Jinx: Kings of Carnage MC

by Chelsea Camaron

  “Have a little too much to drink, maybe?” Bash questions. “Too much pussy?”

  They don’t reply.

  Bash is a broody motherfucker. When he snaps, he lives up to his name and starts bashing shit in. The look in his eyes right now, I can tell the man is twitching to break something, or someone, for that matter. Bash lifts the beer and pours it over the first prospect’s head, grabbing his cut and holding the man in place. The second prospect steps back when Bash moves to continue dropping the rest over him.

  “Man up,” Bash orders, but the prospect doesn’t listen.

  The guy shakes his head. “Don’t disrespect me, brother.”

  One single phrase seals the fucker’s fate. He’s not a brother. Bash is not his brother. Bash is his Vice President.

  His words piss me off, and I snap. Charging forward, I step between Bash and the prospect. With my forearm to his throat, I back him to the wall.

  “Disrespect you? Disrespect you? Who the fuck are you? Brother, you are not! Shit on my motherfuckin’ boot, that’s what the fuck you are now. You drank our beer, you downed our liquor, you fucked our bitches, and you passed the fuck out like the little pussy you are. And you dare to tell my Vice Pres, my fuckin’ brother, not to disrespect you? And you use the word brother? You didn’t earn that shit. How about you don’t disrespect my cut, my colors, and my motherfuckin’ clubhouse? You had a job, prospect. Clean up the house. You failed. And you want to talk about disrespect while calling this man a brother. You have lost your fucking mind, prospect.”

  “And this is why we gotta keep Jinx on a tight leash,” North mutters, gripping my shoulder to reel me in. “Don’t lose your shit over this twat. He ain’t gettin’ the votes, so he ain’t worth gettin’ blood on your boots, brother.” This is North, level-headed. I’ve never seen him rattled, which is why he makes the perfect Enforcer.

  I release the prospect with a shove and turn my head to North, giving him a nod in appreciation. This fucker isn’t worth getting his blood on my boots, that’s for damn sure.

  “Get your shit,” Chaos says from behind me to the prospect, “Leave your cut on the bunk.” Chaos looks to the first prospect. “You make sure and take the trash out.” He points to the failed prospect who is now hanging his head, no doubt realizing how much he fucked up.

  “And since you seem to forget your place as a prospect, as a brother, this is me tellin’ you that trash is you, fucker,” I clarify, getting the guy’s attention as he lifts his head.

  “But…” the guy starts. Sly throws up a hand to silence him.

  “You’re done here. Stop talking and get packing before we pack for ya.”

  “That’s it? Just like that, I’m done?” he mutters. I swear I see tears in his eyes. “It’s been a year, I’ve lived, eaten, and breathed for Kings. Just like that, all because I didn’t clean up after a party?”

  I want to slam his head into the concrete wall. “Dude, you’re missing the shit.” I turn back to face him. Not that he can get a read on me since my sunglasses are in place, as usual. “You earn this shit. You earn the right to be a King. You stood here in a room full of officers and basically spat the term brother at our VP. You’re not a brother, and you fuckin’ know that shit. You wanted to be a smartass. That single word is everything. Family is everything. Brothers above all others. A term that is everything, you fuckwad, you just wanted to get a dig in using. Maybe brother doesn’t mean shit to you, but that’s everything for me. You spit on that. You disrespected it. Now, you’re done. You thought you had balls to stand up and refuse the lesson Bash was givin’ about y’all not fuckin’ cleaning the clubhouse. Now, that means, brothers, the ones who have paid their dues, earned their patches, and earned the respect of being a brother gotta do the bitch work that you left behind. And you wanna stand here and argue? For the love of everything holy, shut the fuck up and bounce before I put a bullet between your eyes because you’re pissin’ me off.”

  The other prospect, whose name is John, looks to Evan, giving him a small shake of the head so that maybe his buddy would get the hint.

  Finally, Evan does, and with his head hanging low, he makes his way upstairs to the bunkroom for the prospects and hang-arounds.

