Doozer (Burning Saints MC Book 5)

by Jack Davenport

  “Did you really clock him over a cigarette butt?” Cowboy asked.

  “He flicked it right at me and acted like I was the one with the fuckin’ problem.”

  “Do you have a problem?” Cowboy asked. His voice full of concern.

  “Come on, man. What are you, my therapist?”

  “I’m your friend, I’m your president, and I’ve ridden with enough men to know when one of ’em’s got a hell hound on their trail.”

  “Well, there’s your mistake. You’ve only ridden with men,” I joked, attempting to deflect.

  “Have I ever treated you any different because you’re a woman?” he asked.

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Then how ’bout you don’t treat me any different because you are one.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  “Besides, I’d like to think we’ve got enough miles together to where I can tell if somethin’s stuck in your spokes.”

  “You probably know me better than anyone, Cowboy,” I said, softly.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he said, using his most affectionate nickname for me. “Is this about your old man?”

  I nodded, and before I could stop them, tears began to stream down my face. “I think it was the cigarette smoke. The smell brought back some bad memories and sort of set me off, I guess. I really am sorry, Cowboy. I’ll work off the money to pay for that guy’s medical bills. Whatever it takes to make us even.”

  “Look at me,” Cowboy said, lifting my chin to meet his eyes. “We’re even, right here, right now. I’ve got your back, one hundred and fifty percent. You got that? My main concern is for you.”

  “I’m straight,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Like I said that guy just set me off, is all.”

  “Then we’ve got some work to do on your anger management skills,” he said with a chuckle.

  “And you’ve gotta work on your math skills. Specifically, how percentages work.”

  “Okay, how about we solve this little math problem? If Trouble has one illicit piece of weaponry in her pocket and she gives it to Cowboy. How many does she have left?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  “None,” I replied, sheepishly, pulling the brass knuckles from my pocket and handing them to him.

  “Are we sure?”

  “One hundred and fifty percent,” I replied.

  He laughed, turned off the hazards, and pulled back onto the road.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Doozer

  “I’M SO GLAD you could make it tonight. Buon natale,” my father said in an uncharacteristically cheery tone.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Pop,” I replied, caught off-guard by his unexpected display of warmth.

  My father turned to my sister. “Gia, can you do me a favor and go say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Garcia? They were asking about you earlier and I told them you’d stop by their table. They’re seated next to the ice sculpture.”

  “Sure thing, Pop,” Gia said, before turning to me. “See you later, Markie,” she said, using the childhood nickname reserved only for my sisters.

  “Did you get something to eat?” Pop asked. “The food this year is dynamite. I finally got Henry and Karl to agree to having Marconi’s cater. Who knew it would only take me retiring to get my partners to finally go along with my choice?”

  “No, I just got here about ten minutes ago,” I replied.

  “Oh, yeah. I think I saw you come in,” Pop said, lying far more convincingly than Carmen had.

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked and waited for him to unload on me about how I was dressed, showing up late, or whatever the hell else he wanted to get off his chest.

  Instead, all he said was, “I sure am glad you’re here, son,” and, then he hugged me.

  My father fucking hugged me.

  Now I knew he must be drunk. I’d never seen him drink more than the occasional glass of red wine with dinner at Vincenzo’s, and he didn’t currently smell like booze, but it was the only explanation. Either that, or he was dying.

  I froze in place, unable to process what the hell was going on. In my entire life, I could only remember receiving one hug from my father. When I was ten years old and broke my arm after falling out of the treehouse I’d built all by myself. Looking back, he was probably trying to keep me from going into shock. It was a long fall and a bad break.

  “Happy to be here, Pop. Congratulations on your retirement,” I said, awkwardly pulling away. “Who would have thought we’d see the day, huh?”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” he replied. “Now I’ll have the time to travel the country with your mother.”

  “Yeah. She mentioned you want to get an RV,” I said, barely able to process what was happening.

