by Jessie Cooke
“Now wait a minute. What makes you think you can just come in here, kick the shit out of me, and steal my vest?”
“Jesus, Gunner! Shut up!” Blood trickled out of Billy’s mouth when he talked. He liked to think of himself as a pretty good fighter but unfortunately, he wasn’t.
“Listen to your friend,” the bald guy said. “It’s not yours, ass-wipe—now, take it the fuck off.”
“What makes you think it’s not mine?” He knew it was pointless to argue, but he couldn’t stop himself. Patty was always saying it was a wonder he’d lived this long, and she was right. He knew one of these days his mouth would be the end of him.
The big guy looked ready to knock him out and take it when the other one said, “Cody, look at his face.” Gunner automatically reached up and touched his face. Was there something broken? Missing? Damn, he hoped they didn’t knock out any teeth. His teeth had been through a lot and he still had them all.
“What about it?”
The tall guy shined a flashlight in Gunner’s eyes. “Shit, man, that’s bright.”
“Shut the fuck up. Look at him, Cody. Look at his eyes.”
The one called Cody stared at him for so long that Gunner almost wished he’d just go ahead and hit him again. Finally, he looked back at the guy with the torture stick pointed at him and said, “Fuck…you don’t think?”
The tall one finally dropped the light out of Gunner’s eyes and shrugged. “Where did you get the vest?”
“None of your…”
“Jesus, Gunner, just tell them!” Poor Billy was lisping. Hopefully he had all his teeth or he might just kill Gunner in his sleep.
“My dad left it for me, okay?”
“Your dad?” Tall guy asked.
“Yeah. He knocked my old lady up and left. Some guys leave phone numbers, flowers, jewelry, child support payments…my old man left this vest. I’ve had it my whole life. I didn’t steal it. It’s mine.”
“What’s your name?”
“Gunner.”
“Your real name, asshole!”
“Adam. Adam Davis.”
“How does a Mexican get a last name like Davis?”
“I’m not Mexican. I’m Puerto Rican.”
The tall guy rolled his eyes. “Potayto, potahto. Davis?”
Gunner sighed. “I made it up.”
“What the fuck?”
“After my mother died, I took off. I lived on the streets. I was only ten, so social services was looking for me. I gave myself a new name in case some nosy do-gooder decided to turn me in. This homeless guy I knew had a dog named Davis, so that’s what I called myself, Adam Davis.”
“What’s the name on your birth certificate?”
“No fucking clue. I’ve never seen it.”
The tall guy sighed, or growled. “What was your fucking name before you met the dog?”
“Adán Ortiz.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
The two bikers exchanged a look. Gunner recognized that form of silent communication. He and Billy had been able to do that for years. The bald one, Cody, finally said, “You’re going to need to come with us. You have a car?”
“I have a bike, but I’m not sure…”
“That wasn’t a request,” Cody said.
“So, I’m being kidnapped?”
“You’re being invited to visit royalty. If you have half a brain, you won’t turn down the invitation. They don’t get extended often.”
Gunner looked at Billy again. Billy shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly, and then cringed when his friend said, “Can I pack a bag?”
It turned out to be another long-ass night that would turn into an even longer few days. Before Gunner could get up off his ass, Patty showed up with the shotgun. It took him a half an hour or so to talk her down and convince her that he wanted to go with these guys. Then as the two bikers helped themselves to what they could find in his and Billy’s refrigerator, Gunner packed a bag and listened to Billy telling him what a fool he was for willingly going with them.
“You know they weren’t really giving me a choice, right?”
“You should have let Patty shoot them. What if they’re just taking you down the road to rob and kill your stupid ass?”
“You think they wouldn’t have just killed me in the parking lot before Patty brought out the gun? I’m sure they have one of their own.”
Billy looked down at the blood still on the front of his shirt. “Fuck if I know.” He sat quietly on the edge of the bed until Gunner finished packing and then finally said, “What if I never see you again?” There was a lot unspoken between the two men. They were like brothers, the only family either of them had, but they never talked about it. Hearing Billy express his fears out loud made Gunner uncomfortable, but he was touched all the same.
