Peg's Stand

by Manda Mellett

  Peg’s help hadn’t ended after he’d left my house. The morning after Pete had been arrested, a locksmith turned up, some kind of security expert who not only changed all my locks and fitted a security system, but when I asked how much it was going to cost, said he’d already received payment. Stunned, I realised it had to have been the biker. The man who I’d last seen being pushed into a police car, treated as though he’d committed the crime rather than being my saviour. Not liking being beholden to anyone, I didn’t know what to do.

  While I’m happy and far easier in my mind now I have a more secure home to live in, the fact a stranger is responsible for the upgrade niggles at me. The feeling gets worse as the days go on. At first, I expected him to call me to check whether I was okay, or to see if the work he’d obviously had arranged had been done. Then I realised he didn’t have my number, and I didn’t have his.

  Perhaps he’ll drop in and see me? But he never did. Clearly the connection I’d felt with him was one-sided.

  The worry I’m indebted to someone continues to nag at my mind. I try to forget it, but on one of my rest days find myself driving along the I10 toward Phoenix, where I’d heard the Satan’s Devils compound was located. But as I’ve no idea of the precise location and, seeing no bikers around who I could follow, soon give it up as a fool’s errand. I feel a mix of emotions. Relief that I haven’t had to put my head into what would certainly be a den of iniquity, frustration I can’t thank Peg, and a loss I don’t quite understand, when I finally have to accept that I’ll probably never see him again.

  Apart from time wasted wondering about the man with the strange name, I’ve been busy tidying up my house and removing every trace of Pete Mercer. His clothes are bagged up and in the back of my closet, and his possessions are packed and stored in my garage. I’ve thrown his shampoo, toothbrush, and other bathroom items away. It’s the best I can do. I’ve no inkling of the correct procedure when a man who abused you is languishing in a cell. One thing I know is I never want to see him again. Perhaps I should have donated everything he owned to charity? I might still do that.

  I’ve got one more twenty-four-hour shift left to complete my five twenty-four hours on twenty-four hours off shift pattern, then I’ve got another six days off. People think we have it easy, but the job’s so demanding, we need time to recharge. My work days seem to fly by and drag in equal proportions. One day we’ve barely nothing to do, the next shift we have call after call.

  We’ve just finished another particularly gruelling shift when Slade comes up. “Ready for some breakfast?”

  I’ve been with these men for twenty-four hours, but after the shit we’ve seen during the past night, would welcome the time, and help, to unwind. The captain knows it, which is why he’s keeping us together. No one can understand the stress of the job like another firefighter can. The last call out had been chilling, a vehicle fire we couldn’t put out in time, the crash victims had died while we were watching.

  Seated in the establishment we habitually frequent for this purpose, we all order a substantial breakfast, and hungry, start digging in. In between a mouthful of eggs, I raise my chin to the man across the table. “How’s the baby, Hammer?”

  “Teething.” His glum face shows he and his wife are having problems with that. “Crying all the time. Seems tuned in to when I want to get some sleep.”

  “Poor little mite.”

  His eyes widen. “I’m not little.”

  I punch him lightly on the arm.

  “Hey. Looks like trouble.” Slade’s pointing to the TV up on the wall.

  As one we all get up.

  “Turn up the sound,” Hammer shouts at the woman behind the counter, who does as asked. She’s used to firefighters coming in here.

  “Fuck.” Truck voices all our thoughts.

  “Only fifty or so acres so far.” Slade’s repeating what the newscaster is saying about the wildfire burning up in the mountains above Tucson.

  “Is it contained?” I’m straining to hear, but I must have missed that bit.

  “Twenty percent.” Okay, sounds like they’re getting it under control, but still some ways to go.

  Truck’s face looks pinched. “What’s the weather forecast?”

  Getting out my phone, I take a look. “Windy later.”

  “Shit, I hope they get it out before then.” Hammer’s face creases in concern.

  Truck’s still watching. “They’re going to get the planes up. They’re hitting it hard to stop it from spreading.”

