Smokey

Attending club functions wasn’t my bag of tricks, but when the club needed muscle, I was always willing to show up. More accurately, I wasn’t willing, I insisted on it. I had yet to miss any event that required a patch to intimidate, beat, or threated the life of anyone who the club decided needed it.

Standing around an old warehouse with 200 of So-Cal’s finest 1%ers, I stood amidst the only bunch I cared much for, the Hells Angels.

One of Hells Angels senior members, Bama, and Pee Bee were talking about the day Pee Bee’s father had a heart attack. On that day, Bama had gathered all the Angels at the rally, and led the way on a 150-mile trek to the hospital, providing an escort for the entire trip.

Bama stroked his long gray beard. “That family in the fuckin’ Chrysler Magnum was what I thought was funny.”

“The white one?” Pee Bee asked.

Bama nodded. “When we shot past him, he swerved so hard his tires smoked and his fuckin’ eyes were like this.”

He went wide-eyed and then looked hard to the left.

“That was funny as shit,” Pee Bee agreed.

“You alright, Brother?” Bama asked. “You look sick.”

I nodded. “I’m good. Just...”

I took a long breath, exhaled, and then met his gaze. “Nothing big. Daughter’s on a date, and my Ol’ Lady was supposed to call every hour. She hasn’t called in three.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s 2:00 a.m., Brother. Hell, they’re sleeping.”

I nodded. “She’ll wish she’d called when I talk to her next.”

He coughed a laugh. “I know that’s right. How old’s the daughter?”

“Seventeen.”

He stroked his beard and then shook his head. “When Harley was that age, it drove me nuts. Tough age for girls.”

“Tough age for all of us,” I said.

He gave a nod. “Amen to that.”

While Crip finished rubbing elbows with the other club’s decision makers, we talked about everything under the sun. The conversations had gone from fucking to food, back to fucking, and then landed on street races.

“I need a set of cams,” I said. “Bad.”

“What’s in her now?” Bama asked.

“Andrews A2,” I said.

“Shit, that fucker’s flat on the top end. You need to go with something that’s got a better horsepower reading. The A2’s got torque, but that’s about it.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

My phone buzzed, and I about jumped out of my skin. I held up my index finger. “Here’s that call,” I said. “Better late than never.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket, looked at the screen, and although the number was local, I didn’t recognize it.

I swiped my thumb across the screen. “Smokey.”

“Grayson Wallace?”

“Who’s this?”

“Is this Grayson Wallace?”

“Depends. Who’s this?”

“Sir, this is Dr. Levinson at Scripps Mercy Hospital. Can you provide a Social Security number and any identifying scars or birthmarks for Eddie Cassandra Wallace?”

My heart sank, and panic shot up my throat.

I turned away from the men, and began walking away.

I swallowed hard. “Is she…is she okay?”

“Sir, I need to know if you can provide--”

“She has. She’s got. No scars. A dime sized birthmark on her left thigh. Social is. It’s uhhm. 514-82-3060.”

He shuffled some paperwork. “And, she’s your daughter?”

“Yes, she is. Is she okay?”

“She’s going in to surgery prep right now. We’ll likely operate within 30 minutes. If everything goes well, we expect her to recover fully. If at all possible, you need to get here as soon as possible. The procedure is rather complicated. Her skull is fractured, and her brain has swollen considerably. We’ve drilled holes to relieve the pressure, but we’re not seeing the results we’d like to.”

My hands began to shake uncontrollably. “What…where…where do I come to?”

“Scripps Mercy in San Diego. Ask for the trauma operating room.”

“I can call this number if need be?”

“Yes, this will ring the trauma desk.”

“What. What happened?”

“She was assaulted and beaten severely. She’s got a few broken fingers, her forearm is fractured, and several lacerations. I’ll forewarn you. You won’t recognize her.”

My blood was boiling, and I was shaking so bad I could barely hold my phone.

“What. What about her uhhm. Her mother?”

“Sir, I’m not at liberty to give out…”

“Is she okay?”

“Sir. You’ll have to speak to the police to obtain that information.”

I swallowed hard. “Do you have a wife?”

“I do.”

“I’ll ask again. Is her mother okay?”

He sighed. “She’s been taken into custody.”

“What?”

“That’s all I’m comfortable saying at this time.”

“She wasn’t. She wasn’t at. It wasn’t her fault? Was it?”

“Mr. Wallace, the only reason your daughter is alive and in good hands is because of your wife. I suggest you hurry, Mr. Wallace.”

“Thank you.”

I was an emotional wreck. I turned toward Pee Bee and Bama, but couldn’t speak. I needed to get to Scripps Mercy ASAP, but my bike was a turd, and had no top speed to speak of. If I was forced to ride it, I might not make it in time.

We were fifty miles away, and getting anyone to give up their sled wasn’t going to happen, and I knew it.

“What is it, Brother?” Bama asked.

I swallowed hard, and gathered every ounce of courage I could muster. “Daughter’s been assaulted, and she’s knocking on death’s door. They’re uhhm. They’re going to cut into her brain. And, I don’t know what’s going on, but they got my Ol’ Lady in custody, but it sounds like she might have saved my daughter’s life.”

I looked away and shook my head. After regaining my composure, I turned to face him. “I need to get to Scripps Mercy in SD quick.”

“Angels!” Bama shouted at the top of his lungs. “Saddle up.”

He looked at me. “We’ve got your back, brother.”

“Might have to ride bitch,” I said. “My shit’s slow as fuck, Brother.”

Pee Bee grabbed my shoulder. “Crip’s bike is the fastest motherfucker in the club. Hold on.”

I nodded, and he took off through the crowd.

Hells Angels came out of every crack and crevice, and then rushed out the building behind Bama.

Prepared to ride on the back of one of HA’s bikes, I stood like a complete idiot, feeling helpless and incapable. Worry for Eddie, and for Sandy filled me until I was sure I would burst.

Crip rushed to my side. “Something happen to Eddie?”

I couldn’t respond. I struggled to swallow, and then nodded.

He held out his hand. “Take mine. It’ll outrun anything here, Brother.”

I reached in my pocket, pulled out my keys, and handed them to him. He patted me on the shoulder. “Love ya, Brother.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

The building began to shake from the rumbling of bikes outside the doors.

“Pee Bee and Cholo’s coming with,” Crip said. “I’ll go, but your sled won’t come close to keeping up.”

I nodded and somehow managed to speak. “Understood.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Crip said.

Pee Bee stepped to my side, and Cholo was right behind him. “Scripps?”

I nodded.

We rushed out of the building.

At the edge of the parking lot was a line of roughly a dozen bikes. Beside the line and in front, Bama sat on his bagger, revving the engine. “Who’s leading this parade?” he shouted.

“The Filthy Fucker’s will lead the way,” Pee Bee said. “We’ve got the fastest shit.”

I hopped on Crip’s bike, fired it up, and pulled alongside Bama, who was out in front.

“Red and White!” Bama bellowed over the sound of the exhaust. “Keep up if you can. If you can’t keep up…”

He paused and leaned to the side. “What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Eddie,” I said. “Eddie Wallace.”

“Her name’s Eddie Wallace,” he yelled.

Engines revved in response.

Cholo and Pee Bee pulled up to either side of me.

Pee Bee looked at me. “Let’s do this.”

I bit into my lips and nodded.

And we rode out of there like a bat out of hell.