by Lee McIntyre
How long was this ride supposed to be? They’d been on the road for hours. Whether they were going somewhere or just making a big loop, Adam couldn’t tell. Surely they’d stop sooner or later, just to take a pee. Adam had to be stoic. This was all necessary, he told himself, to get Emma back. Being accepted by the club had to be good for Tugg, and that had to be good for getting next to Wanda. Maybe they wouldn’t have to wait the full six months now that she was here.
Adam tried not to get his hopes up, but it was impossible. If Wanda was the key to this whole strategy, wasn’t this their best chance to get the information they needed? Damn protocol, wasn’t he sitting in the leader’s sidecar? Maybe like a pet Chihuahua, he reminded himself, but still it was better than nothing.
Adam wished he could have talked to Tugg some more before the bike run had started. Had Tugg really had a family? But the last thing Tugg needed was for Adam to push him about some ancient history. Wanda was what mattered now.
There were a couple of signs now and then along the road and Adam spied a house and barn way off to the left. Maybe they were getting near a town. He hoped so. Adam couldn’t even feel his own legs at this point.
Adam looked up and saw that Doc had put his left hand in the air, gloved in black leather, clenched in a fist. Then he pointed to the right at an upcoming building and put his hand back on the handlebars. When Doc pulled off into the parking lot Adam could see that it was a motorcycle repair shop. The formation broke and everyone roared past like a hive of bees, then lined up their motorcycles along the road, one after another, like a row of dominoes.
Doc took off his helmet. “You good?” he said to Adam.
“You know it.” Adam gave a thumbs-up and another smile. He hoped Tugg would remember to bring his shoes. He had to pee.
“Stay put,” Doc said. “We ain’t here but for a minute. Bar up ahead two miles where we can stop and eat. This is just for fun.”
Adam nodded and sat back down.
Three of the bikers got off their motorcycles and walked toward the garage door, like cowboys in a Wild West movie. They stood outside the open door, obviously talking to someone inside, then one of them suddenly broke ranks and stepped into the building. When he came out, he was holding a guy by the hair. A couple of the bikers laughed as the guy hollered, obviously scared to death. Adam saw why. One of the three bikers threw him in the dirt, then the other two started taking turns kicking him.
Adam’s stomach tensed. What the hell was this?
First one would hit him in the face and knock him to his knees, then the other would kick him in the stomach, flattening him out. When the guy was lying flat on his face in the dirt, Adam heard Doc yell, “Prospects!”
Tugg and two other guys walked up the line of motorcycles toward the scrum.
“That’s what happens when you’re chickenshit,” Doc said in a low voice, speaking like an incantation, as if Adam weren’t there.
Adam had a horrific sensation that he knew what came next.
One of the other prospects took the first swing. Tugg took over, tackling the guy, then climbed into a full mount so he could whale on his chest.
“Good man. He gets it,” Doc said.
Adam was so angry he knew he shouldn’t speak, but then he asked the question anyway. “What’d he do?”
Doc looked over, as if surprised to remember that a mascot could talk. “Huh?” Doc said. “He’s a former member. Problem is there ain’t no such thing. We tried to explain that to him. Now we come down about once a month and explain it to him all over again.”
One of the other prospects tried to move in, but Tugg waved him away and just kept whaling.
“We wouldn’t take him back now anyway,” Doc said. “He’s fish food. Damned good example, though.”
Adam watched Tugg rise up and deliver a savage kick to the man’s genitals.
“Ohhhh!” The crowd gasped and there was a smattering of shouting and applause.
“He’s done,” Doc yelled. “Let’s eat!”
When Tugg walked back, he passed within a few feet of Adam, but he didn’t turn to look at him. Tugg’s face was stone and his eyes were focused on his place: at the back of the pack.
After Tugg went by, Adam leaned over the sidecar and vomited in two big lurches. A rivulet of liquid made its way toward the metal wheel but mercifully stopped just short.
When he sat up, Adam could feel Doc’s eyes upon him.
“Dude, the only reason you ain’t walkin’ back is you missed the leg.”
Chapter 35
Adam had spent the last two weeks walking across emerald lawns, attending classes, secretly feeling like someone must have made a mistake.
No one he’d grown up with had ever gone to college.
Why did it seem like everybody already knew everybody else? Or that he was the only kid on financial aid?
Still this was his chance. He’d never go back to the trailer park. Now that his Mom was dead – and Tugg was in the Air Force – maybe he’d never even go back to Oregon.
But you couldn’t just study, right? Adam found himself walking down a dark street, in a bacchanal tide of insecure freshmen, where all streams seemed to empty into the houses on fraternity row.
It was Friday night.
The music poured out of the open windows and all the lights were turned up bright.
Alpha Beta Nu, Chi Psi, DKE, Psi Upsilon – he had his pick.
Technically the drinking age in New Hampshire was 21, but that would be like busting someone for loitering in Times Square.
He followed a rivulet of people up the brick walk to one of the frat houses.
“Men to the left, women to the right,” called out a big drunk frat brother at the door.
The line was clotted on Adam’s side, but the women seemed to be getting in just fine.
