CHAPTER Two
Four Days Earlier
Win Garrett showed up at the SSMC gates one day asking to speak with the president. After checking for arms and giving him clearance, Win was invited to park his bike inside the yard and shown to Brant’s office.
He stood in front of Brant’s desk in worn brown jeans, a black tee, and biker boots that looked like they’d been through a war. He explained that he’d been with the Huns in San Clemente, which was a hot spot because of its strategic location halfway between L.A. and San Diego, and was looking for a change.
He didn’t explain that the last time he was in a situation where weapons were drawn and fired caused him to take a seriously hard look at his life. Where he’d been. What he’d done. Where he was going.
He was friendly with other members of the Huns, but oddly, he couldn’t really say they were friends. Certainly not the kind he was willing to risk his life for.
He shook himself out of his momentary reverie in time to hear Brant say, “We’re the furthest thing from an outlaw club. Well,” he corrected, “I guess we’re not the furthest thing ‘cause that would be your doctors and lawyers who ride as weekend hobbyists wearing clothes that say Harley Davidson on them.” Win’s eyes twinkled at the reference. “These days we’re a network of businesses. Legitimate businesses. My guys are not amateur riders, but we’re not one percenters either. That bullshit is in this club’s past.”
Win shook his head. He appeared to be thirtyish, but his light brown hair, streaked blonde by the California sun, made him seem a little younger. His dark blue eyes had a look of seriousness Brant didn’t usually see on guys who came to the door wanting to be Sons of Sanctuary. His build was on the lean side, but Brant suspected there would be zero fat if the kid did a muscle to fat ratio test.
“I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m not interested in a club that’s…” He seemed to be searching for the right word.
“Pugilistic?” Brant supplied.
“I heard you’re not always at odds with the law and, ah, progressive.”
After a long slow blink Brant barked out a laugh. “Son, I cannot wait to tell my wife that my club and I were called ‘progressive’ today.” Win grinned. “So you’re lookin’ to be an easy rider.”
“One way to put it. I’m lookin’ to be a guy who lives to see the other side of forty. And I like my freedom, too.”
Chuckling while trying to remember what it was like to think forty was old, Brant glanced at the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.” Win looked at the chair suspiciously, like he was checking it for a possible trapdoor underneath, but sat. “You from Cali?”
“South Texas. Ended up out there because of a road trip with a cousin when I was seventeen. Stayed.” He smiled. “I liked the dry air.”
Brant laughed, knowing full well that the guy in front of him didn’t stay in California for dry air. “We got dry air here.”
“I know. Another reason why I’m here.”
“Well, you’re young, but old enough to know there’re no free rides. What do you have to offer the club?”
“I’m good with investing.”
That was just about the last thing Brant expected to hear. “Investing?”
“Yeah. Have a knack for making assets grow.”
Brant sat up straighter. “You’re speakin’ my language. That why they call you Win?” Win shrugged and smiled. “What was your job with the Huns?”
“Treasurer.”
“Makes sense. How long were you with them?”
“Twelve years.”
“That’s a good long time. How old were you when you prospected?”
“Eighteen.”
Brant nodded thoughtfully. “I know I don’t have to tell you how it works. If you get a nod from the guys, you start as a prospect. Now, if you’ve really got money skills, we won’t waste that havin’ you moppin’ up vomit. But you would have to do your time as everybody’s gofer. No gettin’ around it.”
“I understand. But I do have a condition.”
The club president couldn’t help but look surprised. Club prospects didn’t come demanding conditions. “Don’t have to tell you that’s unusual.”
“I know it is. But the golden goose doesn’t show up on your doorstep every day.”
There was no suppressing a smile. The kid was unique. “You’re lucky you haven’t already been booted out the door. But since hearin’ another biker refer to himself as a golden goose was somewhat entertainin’, I’m gonna also hear you out.”
“I like being part of a club. I like the life. But I also want to prosper. So I want a cut of your increase. At the end of every year, I want ten percent of the net growth for that year.”
“What makes you think we’re worth anything?”
