by West, Dahlia
“Heard you had a nice vacation,” Prior said.
Chris only nodded.
“Well, now that you’re back. I got something coming up. And I wondered if I could get your assistance.”
Chris remained stoic. It wasn’t as though this was actually a request. “What?”
“Got a shipment of merch coming down from the border. Gonna pay for it in hardware. And I’m not sure how well some of my guys can handle themselves in a crisis.”
Chris and Jack spoke earnestly for a few more minutes until Prior nodded. He mounted his Harley again, saluted jauntily, and fired up the motor. As he rode away, Hawk, Tex, Doc, and Easy came up behind Chris.
“So,” Hawk said, “what’s the deal?”
Chris sighed. “The deal’s a deal.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Well, it seems the Buzzards are buying themselves a ridiculous amount of BC bud. And they are paying for it with an equally ridiculous number of illegal weapons.”
“Oh. So nothing hard then,” Hawk countered.
“Are you fucking kidding?” Easy replied. “Caught trafficking guns and drugs? Yeah, the hard part is dodging Bubba in Federal Prison for the next 50 years.”
“What kind of guns are we talking about?” Tex asked.
Chris shook his head. “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Tex?” Chris said.
“Lieutenant?”
“We need to talk.”
********************
Hayley gaped at Chris and the other men and refused to set down the beers on the dining room table. “You’re what?”
Chris grimaced at her. “You heard me.”
She looked around as though someone was going to pop out and tell her that it was all a big joke. “You- you can’t!” she declared.
“It is what it is, baby,” he told her.
“No. No, fuck that!” she cried. “You’re not doing this!”
Hawk scowled. “Starting to see why MC’s don’t tell their old ladies the details of their shit.”
“Well, we’re not an MC,” Chris replied angrily. “And I don’t hide things from my old lady. Just like she doesn’t hide anything from me. She fucking deserves to know, Hawk. It’s not like this is Iraq. No cop’s going to pull out her fingernails to make her give us up. She’d never do that.”
Hayley sighed and set down the drinks. “I’d never turn you in. I’d go to prison first.” She stated it so matter-of-factly that no one dared argued with her. “But I want to be there.”
Chris sighed. “Not happening, baby.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “This is all because of me, and I want to make sure you’re okay.”
Chris shook his head. “Slick, you have no skills.” Hayley was so surprised she nearly spilled the beers. “Sorry, baby,” he told her. “Now, I don’t have a big problem with women, trained women, in the hot zone, but I’ll be goddamned if my woman is going to put herself in danger. Especially when she can’t handle herself. You can’t even shoot a gun, Slick. I’m sorry but you’re staying home, where you’re safe, and that it all there is to that.”
She sighed. “I don’t like this.”
“I don’t either, baby. But it is what is, and we’ll deal with it and move past it.”
********************
Hayley took the empties to the kitchen, which Chris normally told her not to do. But he let it go this time because he didn’t want to burden her with more details of his plan.
“Women in the hot zone?” Easy asked when she was far enough away not to hear.
Hawk rolled his eyes. “They’re getting shot at anyway, kid,” he pointed out. “They might as well get paid for it like the rest of us.”
Easy frowned. Hard to tell whether it was the idea of women getting combat pay or them getting shot at that darkened his mood. Chris wasn’t interested in guessing.
“Let’s go over it again,” he said, just wanting this to be over and done with and he and his boys having come out on the other side unscathed.
The next day, the boys, minus Tex, gathered at Burnout and headed toward the Badlands Buzzards clubhouse across town. Each was strapped with their Desert Eagle .44’s. Chris could almost feel the metal disk of the unit insignia on the grip pressing against his back. The clubhouse was really a warehouse surrounded by a chainlink fence and topped with razor wire. A prospect opened the rolling gates and they motored inside the compound.
Prior was already gearing up, giving last minute orders to the twelve or so other members of the MC that were gathered in the lot. “Thought you were bringing all your boys,” Prior said, making note of Tex and Doc’s absence.
Chris raised an eyebrow. “You really want a cop in on this deal?”
Preacher grinned. “That boy ain’t no cop.”
Chris ignored him. “And the other one’s busy.”
Prior grunted. “Gimp’s not a liability?”
To his credit, Easy didn’t flinch at Prior’s insult. God knew he’d heard enough from his old man growing up that it took a lot more than that to get a rise out of him.
“Didn’t lose his trigger finger,” Chris replied, meeting Prior’s sarcasm with some of his own. Now was not the time to educate Prior on the finer points of manners and it would’ve been a waste of time anyway.
“Suit yourself,” Prior finally declared.
Jimmy had been taking out a bike that had been taking up space in the shop for a few weeks now. It hadn’t gone well at first, but he’d slowly become accustomed to using his prosthetic. It was slightly smaller than Chris’ own Super Glide and Hawk’s Street Bob but it was temporary until he saved up enough from working at the garage to get his own wheels.
