Bart, no longer Horde but still Havoc’s best friend, stood back, until Isaac put his hand on his shoulder and led him forward, to stand with the Horde.
In their way of long tradition, they stood in the order in which they sat at the table, leaving a space where Havoc would stand. And then each man, in turn, added something to his casket and, if he chose, said a word.
Tommy sent him off with a shot glass. “The Jack is probably running like a river where you are.”
Zeke tucked a page from a Harley calendar along the side of the casket and stepped back.
Dom, a copy of Call of Duty: Black Ops 2. “We’re gonna play this again someday.”
Badger blushed as he left a horseshoe. “Couldn’t think of what to send you off with, Hav. Nothing that reminds me of you would fit in this fucking box. But Mabel threw this the day we left for…the day we left. I know what her and Spirit mean to you. Don’t worry about Sophie’s horses. I’ll always take care of them.” He stepped back, tears running freely down his face.
Len, remembering the last conversation he’d ever had with Havoc, tucked in a state map of Missouri, folded just right so that the stretch of Route 68 he’d claimed as his favorite was on top. Len had circled the stretch through the tree farm, its twists and turns, those three big hills. “So you can always see it, brother.”
Show placed an automotive socket set near his hand. “Nobody could build a bike like you could. You’d get a look in your eye when you had your nose in an engine. Like you’d found some new kind of world or something. Gonna miss you, brother.”
Then Bart took his step. He lifted his arm and held his fist over Havoc’s chest. Opening his hand, he gently dropped a silver medallion on a long chain, letting it pool over his friend’s heart. “This got me through, now I give it back. Safe travels, Hav. Always brothers.” He stepped back, his eyes wet and red.
It was Isaac’s turn. But he stood motionless, staring into the casket. Then, suddenly, he walked away. Len was shocked and outraged, the emotion shooting from his gut to his head, and he was about to turn and say something when Isaac came back, leading Nolan. Havoc’s stepson. No—Havoc’s son. He’d been standing back by the bar, having pulled away when Isaac had tried to lead him earlier.
This time, though, Isaac had not brooked resistance. He put Nolan in the empty space they’d left for Havoc’s place, and then Isaac returned to his own place. And they waited.
They waited for seconds. A minute. More. Nolan stared straight ahead. Not at Havoc. Not at Isaac. He stared between Isaac and Len, at some point in empty space. And the men waited, following Isaac’s lead.
Finally, Nolan stirred. He pulled his wallet—he wore it on a chain now, like all the Horde did—out of his pocket and opened it. Then he slid a photograph, foxed and dog-eared, from the billfold, and he tossed it into the casket. It landed face up on Havoc’s legs.
Havoc and Nolan, in their garage, squatting in front of the skeleton of the bike they’d been restoring. A 70s Sportster. They were grinning.
“You told me we were going to work on that for years. You told me you wouldn’t make my mom feel bad. You promised. You fucking asshole.” His voice broke on the last sentence, but he made a sound like a growl and stopped the tears from coming. Len watched him—all of the Horde watched him—but they left him to his grief.
Finally, Isaac stepped to the casket and added his piece. He pinned a gold pin to Havoc’s kutte, the same thing the Horde President always left a fallen brother: a small but intricately rendered image of three interlocking triangles—the valknut, the symbol that called the Valkyrie to carry a fallen warrior to Valhalla.
When he stepped back, Davey and Double A brought each man a shot of Jack Daniels, Havoc’s favorite drink. Nolan was offered one, too. He started to refuse it, but then Len saw him lock eyes with Isaac. When the moment passed, Nolan took a glass.
The Horde raised their glasses, and Isaac spoke their words of farewell:
Lo, there do I see my Father, and
Lo, there do I see my Mother, and
Lo, there do I see my Brothers and my Sisters, and
Lo, there do I see my people back to the beginning, and
Lo, they do call to me, and
Bid me take my place among them in the hallowed halls of Valhalla,
Where the brave will live Forever.
When Isaac finished, all the men then called out, “Brother, ride swiftly home.” And they drank.
~oOo~
They carried their brother to the hearse, and they rode with him in the cold, driving rain to St. John’s Church. Then they carried him in and set him to rest at the altar, so that the town and the rest of his family could bid him their own goodbyes. Here, his casket was closed and would stay that way.
