“Yeah, we’re fucking there,” Jayce snapped then pressed a button to end the call. It was a shame you couldn’t slam a phone down anymore when you were pissed. There was something satisfying in that. “The shipment’s coming in tonight,” he muttered, also grabbing lemonade. He was so pissed and drinking his wife’s lemonade; the hilarity of it was only apparent to Buck. Jayce ignored his tittering. “We’ll intercept. It’s going down right here in Markham.”
Shit. They were all getting pretty pissed off at these city pricks using quiet communities like Markham to do their deals. Not because it meant drugs were coming through their neighborhoods, but because drugs could draw unwanted attention from law enforcement.
As one the four men crossed the lawn of Jayce’s backyard to the fence where they’d all left their leather kuttes while wrestling with the swing set. The leather settled on four sets of shoulders, sliding on like any other uniform.
They were on duty when wearing the kuttes. Thoughts of kids and jungle gyms were gone. There was just the brotherhood of the Red Rebels Motorcycle Club. The back of their kuttes were emblazoned with blood-red fists of resistance. The jeans and boots were also part of the uniform, and the company vehicles were parked on the street in front of Jayce’s house. Four gleaming black and chrome Harley Davidsons, also proudly displaying artistic variations of the same red fist as their patches.
Jayce was their president, Tank the VP. Buck was just christened Sergeant At Arms, and he was loyal to his president to the point where he would absolutely take a bullet for him. That’s what the position called for. Spaz was their resident tech geek, and the more digitized the world got, the more important his skill set became.
The Red Rebels made their bank roll by transporting marijuana and weapons for their associate MC, the Bastard Banshees. The Bastards set up the deliveries and the Rebels got the shit where it had to be. Their legitimate business fronts consisted of a garage and a strip club, both located in Markham. Money was good, the cost of living low, and the local sheriff’s department only decided to do their jobs when getting heat from other counties. And that rarely happened. As far as Markham went, the Rebels were law with the Sheriff’s department providing back-up.
“Where’s the drop exactly?” Buck asked, fastening his helmet under his chin.
“The Dog’s Breakfast,” Jayce answered. “By the rail yard. Remember where Fritter knifed that Gypsy?”
Tank chuckled, swinging a leg over his bike. “I remember that one. Great fucking fight.”
“Oh yeah.” It was coming back to Buck now. “Wasn’t he pushing up on one of their girls? They didn’t want him anywhere near the girls that were selling it, remember?”
“He got lucky with that one,” Tank piped up. “I’m pretty sure that bitch’s Adam’s apple was bigger than mine.”
They laughed and fired up their engines in unison, the loud rumble echoing through this bedroom community neighborhood. The locals were used to the sound and mostly left the MC alone, which went both ways. The MC made sure their shit stayed away from the good folks of Markham and they turned a blind eye to the noise, roughhousing and questionable operations the club was involved in.
Buck loved being a Rebel. He’d grown up in Markham, seen the Red Rebels roar through town his entire life. All he’d wanted to be was one of them. His pops was a mailman, mom stayed at home to raise him and his four brothers. Buck was the baby and he got away with bloody murder his whole life. His dad worked his ass off to give the family everything they needed. All the kids had been able to attend some kind of post-secondary education, except for Buck.
They were all boys growing up; bruises, cuts, fistfights and blood. His four older brothers all did their part making sure he could take his fair share of hard knocks. Buck would be the first to admit he was a total shit growing up. He gave his mother such grief. He brought her to tears many times. That was before he hit high school and really turned into a holy terror.
He burned his high school down at sixteen. Never graduated, but did time in juvie. His mother was the only one to visit on family day. His brothers all moved away but his parents still lived in Markham.
Buck did three years in a federal pen for an armed robbery at twenty and knew he never wanted to go back inside. He was not welcome in his parents’ home when he was released, so he was on his own. After getting a job as a lackey at the garage their treasurer, Mickey, owned, they prospected him to the club and he became a full member at the age of 25.