Prior nodded to everyone, got on his own bike, and headed the caravan that would make its way to the interstate. A white, nondescript panel truck lumbered after approximately one half of the procession and six or so bikers brought up the rear. On the highway, though, they were staggered and inconspicuously spaced so that it was not obvious that they were escorting the larger vehicle.
They took a right at Spearfish and motored up 85 to Teddy Roosevelt Park just over the borders of the Dakotas. Prior turned them onto an access road off the Interstate and just beyond the second curve, Chris could make out a group of about 25-30 bikers all pulled off into a clearing, surrounding an identical white panel truck. Prior signaled everyone to pull up short and kill their engines. Chris frowned at the uneven odds.
Preacher got off his bike, nodded to his second and to Chris and the three of them headed toward a spot half way between the two groups. The President of the Buzzards shook hands with what was apparently the Kamloops Kings, according to their cuts. Canada didn’t have that many MC’s and Chris certainly hadn’t heard of the Kings. It was a wonder that in such a short time they’d managed to assemble such a large club, but then again the weed industry in Canada was a siren call to anyone who wanted to prosper from the boom. A modern day gold rush, as it were.
Their Prez brought two of his own men to the midway spot. Chris planted himself to Prior’s left. The way Chris saw it, if Prior was along for the deal, he wasn’t planning any blackmail since there could be no way to implicate Chris and his unit without also implicating himself. He didn’t know precisely what Prior’s angle was, other than the added firepower and knowledge of tactics was obviously in their favor. Chris knew it wouldn’t be worth his time to even guess at Prior’s motives. The realization, though, that he was on a county road with what amounted to trafficking levels of drugs and guns was a sobering thought. He couldn’t help but be thankful that he hadn’t chosen this life even though he’d been born to it.
He wouldn’t have his unit. He wouldn’t have his garage. He wouldn’t have met Slick. And, frankly, at some point down the line, Preacher Prior was going to end up dead or behind bars the same as their old men. Chris’ old man had died behind bars and Prior’s, though released, had ended up permanently drunk and disabled and living in a trailer on the edge of town.
Chris never talked much about his decision to enlist. He signed up two weeks after Hap Sullivan had been shivved in the yard of South Dakota State Pen. Everyone attributed Chris’ enlistment to being in mourning for his old man. But the truth was, Chris had seen where that life led and hadn’t wanted a goddamn thing to do with it. Here he was, though, years later, standing beside an MC Prez, but he vowed that the first time would be the last time.
“Preacher!” the younger man called out, a large smile on his face. As he got closer Chris realized just how young the guy was. The man to his immediate right was probably only slightly older and to his left was the oldest, more like Chris’ age.
“Fishtail,” Jack acknowledged. Jack nodded to his second who slid a backpack off his back. He opened it and pulled out an AR-15.
Fishtail whistled. “Right down to business,” he observed.
“That’s pretty much how I do things,” Jack agreed.
Fishtail nodded and took the assault weapon. He inspected it, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Chris really didn’t want to think about the amount of damage this ‘kid’ could do with a crate full of AR-15’s.
The Buzzard’s second took the demo model back when Fishtail handed it to him.
“Well now,” Fishtail said. “Got your payment right here.”
Jack bid his second and Chris to follow him and the six men parted the sea of Kamploops Kings like the Red Sea in order to get to the back of the panel truck. Fishtail opened the back himself and Chris saw bricks of weed stacked on pallets.
Prior nodded his acknowledgement of the enormous amount of marijuana and Fishtail smiled again as Prior handed him the keys to the truck they’d escorted up from Rapid City. Fishtail handed over the keys, presumably to his truck. “Been a pleasure, then, Preacher.”
“Have to say I feel the same,” Jack replied.
Fishtail turned to close the door to the panel truck and that’s when Jack “Preacher” Prior, who was obviously no Preacher in any sense of the word, pulled out a glock from his waistband and fired one round into the back of Fishtail No-first-or-last-name’s head.
Before the younger man’s body could hit the ground, everyone went for their guns. Chris spun around, back to the truck and brought up his Eagle. Amid the shouting, the Buzzard’s second slapped a clip into the AR-15 and leveled it at the group of Kings directly in front of them. Remarkably, the King’s own second pulled out a 9 mil but before he could aim it at Prior, the King’s third man shot his co-hort in the neck. It was then that Chris realized that while every single person from the Buzzards and the Kings had a weapon at the ready, approximately two-thirds of the Kings were pointing their guns at the other Kings.
“Alright listen up!” the third shouted. “We got a lot to discuss.”
No shit, thought Chris. He risked a quick glance at Hawk and Easy both had weapons drawn.
“Now, I started this club,” Number Three announced. “It was me that got us the clubhouse, me that secured the deal with Montreal. You fuckers turned on me and voted this piece of shit,” here he kicked the limp body of poor Fishtail, “in as Prez. Well, I’m taking my club back. Right now.”
