Doozer (Burning Saints MC Book 5)

by Jack Davenport

  We arrived at the Double H Ranch right at sunset. The oncoming darkness made it difficult to tell the full scope and size of the place, but from what I could make out, and judging by some of the properties we’d seen on the drive here, it appeared to be large. As we continued down the property’s main road, Duke and Pearl’s house came into view and it looked even more impressive than the ranch itself.

  I let out a slow whistle. “Holy smokes, that’s some setup.”

  “Five generations of Hills have lived in that house,” Carson said. “And a Bird has always represented them.”

  “No shit? Have they always been in the horse trade?”

  “Tobacco made the Hill family’s original fortune. Then, after World War II, it was cattle. Once Duke’s father died, Duke sold the cattle business and focused solely on breeding and training horses.”

  “Does he still do that now?” I asked.

  “Duke keeps a small stable of horses, but at his age, it’s getting tougher for him to put in a full day’s work.”

  “Doesn’t the ranch have employees?”

  Carson grinned. “Sure, but Duke is what you’d call a hands-on kind of guy.”

  We reached the end of the long gravel driveway, parked, and got out of the car. An elderly couple sat together on the front porch of the house in matching rocking chairs.

  “I’m surprised you remembered how to get to the ranch, it’s been so goddamned long since you’ve been here,” the old man called out as he rose.

  “Hello, Duke. It’s nice to see you too,” Carson said, in a warm, but business-like tone.

  “Did you have to use your GPS to find us?” Duke asked as he helped Pearl to her feet.

  “Oh, Duke. You leave this nice young man alone,” Pearl ordered, greeting Carson with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hello, Pearl. It’s genuinely nice to see you,” Carson said.

  “See, that?” Duke shouted. “Goddamned lawyers. Always talking out of both sides of their mouths.”

  “I always thought that was a silly expression,” Pearl said. “Is it better for someone to speak only out of one side of their mouth? Would you really trust a person who spoke in such a way?”

  “One side, both sides, it don’t rightly matter. Bird here is a lawyer, which automatically makes him an asshole and a liar.”

  “Duke,” Pearl admonished.

  “Granted, he’s not as big of an asshole as his daddy, and nowhere near the liar his granddaddy was, but he’s a lawyer and a Bird, so what the hell can he do?”

  “I’ll remember this chat fondly while sending you my billable hours this month,” Carson said with a smile.

  “I bet you will,” Duke said. His tone dripped with annoyance, but it was obvious Duke liked Carson Bird. “Well. You’re here, so you may as well come in for a drink,” Duke said before pointing at me. “Who’s this mopey looking sack of bruises you brought with you?”

  “This is Doozer.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “This is the queen of this here rodeo, Pearl,” Duke said, sweetly.

  I nodded politely to Pearl. “Ma’am.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Doozer,” Pearl replied. “Welcome to the Double H and please forgive my husband’s foolish rants. He is a good man, but he’s full of three kinds of bologna.”

  “Doozer, huh? More like Doozy if you ask me,” he said, examining my bruises. “Looks like someone had themselves a square dance on your face, son.”

  “Doozer ran into a little trouble with some local boys in Quantico,” Carson said.

  “I thought Virginia was for lovers,” Duke said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, well I guess these guys didn’t get that message.”

  “What about you?” Duke asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Did you get the message?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I replied.

  Duke put a hand on my shoulder and smiled. “Son, every ass-whoopin’ is life’s way of trying to deliver a message to you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Indeed, it is. So, let’s go inside, rustle up some whiskey, and have us a chat. Maybe we can figure out exactly what life is trying to teach you.”

  “A drink sounds great,” I said, still unsure about what he meant.

  “Good,” Duke said.

  Duke led us up to the house and into his study, and Pearl excused herself for the evening. It was still way too early for bed, but I got the distinct impression she was retiring to leave the men to their business. Their whole vibe was old school as shit, and super cool to watch. Duke and Pearl were like something out of a movie. Their vibe reminded me of that scene in Godfather II when Michael Corleone meets with Hyman Roth in Florida. Hyman Roth’s old lady brings him a tuna sandwich on a tray while he and Michael Corleone watch baseball and casually plot who’s gonna get whacked.