He wasn’t hit or abused. He was spoiled, to a fault probably, by his mother because he was the youngest. So he did a lot of stupid shit that pissed off his old man. To this day if he was in a business or on the street within view of his dad, they pretended they didn’t see each other. Buck would stop by to see his mom only if he knew his dad wasn’t home.
Jayce and Buck were the only local-yokels in the club. All the other guys were transplants, most of them cons that Jayce did time with. Personality-wise they were all very different, but as a collective they all clicked.
Markham was their territory, they protected it. And another crew selling their shit in Markham would not be tolerated. No matter how desolate the town might seem to others; it was the home of the Rebels and they looked after it.
Chapter Three
“So … where are we going tonight?” Gertie asked, fixing her earring in place.
“The Dog’s Breakfast,” Maggie answered, finishing her lipstick application and tucking away the tube into her Coach purse.
Gertie frowned at the name. “I’ve never even heard of it. Did it just open?”
Maggie shook her head. “No. It’s out by the rail yard, out in Markham,” she explained casually, like it wasn’t one of the four points of hell.
“We can’t go out there!” Gertie squeaked. “Are you insane? We’ll disappear and no one will hear from us ever again!”
Tamara cocked her head, the international symbol for you’re being ridiculous. “We’ll be fine.”
“I’m not taking a cab there. A driver willing to go from downtown to Markham will rob us before we even have a chance to get mugged at knifepoint,” Gertie mumbled, checking her wallet before tucking it into her purse.
Maggie sighed. “You’re being dramatic. Jim said his brother told him there was some socialite stagette there last weekend and they had a blast.”
Jim worked with them, and while Maggie seemed to like him he gave Gertie a bad vibe. He smiled really wide and had to touch you when he talked to you. Gertie didn’t like it.
She chewed her lip, wondering if she was too old to be acting this way in the first place, but she also felt like she still needed a few more years of fun, now more than ever after running into Darryl on the street that very day. She’d been unable to concentrate all afternoon.
“Not only that,” Maggie drawled, eyes twinkling with mischief, “but I got some more of that pot from the mailroom guy. Remember the stuff we tried at Malcolm David’s party?”
Gertie had never tried marijuana until she knew Maggie. Or mushrooms. She liked them both. Because of Maggie most weekends she could barely remember where she’d been or what she’d done. But at least she felt like she was living a little. And now she knew why Darryl had been so frustrated with her homebody tendencies.
Gertie smiled back at Maggie. “You’re a terrible influence on me,” she muttered, going back to playing with her hair in the mirror.
“Come on, this shit is good. And I know you had fun. Or did you forget about the guy that took you upstairs?”
“Shut up,” Gertie hissed, laughing with her now. “You know what pot does to me.”
“It makes me horny, too,” Maggie quipped back. “That’s why I like it. I can’t get off without pot.”
You could say Gertie was having a mid-life crisis a little early. She was taking her single-hood very seriously, and if people had thought she wasn’t fun before they wouldn’t recognize her now. Some parts were scary, like waking up with a naked stranger in her
bed and not remembering anything about what happened. It only occurred once, and he’d honestly been a nice guy. Young, no, surprisingly young and gorgeous. Built like an underwear model. Gertie really wished she hadn’t blacked out that night. Protection had been used, thank God. He left without much drama, even told her she’d been fun.
She tried to keep herself in better control since then. She only drank a lot with Maggie and her friends, and they were sworn to keep her from doing stupid things.
“This is going to be fun,” Maggie promised. “And I’m in the mood to party with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks.”
Markham was definitely the wrong side of the tracks. Gertie had trepidation, but if the bartender knew they were going to be there maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. And surely this place would have a bouncer. And safety in numbers was a real thing … wasn’t it?
“I even invited Jim. He said he’d think about it.” Maggie’s eyes were shining. Yeah, she had a crush on him. He was handsome and wore the hell out of a suit but Gertie was missing something there, she was sure. “He’s so cute. Did you see his green tie today? Such a good color on him.”
Gertie shrugged. She was too old to care if men were cute. She preferred handsome, rugged. Smart. Not creepy.