  I don’t envy my colleagues up in the forest, from whatever station they’re based. Fighting a wildland fire is challenging work, and dangerous. It’s impossible to guess when the wind might change and blow it in your direction.

  “I imagine they’ll put it out.” Slade gives us his professional view. “As long as it’s contained and doesn’t spread. And there doesn’t seem to be any property nearby.”

  That’s good. No Houses, businesses, or people needing to be evacuated. Satisfied our fellow firefighters will be doing all they can to get the smallish fire under control, we return to our table and resume our conversation. Although we are an urban-based station dealing mainly with structural fires, we’re also trained wildland firefighters, and have been called on to tackle many a wildfire over the years.

  You can sum up a structural fire based on experience, know roughly what you’re dealing with, and estimate how long it might take to put out and bring in the correct resources. But a wildfire? There’s so many variables that mean you don’t know what you’re up against, and conditions can change swiftly. They can also be notoriously hard to extinguish.

  I cast one last glance up at the TV, but the newscaster’s moved onto something else. Hopefully the local crew will contain it. I’m not worried about myself, I’ll fight whatever fire I’m asked to. But a wildfire can be dangerous, ravenous, and take far too much.

  Chapter 7

  Peg

  “Let’s talk prospects.” The prez does his usual thing, leaning back in his chair and putting one foot up against the table and wiping his hand over his beard. “Hyde’s been here eighteen months or more now. ‘Bout time we decided one way or another.”

  When Wraith and Sophie had their baby, I’d taken over looking out for our recruits. Hence this private discussion between Drummer and myself today. “Prez, Fergus is proving he’s a good fit. But I think we should leave it a while before discussing a patch, he hasn’t really been tested yet. But Hyde, well, he’s been impressing me.” My mind goes back to that night when I helped a woman called Darcy. It’s been a couple of weeks now, but I still can’t get her out of my head.

  Drummer sighs. “Slick and Heart will never agree.”

  “I’ll just have to make them. He deserves it, Prez.”

  “Won’t get no argument from me. The fucker’s grown on me, and I think he’d make a good brother.”

  Hyde had made a few mistakes in the past, some of them out of his control, some out of ignorance. We usually patch prospects in after a year or decide they won’t make it. But Hyde’s been here far longer than that. To get your patch you need the vote from all the patched members. One member voting no and that’s final.

  “Paladin has it in for Hyde too.” Drummer reminds me.

  I growl. “Paladin will have to shut the fuck up. It’s become too personal for him and Slick, and that shit Hyde did? It’s way back in the rearview.” These men are still holding a grudge, and for far too long, if I’m asked.

  Drum’s face shows how hard a job he thinks I’m going to have. But he knows as well as I do that a man can’t prospect forever. The time has come that Hyde’s either in or he’s out. “Okay, Peg, I hear you. You try and work on them, and we’ll bring it to Friday night’s church.”

  I agree. Another few days, and while I hate to admit it, if my powers of persuasion don’t work, Hyde will be leaving the compound for good. I hope it doesn’t come to that.

  Drummer levels me with his stare. “What’s go
ing on with you, Peg? You seem a bit out of it lately.”

  Now this is unusual, a personal probe by the prez. He’s taken me by surprise. In the pause before I answer, he leans behind him and gets a bottle of whisky and two glasses out of a cupboard. I raise my chin and he pours me a glass.

  “Club’s changin’,” I tell him. Drummer and I go back years, to the days before the Satan’s Devils moved to this compound, to the time when Drummer’s father, Bastard, ran the club. It was a totally different era then. We were involved in the type of shit I never want to be part of again and, which had in a roundabout way, got me enlisting. I’d remained a member, the old clubhouse my home when I was on leave. I’d been there that fateful night when Bastard and most of the old members ended up locked up or dead. Together with Drummer, and some of the others, I’d been arrested during a police raid on our strip club. No charges stuck, so luckily I was able to re-join my regiment.

