“Fuck knows. But we all know he smokes too much. How he got his handle back in the day, and that must have been what, thirty years ago, probably plus?”
My eyes follow the path Smoker had taken to the door. The man’s fifty-five, only a handful of years older than me, but seriously, he looks like he’s lived through at least a decade more.
Salem’s looking in the same direction, then his eyes meet mine. “Have you seen him going up the stairs? Noticed the way he pauses halfway up to get his breath?”
Gritting my teeth, I nod. I have. The man should look after his health, but Smoker seems to be ignoring it. “Find out whether he’s been looked at,” I instruct the enforcer. “If not, we’ll have to fuckin’ make him see a doctor.”
Jeez, when I became the prez, I didn’t realise the health and wellbeing of the brothers in my supposedly grown-ass adult MC family were also my responsibility. Snips, now he’s got problems with his teeth, but will he go to the dentist? Hell no. We have to slip him something and carry him there. A year back, Blaze had busted his ankle and argued until he was blue in the face that he could still ride until I laid down the law and made him step back. Well, actually I’d gotten Salem to hide the keys to his bike. Brakes had taken over as road captain on a trip to Los Angeles while Blaze, cursing up a storm, stayed behind.
Only last week, Tyler had come running to me for a Band-Aid to cover a scratch on his knee when his mom and Dart were otherwise engaged. Taking a nap in the kid’s language, fucking in mine.
Salem gives me a quick grin and slaps my back; it seems he can read my mind. “Being prez ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” Then after that remark, he laughs, and jerking his chin toward Pennywise, returns to the pool table for another game.
I sit for a moment, drinking my beer, idly watching as Scribe and Snips pull out of Cindy. She staggers a little, then rights herself. A little bow-legged in my opinion, she walks off in the direction of the club girl’s rooms. Both men pull off condoms, knot them, and throw them in the closest garbage can. There they’ll lie forgotten until the prospects tidy up in the morning.
“Can I do anything for you, Prez?” Tits has appeared standing in front of me, thrusting out those breasts which, as she often says, cost her a fucking fortune, so she’s going to show them off at every opportunity. I prefer a more natural feel myself, but hey, I’m probably old-fashioned.
When I turn her down, she quickly moves off. To be honest, the thought that all my brothers, with only a few exceptions, have sampled the club girls and on multiple occasions means I avoid going there. When I last did, I think I was inebriated.
“Toke!” I beckon to the man when he appears. “Might have some names for you to dig into.”
“Sure, Prez.” He nods, gestures to my near empty glass, then toward the bar. When I shake my head, he goes off. As Curtis hands him a beer, Snips engages him in conversation. I’ve missed my chance to update him. But tomorrow will be soon enough.
I finish my drink, stand, flutter my hand up and down in a general good night to anyone still around, then make my way up to my own bedroom.
I’m happy to live at the club. I’ve got few needs, and the prez’s room is more than sufficient to meet them. Back in Bird’s day, the president before Snake took the top spot, two rooms had been knocked through to make one big one. I’ve an area to sit and relax with a television, and speakers through which I can play music when I want. There’s an area which is set up like a small home office, and, of course, a large king-sized bed. Not that that’s seen more action than me tossing and turning while I’m uneasily sleeping. Too often it seems, I’m haunted by dreams and end up with the sheet twisted around me.
I go to my own attached bathroom, slipping out of my t-shirt and pants as I do. By the time I’m naked and getting into the shower, there’s a trail of clothing reaching back to my door. I’ll pick it all up. Sometime.
I stand, my face turned into the water spraying down from the shower head, my thoughts returning to earlier this evening. I’m glad I hadn’t spoken about my visit to Token, preferring to digest it all myself first and consider what impact if any my rash suggestion of helping them might have on the club. I have to entertain the notion that my dick might have had too much of a say in it.
Patsy’s a fine woman, given her age. She’s kept herself in shape, that’s for certain. Maybe it had been the influence of living with her daughter, but her clothes, while not unsuitable for a woman her age, were young-looking and form-fitting.