“Are you sure this top looks all right?” Maggie was rambling on, tugging the hem of the shirt she was borrowing for the night. “My boobs are nowhere near as big as yours.”
Gertie raised an eyebrow. Maggie could show up at a ball in yoga pants and a sweatshirt and still put most people to shame. “You look gorgeous Blondie, as always.”
Maggie grinned at her. “Please. You know I’d trade the blonde hair for half of what you’re carrying around on your chest.”
Gertie just shook her head, checking her reflection one last time. Sure, she had boobs; a full D-cup above a small waist and round hips. She was told her backside was good too, but you can’t trust a guy that wants to get laid.
“All right. Let’s get rid of a joint before we head out,” Maggie declared, turning from the bathroom mirror and heading down the hall to Gertie’s living room.
She checked her watch. Sure enough, they had twenty minutes before their cab was due to arrive. By the time Gertie joined her in the living room the joint was lit and Maggie was exhaling smoothly, passing it over. Gertie took her hit then passed it back. “You want a shot?” she asked, moving to the kitchen.
“Yep,” Maggie answered, like that should be obvious.
From her cupboard Gertie pulled down two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. She had lime cut up in a bowl in the fridge already so she grabbed that too, then set the whole spread out on the coffee table. They each did a quick shot, then finished off the joint as Maggie’s phone jangled.
“Grace and Diane are on their way,” Maggie announced, checking the screen then setting her phone down again.
“Just remember to keep an eye on me tonight,” Gertie warned, pouring out two more shots of tequila. “You and your damn pot.”
“I will,” Maggie promised, taking another toke before passing it back. “We’ll all have to stick together. You know, with all the muggers and rapists out in Markham.”
Gertie shook her head, flipping her friend the bird before exhaling again. “Wait until you’re my age,” she croaked with a finger wag. “You young whippersnappers.”
The pot was strong because at the word whippersnapper Maggie started laughing so hard they almost missed the knock at the door. Gertie got up to answer it, and two other girls who had gone to school with Maggie were waiting in the corridor. They were giggling and snorting as Gertie let them in, then shut the door behind them. They looked like they were up to no good.
“What did you two do?” Maggie was asking, getting the same vibe Gertie was.
“We got something a bit different for tonight,” Diane said, tossing her midnight-black hair over her shoulder and plopping her purse down on Gertie’s coffee table. She knelt down next to it and started rifling through it while Grace started talking.
“My brother’s friend is in town. He’s a grad student, and he brought some LSD back with him.”
Gertie’s stomach tightened up. Pot and ‘shrooms were one thing, they were basically plants. LSD was scary, and unpredictable. Wasn’t it? She’d never even witnessed anyone high on LSD.
“Oh man,” Maggie groaned, plopping into the sofa. “I haven’t done acid in years.”
“I know,” Grace commiserated. “I’ve missed it. Gertie, you ever tried it?”
She shook her head, knowing her trepidation was written all over her face. “What if I freak out on it?”
“Try it right now. If you do, we’ll stay in,” Maggie suggested.
Gertie frowned. “Are you kidding? We got dressed up.”
“Yeah but if you don’t wig out we can still go out and have fun,” Diane pointed out.
“Come on Gertie,” Grace coerced. “Give in to peer pressure.”
Gertie’s eyes went from Maggie’s expectant ones to Grace’s encouraging ones, ending on Diane’s gaze which seemed to be saying she expected Gertie to realize how old she was and how much she didn’t belong.
Gertie didn’t belong anywhere, really. These girls were all young and nuts. Her own peer group was at home with a Disney movie, cuddled on the couch with their kids. And her ex-husband wasn’t even miserable.
She held her hand out. “Give it to me.”
Chapter Four
Buck stubbed out his fifth cigarette, rolling his eyes at Jayce, who looked about as done with the place as he was. Although, to be fair, the entertainment was hilarious.