He nodded at Jack. “Got a supply line opened up. Ain’t gonna be no one-time deal. The Buzzards give us hardware, we pay in bud. Don’t gotta deal with that cartel shit on either end. And we got us a source supplying us to move east and start takin’ over territories.”
Chris groaned inwardly. Leave it to Jack to realize that the grizzled Number Three was just a Napoleon-in-Exile and exploit his need to regain power.
Number Three made it clear that the only vote was “yes” for the minority one third. Jack tipped his metaphorical hat at the man, tossed the keys to the panel truck full of weed to his own second and bid the Kamloops Kings good day. Chris, reluctantly, helped the Buzzard’s second to put his bike in the back of the panel truck and then walked to his own Harley.
He straddled his bike, grabbed his helmet, and glared at Prior as he put it on. In a low voice he asked, “What are the odds this place’ll be a mass grave after we leave?”
Prior shrugged. “Ain’t my problem. Got in, got out, got paid, and you kept your cool, like I knew you would.”
Chris ground his molars. “So we’re square.”
“Oh, we’re square.”
Prior signaled to the Buzzards to mount up and the group headed back out the highway. Chris didn’t spare a backwards glance for the poor sons of bitches they were leaving behind. At least they were one percenters, he told himself. They had to know what kind of life they were signing up for and that it might lead to an early grave.
At the first opportunity, Chris signaled to Hawk and Easy to break off from the pack. They took highway 12 to 73 South rather than share 85 with Prior and the Buzzards. At a rest stop, he called Tex to let him know that he didn’t need to grab Slick and high-tail it south and all was well. Or mostly well. Jimmy hadn’t said much after watching the murder of a guy his own damn age and Hawk was just as reticent. Neither of them appeared to be mad at Chris, though, and he thought that was something, at least. Tex could tell by the tone of his voice that while they may have made it through unscathed, Chris was definitely troubled. He knew better, though, than to ask over a cell phone for details.
It was sunset now and soon it would be dark out. Chris wished fervently that Slick was on his bike and they were riding through the stars, neither of them concerned with death and dying.
Chapter 34
Hayley lay awake watching Chris sleeping beside her. He had returned from his dealings with Preacher in one piece from what she could tell. He’d held her and told her that everything was okay. He wasn’t hurt and neither were the boys and she supposed that was something, at least. She’d considered asking him what had gone wrong, though. Because clearly something had. He wasn’t nearly as relieved as it seemed to her that he should have been.
Hayley wasn’t certain she wanted to know how sideways a guns-for-drugs swap could go, however. With a one percenter MC like the Buzzards, she imagined several worst case scenarios. So she acknowledged to herself that she probably didn’t want to know, but neither did she want Chris to should his burden alone.
In the end she’d simply asked him if he wanted to talk about it. Chris shook his head and confirmed that she didn’t need to know or worry about it. It was over, he’d told her. He’d promised her that the debt to Preacher Prior was paid in full.
Chris had thrown himself into his work after that, citing his need to get his custom bike orders ready for the rally in Sturgis next week. Hayley might have assumed it was his way of coping with the trouble that she had brought down on them, and to some it extent it probably was. But each night Chris came home from the garage, he kept her close. And so because he wasn’t pushing her away she decided it meant that they could, and would, move past it.
She renewed her determination to keep things running smoothly. Since their return from North Carolina, Chris has insisted on buying her a new cell phone for safety reasons and also on driving her to and from the bar, even though it meant ditching Tex and Hawk and leaving them short-handed at the garage for an hour every day.
In spite of his precautionary measures, Hayley felt there was no danger at this point. Chris had meticulously checked to see if anyone had followed them both before returning the rental car in Virginia and the entire way home as well. He’d been satisfied that they had not been followed, but still hadn’t settled into the same ease of comfort he‘d had before the trip. But given the sacrifices that he’d had to make on her behalf as a direct result of her having tried to sneak away, Hayley wasn’t about to argue over her, most likely, armed escort around Rapid City.
She was fairly certain that Chris’ vigilance was due to her personal troubles, though, and had nothing to do with the Buzzards, since neither Chris nor the boys so much as acknowledged the members of the MC when they crossed paths at Maria’s.
On Wednesday, she awoke to the sound of voices in the livi
ng room. She entered the living room to find Jimmy and Chris speaking in earnest. They both turned their attention to her as she entered the living room.
“We’re rolling out late this afternoon,” Chris informed her. Hayley didn’t have to ask where. “I’ll keep my cell phone on and Easy’s staying in town with you.”
Hayley nodded. She enjoyed working at Maria’s and was pretty comfortable with the patrons, but she had no interest in visiting a town that had been laid siege to by thousands of bikers. Sturgis was not her scene.
“Stay safe,” he told her, “and don’t let your guard down. I’ll be home in two days.”
It was the first of two promises to her that Chris would break.
***************************
