about this man or his relationship with the guys, I can see that he’s dangerous. The look he gives Joaquin is unsettling, predatory.
“Always,” Joaquin answers, but he looks like he’s trying to save face more than anything else. I can tell he doesn’t believe it.
“We’re enjoying a night out, Travis. What do you want?”
“The only thing I want from you two assholes is what we discussed before, North. I want the clubhouse. Nothing more, nothing less.” He turns back to me and gives me that look again. “Well,” he continues. “Maybe a little something more, but I’ll start with the clubhouse.”
To my surprise, North steps in front of me, putting his body between Travis’ disgusting glare and me. The look on Travis’ face changes immediately, from predatory confidence into something else I can’t put my finger on. “We’ll discuss the price you offered for the clubhouse and get back to you, but not tonight. Tonight, we’re all here to have a good time, and that’s what we intend to do.”
“Lord knows that I had a great time watching you boys roll around like little kids at a pee wee wrestling match. But as far as the clubhouse goes, my offer has come down some.”
“Come down?” Joaquin yells. “You were offering pennies on the dollar already.”
“Yeah, well that’s what my boss authorized me to offer. I convinced him that we didn’t have to pay you Mescaleros scum a fuckin’ dime for that old piece of shit house. And why pay when you don’t need to—that’s just good economics.”
I don’t know what the conversation is about, but that tension I felt when I first came over is even greater now, and I start to get nervous that something might happen. Joaquin is seething, and North is pissed too, he’s just doing a better job of hiding it. At this point Ana joins me outside, and I turn as I hear her calling for Joaquin.
“Ana, go back inside.” Joaquin is practically yelling. At the sound of his raised voice five men dressed in the same colors as Travis come over—their jackets have what looks like a sea monster on the back.
Ana stands next to Joaquin, and Travis gives her the same kind of look he gave me earlier. “You motherfuckers are way too ugly to have such hot women by your side. Oh well, guess the world isn’t fair, right? Speaking of which, to quote Godfather II, my offer is this—nothing. You’ll hand over the clubhouse to the Leviathans as a gesture of good will.”
“Or what?” Joaquin asks.
What freaks me out next is that Travis doesn’t look at Joaquin to answer, he looks at Ana. “Do you really want to find out the answer to that question?” With that threat, he turns around and his men follow. “You have twenty-four hours to give me an answer. Enjoy your night.”
I don’t know what the hell I walked into, but this night took a turn really fast.
“What the hell was that?” Ana asks.
“You don’t want to know.” North takes me by the arm and we head back to his bike. “It’s time to go.”
“Yeah,” Joaquin says to Ana. “Time to go.”
As we say our quick goodbyes and ride off into the night, I have no idea what I just witnessed, but I know it wasn’t good.
Twenty Three—North—Now
I don’t hear the sounds of the man behind me.
The first time I know he’s there is when I feel his arms wrap around mine. It’s an amateurish move—the kind of grab you make when you don’t know how to control another person’s body. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but unfortunately for him, I do.
He thinks he has the advantage, but I break him of that illusion about three seconds into our little impromptu grappling exchange. My biggest concern isn’t overcoming him physically—I’ve got that covered—it’s that our scuffle will alert others. If that happens I’m done, so I have to work fast. Not a problem.
Exactly five seconds pass.
At five, I play wrist control, grabbing his wrists and pulling them down. At four, I turn into him and grab a hold of his body. At three, I trip him and take him to the ground. At two, he stupidly rolls to his back and I take it, putting my hooks in and holding him in place. At one, I choke. He goes out faster than the first guy, and when it’s over not a sound has been made. But this time I think more clearly. I grab the guy’s Leviathan jacket and put it on. It’s shit as far as disguises go, but in a pinch it might just be enough to let me escape this hell.
I’m almost out. I can hear the sounds of cars passing by in the distance. But I’ve had a few close calls already, and this place is swarming with Travis’ goons. Just a few more yards.
I’m coming Delilah.
Twenty Four—North—Way Back When
. . .the calm in my stormy life. . .
I want Delilah to stay over, and she readily accepts my invitation. For the first time in a long time, I’m not thinking of sex when I ask a woman to come over. I don’t care if we fuck or don’t—I mean, preferably we do, but that would be a bonus. What I really want is to feel her next to me the entire night—to fall asleep with her body warming me, and the smell of her hair filling my nostrils. She’s the only comfort I have right now, the calm in my stormy life, and I want every chance to be with her that I can get.
“What was that back at the bar? Who was that big guy?”
“Bad news,” I tell her. “That big guy is bad fucking news.”
She looks at me the way I looked at Joaquin before—with a realization in her eyes, like she just had an epiphany that answered her own question. “Is he the reason you were so tense before?” I don’t confirm verbally, but I nod my head and give her a look that supports her suspicion. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Not sure. But if you pressed me about it. . .”
“I’m not,” she interrupts. “I’m just asking.”