The Horde sat in a row across the front, leaving room for their women and children, and for Havoc’s parents, who were not yet there.
Len sat quietly, with his brothers, and waited. He rubbed his hands. Even that short ride had been difficult, in the cold wet. The ache in his newly knitted bones went deep. The rain was swelling into a storm, thunder and lighting shaking the stained-glass windows, and Len thought he could feel the vibrations in the air through the sore bones in his hands.
There was a commotion at the back of the church, and Len turned. The pews had filled while the Horde had sat quietly with their backs to the world, but Len gave the townspeople only cursory notice. At the door was Cory, with Tasha, Lilli, and Shannon—her friend, Bonnie, too.
Shannon had little Luke—she somehow always seemed to be the one to care for babies when their mamas could not. Len thought it was a shame she and Show hadn’t had one of their own.
Cory was refusing to cross the threshold. Lilli stood in front of her, trying to encourage her forward; Tasha had her arm around her, trying to get her to move. Bonnie was behind her. But Cory was shaking her head frantically back and forth, and she began to keen.
Len felt Show’s heavy hand on his back, and, understanding, he followed him and Isaac to his feet, thinking to go back and offer Havoc’s widow the arms of the Horde. But Nolan, who’d been sitting with them, stood and cut them off.
“No. No.”
Nolan turned and walked down the aisle toward Cory. Len watched as the boy respectfully pulled Lilli and then Tasha and Bonnie away from his frantic mother. Then he cupped her face in his hands. Len didn’t know if he was saying anything to her; all he could see was that they were staring into each other’s eyes. Then Cory nodded, and Nolan put his arm around her waist and led her down the aisle, toward Havoc’s casket. Isaac, Show, and Len had remained standing; as Nolan and Cory approached, all the men in leather stood. Nolan led her straight to Havoc’s casket, and mother and son stood, their heads down, at the burled walnut box Isaac had crafted, with the Flaming Mane carved into it.
Cory raised a shaking hand and laid it on the carving. She whispered something, but Len couldn’t hear what it was. Then Nolan led her to sit. The Horde sat, too, and their old ladies and children joined them. When Tasha sat at his side, Len tucked her under his arm, and she leaned on his chest, breathing a sigh heavy with sorrow.
The service had begun, when the door opened again, and Havoc’s parents came in. They sat in the back. Isaac stood and went down the aisle to them. As he came near, Don Mariano, Havoc’s father, stood and, in a clearly defensive gesture, put himself between Isaac and June, Havoc’s mother. Isaac and Don exchanged some muttered words, and then Isaac returned to the front alone, and Don sat down and pulled his wife close.
~oOo~
The service went quickly and quietly. The Horde had said their goodbye, so only Isaac spoke, and only briefly here in the church. Then a few people from town, notably Marie Bakke and Tuck Olsen, came up to share anecdotes about Havoc. Len watched Cory more than anything else. She worried him. Even looking straight at her, it was as if he could barely see her, as if her presence had been reduced by a half. By more. As if she were slowly fading away. Maybe following her m
an. He was definitely worried.
The Reverend Mortensen asked if anyone else would like to speak, and after a few moments’ silence began to end the service.
“Hold on.” Don Mariano’s firm, gruff voice rose from the back, and then he was stepping into the aisle. He walked up to Havoc’s casket and turned his back on it, facing the pews.
“That’s my boy, Joe, in that box behind me. The one with that blasted horse cut into it. Joe was Horde. He was proud of that. Made him think he was better than he was. He wasn’t good, my Joe. He was a troublemaker. Everybody here knows he was quick with his fists. Most didn’t even call him Joe. Called him ‘Havoc.’ And he was proud of that, too.”
Don stopped and cleared his throat. The whole row of Horde was tense, and Len knew his family was feeling the same way he was—affronted. Havoc’s father even had to shit on his son’s funeral. Len looked down the row at Isaac, whose fists were clenched on his knees. But nobody stopped Don from having his say.