  “Scotch okay with you?” Duke asked, setting out three glasses.

  “Whatever you’re pouring, sir,” I replied.

  “Alright, you can knock off that sir shit. I’m a professional rancher and an amateur lover and neither of those things requires me to be addressed as sir. Duke’ll do fine, son.”

  I nodded.

  “So, Minus tells me you’re a good kid, and a good soldier,” Duke said handing me my drink.

  “I’m glad, if not a little surprised to hear that, but maybe club talk should stay between just you and me,” I said, motioning toward Carson.

  “I’m your lawyer, Doozer,” Carson replied. “Whatever you say to me is confidential information bound by attorney client privilege.”

  “How exactly are you my lawyer? I don’t have any money. I can’t pay you,” I said.

  “I sent Bird to Virginia after Minus called me,” Duke said, handing me my drink. “It was the least I could do, and I was happy to do it. Pearl and I owe our lives to Minus and Cricket.”

  “Who knows how long I would have rotted in the backwater shithole jail cell if you hadn’t?”

  “Let’s just say, I’ve been in your boots before,” Duke said with a grin before taking a slow sip.

  “Minus said you were out in Quantico because of your woman. That right?”

  I nodded. “She’s enrolled at the FBI training academy.”

  “FBI training? A biker’s old lady?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” I said, dismissively.

  “You got anything better to talk about while we whack away at this here bottle?”

  “I guess not,” I laughed. Over the hour I brought Duke and Carson Bird up to speed. I told them all about Sweet Pea’s standoff with Wolf, how the club had come to work with Taxi, and about Trouble joining his new team.

  “Well, that Trouble sounds like a tough cookie,” Duke said.

  “She’s amazing,” I replied. “I’ve never met anyone else like her. Not even close.”

  “You love her?”

  “Of course, she’s perfect.”

  “You tell her that?”

  I nodded, taking a sip.

  “So, why don’t you marry her?” Duke asked as plainly as possible.

  “What?” I replied, almost spitting out my drink.

  “Sure. You’ve been yapping away about her for an hour. You’re obviously ass-over-brains in love with the girl. Why not make her your wife?”

  “Make her my wife? What are we, back in the eighteen-hundreds?”

  “I ain’t that old, pecker head,” Duke growled. “Young people are so goddamned touchy about marriage these days. Back in the day, if you loved a woman, you married her before she had the good sense to go off and find someone better.”

  “Relationships are a bit more complicated these days.”

  “You only think that because you’re young and dumb. Do you really love Trouble?”

  “Of course, I do, and I’m freaked the fuck out that she’s gonna dump me now that she’s starting this new life, but I don’t think marriage is gonna sol
ve anything.”

  “I didn’t say it would,” Duke said. “In fact, marriage doesn’t solve anything. Ever. That’s not what marriage is about.”

  “If getting married doesn’t solve anything, then why encourage me to do it?”

  “Because there’s nothing more beautiful in this world than a kept promise.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Look, son. Getting married is nothing more than two people who love each other making a promise between them. Being married is the daily fulfillment of that promise, and that, my boy, is where all the hard work is. It’s also where you’ll find the good stuff.” Duke grinned wide through his bushy, grey beard.

  “The good stuff, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. Trying to “out-love” each other every day. You can’t go wrong with that, my boy.”

  “How do you “out-love” someone?”

  “Most people think a relationship is a fifty-fifty kind of a deal. I give fifty, they give fifty, and together we’ve got one hundred percent. Right?”

  “Sounds right,” I said.

  “Pig shit,” Duke replied. “I say both sides have to give one hundred percent of themselves to the relationship for it to work. I give one hundred, and Pearl gives one hundred and together we get one hundred. I can’t rightly explain how the math works, but after fifty or so years of marriage, I know that it does.”