“Man, I’ll be back. I’ve got that fight on Saturday.”
“Right. Try to keep your mouth shut while you’re there, man. And whatever you do, don’t fuck any of their women.”
Gunner laughed. “That’s better advice than my own mother ever gave me.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ll be back.”
“I’m not claiming your body from the morgue.”
“Yeah, you will.”
“I’m not burying your ass in that vest.”
“Yeah, you will.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ll be back, Billy.” He nodded. Gunner held out his hand. Billy looked at it for a long time before finally taking it. Gunner pulled him up into a bro hug just as the bald biker named Cody stuck his head in the room.
“When you two pull your dicks out of each other’s asses we need to get going.” Gunner laughed again. Billy looked like he was trying to decide if he still needed his teeth or not.
“I’m ready,” he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. As he passed Cody, the big guy pulled it off him and unzipped it. “Damn, is nothing private?”
“Nope, but don’t worry, I’ll leave your tampons alone.” Cody rifled through it, probably looking for a weapon. When he didn’t find one he said, “What’s in your pockets?” Gunner pulled out his knife and keys, and Cody took the knife and tossed it to Billy. “To remember him by. Let’s go.” The backpack was shoved back at him and he was propelled out the door, down the hall, and out the front door. He looked at his friend standing in the doorway and wondered if he’d ever see him again. His emotions at that moment were a strange mix of nostalgia, fear, and excitement. He gave Billy one last chin nod and slid onto his bike. The two hard-core bikers had Harleys that made his look like a toy, but so far they hadn’t picked on him about that yet. “Take off the vest.”
Gunner was about to start his bike. “Really?”
“Do I seem like a kidder to you?” Cody asked him. He really didn’t. Gunner looked at “Mr. Tall” and then “Too Serious.” He wasn’t going to get any help there. He pulled off the vest and tossed it to Cody. Cody stuffed it in his saddlebag and got on his own bike. Minutes later they were hitting the open road. Gunner had spent years dreaming about a road trip on the bike. This wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured it.
They rode all the first night and stopped in some motel in Arkansas and slept about six hours the next day. The men fed him and let him sleep, but otherwise ignored him except to make occasional cracks about his bike. His tires were bald, and the engine smoked and something rattled. Gunner wasn’t a mechanic but he did his best. The fact that he had no training and no money was obvious when it came to a long trip. The bike wasn’t accustomed to being driven more than a few miles at a time. The bikers with their custom designed and painted Harleys made bets on how long his would go before it fell completely apart.
Eventually Gunner found out that the second guy’s name was Jimmy. They rode all night again the second night, stopping to sleep a few hours in West Virginia on Tuesday morning. They struck back out just before sundown and on Wednesday morning they crossed into Connecticut. As they rolle
d along the highway and the ocean suddenly came into view, Gunner felt like a child again. He tried not to squeal like a little girl, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He’d never seen the ocean, and he’d honestly never believed he’d get the chance, at least not outside of southern Texas. He swerved a few times trying to look out at it and had to remind himself to keep his eyes on the road. It wasn’t warm. The air felt colder than shit on his face and arms, but that didn’t stop women from walking around in skimpy little bathing suits, shorts, and tank tops that left little to the imagination. Gunner had no idea why anyone would live in Bumfuck, Texas when they could live in a place like this instead.
He saw the looks on Cody’s and Jimmy’s faces as he took it all in, and he knew they were going to make fun of him again as soon as they had a chance, but he didn’t give a shit. This might be the only time he’d ever be able to go on a trip like this. If they let him live and let him go home, he’d have to call Billy to pick him up. He was proud that the little Sportster made it this far, but not foolish enough to think it would make it back. Besides, if the bikers hadn’t been paying for his gas, he would have run out somewhere around Oklahoma. Hopefully Billy could scrape together enough cash to make the 1900-mile trip out to get him.