“I guess truth-telling ain’t a thing you’re supposed to do when you bury somebody, but I ain’t much a one to give a shit. My boy wasn’t a good boy. He went wrong, and he stayed wrong. It was the Horde that made him like he was. And it was the Horde got him killed. And we all know it was the Horde got my girl killed, too. Junie and me, we got two kids. And we lost ‘em both this year. We lost our girl at Christmas. And we’re putting our boy in the ground just after Thanksgiving. So I’m up here to say I’m thankful. I’m thankful my boy’s dead. Because it was him and his friends got his sister killed. And the Jordans’ boy and the Breuers’ boy, too. Shot down by strangers in our town, coming for the club. People around here need to wise up. The Horde ain’t saving us. The Horde is bringing the shit down on us.”
With that, Don stalked back to his crying wife. He pulled her up from the pew and dragged her out of the church, leaving stunned silence in their wake—broken only by the fresh wails of Havoc’s widow.
~oOo~
They carried Havoc out to the churchyard—Isaac, Show, Len, Bart, Dom, and Nolan continuing their solemn service as pallbearers. The weather was atrocious, so the graveside part of the service was brief, but scores of men in kuttes stood firm against the blow and crash of the storm, until the service was well and truly over.
The small reception in the church basement was subdued and also brief. And then the town went to its homes, and the Horde and their brethren rode back to the clubhouse. The women took Cory and her sons home.
The men gathered again in Havoc’s honor, offering several toasts to his memory. And then Isaac stood. “Friends,” he said, his voice raised so that all could hear, “Please enjoy our hospitality. But excuse us while we regroup in privacy for awhile. Brothers, the Keep. Bart—join us.”
The men of the Horde, present and past, set down their drinks and followed Isaac into their inner sanctum.
They sat around the table in their customary places. Bart pulled up an extra seat from the corner of the room. Havoc’s seat, as was their tradition, was draped in black fabric.
When the men were settled, Isaac, his fingers playing along the handle of his gavel, spoke. At first, he kept his eyes down, staring at the table. “This is a hard day. It’s been awhile now since we lost Hav, but that time hasn’t made me any more used to it. Last few years, we’ve lost a lot of men—Rover. Erik. Dan. Omen. Mikey. Wrench. And now Hav.” He didn’t name the Horde who’d been sent to their Maker for crimes against the club, and Len was glad. Those men did not deserve mention.
Isaac went on, now looking around the table at his brothers. “We lost people we love—Will Keller. Daisy. Sophia. And we lost people from town, people we’re supposed to take care of, like Brad Jordan and Tim Breuer. But those losses haven’t made me any more used to it. I’m angry. Damn, my insides are gettin’ eaten up with the rage I feel. I’m angry at every motherfucker who’s betrayed our trust. I’m angry at us, for missing parts of the picture that might’ve shown us trouble before it found us. But most of all, I’m angry at myself. Because I sit where I do, and we are where we are because I led us there.”
“Isaac…”
“No, Show. Let me finish. I’m not stepping down. I led us here, and I am gonna lead us the fuck out. I’ve been thinkin’ hard about how we—I—keep fuckin’ up. How the shit just gets piled higher and higher at our door. And I think I know. We’re a small club. We always were small time. Until Ellis, we ran under the radar, kept to ourselves. And that worked for us. But we stopped bein’ small time awhile back. Problem is, we didn’t stop thinkin’ small time. I’ve been trying to figure out how to get us back to the way things were. Well, there’s no goin’ back, and I’m sad to say it took facing Julio Santaveria and what he did for me to finally fuckin’ see what’s been true for five years. We are the goddamn bad guys.”
“Fuck you, boss. Fuck you. That’s bullshit.”
All the heads at the table swiveled to Badger. Isaac stared, his expression impassive. When he didn’t respond, Badger went on. “You saying we’re the bad guys is like listening to Mr. Mariano shit all over Hav. It’s bullshit, and it’s disrespectful. Hav was a good man. All the Horde you named were all good men. Maybe they didn’t follow all the laws, but you always said that laws are made up by the people in power just because they can. I think that’s true. We’re not the bad guys. We don’t do harm if we can help it. And we try to help.” He looked around the table. “Right? The whole reason the club got into meth was to help the town, right? To move that shit out of town?” Len nodded, and Show did, too. They and Isaac were the only ones left who’d been at the table during the meth days.