  “Okay, but Trouble and I have been together for barley a year. It’s a little early to be thinking about marriage.”

  “Is it?”

  I cocked my head. “How long was it after you met Pearl that you knew you wanted to marry her?”

  “The night we met, but in fairness, I didn’t ask her until the next day.”

  “You asked Pearl to marry you the day after you met?”

  “I suppose we knew each other back when we were little kids, but I’d forgotten about that.”

  “What did she say when you asked?”

  “Whatta you think? She told me to buzz off. Thankfully, after much wooing, I convinced her to hitch her cart to my horse.”

  “So, how long did you date before you got married?”

  “Four.”

  “What are you getting on my case for? Trouble and I have only been together—”

  “Days.”

  “What?” I asked, barely able to process what I’d heard.

  “Pearl and I got married four days after getting reacquainted. Four and a half, technically speaking. She took a little convincing.”

  I looked over at Carson Bird, hoping for a little support from someone closer to my age, but he was out cold. Slumped down in the oversized leather chair, glass in hand, his mouth agape.

  “He passed out half an hour ago. Those Birds are all a bunch of lightweights, but they make good lawyers.”

  “Seriously, though, Duke. What am I gonna do about the cops back in Virginia?”

  “You let me and Bird take care of that. Between his lawyerin’ and my checkbook, I ’xpect we’ll have everything cleared up by the time Minus gets here.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I groaned. “My old man, Taxi, Trouble, and now Minus. Who else’s shit list could I possibly get myself onto?”

  “Don’t worry. We’re gonna keep you so busy, you won’t have time to think about your troubles. If you’ll forgive the pun,” Duke said, tipping his imaginary cowboy hat.

  * * *

  Trouble

  “Nineteen!” Taxi shouted and I braced myself for the oncoming deluge. The blast of cold water stung against my aching back and my teeth chattered uncontrollably as I struggled to complete my next pushup. After a few seconds, Taxi continued. “Twenty,” he called out before unloading the hose on the group once again.

  So far, our punishment had consisted of sleep deprivation, a ten-mile hike, breakfast KP, and now pushups while being pummeled by a firehose.

  “I told you that fighting would not be tolerated, didn’t I?”

  “Sir. Yes, sir,” we shouted in not-so-perfect unison. Earning us another blast from the hose.

  “What?”

  “Sir. Yes, sir!”

  “Attention,” Taxi commanded, and we struggled to snap to our feet.

  In all my years on the road, I’d never been more exhausted, cold, or hungry. I was soaked to the bone and seeing double.

  “When I say no fighting, that means absolutely no fucking fighting. Not with each other and most definitely, not with civilians,” Taxi walked down the line, addressing each of us as he passed. “In fact, the only thing you should be fighting is the urge to fuck up again. Because, if any of you behave like this once more, you’ll look back on the last twenty-four hours with fondness. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

  “Sir. Yes, sir!”

  “Good. There’s chow waiting for you back at the dorms. Shower, eat, and rest. In that order. Get warm. Training will resume at thirteen hundred hours. Dismissed and get the fuck out of my sight.”

  I made my way to the barracks as quickly as my battered body would allow. I was nearly delirious from hunger, but my impending frostbite urged me back to my room, and I stepped into a hot shower, reveling in the warmth until my stomach couldn’t take the emptiness anymore.

  I couldn’t wait to devour food. Any food. That was until I discovered with horror the breakfast Taxi had arranged for us.

  He’d put a folding table right outside the barracks, and on top he’d placed several stacks of MREs, courtesy of the US Department of Defense. MREs or meal-ready-to-eat are the pre-packaged staple of all deployed military personnel. The meals consist of a nutrient dense main course, side dish and dessert all contained in a single pouch. Anyone who’s had to eat them will tell you that most MREs are barely tolerable. The selection Taxi laid out for us was simply diabolical.