  “Not ‘want to get.’ We’re going to get one,” he said, excitedly. “I’m still deciding on the exact model but that’s okay. I have a little time before I have to make the final decision.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Now that Gia is ready to step up, and my client list has been handed over to the other partners, I have a project here in town that I can turn my full attention to.”

  I knew there was no way my father could stop working.

  “You’re gonna take on a new case, now?” I asked.

  “It’s less of a case and more of a…passion project, and it’s far from new. This is something I’ve needed to tend to for quite some time.”

  “Wow,” I said, surprised by the passion in Pop’s voice. Whatever my father was taking on had him genuinely fired up. “I look forward to hearing about it,” I said. Truthfully, I couldn’t have cared less about whatever it was he was into, but I was happy to have his focus directed on anything other than me.

  “Oh, you’ll hear all about it very soon.” My father placed his hand on my shoulder and smiled once more. This time when he smiled the hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my guests or I’ll be here all night. It really is great to see you, Marco,” he said, heading back to his receiving line, before adding, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “You will?” I asked, but he’d already disappeared back into the fold.

  “What was that all about?” Carmen asked as she rushed to me. She’d obviously been watching my father and me from the sidelines and seemed as shocked as I was.

  “I have no fucking idea,” I replied. “He hugged me, Carm.”

  “I saw that.”

  “Is Pop sick? Is he dying?”

  “Don’t say that,” Carmen said, crossing herself.

  “I’m telling you, something’s up. He was talking about working on some lifelong project now that he’s retired. He was beaming. Do you know what the hell he’s talking about?”

  “No, but maybe Gia does. She’s way more in the loop regarding his cases.”

  “I’m not sure this has to do with the firm. He said it was personal.”

  “Maybe it has to do with managing Gaga’s estate.”

  “It’s probably nothing. I think I’m just weirded out because he was nice to me.”

  “Well. That is really weird.”

  “Why are you so shocked? Earlier, you were trying to convince me that Pop doesn’t hate me.”

  “I said he doesn’t hate you. Not that he likes you.”

  “Well, apparently we’re best buds as far as he’s concerned.”

  “Does that mean you’re gonna stick around tonight?”

  “For a little while, then I really do have to go. But I’ve gotta hit the head, first.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  I smiled, kissing her cheek before heading to the bathroom. I did my thing, let out a few choice words when I noticed there were no paper towels, and walked out of the bathroom wiping my wet hands on my jeans to try and dry them. “Fuckin’ hippies.”

  I rounded the corner and noticed my father talking jovially with a few of his usual cronies, and a man I would never have expected to see him with. Judge Reginald Snodgrass or Judge Snotty as my fath
er always referred to him.

  I headed back to my sister who frowned at me as I approached. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why the fuck is Dad all chummy with Judge Snotty?”

  She shrugged. “I think they’re working on something together. He’s been around the office a bunch lately.”

  “Carmen, Dad hates Judge Snotty and everything he represents.”

  Judge Snodgrass was notorious for his shady sentences and back-door dealings with all manner of illicit individuals. My father was honest to a fault, at least as honest as a lawyer can be, and had made more than one, or twelve, motions to recuse the judge when he was presiding over any of Dad’s cases.

  “I think with Dad retiring, they buried the hatchet.”

  I frowned. “Dad doesn’t bury hatchets, Carmen, unless he’s aiming one at me.”

  She sighed. “He’s not that bad.”

  “No, you’re just his little girl, so you’re blind to what an asshole he can be.”

  “Or, you’re being too alpha male to set your ego aside and entertain the possibility that Pop’s changed.”

  I grunted. I loved my sister to Mars and back, but she’d been sheltered to the point of ignorance and that bugged the shit out of me.

  “I should head out,” I said.

  “That’s it?”

  “Sorry, sis, I have a club Christmas party to get to.”

  “Tonight?” she asked.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why is that strange? We’re at a party right now.”

