Charlie – Present Day
When Jack called me into the headquarters, I knew it was serious. I’d been riding with the Steel Gods for nine years, since I was an eighteen-year-old kid. And all that time, Jack hadn’t paid a ton of attention to me. He was more the type to lash out and call you a fuckup rather than praise you. But still, I knew I’d been doing a good job. After all, I hadn’t been kicked out of the MC or killed yet. And that’s about the only way I can fuckin’ tell things are going my way, I thought with a smirk as I pulled my bike up in front of headquarters and parked on the street.
Life in Carlsbad, California was pretty fuckin’ sweet. I hadn’t grown up around here; I’d been in the foster care system, bounced around from one grime-infested house to the next until I finally became legal in the eyes of the state. I hadn’t even finished high school; I’d dropped out before I finished the eleventh grade. Algebra II had kicked my ass – years later, I was still laughing about how badly I’d fucked it all up.
If I had parents at one point, I don’t remember ‘em. My first memories are in kindergarten, of some other little fucker making fun of me because I was wearing clothes with holes in them. That was the day I’d gotten in my first fight. There had been a lot more fights after that, but at least that was the day everyone learned not to fuck with Charlie Waters.
For a long time, I’d really wanted to find my parents. But Waters is about the most fuckin’ common last name on earth, or at least in California. There were 16 pages of Waters in the phone book. I knew finding my real parents would be damn near impossible. Hell, maybe they didn’t want to be found. If I were them, I’d probably want to hide, too. They couldn’t know what kind of an asshole they’d produced.
The second foster family that took me in had a kid named Brandon. He was perfect, just like a little fuckin’ Ken doll. He was blonde and athletic, with big muscles and a shit-eating grin. He used to love kicking the shit out of me, telling me I wasn’t ever good enough because I was adopted.
“No one loves you enough to adopt you,” he’d sneer at me in the backyard after school. I kicked his ass more than one time, which led to me spending the night alone in the basement with no dinner. Of course, as soon as his parents showed up, he’d cry every single fuckin’ time and act like I’d just attacked him. They never even heard my side of the story; I was pushed downstairs before I had a chance to utter a single word.
I went through six more foster families before high school, when I finally wound up on a farm outside of Carlsbad, California that grew grapes for wine. They’d obviously picked me because I looked tough, like I could stand up to all kinds of physical labor. I hated living there, but I got over it. The old people weren’t so bad, and the other kids left me alone because they were all Mexican. Sure, they hated me and called me a piece of shit. But all I had to do was growl in their general direction and they’d go running like mice.
It was then I decided to stay in Carlsbad. I’d made some friends at the local junk shop who were mechanics, and they got to teaching me some shit whenever I had free time. A mechanic could make a good living. I was determined to not be poor for the rest of my life. I never gave a fuck about having my own family – the foster families I’d stayed with weren’t exactly the models for love and devotion – but I wanted to make my own life. I wanted to be bulletproof. I wanted to make sure I’d never end up in the same damn dilemma my parents had: having a kid but not wanting one.
I probably seemed pretty bitter about all of it. The truth was, I wasn’t really bitter. Just afraid, deep down, of ending up like my worst nightmares.
When I found the Steel Gods, it was like I’d found God himself. It was what they call a downright religious experience. I’d always been searching for a group who looked out for their own, and I was relieved to finally find a bunch of men who understood what was really important in life: sticking together and giving a big middle finger to the capitalist Man who ruled our society. California was really the only place I ever could have found those guys, and I thanked my lucky stars the foster home happened to be right there.
They say you don’t know home until you leave it. Well, I think that’s bullshit. I knew Carlsbad was home to me as soon as I got there.
I had to repeat eighth grade so I turned eighteen in the middle of my junior year. All it took was one bad fight with the counselor and then I walked outta that school for good. My foster parents were real happy about it – said I could put in an extra hour or two on the farm every day. I wasn’t thrilled about that, but they started paying me and I saved up wages. In two months, I had about two thousand dollars. It was enough for me to move out on my own into a shitty studio apartment on the outskirts of the city.
That was when I met Jack. Jack Duncan was the leader of the Steel Gods, one of the most feared MCs around the state. They pushed drugs – mostly heroin, but blow and molly, too – and sold weapons to felons. That kinda shit. I knew it was bad, but I couldn’t wait to dip my foot in anyway. Jack told me the first night I met him that he was looking for a guy like me, and I knew right away I was just the man for the job.
I started out as a prospect. I bought a cheap American Lifan bike for about $600, then fixed it up with every spare moment I had. Jack had me doing ten, sometimes twenty runs per week, all the way up to Escondido and back. It was hell, but I did it. I wanted to prove to Jack I was a good investment in the club, that I was the right kind of guy.
