Thrash
The Steel Horse sits on the opposite side of town as the Smiling Skull. It’s an old building going back almost a hundred and fifty years, back when Crescent Falls was nothing more than an old logging camp. It’s full of a hell of a lot of old wood furniture, reclaimed from the building’s past and glistening with age. The bar is crafted from aged oak and glistens with polish, age, and shines a deep brown color.
Stepping in here is like coming home. No matter what I’ve been up to, even if that includes buying a bunch of drugs that I really don’t need, it always feels good seeing this place and having my family around me.
Most of my brothers in the MC are in the bar right now, though I zero in on a corner table, where Riot’s sitting by himself. I slam the bag of Molly down on the table of our booth at The Steel Horse Tavern. Riot does a double-take at the sight.
“Holy shit, Thrash, have you lost your fucking mind? What the fuck are you going to do with that much Molly?” He says.
“I have no fucking clue. When’s Coachella?” I say.
“Next April.”
“Seriously? That’s a long ways away.”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“What about Warped Tour?”
“That’s over, man. And this year’s was the last one. They’re done for good.” He says.
“Are you kidding me? The last one? That sucks ass. They always had at least a couple good bands every time.”
“Yeah. They announced it last year. I grew up on that shit. I thought you knew, man.”
We both go quiet for a second, sharing a moment of silence for a great music festival.
I sigh. “No, I didn’t know. What about any rave festivals? There’s got to be something going on down in LA or San Francisco.”
Riot shrugs. “Do I look like I keep up on raves?”
We both go quiet again, Riot probably lost in an old memory about Warped Tour, and me, staring at a giant bag of pills that I have no fucking clue what to do with.
After a second, I decide that it’s no use feeling regret. It might suck to be saddled down with a ton of ecstasy, but I have to keep my eye on the prize: taking the drug business from the Reaper’s Sons.
“You know what, I really don’t give a shit. It was worth it,” I say.
“How much did you pay for all this?”
I don’t skip a beat answering. “Three thousand three hundred and one dollars.”
He whistles. “That’s street price. What the fuck are you getting at, man?”
“I’ll tell you later. I’ve got something in mind — a way to get to the Reaper’s Sons drugs and their cash all at once — and I’ll need your help on it when it’s time. But, right now, I think I’m going to pop a few of these babies to see how potent they are and roll solo for a while. Maybe watch Face/Off or The Fifth Element.”
Riot leans forward, eager.
“Can I join? Hawk gave me the fucking third degree earlier earlier over the car ambushing we did the other day. I could use the chance to unwind.”
I flinch. I hate that Riot took some of the heat for my plan. Not that I wouldn’t do it again, but, if I had the chance, I’d be a little more circumspect about it so my friend doesn’t wind up on our club president’s shit list. I’ll have to be more careful.
“Fuck, man, I’m sorry. That’s on me — it was my plan after all. But, trust me, once I get everything lined up, it’ll more than make up for the trouble we’ve been in. So, yeah, come on, let’s roll and watch some movies.”
* * * * *
An hour later, we’re back at my place. Nic Cage is giving his typical, over-the-top performance as a lunatic terrorist and John Travolta is doing his best to keep up. There’s a half-finished sixer between us on my old couch and the bag of pills on the table in front of us. My house isn’t the nicest in town, it’s an old single-story craftsman that could use a paint job and some redecorating, but it’s got good bones. And it’s all mine. Real estate is always a good investment and I’m always keeping my eye on the future.
“What’s with the chick, man?” Riot says to me, during one of the few breaks in the frenetic action extravaganza that is Face/Off. “Is she going to stick around?”
“You mean Gina Gershon’s character, Sasha Hassler? She’s Nic Cage’s woman. But she’s going to double cross him after Travolta promises to help to keep her son out of the criminal life. You know this.”
At least I hope he knows it. Though I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. This Molly is potent, high-grade stuff, and it might be laced with a trace of something hallucinogenic.
“No, no, I know who she is, we’ve seen this movie probably a dozen times this year — and I’m not complaining, it’s an awesome movie, and I’d support making it a regular thing, like ‘Face/Off Friday’,” he says, then he pauses to shake his head clear. “I mean the drug mule chick from the other day. What’s with her?”
“Alice? She’s a means to an end, that’s all. She’s got perfect access to the Reaper’s Sons. Hammer trusts her, she works at one of his establishments, and she’s desperate enough to double cross them to get ahead.”
“Oh, so this ‘means to an end’ has a name, now?” He says, eying me sideways.
“So what if I know her name? Like I said, she’s just there to help me get where I want to be.”