  I went back and forth, easily fitting in with both sets of brothers, returning once on leave to find the club had moved to this new location, a complete step up, and pleased to see we were out of most of the dirty side of life. It was on my very next tour that an IED took part of my leg.

  If it wasn’t for the club, I don’t know what would have happened to me. But they supported me, kept me buoyed up. Built a gym and equipped it so I could build up my strength and get used to wearing a prosthesis. Yeah, Drummer and I go back a very long time.

  “Changin’ for the better?” His sharp eyes show he’s waiting for my answer.

  What can I say? For years, apart from Bullet and Viper, who’ve had old ladies for what seems like forever, and Heart when he was married to Crystal, the rest of us were single, and Amy the only kid in the club. Now we’ve got a fucking nursery set up, and Heart and his new woman will shortly be adding two more babies to the mix. We’ve still got the sweet butts, and most brothers remain single, but the atmosphere’s changing.

  “Bastard would have had a fit. All the kids and ol’ ladies?”

  Prez barks a laugh. “That he would, Brother, that he would.”

  “Wouldn’t recognise us, Drum. No smoking in the clubroom, havin’ to watch yer language when the kids are around. Not to mention the fuckin’ dog.” I smile though—Grunt, having grown into a full-size wolfhound now with whatever other part in his heritage being overshadowed, has fit right in.

  “It’s a family, Peg. Always been that. Kids and old ladies are part of it, natural progression. Club’s growin’ up, gettin’ older.”

  Yeah, but sometimes I feel that I’m not moving on like the others. Without my own old lady, I can’t help feeling I’m on the outside looking in.

  He sits forward and puts his elbows on the desk, watching me carefully. “Are we makin’ too many adjustments for the family life? Not caterin’ to all the brothers’ needs? Single brothers feelin’ excluded?”

  Quickly I give a shake of my head. “Nah, it’s not like that, Prez. Things are different, but not for the worse. With my sergeant-at-arms hat on, it gives us more to protect. The next generation.” I pause, trying to brush away the thought that I wish I was personally adding to that. Again, the vision of Darcy comes into my head. I wonder if she’d adjust to life as an old lady?

  “What you thinkin’ about, Peg?”

  I’m not going to tell him, he’ll think I’ve gone soft in my old age. Thirty-seven isn’t old. Probably not, but some days I feel ancient, and as if life’s passed me by, that I’ve lost my chance, just like I lost my leg.

  There are some discussions you don’t have with your prez. I finish my whisky and stand up. “I’ve got people to speak to.”

  His face twists, and it seems like he’s issuing a challenge. “You best start straight away. Fuck knows how long it will take you to persuade Slick.”

  I pull back my shoulder and step into the clubroom only to find neither of the men I need to talk to are there. Frustrated, I exchange chin lifts with those who are present, pat Amy on the head in passing, then go outside. That’s where I find one of the brothers I’m after. It’s Slick, having a cigarette, but he doesn’t notice my approach. He’s standing, staring into the distance.

  “Slick.”

  “Peg.” Without turning to acknowledge me, he points his hand. Up on the mountains behind the compound, it’s possible to see smoke is rising. Part of the Coronado Forest is on fire on the highest slopes of the Catalina Mountains. A common enough sight during the summer months, but one which is always disturbing. No one around here can forget the Aspen Fire and the damage it caused. Nor that shortly after that another smaller fire targeted the vacation resort that became, as a direct result, our compound. Fire, we respect.

  “Doesn’t look like much.”

  “Nah, probably no need to worry. No properties up that way that I can think of.” He shades his eyes with his hand. “They’re droppin’ retardant on it from a plane.”

  “Firefighters know to get on top of that shit fast.”

  It’s far enough away from us that I’m not concerned. Except a fleeting worry for a particular firefighter. Is she up there right now? Does she tackle wild fires? Fuck, whether she does or just works in the urban area, it’s one hell of a job for a woman. If she was mine, I’d be constantly worrying about her. Oh, for fuck’s sake, she’ll never be yours.

  “Makes you think, though.”

  I am thinking. But probably not along the lines he is. “What’s on yer mind, Slick?”

