Watcher

by MariaLisa deMora

“Shut up, Spider.” Opie’s sighed, telling everyone he was running shorter than normal on patience with their brother today.

  “You shut up, Opie. You know it too.” Spider was still snarling, but Watcher had stopped paying attention to him. The bartender was rapidly cycling through shades of pale and looked like he might pass out. Fucking hell, dude’s just a kid, he thought, seeing the expression he’d taken as age fell away, revealing itself to be bluster and maybe a bit of hard experience instead.

  “You might want to sit down a minute, kid. You look a little green.” As if Watcher’s words cut the threads holding him up, he immediately flopped on top of a short cooler, moving away from where they were seated along the bar. The guy’s next thoughts were telegraphed as loudly as if Watcher had a window into his head, as the kid shot a glance up under the bar to where Watcher already knew the resident shotgun hung from a rack. Dammit, this could go any direction. If we get into a shootout here, we’ll never clear the paperwork to buy this bar. They needed it, needed to shore up the funds in the club more, wanted to be sure they could take care of their members because Watcher was about ready to launch a campaign to bolster their ranks. It was time, and he and Pops had both agreed to it during the officers’ last church.

  “Awww, naw, kid. Don’t do that.” Watcher clucked his tongue and gave his head a shake, only taking a breath when his words pulled the kid’s attention back to him. Speaking to one of the members who had come with him today, he said, “Pops, grab that scatter gun, wouldja?” Weapon handled, now he needed to keep the kid upright so he could keep thinking straight. People who were threatened and got their heads crooked, could and did do anything. Running on instinct, still trying to control the situation, he said, “Devil, why doncha give your Jack to the kid.”

  Pops and Devil moved in unison, and Watcher stared in surprise when the kid didn’t move, didn’t even flinch as they neared him, coming from two directions. After a momentary stare down with Devil, the kid took the proffered shot glass and downed the drink, never breaking the glare he directed Devil’s way. With a laugh, Devil scuffed his fingers through the hair on top of the kid’s head, a gesture which could have been taken different ways, but Watcher knew from this man it was affectionate. Something you’d do to a little brother. Devil said, “He’s a keeper, Watcher. Look at this fucker; he’s not even sweating.”

  Before Watcher could respond, the bartender was on his feet trying to shrug the whole drama off, announcing last call as if they were regulars at the bar on his shift and shit like this happened every day. SNAFU. Watcher remembered Deke’s assessment of more than one mission gone sideways and couldn’t help it. His laughter spilled over, triggering his men’s amusement, too. A pounding on his back from the side stopped abruptly, and he could only watch as, after they’d made it through to the other side of this shit, Spider still showed his ass and tried to take the kid down, diving across the bar from his stool.

  Too old, or too slow, it didn’t matter which factored because the kid deflected the attack and knocked Spider to the floor behind the bar. Like with everything else we got goin’ on, every time we take a step forwards, Spider’s pulling us two back. Pissed and powerless to stop the drama unfolding in front of him, Watcher eased his hand to the gun in his waistband. He was ready to respond, ready for the kid to take this where Watcher knew any of the men looking over the bar at their brother on the floor would take it, if the same happened to them. Blood, because they would defend their patch brother to the end, didn’t matter if he was in the right or wrong, the club came first. Club. Family. Honor.

  Watcher found himself surprised and relieved when the barkeep offered a one-sided grin, looking up and joking, “You dropped something, Watcher.” Jesus, no end to the surprises from the dude. Not a man, but not a boy, not for a long time.

  “Let the fucker up, kid,” Watcher said slowly, staring hard into Spider’s face to communicate his rage. Coulda fucked everything. “He’s done.” Spider blanched as he realized the insult he’d offered Watcher. Overstepping in a big way, and Spider knew the penalty for what he’d done. Knew he’d be due retribution for disobeying his president’s orders. Enough, time to let it go, for now, Watcher thought, following with a spoken order. “Let’s have one more round.” He wanted to get to know this man better and cast about for an idea, grinning when he thought of a way to manage this and also give Spider a chance for reconciliation. “Let Spider serve, and you come sit. Got a name, kid?”