The prospective prospect gave Brant a boyish grin. “I checked.” He returned Brant’s piercing look without flinching. “Of course. No point tying myself to losers.”
“What kind of return can you bring?”
“Twenty with big ones. Fourteen with little ones.”
“Yeah? You worry about the money. I’ll worry about the balls.” Brant studied the kid for a few beats. “Fourteen with little ones?”
Win nodded. “Even in bad times. Sometimes especially in bad times.”
“You do the accounting, too?”
He shrugged. “If I’m not mopping up vomit.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Motel on the outskirts of Dripping Springs.”
“Got a wife?”
Win shook his head. “No.”
“Old lady?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
Win laughed. “Got nothing you could stick a dick into. Sir.”
“Family?”
“Got a mom in Beaumont. Sister has kids and lives in Port Arthur. It’s a long story. I haven’t seen them for a long time.” He looked serious. “And don’t plan to.”
Brant nodded. “Your business. Go get your stuff. Gonna talk to the club tonight. I got a feelin’ that when I spell out how much fourteen means in their pockets, they’re gonna say okay. We got room for you here. But thing is, if you don’t get fourteen… or better, you’ll be in deep shit.”
“Understood.” There was no mistaking that the kid was showing a mixture of relief and elation. He stood up to go.
“What will I find when I check into your background?”
“You mean like a criminal record?”
“Yeah. That’s what I mean.”
“Clean.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged and repeated, “Clean.”
“Clean? As in perfectly clean? Not even a parking ticket?”
The kid grinned. “A few angry husbands maybe. Nothing on paper.”
“How’d you manage that? The Huns, well…”
“Kept my head down. Did my job. Got a knack for investing. Also got a knack for being someplace else when trouble starts.”
Brant’s estimation of Win Garrett grew every time he spoke. “Okay. You know we’ll check. So no point lyin’ to me.” Win started toward the door, but stopped and turned back when Brant said, “Oh. And be careful about the ladies around here until you figure out who belongs to who. Club members are real stingy about their women. They won’t just be angry husbands. They’re likely to revert to a yesteryear mentality if you get my drift.”
“No married club women. Got it.”
When Win grinned and nodded, Brant could see why married women would be willing to risk stability for a go with him. The kid had something special.
“Oh. And one more thing.” Win turned back again waiting. “If my son, Brand, tries to poach you out from under me, you tell him to fuck off. I found you first.”
Win’s smile was even bigger. “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”
“Yeah. Just remember that not wearin’ a suit to work is worth a lot.”
Win nodded thoughtfully. “Truer words.”
By the time the club assembled to vote on Win’s prospect status that evening, Brant had already had his credentials checked. They came back exactly as Win had said they would. The vote was unanimous to give him a try.
The fact that he’d been in an outlaw club for twelve years and left in good standing was commendable in the sense that it meant he understood commitment and loyalty. It meant he could be trusted. The fact that he’d chosen to walk away from that life was even more to his credit. It meant he was smart. It meant he was mature. It meant he’d given some thought to the future ahead of him and made good choices.
“Your room okay?” Brant handed Win an SSMC cut and a prospect patch.
“Sure. It’s fine.”
“Okay. Relax. Have a drink with the members. Get to know ‘em. Tomorrow mornin’ I’ll show you the way to the office and get you started. The new girl starts servin’ breakfast at seven. I’ll be by at eight thirty.” Win chuckled. “What’s funny?”
“You do things differently is all. My old club. They wouldn’t be thinking about breakfast until sometime after one.”
“You’ll adjust.”
Win nodded. “I know. This sounds… good.”
The SSMC members found Win to be exceptionally likeable and laid back. The comment he heard most often that evening was, “Yep. You’re gonna fit right in.”
As promised, Brant came striding into the clubhouse at eight thirty like he owned it and, in all the ways that counted, he did.
Win followed him to Rides and Wrecks.
“I’ve heard of this place,” Win said as he parked his bike next to Brant’s.
“Yeah. Sometimes we get on magazines and entertainment shows. When a hot ticket celebrity gets something special. Did a custom bike for Keanu Reeves last year and it was featured on that show with, you know, the late night car guy.”