  “I know, but this is…”

  “This is what?” I challenged. “A normal, corporate sanctioned, socially acceptable, holiday party and MCs are only allowed to hang out with strippers and sacrifice goats.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, I was just surprised, that’s all.”

  “I expected to get shit from Pop and Mama about leaving tonight, but not from you.”

  “Hold on, Marco. Just because you didn’t get to have a fight with Pop tonight doesn’t mean you get to start one with me.”

  “I’m sorry, Carm. You’re right.”

  “Do you have to go? I miss you. Will we see you at mass this year?”

  “First Ma, now you?” I laughed. “I promise I’ll call on Christmas, but I really do need to hit the road.”

  Tonight, the Burning Saints were to be the guests of the Dogs of Fire. A local MC we’d recently become friendly with. Minus had made it clear to all of us that attendance was mandatory. No excuses. And, unlike my father, I cared about disappointing or disobeying my club president.

  * * *

  I was deep into my second glass of Jägenogg, the Burning Saints’ traditional holiday concoction, and I’d only been at the Dogs’ party for an hour. The celebration was well under way and a group of us were playing nine-ball in the pool room. I was all smiles on the outside but the conversation with my father had my head all twisted up. He was up to something. I could feel it in my bones.

  The second I’d walked into the club, I’d tracked down our resident finder of all things dark and dirty, pulling him aside.

  “What’s up, little man?” Kitty asked.

  Kitty was a giant and despite the fact I was over six feet tall, he’d always called me ‘little man.’

  “Need you to do some diggin’ for me on someone.”

  He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “Do I get to fuck someone up?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “Whatya got?”

  I gave him all the information I knew on Judge Snodgrass, then gave him information about my dad, without giving too much family shit away, trusting that if there was something to find, Kitty would find it.

  “I need to find anything that links Snodgrass to my father. Business or personal.”

  “Leave it with me,” he said, and walked away.

  My gut churned with unease, but thankfully, I had some drinking and pool playing to do to help take my mind off my father for a while. After a short while I found myself in an epic Saints Vs. Dogs nine ball battle.

  “You keep saying you’re gonna run the table, but so far all you’ve done is run your damned mouth,” I said, trying my best to get under my opponent’s skin.

  “Last I checked, I’m up by one game, fool,” Sparky replied as he lined up to sink the nine ball.

  Not only was Sparky a member of the Dogs of Fire, but he was also the son-in-law of their club’s president, Hatch. Hatch just so happened to be Cricket’s big brother, the old lady of our president, Minus.

  Hatch and Minus had a shady history and that shady history included Hatch maneuvering Minus’s exile to Savannah, Georgia over ten years ago. I got the impression, that even though the hatchet had been buried, the handle was still visible in the dirt in case one of them needed access to it.

  “Yeah, but we’ll be tied once you miss this shot,” I goaded.

  “Hey, kid, I don’t rattle,” he replied, quoting Paul Newman from The Hustler, a favorite of wannabe pool sharks the world over. Sparky and I may have worn different patches, but we were clearly cut from the same cloth when it came to billiards. In fact, I think we’d spent more time shit-talking during this game than we had playing.

  “Okay, Fast Eddie. A hundred bucks says you blow it,” I said, taking a sip of Jägenogg.

  “Aw, man. How can you drink that shit?” Sweet Pea, my Road Captain, asked from his seat at the bar. His face twisted in disgust.

  “What do you mean? It’s not Christmas time until I down my first glass of Warthog’s holiday specialty,” I replied with a smile.

  Sweet Pea made gagging noises and I laughed.

  “Five-hundred says I make the shot,” Sparky said, ignoring the cross-chatter between my teammate and me.

  “Shit. If you’re just gonna give your money away, why not make it an even grand?” I retorted.

  Sparky paused and stood up straight. “You know what? I’ll take that bet.”

  “Babe,” Poppy said cautiously.

  “No, no,” he said, waving her off. “I’ve got this.”