“Yeah? You sure? Cause I’ve never seen you be as soft on someone as you were on her. Anyone else, you would’ve shot them and taken that car. Never seen you care much what a chick’s name was, either. Admit it: you actually give a shit about her.”
Riot’s always been good at calling me on my bullshit. Even when I don’t want to admit it to myself. Alice has been in my head since the second I saw her.
There’s more to her that draws me in than her curves alone, or the way her brown hair falls just so over her shoulder. There’s a desperate ambition to her, this fervent need to get ahead that is similar to what’s driving me. She’s aware of how fragile the world can be and she wants to do whatever she can to protect herself from it all crumbling to dust.
Still, if I say my feelings out loud, I’ll just be admitting defeat, and I sure as hell can’t do that. Not when I’m finally getting traction. Not when success, and cash, is just within my grasp.
I have to keep things with Alice to just business.
“I sure as hell don’t give a shit about her. Not more than I have to. I need to keep her on my side, brother. At least as much as she can be working for the Reaper’s Sons,” I say. “She’s our ticket in. This can go bigger than just stealing some drugs and pissing off Hammer enough that that vein stands out on his forehead.”
“Sounds like you might be getting a bit greedy. The bigger the heist, the riskier it is,” he says. “Are you ready for that?”
I shrug. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, we can’t let those bastards get ahead of the club. Someone’s got to do something about them, and if Hawk won’t, than it falls on us.”
We both pause and turn our attention back to the TV. The movie is getting to one of our favorite parts: the final showdown between Travolta and Cage. They’re carrying pistols in both hands and having a balls-to-the-wall shootout in a chapel that’s inexplicably filled with doves. It’s utter insanity. Even if I were stone-cold sober, I would acknowledge this as one of the greatest movies of all time. Because I’m not, it’s even better.
“You going to tell me what you’re planning?” Riot says, breaking our awed silence.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I might be fucking rolling but this isn’t my first time and I can handle my shit. You’re not getting some Molly confessional out of me. Besides, it’s for your benefit, that way Hawk can’t get it out of you. The less you know, the better.”
“Come on, brother, trust me a little bit, huh?” He says, giving me a sharp look.
I pause and choose my words carefully. I understand Riot wanting to know more – and I don’t like having to keep my best friend in the dark – but I don’t want him to take any more heat from our club’s leadership.
“How’s this: by the time this is over, we’ll have taken every bit of cash that Hammer’s drug operation has brought in. We’ll cripple them. That enough for you?”
Riot shrugs, not the slightest bit perturbed. He gets it. I’m not exactly playing by the club’s rules here. He’s working with me out of a loyalty and brotherhood that goes deeper than the MC. We’re family, even if we don’t share blood.
“It’s something. Can you at least let me in on the next step?”
“Definitely. The next step is I get closer to her. And I might need your help with that at some point.”
Riot shrugs. “I give poor relationship advice, man. You know that. The longest time I’ve spent with a chick was that time a couple years ago when we all took that long weekend trip to Sturgis. You remember Betty?”
“Oh, man, I’d forgotten about her. How is she doing?”
“We talk from time to time, every few months or so. She’s competing this year in Miss Sturgis XL. I’ve thought about looking her up. You know, if she wins, this would be her third year in a row.”
“Nice. You should go for it. A good woman is hard to find.”
“I probably will. But you still need to tell me how I can help you out. You can’t keep me totally in the dark.”
“Fine. There’s an auto yard that Hammer runs that I need you and Creole to keep an eye on. Watch who comes, who goes, and where they go to. Can you do that incognito?”
“Sure, man.”
“That place is like the nexus of what they do. The drugs stop in there on their way up from Mexico, the cash goes through there, it’s the key to their operation.”
“And while Creole and I are watching that auto yard, you’ll be…?”
I grin. “Fucking the bartender.”
I make a point not to say her name; I couldn’t keep the heat out of my voice if I did. There’s something about her that seizes my thoughts and makes my cock rock hard just at the thought of her. She’s got a rough lot in life right now — weighed down with family problems, money problems, and working for a drug-smuggling piece of shit like Hammer – but she’s a fighter and she’s doing her damnedest to keep it together and make a better life for herself. Sooner or later, she’s going to break out and wind up on top. There’s something about her that just screams that, whatever toughness she’s facing now, it’s just a temporary setback. She’s a fighter. I respect the hell out of her for that.
It’s going to make using her more difficult than I planned.
“Rough job,” he says.
“It’s just business. That’s all.”
I hope.
She’s a tool. A ticket. Access. And that’s all. Because if it’s more than that, it could ruin everything.