Chapter 38

Peg

Drum’s invitation is for two people.

“You need your sergeant-at-arms by your side,” I state, fixing my eyes on him.

“Uh oh, VP.” Wraith points at himself.

“Treasurer. You’ll be talkin’ money after all.”

The prez wipes his hand over his beard and shakes his head towards Blade, who was clearly going to offer to attend as enforcer. “Peg,” He says decisively, pointing straight at me. As a wave of protests begin, Drummer bangs the gavel. “Shut up and let me speak.” His glare encompasses us all. “It’s Peg’s old lady that Mercer’s son’s been targetin’, Peg’s got a right to meet the man face to face. And I’ve got a right to have protection with me.”

As I sit back, feeling relieved, Drum allows some time for his thoughts to settle in.

“Peg’s too close. He might lose his temper.”

“Wraith, I’m just going to be sittin’ back lettin’ Mercer drop himself in it.” I point my finger at the VP. “Ain’t gonna be sayin’ a word out of place.” Though it will be hard not to reach over the table and throttle him with my bare hands.

“How d’you intend to play it, Prez?”

“We’ll play it by ear. Figure I can bluff my way if I have to.” Drum changes the subject. “How’s Ma settlin’ in?”

That makes me smile. “She’s doing great. Viper and Bullet’s crew have worked hard, set up a hoist over her bed so Sarah can get her in and out of the wheelchair. Adapted the bathroom as well, got ramps everywhere and handrails.” I laugh. “She told them ‘it’ll do’, which I translate that she’s overjoyed with it.”

“Fuckin’ good food we’ve been gettin’.”

Wraith’s certainly not wrong there. I don’t know how the old lady does it but telling the women to use an herb here or a spice there has made a fuckload of difference.

Dollar frowns. “She told me I shouldn’t need to use a calculator. That in her day everyone did sums in their heads.”

Yup. She always has a caustic comment for everyone. But I can’t forget that favour she did me, going to the press and giving us some mark of respectability.

Two days later, Drummer and I park our bikes beside Jags and Ferraris and walk into the golf club’s restaurant. Our only nod at their fancy dress code is to wear clean jeans and button-down shirts under our cuts. Mercer must have prepared them to expect us, as apart from curious looks the members can’t hide, the staff don’t bat an eyelid at our approach, and simply take us directly to a private room.

Mercer’s already waiting, and I take a moment to scrutinise the man who, by concocting the plan with his son, is indirectly responsible for causing my woman so much suffering. I already know he’s sixty, and he looks every year of his age. His cheeks reddened not by the sun, but by broken veins, suggesting an overindulgence in food and drink. A rounded face, and the way his jacket stretches around the button that he’s fastened as he stands, shrieks evidence of gluttony.

In the same way I’m inspecting him, he’s observing me, and while his smile is supposed to be welcoming, there’s a calculating sharpness he can’t hide in the depth of his eyes. He reminds me of a shark I once saw in an aquarium.

“Drummer. Glad you could make it.” He comes over and shakes Prez’s hand, then holds his out to me. “And you are?”

“Peg.”

“Peg.” He glances at my cut and sees my position. “Ah, sergeant-at-arms.” If my role bothers him, he gives no sign. “Well, now, both of you, please come and take a seat. I’ve ordered a taster menu for us, I hope that’s alright?”

Dubiously eyeing up the amount of cutlery sitting either side of the plates, I’m wondering whether I’ll disgrace myself, though couldn’t really give a fuck either way. I’ve not come for food, as the tape tugging a little uncomfortably at my chest hair and pulling as I bend to take my seat reminds me.

When we’re both sitting, servers appear, silently placing a plate with a tiny portion of something in front of me. I pick it up and finish it in one bite. If this is gourmet food, it isn’t for me. Such a small amount, I barely tasted it.

“Drummer,” Mercer starts, licking his lips and fingers, showing how much he appreciated the delicate offering. “I hear you’ve signed the construction contract to build the new mall. Congratulations. This really puts you in the big league.”

Hmm. Mouse has done his work well. He’s been laying a fake trail for Mercer to follow.

Drummer doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, it’s the biggest building contract we’ve taken on. And we’ve already committed to buying the extra machinery that we’ll need.”

“Payment in advance?”

Prez nods. “Cash up front, yeah. We haven’t exactly got the best credit rating. Had no need for banks before.”

A small smile plays at Mercer’s lips, but it’s only fleeting, and had I not been fully focused on him, I might have missed it. Another course is delivered, this one a tiny bowl of green soup. Only a couple of spoonful’s, and I’m starting to wonder whether Mercer got this meal cheap.