The skin on her face isn’t as smooth as a young girl’s, but hey, who am I to talk about wrinkles? Her eyes are large and seem to draw you in, and that mouth… well, I could think of a few uses I’d like to put it to.
My thoughts find me moving my hand downward, fisting around my cock. I begin to work it while imagining her on her knees in front of me, her full lips stretched around my cock, my hand fisted in her hair. I pump my hips as though thrusting into her, imagining hitting the back of her throat. I tighten my hand, feel my balls churn and my cock swelling, then I’m coming, hard, white ribbons of cum hitting the shower wall.
Aiming the stream of water at the mess, I watch it disappear down the drain. My body feels relaxed, my mind experiencing a slight twinge of guilt at the idea of using her to fuel my release, but hey, what she’ll never know won’t hurt her.
Sliding under the sheet, I plump the pillows to get them as comfortable as I can, then relax back my head. I fill my mind with Dan and Patsy’s problems, wondering what that message meant, who sent it and how much trouble they might be in. Damn Patsy for giving their general location away. All this trouble caused by her need to contact her daughter. But then, given the circumstances, I can’t find it within myself to blame her. If I’d had kids, I might well have been tempted to do the same thing myself.
Conscious thought becomes harder, ideas not fully formed appear and disappear before I can take hold of them. My brain slows, I cease thinking at all as sleep overcomes me.
“This will be you, one day. When you fuck all this up.” The smell of flesh burning reaches my nostrils as the man in my dream continues to speak. “Will you be man enough to take it? Or will you be a coward like him?” He points to Poke, begging to be saved.
“I’m not going to fuck up,” I tell him.
“Of course you are,” he scoffs. “You’ll fuck up so badly, you’ll pay the same price as I did. They’ll burn your tattoo off your back and show no mercy when they do. You’ll fuck up. You’ll destroy this club.”
I turn, look him straight in the eye, then take a step back. Snake’s eyes are blazing, actually alight with flames shooting out of them.
“I only made you VP as I wanted a pussy who’d be so grateful to walk at my side, he’d do everything I told him without question. Did that well, didn’t you, Lost? So fuckin’ well, you made them all believe you could walk in my shoes. Don’t like it so much now, do you? You don’t have the balls for this job. You know it’s only a matter of time before you fuck everything up.”
“I am not going to fuck up,” I protest again. I know I’d give my life before I allowed harm to come to the club. “It was you who almost destroyed us.”
“Me?” Snake roars. “I’m a president. You are nothing. Nothing. You’re fucking Lost.”
He’s now a complete ball of fierce orange and red flame. With arms outstretched, he starts to float toward me. I go to move back, but my feet feel like they’re encased in concrete. I can’t escape as he nears, and I begin to feel the heat…
In my dream, I scream.
I toss, turn, try to rid myself of the images. I can hear myself whimpering, begging him to leave me alone.
I jerk awake. The sheet tight around me shows I’ve been restless once again. It’s still dark, still night, and I should still be sleeping. Instead I untangle myself, turning onto my side.
I know exactly why Snake haunts me. I don’t need a therapist to tell me I’m not really being visited by a ghost. It’s my subconsci
ous reminding my brain of what I already know, that I’m not a man who deserves to have trust placed in him. I’m a fraud, an imposter.
It was never part of my life plan to join an MC, let alone rise through the ranks and lead it. Part of the problem was I’d played right into Snake’s hands. He needed someone he could keep fooled, who wasn’t clever enough to guess his plans. Who, as it turned out, had been completely blindsided when things turned sour. I hadn’t seen the betrayal coming, but I should have. The dream version of Snake, or rather my own subconsciousness, is right to warn me. The path I choose to go down won’t lead where I expect it to take me. When a fork appears in the road, I’m bound to take the wrong direction.
Yet every man here voted me in as the prez. Goddamn them. But I’ll give my all to do the job to the best of my ability. I’ll always give everything one hundred percent. I’ll be damned if I let any man in this club down. Damned you’ll be, alright.