Sadly, Connecticut didn’t last long and they crossed into Massachusetts. The only thing Gunner knew about Massachusetts was Boston, and that was only in pictures, so he was surprised when they turned onto a mountain road and the scenery looked almost the same as what they’d spent hours driving past in Pennsylvania. It was pretty, but he’d seen enough trees, rolling hills, and farmhouses on this trip to last a lifetime. He felt a mixture of relief and anxiety when they turned on a long gravel road and he saw the guard shack up ahead. This was it. He was being taken into their realm. He was about to meet royalty, whatever the hell that meant.
4
It was early, so the clubhouse was deserted when they led Gunner through it. Despite his anxiety, he was still kind of proud and impressed to be in the place he’d dreamt about for most of his life. The emblem on the vest he had worn so proudly was painted on the outside of the cement building and displayed prominently in various places inside. He was led past a bar and what looked like a big game room, into a smaller room where there were wooden tables arranged in a semicircle and he was told to sit and wait. As soon as they left him alone he got up and started looking around at the photos on the wall. They were headshots. Some of them were mug shots, and the first few were in black and white. Each one of the photos had a silver plate across the bottom of the frame with a name and a date. He walked along until he came to one of a man with dark blond hair, a clean-shaven face, and clear blue eyes. Something about him looked familiar and when Gunner looked at the name underneath the photo, he got chills. It said Adonis “Doc” Marshall. Adonis? Was that where his mother got Adán?
“I thought you were told to stay sitting down.” He tried to have a neutral expression on his face when he turned toward Cody’s voice. The old man who was with Cody did a double take when Gunner turned around.
“Holy fuck.”
“That’ll do, Hawk.”
“You see it.”
“Yeah, I see it,” Cody said to the old man. “Sit down,” he said to Gunner.
Gunner sauntered back over to his seat and as he took it he said, “Would someone like to tell me what it is that everyone keeps seeing when they look at me?”
“No—shut up!”
“Jesus, are you always in such a foul mood or…?” The old man chuckled as Cody scowled and he said:
“He usually is, yes.”
“Fuck you, Hawk. Is Dax on his way?”
“Yeah, he’s coming.”
“Did we have to do this at seven freaking a.m.?” A tall guy with dark hair and a vest that said “Vice President” came in the door. The name on the front of his vest said “Handsome.” Gunner tried not to laugh. He wondered if the guy’s mother gave him his biker name, because he really didn’t see it. The guy gave him a disgusted glance and took a seat at the head of the table. The old man, Hawk, sat at the far end of the table and was still eyeballing him. A couple other guys came in, a young Hispanic man and a guy in his mid to late thirties who looked as serious as Jimmy always did. They all talked amongst themselves and the seat in the center of the table remained empty for quite some time. One of the club girls, an older one with platinum blonde hair and huge tits, came in about the same time Jimmy did, with a tray full of muffins and coffee. She didn’t offer Gunner any. She acted like she didn’t even see him. She was gone about ten minutes when a big blond guy came in wearing a vest that clearly read “President” on the patch on the front of it. It dawned on Gunner as soon as he saw him that he looked a lot like the guy in the picture on the wall. He greeted a few of the guys and then took his seat and trained his blue eyes on Gunner. It gave him a chill because he realized why the guy on the wall looked so familiar. This guy and the one in the picture both looked like him, almost exactly. Of course, their coloring was lighter and their hair was blond, but features, eyes, even facial expressions…it was like he was looking into a mirror ten or so years into his future.
“Adam Davis, I presume?” the president said. That must have been the meeting being called to order because everyone stopped talking at once.
“Yes, sir. Gunner.”
“Gunner?”
“Yes, sir.”
The president chuckled. “Dare I ask where you got the name?”
Gunner felt his face go hot, and he was thankful for his dark complexion. “I’d rather not say, sir.”