“Freshmen men, sorry,” said another guy. “You’re too pathetic. Just go away.”
Adam spied a couple of girls he had classes with whom he knew were freshmen, who had just gone inside.
Adam turned to leave.
“Hey, dude. Blue shirt. Dude!”
Adam turned and saw a short kid waving at him.
“Ec 10 right? You’re the guy who’s going to get me through. Go right in.”
Adam didn’t know the kid’s name, but recognized him as a sophomore in one of his classes. “Thanks.”
The air felt like a swimming pool. The noise and smell of beer was overwhelming. A couple of guys were playing electric guitar – badly – over in the corner, not even the same song that was blasting over the speakers. The crowd was massive and everyone seemed centered on a row of silver kegs on the opposite wall, huddled around them like a fireplace in winter.
People drank from funnels. Girls laughed way too loud. A couple of guys had their shirts off and their baseball caps turned backward.
Are we having fun yet? Who needed this shit?
Adam jostled his way back toward the door when he saw the crowd part quickly as a girl fell down on the warped wood floor.
“Whoa. First time away from the convent?” The guy was wearing a red sweat shirt with the sleeves torn off, and some sort of logo stenciled on the back. He reached down a meaty hand and pulled her to her feet.
The girl was small and Asian, and her eyes had the glassy look of animal fear.
“I think she’d better lay down somewhere,” said a guy in a cowboy hat standing a few feet away. “Sleep it off.”
“Good idea,” said red shirt, grinning.
He gripped one hand on her bicep and the other around her opposite shoulder and began guiding her unsteadily toward the stairs.
“Nyuuuuh.” She tried to pull away.
Adam turned away from the door and walked over.
“Hey, what the fuck?” Adam said to red shirt, moving between him and the bannister. “Too drunk to walk or talk means too drunk, period.”
“Huh?”
“I said she’s too drunk.” Adam had to raise his v
oice to be heard over the pulsing music.
“Who the fuck are you? Who let you in?”
The guy with the cowboy hat was suddenly in Adam’s face. “What are you her Dad?”
Adam ignored cowboy hat and stepped to the side so that he was facing red shirt again.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
“Are you shitting me? No.”
Adam’s fist exploded so fast he couldn’t even remember throwing the punch. He felt the nose crumple as a shower of blood leapt into the air.
When the guy let go, the girl staggered over to Adam, as red shirt held his hands up to his ruined face.
“Fuck!!!” yelled cowboy hat.
The next few seconds were a blur of punches and yelling, then Adam had the bright idea to duck under the crowd. A few seconds later he found himself with the girl’s hand in his own, running for the door.
“Motherfucker broke my nose.”
“Where is he?”
Adam blazed out the door, hearing the wild drunken commotion fall away behind him.
The September air was humid, but felt cool compared to the frat house. Adam jagged left across the lawn, pulling on the girl’s wrist.
When they hit the next street he finally slowed down.
“Where do you live?”
“Shh, shhoom, krr–”
“What?”
“Dorrrrm kevvvv–”
“OK, I’ll just take you to the infirmary.”
Adam sat in a black painted chair, staring out the window opposite the Dean’s desk.
“Not a very auspicious start to your college career, Mr.Grammaticus.”
Dean Sisson was standing behind his desk, while the man in the black pin-striped suit – whom Adam took to be the college attorney – sat in a high-backed wing chair off to one side.
“Yes, I know,” Adam replied. “I’m pretty disappointed. What kind of a college are you running here?”
“What did you say?”
Adam knew he should just shut up. Pretend he was sorry so maybe they wouldn’t kick him out. Maybe if he were a rich kid, and had someone to back him up, that’d work. As it was, he was pretty sure he was screwed anyway.
“She was too drunk to give her consent. That guy was five minutes away from raping her.” Adam worked hard to keep his voice under control, but it was pretty tough under the circumstances. “Didn’t we just go through a two hour sexual assault training during orientation? I was actually listening.”
“Were you?”
"Yes, I was.
The lawyer hadn’t said a word, but he was writing furiously on his yellow pad.
“Well since you were paying such close attention during orientation,” the Dean said, “maybe you also noted that physical violence is grounds for expulsion.”
Here it came.
“What about the kid who was going to attack her? Is he getting expelled too?”
The Dean’s eyes narrowed and he leaned across the desk. “Mr.Barnaby was the VICTIM of a crime, not the perpetrator. I think you’re confused on that point, Mr.Grammaticus.”
Barnaby. Barnaby. Like Barnaby Hall over on North Campus?
“So here’s where reality sets in,” the Dean continued. “The Barnaby family have said they won’t press charges if we handle all discipline within the college. So I’m inclined to –”
“You mean they don’t want the story to get out,” Adam said.
“I believe you’d do well with a semester at home, Mr.Grammaticus,” the Dean said, straightening his posture.
“I don’t have any place to go.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to leave school completely. Find another college and start over again next fall?”
Adam noted that it was phrased as a question. There was still time. But time for what? Time to learn to kiss ass when he’d done nothing wrong? Fuck it. If he was going to stay it would have to be on his terms.