I hadn’t seen through Snake, but he’d seen right through me. Fuck was I a good choice for him to make. Another man might have figured him out, would have realised what was going on. Looking back, all the clues were there. The secret meetings between Snake and Poke, and those between Poke and the other now out bad members. Whispered conversations hastily ending when interrupted. And yet I’d been oblivious to it all.
Can’t a man learn from his mistakes?
I sigh deeply. I’ve got to hope I can.
My eyelids droop even though I try not to give in to sleep again, having no desire to slip back into my nightmare. But it seems he’s tortured me enough for one night, as this time I fall into a deep and undisturbed slumber, from which I’m startled awake.
Rap. Rap. Rap rap.
I open bleary eyes and reach for my phone while simultaneously turning my head and glancing at the ancient clock/radio/alarm, a hangover from Bird’s time. “Yeah?” Shit. I overslept I realise, reading the numbers.
“Prez, you’ve got that meeting with the insurance company in an hour.” Curtis’s deep voice booms from the other side of the door. “Bones sent me up to remind you.”
Lucky, he did. I would have missed it. “Thanks,” I reply.
I listen to his boots thud away down the hallway and roll over onto my back, clasping my hands behind my head, thinking the role of the MC prez is not all it’s cut out to be. While being a one-percenter club we don’t give a damn about citizen laws, and however much we do our best to live outside them, it’s impossible to ignore them entirely as our businesses are open to civilians. At the very least, we have to have public liability insurance covering our buildings and employees. The feds and the cops are always looking for an excuse to say we’ve fallen foul of the law, so our paperwork is liable for extra inspection. Like anybody who runs any type of business, the MC likes to keep overall costs down. Hence my meeting today to complain about the increase in our premium.
I promise myself a nice long ride once I’ve finished with the formalities, and I doubt it will take much persuasion for Bones to come along with me. Neither of us likes being cooped up in an office too much. On my part, I did that for far too long in my earlier years. Just look where that had gotten me.
When I joined the MC and put on my leather, I thought I was done with the corporate world. When I was voted in as VP, I found I had not. Now I’m the prez, I’ve almost as much dealings as I had in my previous life. But my suit-wearing days are long behind me, thank fuck. I don’t even possess businessman attire.
An hour later, Bones and I are walking into a glass and chrome building, looking out of place in our t-shirts and worn leather cuts. The man we meet is dressed in smart pants, his short-sleeved button-down has the top button open, and he’s wearing no tie. I want to laugh, remembering that’s exactly how I used to dress.
The expression of distaste that covers his face is wiped so fast, I could have imagined it was ever there.
“So, Mr Holmes, Mr Kirk. You’re here to discuss the renewal quote we recently sent to you.” While speaking, he waves us to the seats in front of him and retakes his own behind his desk.
I’d bristled at the use of my government name. Being called Conan Holmes always leaves a bad taste in my mouth, wanting to disassociate myself with anything that man had ever done. I allow myself a moment of internal delight knowing Bones, or Jerome, will be equally, if not more, discombobulated by the use of his legal name. He hates being called Jerome, Jerry, or any other derivative with a passion, as many a man has found out to his cost. I can only hope the insurance salesman doesn’t try to get on a first name basis, else I’ll end up apologising for the blood coming from his mouth.
I jerk my chin at Bones and sit back, letting him as club treasurer take the lead.
He sniffs, takes out the cloth he uses as a handkerchief and rubs at his nose, then, without ado he starts, “Got the renewal quote, but we were disappointed to see the premium has more than doubled and I fail to see why. We’ve had no claims for the past three years that we’ve been dealing with your company.”
The man, Ken Smart, unless the name plate in front of him is lying, half smirks and launches into an explanation full of complicated words which no doubt he thinks will go straight over two ignorant bikers’ heads. I listen with a straight face as he basically tells us they’ve introduced a new computer system which has a different way of calculating risk. I let him continue his spiel until he runs out of steam and sits back with a satisfied look on his face. “So, therefore, there’s nothing I can do.” He shrugs, giving a smile which reveals all his glowing white and probably expensively straightened teeth.