He cleared his throat and said, “Well, my name is Dax Marshall. I’m the president of the Southside Skulls. This is my executive board. Handsome to the right is my vice president. On the other side of him is Nolan ‘Shady’ Gray. He is our Treasurer these days. On my left, we have Paul ‘Pablo’ Martinez. He’s our secretary. Hawk there at the end…well, he doesn’t have a title. He’s just old and we let him sit in out of respect.” The guys chuckled. “You’ve met Cody, one of my sergeants at arms, and my new road captain Jimmy. This club was started by Hawk and my father, a man named Adonis ‘Doc’ Marshall. Doc died a little over a decade ago, and since then his vest has been hanging on the wall out there in the clubhouse. So, imagine my surprise when a club we sometimes do business with sends me a picture of some kid in a dive bar in Texas wearing his patch. I’ll be honest with you, I just sent the guys out there to find out what was going on and give you a friendly warning that we don’t take kindly to others making themselves comfortable in our colors and patches. But something about you alarmed them and here you are.”
Gunner didn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything, but they were all staring at him so he finally said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“You know people go through a lot of shit to earn the right to wear those patches.”
“Yes, sir, I know.”
“Then I don’t get it. Why would you think you have a right to wear it?” Gunner was trying to concentrate on the matter at hand…why that vest meant so damned much to him, but it was hard since he felt like he was staring into his own eyes. He wondered if Dax could see it. He didn’t show any signs of being able to if he could.
Finally, Gunner said, “Um…shit, is it okay if I just talk freely…sir?” He hadn’t called anyone sir in his life, other than the few peace officers or correctional officers he may have been trying to impress, but something about Dax demanded it. He knew now what Cody meant by facing royalty.
Dax looked like he wanted to smile. Gunner took that as a positive sign. “Freely is the only way we know how to talk around here kid. Talk away.”
Gunner ran a hand through his coarse hair and then forced himself to make eye contact with those eyes that looked so incredibly like his own and said, “My mother was a prostitute. She took a bunch of pills when I was about ten years old. I found her when I got home from school. She was clutching that vest and she left me a note.
The note said that the vest belonged to my dad, and he left it for me. My mother wasn’t a complete waste of a person, she just had addiction problems. She did the best she could, with what she had.”
“We’re not here to judge your mom, kid. We’ve all got our skeletons.”
Gunner nodded. “The thing is, a lot of times she tried to make things seem better than they were to me because she felt guilty. The note—well, I always wanted to believe she knew who my father was, but there was a part of me that always just figured she thought pointing me in the direction of a guy that might be my father would make the fact that my mother was now dead less traumatic or something. Her head didn’t really work right.”
“Where were you born, kid?” That question came from the old guy, Hawk.
“San Antonio, I guess. I don’t remember living anywhere other than that piece-of-shit apartment we were in when she died. After she was gone I moved out to Lincoln where I met Patty, and I stay away from the city as much as possible.” Now, anyways. It had taken Gunner a while to realize the streets he grew up on bred nothing but trouble and heartache. “Anyways, I never saw my birth certificate.”
“We were in Texas a few times back in the late 90s, early 2000s,” Hawk said to Dax. “Tank, Toolie…those guys would remember. We were doing some business with a club that called themselves Mayan Maniacs or some shit—they broke up a few years back, but anyways, your dad had this…” Dax shook his head at Hawk, almost imperceptibly, but the old man stopped talking. The club president looked back at Gunner and said:
“Cody says you’ve been driving all night. He’s going to take you out to the kitchen, and the girls will get you something to eat and then show you where you can bed down for a few hours before he goes and gets some sleep himself. We’ll pick this up after lunch.”
Gunner looked at Cody. He didn’t look any too happy about being assigned as babysitter, but he didn’t argue with Dax. He pushed his chair back and stood up, so Gunner stood up too. He looked at Dax and then the rest of the guys who were all staring at him. “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure exactly what he was thanking them for. So far he’d been beaten up, taken from his home against his will, and not really told shit about what was going to happen to him, but respect seemed like the thing to hang onto at the moment, so that’s what he was going with. Dax just nodded at him and Cody jerked his head toward the door. He didn’t say a word to him as he led him through the now semi-busy great room and into the kitchen. There were four girls, all dressed in skin-tight jeans and some sort of t-shirt that showed off lots of cleavage, tending to whatever was cooking. It smelled great, and Gunner’s stomach started to rumble as soon as he got a whiff.