  “Holy shit,” Boots said, looking through the packets. “There’s only shit like Veggie Burgers and Beef Enchiladas here.”

  “No chili mac?” Tackle asked.

  “Chicken Fajitas don’t sound too bad,” Graves said, holding up a package.

  “That’s because you’ve never had them,” Boots said.

  “Holy shit. Veggie omelet,” Tackle said. “They Don’t even make this one anymore. Where the hell did Taxi find these?”

  “Yo. I think that shit is against the Geneva Convention,” Boots said.

  “How do you two know so much about MREs? Were you in the service?” I asked.

  “Marines,” Tackle said, motioning to Boots.

  “Oorah!” Boots called out without pausing his search for the best meal in the pile.

  “What about you?” I asked Tackle.

  “No, not me. I’m an MRE connoisseur because of my dad.”

  “He in the military?”

  “Not anymore. More like the militia.”

  “Gotcha,” I said, figuring the fewer questions, the better.

  “I knew he was pissed, but not this pissed,” Boots said, tossing an MRE back on the pile. “Screw this. I’m hitting the rack.”

  As good as sleep sounded, I had to eat something, so I decided on the Veggie Burger.

  Eight hours later I would learn, first-hand, how MRE got the nickname “Meals Refusing to Exit.”

  After the worst breakfast ever, I laid down in my bunk and tried to sleep. Even though I was exhausted beyond measure it took a little while for me to fall into a deep sleep as my brain was bombarded with thoughts of Doozer.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Doozer

  EVERY MOVIE AND cartoon ever made would have you believe that a rooster’s crow happens at the precise moment the sun rises over the horizon. Signaling the optimal moment for those on the farm to rise and greet the day. Hollywood always depicts the rooster standing high atop the barn, next to a weathervane, proudly trumpeting the arrival of the new day, no more than a total of two or three times, while being accompanied by an uplifting score of strings and flutes. This is, as Duke might put it, ten pounds of pig shit stuffed into a five-pound sack.

  My
feathered nemesis began his assault on my slumber around four thirty A.M., well before sunrise, and didn’t stop until sometime around two P.M. I swear to Christ, I heard that little pecker cock-a-fucking-doodling all day long. It is also noteworthy that he didn’t crow from atop the barn, but instead preferred to deliver his early morning serenade from directly outside the window of my first-floor room.

  By five fifteen, I’d abandoned all hope of falling back to sleep. I got up, got dressed, and made my way to the kitchen in hopes of rustling up some coffee. I was surprised to find Pearl already there, decked out in an apron, preparing a full breakfast.

  “Oh, dear. Did I wake you, sweetie? Or are you an early riser like me?” Pearl asked.

  “Neither.” I replied, pointing a thumb back towards my room. “The rooster outside my window told me it was time to get up.”

  “Oh, that would be Roger,” she said, before flipping a pancake with expert precision. “He’s a nasty one. I swear he’s going to end up in my frying pan one of these days if he keeps up his nonsense.”

  I laughed. My eyes transfixed on Pearl’s griddle. “Are those blueberry pancakes?” I asked.

  “Yes, they are, and I’ll have a warm stack for you ready in no time. If you’d like coffee, please help yourself to the pot. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right of the sink.”

  “I woke up to the chicken from hell but now find myself in heaven,” I said and poured myself a cup of Pearl’s house blend.

  “It sounds like Duke’s got a full day planned for the two of you, and I never like my boys to go to work on an empty stomach.”

  “Full day of work?” I asked, just as Duke entered the kitchen.

  “Y’ain’t afraid of a little hard work are ya, Doozer?” he asked, before greeting his wife with a kiss.

  “No, sir. But I am gonna need more of this,” I said, raising my mug.

  “Is last night’s scotch fightin’ back this mornin’?”

  “Roger started in a little early this morning,” Pearl informed Duke.

  “I’m so used to his racket, I don’t even hear that old sonofabitch anymore,” Duke said.

  “You can’t hear anything anymore, you old coot,” Pearl said under her breath.