  Sparky nodded and returned to the table, bent down, and eyeballed his shot one last time. The nine ball was frozen to the rail and the cue ball was in the worst possible position. To sink the nine would be tricky in and of itself, but to do so without scratching would be nearly impossible. Unless, of course, Sparky was a far better player than he’d been letting on.

  After a few ghost strokes Sparky took his shot, and my heart momentarily stopped as the nine-ball sank perfectly into in the corner pocket. Unfortunately for Sparky, his stroke also sent the cue ball flying off the table and into the air. I watched, in slow motion, as the ball hit Sweet Pea square in the sternum with a dull thwack. Sweet Pea’s hand went to his chest and he winced in pain.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Sparky said, setting the pool cue on the table and raising both hands in the air. The universal sign for ‘I’m not looking for trouble.’

  Sweet Pea shot Sparky a death glare. His nostrils flared like a thoroughbred and the veins in his massive arms popped as he took a step towards Sparky.

  “Hey, Captain,” I said, now concerned for Sparky’s safety. “It was just an accident.”

  “Accident or not…” The furrow in Sweet Pea’s brow deepened and he continued his terrifying stare down. “That was funny as shit,” he said before erupting into a fit laughter.

  Sparky shook Sweet Pea’s hand before handing me a roll of bills.

  “It’s all there,” he said, handing me the cash.

  “I’m sure it is,” I said, before downing the last of my Jägenogg.

  “Alright, we’re tied now. Rack ’em up,” I said, turning around just as Maisie, the Dogs’ First Old Lady, showed up with a smoking hot brunette at her side. She looked to be about my age, was dressed in full riding leathers, and the closer she got, the more beautiful she got. Once they reached us, I could read the name on the young woman’s patch, “Trouble.”

  No shit.

  CHAPTER FOUR

&n
bsp; Doozer

  TROUBLE WAS, WITHOUT a doubt, the sexiest woman I’d ever seen in my life.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” Sweet Pea said, greeting Maisie with a hug.

  “It’s wonderful to see you as well, love. Happy Christmas,” she said, her British accent adding even more Christmas cheer to the room. “This is Trouble,” Maisie said sweetly. “She’s with Biker’s for Kids. We’ve just been talking outside and I think she’s the most adorable thing ever.”

  Adorable nothing. She was pure molten hotness that had been poured into leathers.

  I scrambled for a smooth way to introduce myself to Trouble as Maisie introduced her to our group. “Trouble, this is Sweet Pea, Sparky, and my daughter, Poppy. And this is Doozer.”

  “Hey,” Trouble said, in a friendly, but guarded, tone.

  “’Sup,” I said, giving her a casual chin lift. Instantly feeling like a total dickhead.

  ’Sup? Real fucking smooth.

  Thankfully, Poppy chimed in, stepping right over my awkward moment. “Merry Christmas,” she said, cheerily. “We’re so glad you and the rest of your club could be here with us today.”

  “Thanks,” Trouble said, her eyes nervously going to the floor, before adding, “and Merry Christmas.”

  “Right, well, I’ll leave you all to get to know one another,” Maisie said. “Although, I’m afraid I do need Poppy’s assistance in the kitchen. I have a bit of a pie situation to sort out.”

  “Pie? I love pie,” Sparky said, and Poppy elbowed him.

  “Yeah, honey, we all know,” she said. “Come on. You can help, too.”

  With that, Sparky disappeared to the kitchen with Poppy and Maisie, leaving Trouble alone with me and Sweet Pea.

  For exactly five seconds.

  That’s how long it took for Sweet Pea to check his watch, whistle, and say, “Well. I gotta, uh... go help Minus with, uh that… thing,” and walk away. He may have been a great Road Captain, but he was complete shit as a wing man. Trouble shot me a nervous glance and tucked her hands into the pockets of her skin-tight pants. Pants I was already envisioning getting into.

  “There’s a full bar over there. Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not much of a drinker.”