Having loaded a soup spoon that’s already emptied half of the contents, Drummer has just put the revolting coloured liquid into his mouth, and I’m watching his reaction before sampling mine, when Mercer starts speaking.

“Yes, your credit rating. My board has looked at your loan once again. And I’m afraid we’ve got to raise your interest rate.”

Drummer’s got his napkin to his mouth in time to catch the soup that’s spluttered out of his mouth. Mercer might think it’s because of his words, but I know it’s because the banker’s approached it so soon. Prez’s eyes narrow, but then his features relax. “We signed a contract. Agreed on an interest rate. Put both our signatures on it. You can’t raise it now.”

“Oh, but I can, Drummer. Oh look, you’ll like this one.” He waits for the servers to swap soup plates for something that at least looks like meat, the tiniest bird you could ever imagine, surrounded by a couple of leaves. “Thank you, the consommé was delicious,” he compliments them politely. “Yes, Drummer, there’s a clause in the contract that allows us to increase the percentage we’re charging.” He looks up and his nose twitches, though I don’t think it’s the aromatic food he’s smelling, but what he thinks is fear in Drummer’s eyes.

If this was a normal situation, a businessman having worked out his bottom line based on calculations of a contract he thought he’d bought into, that man would be quickly running through estimates in his head of precisely what level of inflated rate he could afford.

“I had my lawyers look over it.” At last prez speaks. “It’s watertight as far as they could see.” With knife and fork he starts picking away at the small bird, showing he’s confident he’s got nothing to worry about.

I do likewise, wishing I could pick the darn thing up and tear what little flesh there is off with my teeth. I quickly give up. Mercer’s got that smile back on his face as the servers come back. I tense imperceptibly as I notice behind them, three men have come in, and position themselves around the room. Here it comes.

Picking up a briefcase, Mercer reaches inside, pulling out what I expect will be the contract we signed. “This is the contract we made?” He shows Drummer the page at the end, and flicks through the rest where every page is initialled.

“It seems to be.”

Mercer takes out a pen and highlights some words, then passes the contract to the prez.

Drummer should get an Oscar. His eyes open wide, he stands up, the plate and the next course goes flying. Hardly a loss, or much for the servers to clear up. “What the fuck is this?” He leans over the table, getting right in Mercer’s face. A hand lands on his shoulder, which he tries to shrug off, but the gun cocked in his ear has him quickly retaking his seat.

Mercer grins. “Your new interest rate. One-thousand-and-two-hundred percent, give or take.”

“I didn’t sign that.”

“Yes, you did. Must admit I made a slight amendment to the contract the courier brought to your club.”

“You motherfucker,” Drum spits out.

Mercer shrugs. “Doesn’t matter what you call me or think of me. The fact is, I’ve got your signature on a legal document, and you’ve agreed to the terms. I repeat, we’ve increased the rate to the highest amount written there. You might not be a businessman, Drummer, and I’m happy for you to consult your lawyer again. But you’ll just be wasting time. Every day, what you owe to my bank increases.”

“We’ll pay the loan back,” Drummer throws out.

“You’ve just told me it’s already tied up in plant, machinery you’ve already purchased.”

Tapping his fingers on the table, glancing up at the man who’s now pointing the gun to the back of his head, Drummer shakes his head. “We’ve not got that kind of money.”

The banker doesn’t seem bothered. “You could sell the compound.”

Prez looks up sharply. “Is that what you want? All this to get the Satan’s Devils out of Tucson?”

Barking a laugh, Mercer shakes his head. Then it’s his turn to lean forward, pushing aside the plate of food he now seems to have no interest in. “I like you right where you are. And, as of now, the Satan’s Devils are working for me.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Again, Drummer tries to stand, and once more he’s pushed down.

Not seeming upset in any way, Mercer continues, “I’ll reduce your interest rate, maybe even to zero. As long as you do whatever I say when I ask it.”

“And what might be the kind of things you’d ask us to do?” Oh, Drummer deserves an Oscar at least, as he manages to look like a man grasping at straws.

Another shrug from Mercer. “Oh, things you’d be quite expert in. Putting pressure on people by roughing them up. Hell, I don’t know all your skills. Setting fires, blowing stuff up. The point is, Drummer, you’ll do whatever I want you to do, or I’ll ruin your club.”

“This little game work for you?”

“My game? A game you call it?” Mercer sits back. “Well, yes, I suppose it could be called that. And you’ve no idea how many people just gloss over a contract which they’ve already signed. I knew I could get it past ignorant bikers.” He folds his arms over his chest. “You’re in my pocket now, Drummer. Or I’ll destroy you.”