  “Name’s Andy, and I got this.” The man introduced himself by a government name as he reached out to flip up the pass through for Spider, allowing him an easy return to the group, but Andy never gave them his back. No trust there, not anymore, and Watcher’s anger at Spider swelled again when he realized Andy remained watchful and tense in order to approach and finish serving their orders. Ballsy guy, carrying through with regular business after all the shit.

  Watcher caught Opie’s eye, tipping his head towards Andy and communicating he’d like the man engaged again. They didn’t have enough info on him yet. A new rider in their town wasn’t something to worry about, but a skilled fighter who was cool under pressure working at the bar might be. With a nod, Opie said, “Well, that’s a shit road name, Andy. We should call you Ice Man.”

  Great opening, Watcher thought, and seamlessly picked up the laughing banter. “Yeah, Ice Man, because you are cool under pressure. Pour yourself a shot, Ice Man. Drink with the Southern Soldiers before you close up.” He flipped another bill to the bar, pointing to the whiskey bottle still standing nearby. It had taken a moment before Andy moved, and there was no grin on his face as he went through the motions to pour and toss back a drink, tapping the empty shot glass on the bar in front of Watcher in thanks. Placing the change back on the growing pile on the bar in front of Watcher, Andy pushed through to closing, and as Watcher and his men walked out the door twenty minutes later, the lock clicked into place behind them with finality.

  “Devil, you and me gonna slide to the back, have a chat with Andy soon as he’s off duty.” Watcher pointed to Spider. “You, fucktard, are gonna get your ass back to the fuckin’ clubhouse and stay there. I’ll deal with you later.” Without him having to assign them the duty, Pops and Opie bracketed the sullen Spider as they left. Watcher sighed. “Gonna have to deal with him,” he told Devil, not taking his eyes off the rapidly dwindling figures of his men as they rode away. “Hate this fuckin’ shit.”

  “’S why you got the patch, Prez. Because you’ll deal, even hating it,” Devil countered, kicking his bike’s engine over, rolling the throttle, the ringing of his exhaust effectively ending their conversation. They moved their bikes and waited. Half an hour later, the back door of the bar opened, and Andy walked through, stopping in his tracks when he caught sight of them.

  “Fuck me,” Andy muttered under his breath, then did his best to ignore them while he readied his bike to ride. Before he started the Indian, he finally greeted them, demeanor as cool as the Ice Man Devil had dubbed him. Low, with no particular intonation, he simply said their names before he rode away, “Watcher, Devil.”

  Devil was grinning wide when Watcher heeled up his kickstand, pulling out behind Andy. Watcher let Andy take point, and he and Devil rode the left and right thirds of the lane as they trailed him to a diner up the street. Watcher chuckled to himself, he caught Andy’s wide eyes in the mirrors a number of times as he nervously watched the Soldiers members ride behind him.

  The three men sat in the diner parking lot for a minute, staring at each other. Watcher wanted to give Andy a chance to speak first, needing to see what his reaction would be. Something about this kid was intriguing, and he wanted to know the background which could develop this mix of self-confidence and nervous awareness. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” Andy finally asked, and Devil laughed at him.

  “You gotta quit bein’ so fucking funny, Ice Man.” Andy tipped his head to one side, looking at Devil, plainly confused. “We ain’t no fucking gentlemen. That’s twice to
night you’ve made that joke.”

  Devil laughed again, and Watcher told the kid, “Just wanna have a chat, Ice Man. That’s all. Public place is good for this.” Without another word, he swung off his bike and stood, waiting, again giving Andy time to process and deal. He was pleased when hardly a moment later the kid dismounted, and followed him and Devil inside.

  The waitress took one look at them and blinked in surprise. This wasn’t a Soldiers hangout, but she’d heard of them, no doubt. “Anywhere’s good, fellas.” With a nod, Watcher took the corner booth, putting his back against the wall, sliding over so Devil could take a seat beside him. Spider’s piece dug into the small of his back, and he grimaced.

  “Coffee.” Watcher quietly placed his order, then sat in silence, waiting for the other two to do the same, so the waitress could leave. Once she’d cleared earshot, he spoke. “Not here to give you grief, Ice Man. You aren’t affiliated with anyone, owed me no notice when you rolled into town. That said, I admit I like to get to know folks on my piece of dirt, and wanna keep rollin’ with you. So tell me, where does the Ice Man hail from?”