  Chaos and Bash give each other the look before Bash slaps John’s back. “Get this shit cleaned, prospect. And make sure that trash sees his way out."

  “Most shit you’ve said in a month, Jinx,” North jokes with me, lightening the mood.

  Chaos looks to me. “The sooner you can fill that position, the better, Jinx.” Just like that, we go back to business as usual. This is why prospecting doesn’t last some set amount of time and there isn’t one single task that earns a man a place amongst the Kings. It takes time and never-failing respect to have a place here.

  “On it, brother,” I reply, already thinking on where to find a maid for the clubhouse.

  Before I can deal with anything, I feel my side vibrating from my phone.

  “Lo,” I answer the call and immediately go on alert recognizing the number.

  “Hello, I’m calling for Koa Kalini.”

  “You got me.”

  “This is Brooke from South Shore Assisted Living.”

  I grab the keys to my Harley and walk out of the door while keeping my mind on the call. “Yup, what’s wrong with Pops?”

  “I need to update you that your father took a fall, and we have taken him to the hospital. We expect him to return to the facility without further problems, but you know that Arthur has trouble transitioning at this stage in his disease progression. He tends to return better when you are here.”

  She’s not wrong. The falls seem to be happening more frequently, despite the walker at his bedside. The stubborn man just won’t give in to life changes. I let out a frustrated sigh. There is nothing worse than knowing someone you love is lost inside their mind and there isn’t a single thing that can be done about it. With every passing day, he loses more of himself to the memories. I pay out my ass for this facility so he can have luxury living and the elite care they provide.

  “They just left with him, so we anticipate it being a few hours, but given last time…” she doesn’t finish the statement.

  We both know what happened last time, and there is no reason to revisit my Pops pulling his nine from the Bible-shaped case we had it hiding in and threatening to shoot them all for injecting him with drugs just to keep him from his beloved.

  After that, I had to promise the weapon I keep in the hollowed-out book would be filled with blanks. This costs me more than his care to get them to turn their eyes to.

  Sure, the man has no business having a weapon in a nursing home. Sure, it breaks a ton of laws. But my Pops taught me to shoot, taught me about honor, and protecting what’s mine. He wanted to go into the facility and still feel like a man in charge, even when I offered to let him live with me and hire a nurse. He said he wouldn’t intrude on my life and wanted to go to a nursing home. No matter what, I’m not taking away his dignity. So, I’ll pay whatever the fuck I need for him to believe he’s still able to protect himself, even if the gun is filled with blank rounds that won’t do anything but drop out of the gun as an empty casing.

  “I’ll get there as soon as I can,” I state before ending the call without another word.

  What is there to say? Arthur took a fall, and I’m the only one left alive to support him. I’ll be there. I’m always there. Nothing comes before Arthur. If I’m balls deep in a bitch, I stop fucking to answer that call. If I’m on a run for the club, I still answer the fucking phone. Without Arthur, who the fuck knows where I’d be. So, no matter the day, the time, the inconvenience, I’m there for him the way he was for me.

  Not that he remembers any of it.

  If he needs something, I’ll take care of it. Arthur Smith was a hardworking man who dedicated his life to his wife, Kalini. It was during his time in the Army when he was stationed in Hawaii where he met a young Kalini. The two were married when Arthur was jus
t twenty-two and she was eighteen.

  Life in Hawaii for the young couple was the shit movies are made of.

  They talked of the day they would have kids of their own, but knew the time just wasn’t right. Fate, being the twisted bitch she is, literally landed family life on their doorstep. A neighbor’s daughter was too young and too lost in a lifestyle she wouldn’t leave and ended up pregnant. That’s how a crying baby in a basket ended up on Arthur and Kalini’s doorstep with a note left with the little bundle of fresh life.

  He is meant to be yours. His name is Koa. Give him everything I can’t.

  A curious call to the powers that be let young Kalini learn that the baby boy would go to a foster home if she reported the child. After holding the little guy, she was attached.