The Dog’s Breakfast wasn’t a biker bar, more of a trucker’s bar. But it was certainly rough, and the guy who owned it had been jailed about ten years ago for manslaughter. He’d beaten some asshole to death that tried to rob him. He went by the name Dog, and only a few people knew his real name was Terry. He ran a pretty tight ship, and he was tight with the Rebels.
Because of his reputation for running a safe spot, The Dog’s Breakfast sometimes attracted townies looking for a night out slumming. Dog had some pretty good stories based on these occasions, and Buck and his brothers were getting a show at the moment.
Four girls, dressed a little “up” for the place, were in the center of the dance floor making idiots of themselves. There was a live band tonight playing southern rock, and the girls were providing the most enthusiastic audience Dog’s place had ever had. It wasn’t a dancing kind of bar, but the audience seemed to appreciate the show.
It was becoming obvious that the G-Town pricks weren’t showing. Hopefully the row of bikes in the lot was a deterrent that would avoid any bloodshed tonight. It didn’t mean that the Gypsys, G-Town’s transporter MC of choice, would avoid a fight.
“I gotta take a piss,” Jayce shouted in his ear over the noise of the bar and Buck nodded. He let his green eyes swing back to the dance floor, taking in the same sight every other guy in the place was focused on.
Drunk girls were fucking funny. Like true townies they were oblivious to the fact they were the only ones dancing, far too self-important and drunk to be embarrassed. The black chick had legs that went for miles. The blonde was tiny. There was a brunette that was a bit heavier but dressed and did her hair to take away from it. And then there was the fourth one.
She was older than the other three, just as blitzed. Buck liked watching her. She was all hair, tits and ass and moved her hips in a promising way. He’d like to get closer to really check her out but he’d likely get pepper sprayed. Or hit with a Taser. They were all blitzed and likely had their inhibitions lowered, but she had his attention. There was a bit of desperation to a thirty-something woman hanging out with tartlets and getting drunk at dive bars. Might mean he had an actual shot at her.
Someone hit his shoulder, and he looked over his left to see Tank right behind him, jerking his head towards the door. Buck followed the motion and saw what his pal saw: four guys in leather kuttes looking their way
.
“Shit,” Buck muttered. “I hope there’s only four of them.”
“Where’s Jayce?” Tank mumbled.
“In the can. We’ll wait.”
There was a tense standoff, the Gypsys in the doorway, the three Rebels across the barroom, eyeballing each other. Locals knew what was going on, and a few even switched tables to be out of the line of fire. Didn’t matter. No one was pulling a gun or throwing down indoors.
Jayce coming back into the bar proper notched up the tension. The Prez paused by the table, downed the last of his beer, and snapped out, “All right. Let’s fucking do this.”
Buck and his brothers followed their leader through the tables to the door as the Gypsys turned and vacated the premises. The Beretta suddenly felt hot in his waistband, and every nerve was on alert. Outside the air was sharp, the parking lot lit up by a floodlight on a pole. The Gypsys were heading back to their bikes, but before they got there Jayce gave a sharp whistle that split the sound of the highway and echoed off the buildings around them.
Buck, Tank, and Spaz formed a line behind Jayce. Across the hard-packed gravel the Gypsys did the same. They all recognized each other, of course. The Gypsys claimed Hazeldale as their territory, on the other side of Bakersfield. So in order for them to transport shit from Springfield into L.A. on behalf of G-Town, they had to pass through Markham. Red Rebels didn’t do business with the G-Town pricks in Bakersfield, bad blood in the past. So G-Town had to search for other modes of delivery into and out of the city.
“You meeting someone?” Jayce shouted across the parking lot.
The Gypsys president was built like a stone bell tower. He was solid, three-feet-thick throughout his whole torso. He was only about six feet tall but all that meat made him seem far more imposing. He was a smart asshole, too. The Rebels did not have the luxury of complete idiots for enemies.
The Prez was called Thor. They took their beards pretty seriously, but the guy also had a big rumbling voice and threw down like a wrecking ball so the name was earned. Buck had no idea what his last name or real name were, didn’t care.
Indulge Page 2
