Cutter
“So, lemme get this straight,” Smalls said, his best belly heaving under his vest and shirt, “you're telling us, we got the fiancée of the motherfucker who literally just put our boys away this fucking morning hiding out in your goddamned bunk?”
Cutter and seven of the other Vanguard were seated in the conference room around their central folding table. This was a safe place, the only safe place, to discuss business of this nature. It was sound proofed, checked for bugs on a regular basis, and all their cell phones were left outside in the kitchen freezer, with their batteries disconnected. Business like this didn't happen outside the room.
Cutter nodded. “That's what I'm telling you.”
“And, you and this chick,” said Mowgli, one of the other guys, “you go back to high school?”
“Right,” Cutter replied.
“Cutter, man,” Smalls said as he lay his hands out flat on the table, palms up, and shook his head slowly from side to side, “I don't know what you want us to do with this. I mean, this shit's fucked up. This could be considered kidnapping or some shit.”
“Kidnapping?” Cutter asked. “She's here on her own, man. You can ask her. Any of y'all can. She climbed on my bike of her own free will.”
“You know as well as I do,” Smalls replied, “that don't mean nothing. They can pin all sorts of shit on people. Look at what they're doing to our boys already.”
Cutter nodded. It was a concern of his, especially with the precarious situation they were already in with the transition from illegal to legit business affairs. This was a bad time for everything to happen, but it was happening regardless of how they felt.
“I see your point,” he said, biting the inside of his mouth as he mulled it over. “But, how're they going to know she's here? She's got as much interest in staying gone as we do.”
There were murmurs of agreement around the table.
“Alright,” Smalls said. “I'll give you that. But, say we're able to help her. What's in it for us?”
“Leverage,” Cutter said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. “I'm telling you guys, there's something here. Something she ain't telling me yet.”
“So, you want us to just protect her like some goddamn Snow White, then?”
“At least until I can figure out what she's got on this guy. That's all I'm asking for. Maybe she can give us enough to get rid of him, disgrace him or some shit.”
“I don't know,” Smalls said, shaking his head. He may have been Cutter's second, but he always had the club's best interest at heart. And he sure as hell wasn't some pansy-ass yes man. That’s one reason Cutter had elected him to be his right-hand man.
“Well, why else would she leave this guy at the altar?” Cutter asked.
“Maybe,” suggested Squirrel, a big, musclebound biker that had just gotten patched last year, “she just ain't in love with him no more.” Squirrel wasn't exactly the best name for him, but that was the nickname one he'd come with when he asked to become a prospect.
Silence ruled the table for a moment, as all the men mulled this idea over in their heads.
“Well, why the hell would she still have been with him for so long?” Cutter asked, shaking his head. “They were together for years, Squirrel. Why up and leave him now? Hell, why did she even agree to the wedding in the first place?”
“Could she have met someone else?” suggested one of the other guys.
“Wouldn't make sense, either,” Smalls replied. All eyes turned to him. “Well, she would've run off with him, then. Right? Instead of Cutter?”
Nods of approval went around the room.
Cutter had to hold back a laugh. These guys could run a statewide criminal syndicate, put fear into the hearts of other MCs, and be dangerous enough to have the local authorities on edge. But they couldn't figure out why one woman left her fiancée at the altar. It really was pretty funny in a surreal kind of way. The Marx Brothers would've had a field day.
After a little while, Cutter spoke up. “I want to remind everyone, though, what's on the line here. We're about to be legit, guys. No more dealing, no more running guns, no more pulling protection on other dealers, or fighting for territory the way we used to.” Cutter paused for effect as heads began to nod around the table. “This is about us making our money legally, about us not having to launder our money anymore. When we get these other deals settled, we're gonna be free and clear ... and legal. No more worries about jail or prison, just focusing on the future and building something better for ourselves and the people that come after us.”
He paused and licked his suddenly dry lips before beginning again. “Now, I think Liona, she's the key here. I think. I need y'all to trust me on this, just like you did with Farm to Fable, and just like y'all have been with everything else.”
The other Vanguard murmured their support, murmured their misgivings. There was a lot on the line, just like he'd said. But, sometimes life was like gambling. You couldn't win if you didn't take the risk. No one won at roulette unless they spun the wheel.
“So, what do y'all say, then? Should we put it to a vote?” Cutter asked after a couple more minutes of wild conjectures were thrown around and promptly shot down. There wasn't the full MC present, but they had enough to outnumber the other guys if their decision was unanimous. “Should we keep her and protect her?”
A few more moments of rumbling, then, finally, some reluctant shrugs. “Yeah,” Smalls said. “Let's vote. A preliminary one, until we can get a full meeting.”
Cutter nodded. Since he was president of the MC, his vote counted twice, according to the bylaws of the Vanguard. But, two votes were generally only enough to sway a vote when things were tight. In his experience, there was generally consensus amongst the men. He felt like they wanted it that way, to act with one voice instead of as a fractured crowd. The club was about solidarity to outside threats, after all, to people who wanted to tell them how to live.
But, at least with this preliminary vote, he'd be able to feel out the group. Later, when everything came down to a full vote, he was confident that either the situation would be over, and Liona would be gone, or he'd have gotten them in so much trouble that a vote wouldn't matter one way or another.
“All in favor?” Cutter asked, raising his hand.
Everyone at the table, every single one of them, slowly raised their hand.
“Then it moves forward,” he said. “We'll see what we can get out of her, and in the meantime, we'll keep her warm and fed and out of sight. Next full meeting we get, we'll call another vote. Cool?”
“Cool,” Smalls agreed.
“Motion's carried, then?” Cutter asked the room.
All the men nodded their head, silent as the gravity of what they'd just agreed to do began to set in. Times ahead were going to be tough, but Cutter knew he and the rest of the Vanguard would be up to the challenge. They always had been, always would be.
They were Vanguard, after all.