  “The fire that swept through here.”

  I’m not surprised he’s thinking the same as I had been. It’s automatic to turn around and take another look at the smoke in the distance. It’s high up and miles away and doesn’t look like much. “Fires usually rise, don’t they? Can’t think we’re under threat here. And certainly not from that one. It’s too far away.”

  My companion nods and finishes his smoke, carefully stubbing out the end on his boot. “You want me for anything, Peg?”

  His question reminds me what I’ve come out here for. “Yeah, need to have words.” I take a breath, then dive straight in. “Hyde…”

  “Ain’t getting my vote.” Anticipating my question, Slick replies without pause.

  I roll my head back on my shoulders. Just as I expected. I make the ramifications clear. “Then he’s out.”

  “Yeah?” Slick’s turned around, looking at me straight in the face. “He’s out?” He huffs, then turns back to look at the distant fire again. “Good.”

  We stand in silence for a moment, then I sigh. “He’s a good man, Slick. Got a good head on his shoulders. He’s grown since he’s been here. Takes all the shit and never complains. I think it’s time we patch him in.”

  “Nope.”

  I knew I wouldn’t get all the way in one go, just wanted to give him something to think on. You don’t get far arguing with Slick, just makes him dig in harder. I pat him on the shoulder. “Vote’s on Friday.”

  “Won’t be changin’ my mind.”

  Yeah, you will. Hyde’s given his all to the club for eighteen months. When Slick thinks about it, he’ll realise that. Chucking him out now wouldn’t be right. Or, at least, I hope that’s the conclusion he comes to.

  I walk away and go back into the clubroom. When Hyde first came here, he’d made some mistakes—letting the cops onto the compound without a warrant being one of them, but he was as green as shit then, overwhelmed by the cops. Slick’s old lady’s sister could have been seen when we were trying to keep her out of sight and protected. But that was a long time ago, and while Hyde’s fucked up since, it hadn’t really been his fault.

  A happy scream of ‘Daddy’ shows me the second person I need to talk to has come into sight. Heart’s walking in, his arms around his heavily pregnant old lady, an ex-cop who had to do more than most to prove herself to the club. I wait and watch fondly as he kneels and cuddles his daughter. When he finally stands, I go across.

  “Down, Grunt.” Slightly staggering as the two enormous paws land on my chest, I push
off the attentions of the overexuberant dog that’s never far from Amy. “Heart, a word?”

  After kissing Marcia, he places a hand on her stomach, a look of delight tells me the babies are probably kicking. Twins, they’re expecting, in just a few weeks. No wonder she’s looking as big as a house.

  “Beer,” he demands of Fergus. I hold a finger in the air, indicating I want one too, then we go to a table in the corner. “What can I do for you, Peg?”

  As he sits, he kicks out a chair. I plant myself opposite him, pick up the beer, and start picking at the label. When I raise my eyes, he’s looking expectant. “Hyde.”

  His head rolls back, then down. “What about the fucker?”

  “Decision on patchin’ him in on Friday.”

  Both hands go up and brush back his shoulder length blond hair, holding it back for a moment. His blue eyes focus on mine. “Slick’s never gonna say yes.”

  “Not askin’ Slick. I’m askin’ you.”

  Heart swivels his head and glances across to his old lady, a soft smile plays on his lips. As I follow the direction of his eyes, the thoughts in my head are that that he’s a lucky fucker. I want me some of that.

  “How long’s he been prospectin’, Peg?” Heart turns back around, giving me his attention again.

  “Eighteen months now.”

  Heart nods. “Fucker’s done his time. He gets his patch or he’s gone, right?”

  “That’s the gist of it.”

  He sighs. “I trust him. He had Marc’s back.”

  Well that was easier than I thought.

  “Ain’t gonna get patched in, though. Slick and Paladin will never give him their vote.” He grins, drains the bottle, and leaves the empty on the table.

  One down. Now I’ve just got to work harder on Slick. Paladin won’t stand out on his own.