“Jay Leno?”
“Yeah. Him. You into cars? Or just bikes.” The big grin that spread over Win’s face told the tale. He was a machine lover. “Just because your job is workin’ magic with the numbers doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy seein’ the projects come together. The custom gigs are my favorite. I think of it as drivable, or ridable, art. But a lot of movies get made around here and they come to us for specialized vehicles. Come on in and take a look.”
Brant showed Win around while Win tried to look more cool than kid-at-Disneyland. Several of the guys from the club stopped to greet Win and show him what they were working on. They went through the kitchen where Brant pointed out that the commercial fridge was kept stocked with bottled waters, soft drinks, and ready-to-eat meals. He asked Win if he knew how to use a pod coffee maker.
Win laughed.
Brant said, “I’m takin’ that to mean that everybody your age knows how to work a pod coffee maker.”
The tour ended in a twelve-by-twelve office with a big window looking out toward the front parking lot.
“Will this do?” Brant asked.
Looking around, Win said, “Sure. It’s good.”
“What do you need?”
Win checked the laptop on the desk. “High speed Ethernet. No WIFI.”
“Done.”
“Accounts. Passwords.”
“We’ll chat about that. You want coffee?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Alright. Have a seat there.” Brant pointed to the chair behind the desk that was to be Win’s. As Win sat, Brant pulled a chair over next to the desk. “We don’t want to be overly cautious, but you can understand that we need to take that slow.”
Face turned serious, Win nodded.
“So we’re gonna start out with a little piece of this and that. Get to know you. Trust you. Understand my drift?” Win nodded again. “How’s your memory? I don’t like writing passwords down.”
“It’s decent enough.”
Brant thought he caught a hint of indulgence in Win’s smile. The kid could be a genius for all he knew. Time would tell.
They spent the next three hours discussing club investment history and market trends while Win tried to feel Brant out for his comfort-with-risk quotient.
“Our principal investment is in people. Brash has an uncanny ability to pick local entrepreneurs. People who’ll gladly work eighty hours a week so long as they’re workin’ for themselves and not somebody else. We keep the operatin’ capital liquid. The surplus, which is on the high side right now, goes to work for us in the market.”
“What’s the high side?”
It was Brant’s turn to smile indulgently. “Come on. I’m gonna take you out for the best Mexican food in the world. We’re gonna eat and talk about what to do with the money. When we get back, I’m gonna put you to work makin’ us richer and leave you alone to figure that out.”
“Okay.”
“By the way, I haven’t told anybody that I made a deal with you to take a cut of profits. When it’s payout time, I’ll come clean. There’s no point in rufflin’ biker feathers over somethin’ that’s a possibility and not a given.”
“Far as I’m concerned it’s between you and me. And I take your word for it.”
“Spoken like a Texan. Let’s get some nachos and not that crap that has fish in it like in California.”
Win laughed.
By the end of lunch Win had a grasp on an investment strategy starting point and Brant knew a lot more about the new recruit on a personal basis.
When they stepped back into Rides and Wrecks, Brant said, “Let’s see if you can make the San Jacinto Trust dance. Put my number in your phone.” Win brought up a contact screen and handed his phone to Brant. After punching in his number, Brant said, “You have questions or need anything, try my office.” He pointed in the direction of the corner office in the back of the building. “I’m here most week days. If not, call me.”
“I will.”
“Got to take care of our golden goose.” Win smiled. “They serve dinner at the club between seven and eight thirty. Bar stays open until ten on week nights. Make yourself at home over there.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh. There’s a barbeque Saturday night. Would give you a chance to learn which women are off limits.” Win laughed. “It’s not mandatory, but it’s a good idea. If you’re looking for feminine attention, you might find some locals looking for adventure.”
“And the bar stays open later, I’ll bet.”
“Yeah, it does. One of the reasons why I don’t live there anymore.”
“How many have their own places?”
“Most. Don’t think we’ve ever had more than ten livin’ in at the same time.”
Win nodded thoughtfully and walked away to get to work on the club’s investments.