“Okay, Dean, I guess I can do that,” Adam leaned forward. “But since I don’t have any place to go I think I’ll stay right here in Hanover next year. I’ve always been interested in journalism. Maybe I can get a job over at the Valley News. Write a few stories from a student’s point of view.”
All of a sudden the college attorney stopped writing. He looked over at the Dean and clenched his jaw.
“Well now that’s very interesting,” the Dean said. “Perhaps we can both dial this thing back a little. There’s no need for threats. We always like to keep this sort of thing within the college.”
Maybe that’s the problem, Adam thought.
“And now that you mention it, we are going to investigate the incident at the fraternity. It seems that some minors were served alcohol, in violation of college policy. That deserves at least a look see.”
Adam shook his head in disgust.
“Is the girl ok?”
The Dean hesitated at first, as if he couldn’t remember who they were talking about. “Yes, of course she’s fine. Why wouldn’t she be? Nothing happened.”
“That’s good, I thought maybe she’d died of alcohol poisoning or something.”
“Dear God, no. Everything is fine.”
Adam nodded and put his hands on the chair to stand up.
“Hold on a moment, Mr.Grammaticus. We’re not done yet. If you stay at the college, as we’re now prepared to allow you to do, you’d still have to be punished for what you did. I think a semester’s probation is in order.”
Adam snorted and continued to rise.
“Yeah, fine.”
“And you’d have to promise not to do something like what happened at the fraternity house EVER again.”
“Fuck you!”
“What?”
“You heard me, I said fuck you. If I ever see that again I WILL step in and stop it. And you should too. You’ve got a problem here and you don’t even see it. Someday you will.”
The lawyer looked over at the Dean and violently shook his head. Adam was standing now but the Dean dropped into his chair.
“But I can promise you this,” Adam said. “I won’t be going to any frat parties ever again, if that’s what you’re worried about. Who needs that shit? I came to Dartmouth to make a better life. I worked my way out of a bad situation at home and I’m here to study and make something out of myself.”
The Dean’s mouth didn’t move as the next words came out. If someone had told Adam that the lawyer was a ventriloquist Adam wouldn’t have been surprised.
“Then I suggest that you do that.”
Chapter 36
“Bikers sure know how to party after a bike run, huh?”
The long-haired freak was obviously drunk out of his gourd. Adam couldn’t figure out why he’d come over to talk to him. Adam had been sitting alone in a corner of the Quonset hut/clubhouse just watching the scene: a river of beer, topless women everywhere, music that seemed like a continuous loop of the Allman Brothers, while most everyone talked at once, except for the small contingent, including Tugg, who were playing pool by the back door.
The guy’s patch said “Prospect,” same as Tugg’s. That explained it.
“So are you a friend of Doc’s or something?”
“No,” Adam replied. “I’m just visiting. I’m here with Tugg Morgan.”
“Yeah.” The guy belched and sat down across from Adam. “I know. You guys are hot shit or somethin’. They said you shot two Reapers.”
Adam wondered when Tugg might make his way over to try to talk to Wanda, but maybe that was wishful thinking. She was always around the red-bearded guy she came in with, obviously his girlfriend or something, unlike most of the other girls in the room who seemed to be some sort of community property and were treated in a way that the term “sexual harassment” didn’t cover.
“So you’re not a prospect, then?” the guy said to Adam.
“That’s a HELLUVA good question,” said a voice behind them.
Adam looked up and saw the small guy with the sergeant-at-arms patch who’d been in o
n the joke when they first arrived. He was hammered and had a silly grin on his face. Adam was sure he must be one of the toughest guys in the room. Short guy usually was. A neighbor from childhood had told him a story about his strategy in the Navy of walking up to the biggest guy in the bar, clocking him, and then sitting down for a peaceful drink, once it was clear that nobody else should screw with him.
“What’s the ‘13’ stand for?” Adam said.
“Depends who you ask,” the short guy said. “Thirteenth letter of the alphabet. Could be Motorcycle. Could be Murder. Which do you think?”
“I think I should keep my mouth shut,” Adam said.
“Now see,” the guy said, stepping over and pawing at Adam’s collar, “that’s the kind of answer that makes me think you’re a Prospect. You don’t ride and you look like a schoolteacher, but anybody who can handle a shotgun and take out two bikes and not even hit the men on them makes me curious. Size of the fight in the dog, you know.”
Adam grimaced at the evil breath fogging in his face, but nodded.
“I know that myself,” the sergeant continued. “I fought my way up. Now I’m third in line after Doc. No shit.”
Tugg appeared and sat down next to Adam.
“Prospect, meet Prospect. And Prospect.” The sergeant pointed at Tugg, then the long-haired freak, and then at Adam. “You!” He pointed at long-hair. “Get your fellow Prospects some beers.” “And you!” He pointed at one of the topless women. “Get over here and keep his seat warm.” A couple of other bikers came over and sat down on either side of the topless woman. Adam tried to look away. Unbelievable. They must be fake.
“So what’s the story with you guys?” the sergeant said to Tugg. “You guys fags or somethin’?”