“I know. That’s why I’m gonna tell you. I guess I still hold a lot of the MC values, even though I have one foot out the door.”
“Values? Like what?”
“We have a thing about discussing club business. You ever see The Godfather?”
“Have you ever breathed air?”
I look at her, dumbfounded. It takes me a second before I realize she’s being sarcastic, and that I’ve yet again made some assumptions. “Sorry. Dumb question. It’s just that. . .”
“I’m a woman, and only guys like The Godfather.”
“Point taken. Anyway, that last scene in the first film. The one in Michael’s office.”
“Of course, it’s iconic.” She clears her throat and does her best young Al Pacino impersonation. ‘Just this once, Kate, I’ll let you ask me about my business.’”
“That was pretty good,” I joke. “I almost believed you had just inherited a huge crime syndicate. But that’s exactly what I’m talking about. There’s a thing about discussing club business with outsiders, and outsiders include girlfriends, wives, and women you’re fucking.”
“And which one of those am I to you?”
The question throws me off. I’m not expecting it at all, and for a second, I hesitate. “You’re. . . Uhhh.”
“Wow,” she says, a huge smile on her face. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you off your game. I win.”
“Woah, woah. You don’t win anything. I just wasn’t expecting it. I could ask you some random thing and make you stutter also.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“I said, I don’t think so. Plus, it’s not a competition. I’m not really asking by the way. I spent years in a fucked-up marriage and a long time going through a stressful divorce. I’m happy to be with you, North. I don’t actually need a title right now.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, and note her use of the phrase right now. I’m not good at the relationship thing—at least I never have been in the past. I’m used to women coming and going throughout my life, sometimes literally, and never in a serious way. I’ve never embodied the
qualities that make a good boyfriend or husband. I don’t like to be tied down, I like to come and go as I please, and most of my time is spent either riding or hanging out with my boys. That’s not exactly a recipe for long term commitment. But the more I’m around Delilah, and the more she seems impervious to the trappings of this life, the more I wonder if I’ve just never found the right woman to be in a relationship with.
“Since I’m getting out, I might as well tell you about ‘the big guy’, as you called him.”
“You don’t have to,” she says. “I’m not pressuring you at all.”
“I know. I want to tell you.”
“Alright,” she answers. “In that case, I’d love to listen.”
I tell her the story in as much detail as I can. The truth is never the whole truth. Even though Delilah inspires honesty like no woman I’ve met before, I can’t tell her about all the things I’ve seen Travis do. Even though the Mescaleros weren’t an outlaw MC, Travis always acted like we were. He’d miss no chance to be violent or make side deals to deal some meth or weed. He was dangerous, violent, and ambitious, and now he’s in a position of power. Not only does she listen to every word I have to say, but she doesn’t flinch once. There’s zero intimidation in this girl. I love it.
“I understand,” she says. “If you’re not too tired, can I ask you about something else I’ve wanted to know since I met you that day?”
“Ask.”
“How exactly did you meet Joaquin? How did you guys start up the club? Oh, and what the hell was that symbol on the back of the jackets those guys were wearing? I guess that’s three questions, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell her. I’m happy that she’s curious about the life—about me, so I don’t mind indulging her questions even though I don’t feel like talking right now. “Let me answer the last one first because it’s the easiest.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know what a leviathan is?”
“Besides an outlaw MC?”
“Yeah,” I say back. “Besides that.”
“No.”
“It’s a mythological sea monster. The founder of that club wanted a rendition of the monster on the back of all club member jackets as an intimidation tactic.”
“Oh,” she says. “I see. Does that work?”
“If you’re a total pussy, sure. All intimidation works if you’re afraid of the person doing the intimidating. But if you’re strong, that shit is just a picture of a fake animal. I laugh when I see it.”
“You didn’t laugh tonight.”
“Tonight, was no laughing matter. Plus, I laugh in my head.”
“What?”
“I laugh in my head,” I repeat. “Sometimes showing what you’re feeling on your face is a dangerous thing, so I learned a long time ago to keep my face the same, and feel my emotions on the inside. Life is safer that way.”
She doesn’t respond to that, just raises her eyebrow like she doesn’t agree, but I don’t need her agreement, I just need her to know where I’m coming from. “What about the other stuff?”
“Joaquin and the club?” I ask. She nods. “That’s a much longer story.”
“I’ve got some time,” she says.
Twenty Five—North—Now
I’m almost free.
The street on the other side of the compound leads into town. If I can get down the road I’ll be okay. I’ve lost too much time already, and I pray to God that those lost hours don’t make the difference between life and death for Delilah. I’m frantic, trying to find my way out, like a rat in a fucking maze, all the while fighting off images of him—of Travis—if he finds Delilah before I do. I try to block those thoughts out, but it’s impossible.
I just breathe and keep moving, being careful to not make too much noise while trying to reach the street. The sounds of cars are closer with every step I take, encouraging me to keep going in the same direction. The walls of the compound are high enough to block out the outside, and that’s all by design. The Leviathans do everything here—all the drug deals, the torture, and the murder. The last thing they want is prying eyes watching what goes on here, so the walls are built like a fortress.