Jack didn’t like that I drove a Chink-made bike, but he didn’t bitch about it. Said he’d give me six months to save up enough for a Harley. If I could do that and push $10,000 worth of heroin, I was in the club.
Instead of six months, it only took me three.
My initiation party into the Steel Gods was one of the best nights of my life. Another guy in the club, Janky, was friends with all these hookers and porn stars. We had one hell of a party – I drank champagne from the pussy of the hottest chicks I’d ever seen, and they were all over me like I was some kind of stud. After years of no one paying attention to me, it felt like insanity.
But I loved it. I got high on life that night. It was this crazy, powerful surge of adrenaline that made me feel like a god. I knew right then and there that I could never go back to normal life.
The guys were like a family to me. Hell, they were a family. Jack was hooked up with this sweet little piece named Nicolette – they were high school sweethearts – and she treated the guys in the club real well. Every time we got back from a long ride, she’d have dinner cooked for all of us. She never bothered us either; as soon as the men started talking, Jack would smack her on the tight little ass and she’d skitter right out of the room. She even cleaned up after us. The dishes were always done and there was always fresh coffee brewing in the clubhouse. And she never had a word to say, except a smile for Jack. She wouldn’t look the rest of us in the eyes, which I thought was real weird at first, but after a while it just seemed normal, like everything else that went on in the Steel Gods club.
After Jack took a chance on me and patched me into the MC, we didn’t talk as much. I had my own duties: I was in charge of a big Escondido heroin ring, and it kept me busy. Time passed, and before I knew it, I’d been in the club for years. I’d finally done it. I’d kicked the ass of poverty and everyone who said I couldn’t make it on my own. And I’d never felt so proud.
So when Jack called me up one morning and told me to come in for a chat, I was a little spooked. He didn’t normally socialize with members much unless we were on a run. I figured maybe he just wanted to blow off some steam, or ask about the heroin ring. It was going well, but there was a real dangerous batch of H flying around that was cut with too much fentanyl. People were dying left and right. Part of me wondered if he was gonna try to pin it on me.
When I got to the clubhouse, Jack was sitting at the bar, sippin’ a cold one. He looked as tough as ever, and he jerked his head to the side by way of greeting as soon as we made eye contact. I walked over and grabbed a beer, toasting Jack respectfully before cracking it open and pouring it down my throat.
“Charlie, how’re things?” Jack stared at me with a deep gaze, his eyes searching my whole body. He had the gaze of a hawk, and I could tell immediately something was wrong. There was something about his posture that made him look like a coiled snake, ready to strike.
“Pretty fuckin’ good,” I said casually, taking another gulp of brew. “What’s the deal, man? Why’d you call me in?”
Jack snorted. “Real direct, huh?” He shook his head. “I’ve got a fuckin’ problem, Charlie. And it’s got to do with the biggest cunt around.”
I glanced at him with a slight frown. “If you’re still pissed about that— ”
Jack held up his hand and growled at me. “Did I fuckin’ say to ask me yet?” He glared at me as he knocked back the rest of his beer and tossed the bottle to the side. “Shut the fuck up until your President’s done talking.”
I nodded my head.
“Nicolette ran off,” he said, reaching over the counter for a fresh beer. “She fuckin’ left me over some dumb fight we had.”
“What?” I stared, openmouthed. I couldn’t believe it; it was like Jack had told me the sun orbited the Earth, instead of the other way around. I couldn’t imagine Nicolette leaving. She was a fixture, almost like a piece of furniture.
Jack slammed the bottle down on the counter so hard that beer splashed over the rim. “She fuckin’ left,” he repeated, staring at me with dead eyes. “She’s a fucking little cunt and I want her punished.”
“So you want me to go take care of her?”
Jack’s lips curled into an evil grin. “I want you to bring her back here, so I can show her who her lord and master is,” he said, his fingers curling into a tight fist. “I want to fuckin’ fuck that bitch up so hard she won’t be able to tell up from down.” He laughed bitterly. “She’s gonna be so fuckin’ sore when I’m done with her that she won’t be able to walk straight.”
I couldn’t tell you why, but at that moment, my stomach turned to ice. “Did you have a fight?”
“Shut the fuck up, Waters,” Jack said. “Ain’t none of your fuckin’ business! She ran off, I told you! You don’t need to know anything else!”
I nodded. “And where is she?”
“The little cunt went to Colorado,” Jack said with a sneer. “Durango. Some shit town, some small place.” He shook his head. “It’s a fuckin’ long ride from here, but I need you to go get her and bring her back.” He raised his eyebrows. “And don’t hurt her none, either. You save that shit for me, you understand?”
That was it. I had to say yes. There was no other way around it; Jack’s word was the law, and if I said no, I’d be out on my ass faster than Jack could rip the Gods patch off my vest.
“Durango, Colorado,” I repeated. “Got it.”