Badger nodded back and faced Isaac. “And all this bad shit that’s happened comes from the meth. Don’t you see, boss? I’m not sayin’ we haven’t fucked up. But if we lose track of why we did what we did, then we shit on all the people we lost.” He pulled his shirt up, revealing the striated, discolored scar that now made up his chest. “Then this—and Show’s back, and Len’s eye, and Havoc’s life—mean nothing. So fuck you.”
Badger stopped talking, and the deep quiet in the room stretched on for long seconds as he and Isaac stared at each other. Then, with a snap-quick move of his arm, Isaac threw the gavel across the room. It hit the wall with a crash, gouging a dent into the paneling, then fell to the floor in two pieces, the handle having sheared off.
No one spoke until, finally, his voice low and rumbling with calm fury, Isaac said, “You’re right Badge. You’re right. We’re not the bad guys. But now I’m sayin’ I want to be. If we ever want to get free of the Perros, then we need to think like them. When Santaveria was teaching me his fuckin’ lesson, he said that the limit of power is at the limit of will. Well, that’s the lesson I fuckin’ learned. I am sayin’ to you now that our will needs to be limitless. Because I want that fucker. And I will have that fucker. And I don’t care what I have to do to get him. He owes us a debt, and I am gonna collect it straight out of his gutted carcass. Then I am gonna mount his head on a plaque and hang it on the wall behind me.”
“That’s big talk, Isaac.” The look Isaac turned on Show blazed hot, but Show went on undeterred. “And I get it. It’s big rage. I have it, too. But it’s vengeance you’re talking about. Not justice. There is no justice to be had here. You’re right that we’ve been thinking small time while we’ve been playing big time, but that doesn’t make us any bigger. We tried to bring Santaveria down through an alliance, to strengthen ourselves, but that broke somewhere, and he saw us comin’.” He looked at Bart. “You got any more insight into that, Bart? We know it was the guy in Joliet. Santaveria had our kuttes and bikes, and we left them in Joliet.”
“Yeah, he was caught up in it. But it’s not his fault. Ed didn’t know why you needed what you needed. Ed’s got a kid, seven-year-old boy. The Perros took the kid and held him so Ed wouldn’t warn you. And I know you thought Rick had a hand, but I’m confident he didn’t. Santaveria learned it from straight from you.”
He looked over at Dom
, who laid a piece of electronic something or other on the table. “Bart and I found this this morning, before Hav’s memorial. We didn’t want to fuck up his service bringing it up first.”
“Talk to me, Dom.” By now, Isaac was all but growling.
“It’s a bug. It was sewn into the lining of the duffel they put our cash payments in on runs. It doesn’t transmit, just records to a flash—here. We give them the empty and pick up a full. We think there’s a device like this in every duffel.”
Len looked to the end of the room. There was a large cabinet against the far wall. In that cabinet was a heavy safe and several shelves where they stored things ranging from office supplies to boxes of ammunition. And the empty black duffel from weed run take.
Isaac was staring at the same wall. He looked back at Dom and Bart. “So you’re saying that we’ve been handing them all of our business on a fucking silver platter? That they’ve known all our moves from the go?”
“Yes.” Bart answered. “I found this on a sweep. I’m leaving the equipment. I called Hoosier, and he found one in our duffel, too. But we keep our empties in a storage room. Dom should sweep every day, and definitely before meetings. Thing is—it doesn’t transmit, so they don’t know you know. They won’t know that this here didn’t record until you hand it over on the next run. I think you can use that. You can record over this and misdirect them.”
Len had an uncomfortable feeling, and a more uncomfortable question. His heart started to race, his pulse throbbing in his empty eye. “Bart, then they know you gave us the intel to set up Halyard. We talked about that in this room. They know you acted against them. God, man, I hope there’s a good answer to this question, but how the fuck are you still breathing?”
“Riley being who she is gives me a little cover, but I had a hard week when all this went down.” He rolled the cuff of his right sleeve up from his wrist to above his elbow, showing the red, melted-looking flesh of a new burn scar on the inside of his arm, elbow to wrist, where his steel horse tattoo had been. “That was my punishment. I’m valuable to the cartel, though, and I’m sorry to say giving you that intel turned out to be useful to Santaveria, so he thinks I’ve been taught my lesson.”
Show the Fire (Signal Bend Series) Page 23