  Given he was healthy, a seed of thought was planted in the young couple to keep this little life. It took more than one lie, and every bit of savings the couple had, to get me added to Arthur’s dependents status without the couple inciting an investigation by authorities. The story was Kalini had an affair and would not disclose the father of the baby, therefore, my birth certificate listed father unknown, and Kalini Hakeiki as my mother. From there, the couple named me Koa Loto Kalini. Koa given to me by my birth mother, Loto meaning heart in the native Samoan culture of both my biological mother and the woman who raised me, and Kalini as I am forever Kalini’s heart.

  Life in Hawaii was great until the Army stationed Arthur in Fort Benning, Georgia for his last duty station. Kalini and I moved with him. After adjusting to life stateside, Georgia became home sweet home for us all.

  Kalini died years ago in a car accident. I offered to have Arthur live with me, but he refused. “Koa, your spirit is too wild for an old man to tame,” he says even now, and he is not wrong. I hate that he isn’t with me day in and out, but the life I lead isn’t really the kind of life he needs.

  Looking at my phone, I note the time and take off for the open road. I’ll make a pitstop at the Four Points and see if I can find someone looking for work. Just a maid will do. Once I wrap that job, I’ll get to the hospital for Arthur. Two tasks handled in one trip; I like the productivity. If I’m lucky, maybe today he’ll know who I am again.

  Either way, I’m sure Evan the prospect will never fucking forget.

  We are the Kings.

  Four

  Talia

  “Your future self is watching you right now through memories. Do yourself a favor and make it something worth watching.” A sign on a bus station wall. My future self is simply happy to be alive, Talia.

  Hearing the brakes screech, I’m alert. Feeling the mechanics work to bring the locomotive to a stop, I give Katie a nudge.

  “Time to wake up,” I explain readying my body to be on the move.

  Sometimes, on rides, I wish I had a watch. It’s silly to most, I get that. Things I once took for granted, like keeping track of time, mean so much more now. Day in and out, I don’t know from one moment to the next the official time. I simply have to follow the sun, the moon, and my instincts. I don’t always know the exact day of the week or the date on a calendar. I no longer remember birthdays or holidays. The hardest thing is I have no control. This lifestyle, I don’t know from one stop to the next where I’m headed most of the time.

  Currently, neither of us know if we are stopping somewhere on the West Coast, in the Midwest, or on the East Coast. The only thing I know is we are still in the United States. Trains can’t carry us over oceans, and customs is a nightmare, so I know we are within our native borders somewhere.

  As a kid, I remember when waiting five minutes for a snack or to play outside felt like a lifetime. Now the minutes, the hours, and even the days pass without me feeling any level of excitement or anticipation. I have gotten on boxcars before and the night passed by without me knowing it. Inside the car, the lighting is limited in general regardless of the daylight outside. It makes each stop a new adjustment.

  I nudge Katie gently again. She shakes her head as if to shrug off the sleep groaning softly. It takes her a few moments to gather her bearings.

  Yes, she’s definitely a rookie.

  Life on the rails doesn’t slow down. There isn’t an adjustment period. The wrong move can mean life or death.

  This level of deep sleep and being unaware of what’s going on can get her killed. I need to get her home. This isn’t the life for her. She begins to speak and my heart races. I signal for her to remain quiet and in place. The train has stopped and by now I know either the engineer or the conductor is doing their rounds to check each car at the hitch and each door. One by one, the conductor checks the boxcars, opening the doors and closing them. The closer he gets to our boxcar the louder the noises are. Only when I’m fairly confident he’s completed his checks near us do I climb from my location with Katie following me. With practiced ease, I get us both free from the boxcar and rushing into the nearby woods.

  “What do we do now?” she asks looking around with trepidation.

  I remember my early days, alone, scared, and clueless. As soon as I confirmed I was out of North Dakota I sighed thinking this was it. Even now, I’m not safe and this is far from ever being it. Leaving the way I did makes sense even now. I just haven’t figured out how to put the pieces of my life back together and it’s been years. Does Katie understand the choices she’s making if she doesn’t go home? This lifestyle is unique, but it’s not for everyone.