“We could go to the cops.”

Now he laughs aloud. “A biker club? And with what? A legally signed contract? You think they’d believe your word over mine?”

“You’ve made us your enemy.”

He chuckles again. “Isn’t the first time I’ve heard that.” He points to the men holding guns on us. “Doubt you’d be able to get close. And, take me out? I’ve got a board of directors and someone lined up to follow in my footsteps. No, you’re trapped, Drummer. And you better come to your senses and admit it. Time’s moving along, and with your new high interest rate, every second counts.”

Drummer looks at me and raises his brow a fraction of an inch.

For the first time I speak. “Judge Chambers. He happen to take a loan out with your bank?”

As I’ve been assessing him, I think Mercer’s a man who likes to boast. If I’m right, we could get the evidence we need.

“Chambers? God, yes.”

Can I get him to admit more? Deciding to give it a try, I attempt to sound impressed. “So that’s how your son got out of jail.”

“Of course. And now I’ve got you working for me as well.”

Ignoring the man holding the gun, Drummer gets to his feet and throws his napkin on his plate. “I’ll have to take this to the table, you understand? Needs a club vote.”

Mercer’s now forced to look up. “Sure.” He waves his hand. “You run back to your little club. But I already know what your answer will be. Has to be. You understand me?”

“Oh, I’m hearin’ you loud and fuckin’ clear.”

I stand up alongside my prez, not at all surprised when we’re escorted out by the men holding guns. They wait as we get on our bikes. As I put my key in my ignition, I say quietly, “Hope you got all that, Mouse.”

Then, engines started, we ride away.

Parking outside the clubhouse, backing into our usual spots, before I get off I reach up under my t-shirt and rip the sticky tape holding the tiny microphone off, taking some chest hair with it. I notice Drummer doin the same. Fuck, I’m glad to get that off.

Drum is waiting for me. “Don’t know about you, Peg, but I’m fuckin’ starvin’.”

My answer is a grin and a slap to his back as I follow him into the clubhouse, heading straight for the kitchen.

“Looks like we’ve got two hungry boys here, ladies.” Ma wheels herself across. “Fill a couple of plates.”

“Always hungry for your food, Ma.” I nod at Sophie, who’s put a laden plate in front of me. Now this is more like it. “Never been fed as well since you’ve been here.”

Sandy huffs and puts her hands on her hips. “That’s all the gratitude we get? You never complained when you were shovelling our food in your mouth.”

Drum gives a little shake of his head, and I respond by raising my chin. Not worth arguing. But there’s no doubt Ma knows her stuff.

There’s a whoosh and a grey streak as another hungry mouth appears. “Grunt. Get down,” Heart shouts as he comes in with his old lady. They’re carrying a baby each, and Amy’s skipping alongside. My appetite flees as I’m consumed by envy. I’d thought that was in my reach, but Mercer took it away.

I push away my uneaten food. “I’m off to see Mouse.”

Drum stands. Unlike me, he’s bringing his plate. “Yeah,” he says simply, but the fact he’s not wasting time shows he’s as eager as me to put an end to it.

Mouse just nods to the chairs in front of his desk as we enter his office. It looks like he’s been expecting us. “Got everything.” He gets straight down to it, as though answering the question I’d asked when I left the golf club. “I’ve passed it to Devil. He’s going to take it to the feds.”

Devil’s the Englishman who is some kind of a security consultant with useful links in the FBI. Having worked with him a time or two before, I know he’s clearly the best man to take this on. He’s got the credibility that we haven’t. Marcia and Mouse have kept up their contact with him, conducting investigations on his behalf.

“Good move, Brother. I’d have suggested that myself.” Drum shows no sign that he’s bothered Mouse took it upon himself to contact Devil directly.

“Any idea what’s going to happen next?”

A grin slowly spreads over Mouse’s face. “I’d watch this space. Obviously the two of you weren’t undertakin’ surveillance on any official basis, but when they investigate, the facts will speak for themselves. Can’t see anyone throwin’ this out, and I expect to see Mercer in cuffs before too long. Oh, and how was lunch?”

Drum and I just look at each other and laugh. “Not a patch on Ma’s,” Drummer responds.

Mouse turns out to be right. The next morning the TV screens are alight with pictures of Mercer being removed from his bank and handcuffed, being put into a police car. The news reports speak of collusion and bribery at the top, and the bank’s assets are frozen during the investigation.