Bones sniffs and clears his throat, and I send him a look, I’ve got this.
It’s my turn now. Throwing quick fire questions at Ken, I address him in his language, asking about the parameters of the algorithm they use, what factors they’ve taken into account, and disputing his assessment of the demographics our businesses operate in. Everything he throws back, I counter.
He pulls at the neck of his shirt, his face glowing pink and then red. When finally he runs out of arguments, I finish with my punchline.
“If there’s nothing you can do to come up with a more reasonable figure, we’ll take our business elsewhere.”
His eyes widen as he blusters, “Er, no. I’m sure we can sort something out. I’ll run the figures again and see if there’s any leeway or room for adjustment.”
I’ve half started to rise, then I sit back down. “Not been here long, have you?”
He doesn’t need to reply as he enters data on his keyboard. I’d figured him out when I’d entered the room. He wants to impress his new boss by putting one over on bikers who have no idea of how things work. Instead, he almost did the opposite, coming close to losing an account.
When Bones and I emerge into the sunlight, it’s with a quote that’s actually lower than what we paid last year.
Bones goes to his bike, then turns to me, shaking his head. “Fuck, Prez. Glad you’re on our side and not theirs.”
My shoulders rise and fall as I physically and mentally shrug off his words. “I speak the language, that’s all.”
“Whatever,” Bones says. “He’d lost me with his explanation, but you beat him at his own game.” He huffs a laugh. “Did you see his fuckin’ face?”
I shake my head. I had. But I’ve had experience of dealing with assholes like the insurance man—trying to take advantage by getting something over on people who in his view were too stupid to understand. We might have a reputation, but our money’s just as good as the next man’s, and exactly the same colour.
Chapter Eight
Lost
“Bones is still singing your praises.” Dart raises a bottle of beer toward me as if in salute.
I ignore him, wishing the treasurer would stop repeating that story now that it’s been a week since we sorted the insurance out. Seven days which have passed without incident. I’d updated the club about what had gone on, and other than increasing the drive-bys we’d agreed to leave th
ings as they stand unless either we get contacted again, or Patsy or Dan need help. Demon hadn’t been pleased someone knew their whereabouts and had a few choice words to use about how Patsy had fucked up. But after we’d talked it out, like me, he thought wait and see was all we could do for now. All Alder could know was a call had been made from San Diego. Patsy and Dan could be anywhere in the state, hell, the country and could have been just passing through. Demon too agreed it could be an attempt to smoke them out, and we could lead him straight to them if we gave them our protection openly.
Token had looked into the list of names which Dan had prepared but found nothing that rang any alarms. Most of those named were bit players, who had all been rounded up and were now inside or awaiting trial. Certainly no one with the reach finding Dan would require.
On my part, I’d consciously tried to put the woman and her son to the back of my mind and concentrate on the business of the club.
“How are the two new guys working out in the shop?”
Dart grins, knowing how uncomfortable I am with mis-assigned praise and that I’m changing the subject. “They’re good. Fit in well. Niran’s idea is proving to be solid.”
Yeah, it had been Niran who’d come up with the idea of us making a point to take vets on. He, himself, being one and having been discharged on medical grounds. He knew how it felt to be stateside and find yourself changed, unable to do what you wanted to anymore. Suddenly, you’re alone with no team around you and amongst folks who’ve no idea of what you’ve been through. Some men join an MC like ours, needing to find a new family. Others drift, not getting the help or support they deserve.
Ex-servicemen often have a trade we can use, or, a genuine desire to learn. We have a few vets working in our auto-shop now, and the bar’s staff are all ex-soldiers from one service or another. It works well, and best, they form a team. If they need time to go to the VA, or just simply to sort themselves out, we let them take what they need. In return, they give us loyalty.
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