  Andy snorted, then laughed. “Ice Man, really?”

  Devil scoffed, then explained, “Dude, Spider is fucking nuts. The man is around the bend. Fuckin’. Nuts. You stared down one of the craziest nights we’ve seen from him in a while.” Devil scoffed again. “Knocked him on his ass, then talked smack about him while you were holding him down. Knowing he’d been carryin’ a heater, and havin’ to know the rest of us was carryin’, and still, you bullshitted and straight out dealt with his shit without hardly breakin’ a sweat.” He leaned back, angled towards the table. “You were chill as shit, dude. Doubt you’d like to be called Chilly Willy, but fuck man, ice water ain’t any cooler than you were tonight.” Devil leaned forwards, palm flat to the table. “Interesting to see a man like you behavin’ like that. Not a big dude, not a hardass, and definitely not projecting badass, but delivering it just the same. All without blinking twice. Ice Man, definitely.”

  Watcher broke in, “Are you from around here?”

  Andy shook his head, his expression guarded as he glanced between the two men. “Wyoming, originally. But I’ve been all over, working various jobs over the past while. Made it to Las Cruces recently, stopped in at the bar one night for a brew, saw a notice they were looking for a bartender.” He shrugged. “Easy work, nice cash on a good night. I’m just…” He paused a minute, and Watcher got the sense he was searching for words. “…feeling my way through it, right now. Making enough money to send home and get me to the next town.”

  “What’s back home in Wyoming?” A rolling stone. Not a surprise, a lot of men who adopted the life of a biker weren’t big on being stuck in one place. They’d be wanting to be in the wind as often as possible, and working your way across the country was a good way to fund the itch. But saying he sent money home meant there was someone left behind.

  “Baby brother, grandparents,” Andy hesitated, then shrugged, hiding something. “That’s it.” Watcher decided to allow him the evasion, let him hold whatever secret lay in his past. For now.

  The talk went back and forth across the table after that, the men sharing stories of riding and the road. Bonding over tales about people and the bullshit which always seemed to be washing around some folks. By the time they walked back outside to their bikes, Watcher had found even more of something he had liked in the kid, got a nod from Devil when he looked a question at him. Standing next to their bikes, he admired the Indian again, thinking to himself it looked a lot like one Mason had owned several years ago. “See you around, Ice Man,” he said, sticking his arm out for a wrist grip.

  In the clubhouse the next day, Devil and Opie approached Watcher, both partial to what they’d seen. Andy Jones, Ice Man, would be a member worth pursuing. Time to fill the ranks again, and he was a likely starting point.

  ***

  “No, man, ain’t going down that way,” Watcher told Opie, his voice low and quiet. They were sitting around a bonfire in Watcher’s backyard, this following a family barbecue for all members and possible recruits. Men who were hangarounds, not yet prospects, interested in what the life might offer them. Watcher’s challenge was to figure out what they could offer to the club if the two paths intersected.

  Juanita had taken Bella inside half an hour ago, but not before Watcher had gotten a tight hug from his little girl. He and his officers had gathered on the stumps and stools to one side of the fire, pulling in close, talking over a threat they’d heard about only that afternoon.

  Machos continued to be a thorn in the Southern Soldiers’ side, a pain seesawing from irritating to dangerous as their influence and strength in the region wavered dramatically over the past couple of years. Multiple sources told the tale of the Machos club suffering through bout after bout of internal discord. Not surprising since they remained tied tightly to the cartel, the only surprising thing was Estavez endured.

  Watcher had a special hatred for the man.

  Estavez was a distant cousin for Juanita, but private connections didn’t matter to him. Not only had he known about her kidnapping, but the bastard had actively encouraged her captors to parade her out at one point, making sure all customers knew she was family. Saw how little he cared for her safety. His behavior, as well as the brand on her neck, ruled out any possible return to her home village after the rescue.

  Not that Watcher would have let her go anywhere.

  From the beginning of them, he’d seen with great clarity what he wanted. It wouldn’t be enough to merely have Juanita in his bed, he wanted to tie her to him. The pregnancy had been the first catalyst to getting him off his ass and taking care of that detail. Then Daena had died, and things in his life shifted to fast forward, night terrors of losing her spring-boarding him into action.