  “We wait.” I tell her squatting down and inspecting the ground under us. “We have to get off the freight lines and back to passenger trains to get you back to Arizona. Once the engineer finishes his inspection of the locomotive and replenishing fuel, this train will move out.” I gaze out to the station area. “There are three tracks. This is a small station. We have to be patient and I’ll approach the office to figure out what city and state we’re in. Depending on that information we’ll even have to wait for another load to catch out again or we can hoof it on foot into a bigger city close by.”

  She nods with wide eyes. “I’m hungry.”

  Ugh. I am too but I also know the risks to trying to get into parcels. “Sit tight,” I order. “I’ll go see what I can get.”

  Just as I am about to take off and try to get into some of the boxcars, she reaches out grabbing my arm. “Don’t leave me, Talia.”

  She is full of despair and desperation that I find myself giving her hand a squeeze. “Okay we gotta see what we can find. If I say run, you run back to this spot, Katie and you don’t look back.”

  The poor girl in front of me wants to break down I read it in her eyes. There is no time for that. This train may leave and we need to be ready to catch out again if another load moves in quick.

  Keeping to the edge of the woods, I move out from our hiding place following the train all the way to the caboose. Each boxcar we pass, I stop and crack the door enough to try to see what is inside. Rarely is food transported this way. It’s mostly industrial supplies. Not letting my frustrations win, I keep moving beyond the train and over to one of the covered buildings. The smaller stations have these bays set up for merchandise that needs to be offloaded in the event the brakes on a boxcar are damaged or there is some other kind of damage to the car.

  Under the overhang I count seven bodies all laid out in different ways, and see the metal barrel drum used for a fire. These riders are comfortable here telling me the conductor or engineer are accepting of their presence.

  This clues me into a few things, the most important being this is a small town. In the bigger cities rail riding is frowned upon. Also in the metropolitan areas the cops wouldn’t tolerate the loitering.

  If I was alone this would be fine. Having committed to returning Katie to Arizona this presents a problem.

  Before I can educate Katie on the dangers to other hobos, she takes off in a sprint to the sleeping bodies. A couple of them jump up on the ready to run while a few remain sleeping. Katie looks around and spotting something, she moves to one of the sleeping
bodies. Squatting down, she isn’t even aware of the others getting ready to pounce on her. My pulse quickens as fear grips me. Shaking the male figure, I try to pull her back when the man rolls over and opens his eyes.

  “Katie?”

  She squeals in delight, “Caleb! I thought I’d never see you again.” As quickly as the elation hit her she begins to sob. “I was so afraid.”

  Standing up, she jumps excitedly while opening her hands like she’s featuring me on a commercial, she introduces, “Caleb, this is Talia. She’s my friend.”

  He blinks and then extends a dirty hand for me to shake. I don’t shake it, but rather give him a small wave of acknowledgement.

  “Talia, this is great!” She gives her full attention to me not caring that there are other people around. “Now, I don’t need to go home. I have Caleb!”

  “Go home?” He stands up. “Why would you go home, Katie?”

  She laughs it off. “I didn’t know what to do without you. It doesn’t matter now, we’re back together.”

  He pulls her to him and kisses her loudly, passionately, and in such a way that draws everyone’s attention.

  I don’t say anything feeling awkward in the situation.

  A figure approaches from behind me and I jump to the side twisting in a way where I am ready to fight.

  “Easy girl,” the raspy voice of the tall man says. The lanky frame of the man is tall and skinny with his blonde hair tangled in a bunch of dreadlocks that go mid-way down his back frame his face with a large pointy nose. He wears a tie-died tank top that’s worn out and a pair of cut off gray sweatpants.

  When he steps closer, I fight the urge to vomit from his stench. While I know this lifestyle isn’t the cleanest, I use every opportunity I have to clean up. Body odor can be controlled.

  “Name’s Chrome,” he greets extending his hand to me. “Rail Wreckers.”

  I nod and shake his hand even though I don’t want to. I’m outnumbered here so I have to play things smart.