Getting overly eager, I step out into the open to test any gap or vulnerability in the gate, but as soon as I do I know that it’s a mistake. I look up about 45 degrees to see a hidden camera pointed back at me, watching everything that I’m doing.
Fuck!
As soon as I see the camera, I know that I’m made. I know how this works. I’ve seen it before.
An internal alarm sounds.
Everyone grabs their weapons and heads outside.
The person caught on camera is fucked like a two-dollar hooker.
That’s how this usually goes. But that’s not how it’s going tonight. I won’t let myself be taken. I won’t let my Delilah fall into his hands.
Twenty Six—North—Way Back When
“Is it annoying if I ask you a bunch of questions?”
“Not at all. Normally I hate questions, but I don’t mind.”
“Alright then, I’m going full girl right now. I want to know everything.”
“Everything is a lot.”
“It is, but we have to start somewhere.”
“True enough. Ask away.”
“Where did you and Joaquin meet?”
“School. That guy saved me from an ass whipping and we were cool from that point on.”
“How did you guys get into the MC thing?”
“After high school we each played around with the idea of college—he even took a class or two, but he realized what I already knew—that sitting in a classroom and writing papers for the next four years would have been like slow death for guys like him and I. I’d always loved bikes. My dad owned one, even though I wouldn’t call him a biker. Much to mom’s chagrin he used to take me and my brother out for rides around our neighborhood, and if we bothered him enough he’d go fast enough to satisfy a teenaged boy’s need for serious danger. I fell in love on the back of my dad’s bike, but it was years before I’d own one of my own.”
“Joaquin too?”
“He’s different. We grew up in the same area, but we came up differently. His parents were immigrants from Mexico, and he has five brothers and sisters. They didn’t have much in the way of material things or money, so his family couldn’t afford motorcycles. It was me that got him into the life. My suggestion. I told him that I wanted to ride the open road, follow no other man’s stupid fucking rules, and live the life that I want to live. He fell in love with the idea, and we traveled the U.S. for an entire year.”
“How many states have you been to?”
“All of them, except Alaska and Hawaii. Can’t bike there.”
“You are a master of geography,” she jokes. “But that’s really cool. How did the club start, though?”
“That was me again. In our travels we met a lot of like-minded individuals who were similarly defiant, without a permanent home, and embodied the kind of ethics that we did. Most of them were just strangers who became friends for a few hours or a few days, but some of them were men without a country, so to speak. One day I had the idea of forming our own club based out of the southwest where I wanted to take root after our travels were over.”
“And that became your club?”
“Yup,” I answer. “That became the Mescaleros, although now it’s not much of a club anymore.”
“So, if you were the founder, why didn’t you become the president?”
“Joaquin’s always been a better business man than me. It was his idea to open up the auto shop as a legitimate business, and at the time it was one of the few around. The money we made from that let us not work real jobs. But he’s always been better with crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s, if you will. I didn’t want the responsibility that came with being the head of anything, even though I could have easily grabbed those reins.”
“Too much of a free sprit, huh?”
&n
bsp; “Always. It’s the only way I know how to live.”
She’s easily the best listener I’ve ever met. It might also just be that I’ve never taken the time to really speak to a woman the way I speak to Delilah. I’ve never gotten into my past, or my friendships, or the history of my club with any other woman, and telling her makes me feel good.
“Can I ask you one more thing?” she asks. I nod. “Why were you at that writing class?”
Taken aback by her change in subject, I make a confused face. “Did you hear everything that I just said?” I ask.
“Every word. Filed it all away under the getting-to-know-North folder in my head, but I just realized that we never discussed the whole class thing. Why we were each there, I mean.”
“It’s stupid.”
“What’s stupid?”
“The reason I was in that class.” I haven’t thought about that little failed experiment since I got myself thrown out. It wasn’t a total disaster. It led me to where I am now, with Delilah, but there is a deeper reason I was in that seat, scribbling my life story into a journal.
“I doubt it was stupid. Tell me.”
“You first.”
“Fine,” she says. “I love to read. I used to read crazy amounts of books when I was in high school and even into college. It faded once I got married because real life got hectic, but all those years I was reading I always wanted to get into the writing part of it, too. That, and I love design. I also signed up for a photoshop class to learn about designing all of the other parts of books—covers, teasers, that kind of thing.” The smile on my face makes her look at me funny. I’m not making fun of her in any shape or form. My smile means something else. Sometimes this world is a funny place. “What?”
“We were meant to be, the two of us.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“This may come as some surprise to you, considering I’ve spent the last decade or so of my life as a lowly, uneducated biker, but my dream—the one I never told anyone about until this very minute—is that I’ve always wanted to be a writer. That’s why I was in that class.”
True North: A Wordsmith Chronicles MC Standalone Page 11