  So, only months after Darrie died, after rescuing her from underneath a cartel whorehouse, he had taken Juanita to Vegas, and with a fake ID, married her. Remembering the emotions swelling inside him when he slid the ring onto her finger there in the little chapel still made him choke up. A week after they found out for sure about Bella, and at that moment, looking at the plus sign on the plastic stick, he knew his life would be complete. Family built on a firm foundation, both of them knowing fate had a hand in bringing them together. The cost of their joined lives had been his brother, but fate turned a kindly eye towards the couple, filling their lives with a richness Watcher vowed to never take for granted.

  Now, talking to Opie and Devil, he came to a decision. The Machos had been behind some cargo hijackings in recent months, and today Soldiers received word another large shipment of product had gone missing. Large, as in large. And this delivery was needed so they could turn the weapons into cash, and then invest that profit into the mission they supported. The supplier claimed no responsibility, and the courier wasn’t talking. Couldn’t talk, having been found facedown in a ditch off a backroad running out of El Paso.

  If they could find out with certainty the “who,” then Watcher would call the shot, and the Soldiers would move. He couldn’t allow things like this to stand, or risk the cartel capitalizing on what they would see as a weakness. Time to start things moving.

  “Devil, you’re gonna call Estavez. Set a meet soon as you can, brother.” The only way to know for certain if the bastard had his club involved was to take Estavez’ measure, face-to-face. Once the order was issued, in Watcher’s mind it was done, and with the topic put to bed, he moved to what he hoped would be a better one. “What’d y’all think about Ice Man?”

  Andy had come to their party, and his behavior had been interesting enough for more than one member to note. Instead of hanging on the edges of conversations, hoping to be seen while he sucked back free beer, he had pitched in and worked whatever was needed from the start. And he hadn’t kept his distance from the families at the party. Not Ice Man. Watcher had looked on in amazement as he wasted no time making fast friends with kids and old ladies. Pops had
come over and dug his elbow into Watcher’s ribs with a grin at one point, saying, “Lookit that shit.” When he’d glanced over, Watcher had seen Andy turning his hand to being a playground for Pops’ grandsons, the two boys hanging from Andy’s outstretched arms with wide grins. One of the boy’s feet firmly planted on the man’s ribs as the kid dug in and shoved, swinging through the air while Andy laughed. This kind of behavior seemed the norm for the guy, and Watcher understood the family-starved emotions driving him.

  Devil started it with a quick and loud, “You know where I stand. If Ice Man will patch in, he can be my prospect.”

  “Oh fuck, no.” This was from Pops. “Mine. You ain’t gonna ruin the man.”

  “Jesus, old man, you even gonna fuckin’ be around long enough to teach the guy all the what-not-tos?” Opie pitched his hat into the ring. “I got this one. Ice Man’s mine.” Shaking his head, Opie turned to Devil, “Brother, you got two already. Take care of what you got before you try’n add to the pile.”

  Two additional members who hadn’t met Andy at the bar piped in with their positive observations from the night’s party. Scanning the faces around the circle, Watcher nodded to himself. He opened his mouth to say something when Spider interrupted, his approving tone at odds with his words. “He’s a kid.”

  “So was I,” Opie spoke up, irritation with their brother evident in his tone. “You were a dick to him, not once, but twice, in the man’s place of business, him not trying to do anything other than serve you a fuckin’ beer. He held his—”

  “Not what I meant. Peace, brother.” Spider’s words were quietly intense, lines on his face strained. “You misunderstand, and I get I was havin’ a shit day. I get it; I know it, you fuckin’ know it. You don’t gotta throw my shit in my face every fuckin’ time I turn around. You’re fuckin’ worse than a ball ‘n’ chain, swear to fuckin’ God.” Spider shook his head, looking away from Opie, whose face looked like he’d gladly put his brother six feet under. “He’s a kid. My ma had a sayin’. Now, granted she mostly said it about her boy toys, but I think it can apply here. ‘Catch ‘em young, train ‘em right.’ That’s what I mean. He’s young enough for us to show him what a club can be, have him become a brother, and stay a brother.”