Chapter Ten
(Jaxson)
“My God! Jax, finally. Where you been, man? Traffic problems?” Dino shook my hand warmly.
“Dino! Uh...right, yeah.”
“The boys are just loading up,” Dino said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Very cold, bitter, coastal winds hit us. We watched with interest as six of our prospects moved, in an uncoordinated fashion, unloading crates of Whiskey from our ship’s aft holds, and stacking them up in our trucks so that the shipment could be checked over – all of them exhausted.
“Not sure about this bunch.” Dino scoffed.
I sighed. “We’ll see.”
There was a distinguished tradition of selecting new blood for our ranks every spring. For eight weeks, not one of them could set foot in our clubhouse. Instead, we worked the prospecting men damn hard to see who was willing to earn it the hard way. All the patch members, aside the founders, had done the same. No one who made it as a patch member ever carried any bitterness. I would never make any man do work I wasn’t prepared to do myself; it was all about respect, in the end. And respect was a two-way street.
To get patched in, each man had to prove their loyalty, respect and complete honor to the club.
I shouted over to them, “Catch ten boys, get yourselves a drink.”
While the prospects took a break, Dino and I set to work, taking stock of the number of crates and inspecting a sample of bottles inside. For once, everything looked bang on target. I jumped out of one of the trucks and stepped back, surveying the busy, but charming scene.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Antonio sitting on one of the boats fiddling on his phone like a moody teenager.
I turned to Dino. “Any sign of trouble today?”
“Not yet. He’s been damn quiet all morning though. Makes me wonder what he’s plotting in that head of his.”
I nodded in agreement. “My thoughts exactly.”
From behind us, I heard heavy footsteps approach. I turn. A huge, tall man, nearly 300 pounds, and a face that looked stern and grumpy. Bruno had arrived. He was dressed in head-to-toe black. He wore a large, shapeless bomber jacket – which almost certainly meant he was hiding more than just his gun underneath. As head of the De Luca crime family, his power was as awe-inspiring as his presence. The mafia kingpin attracted wealth, respect, allies …and enemies. Like a god, he inspired both worshipful submission and mortal terror.
Bruno always came down to the docks to supervise our larger shipments. It wasn’t surprising, seeing as the practice was his most lucrative venture. He owned a rather grand establishment right on the waterfront too – tall and timeless. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to suppose he might have wanted to actually spend some time there.
Bruno was known for his sharp-mind and ruthless competitiveness. He played to win. And he did. In business, he played a far more sneaky and subtle game than his enemies. When he founded his MC in honor of his late brother, Charles De Luca, he swore to the grave that the economics of the club would be something his brother would be proud of. Charles had been good man; the sort to give the shirt off his back to help any person out. Sadly, the De Luca crime family hadn’t been supportive and shunned him when he turned his back on their illegitimate ways. The guilt of Bruno’s family feud still plagued him to this day.
Apparently, after his brother’s funeral, Bruno hadn’t left his home for three months; he schemed until he had plotted a colossal comeback. By virtue of being very bright and well-connected, Bruno was insightful enough and brave enough to figure out how to exploit a loophole in a government incentive that would build the MC a substantial business.
Best of all, the club didn’t have to break a single law to do it. I was always proud of that. In a spectacular fuck-up, the United States Congress had started to pay special subsidies to shippers for food commodities that were produced in one part of the foreign market and re-exported from another’s. Bizarrely, under their index of articles that qualified for these government monies, whiskey was listed.
A number of shippers discovered that if they were taking a consignment of agricultural products, such as coffee from say, Panama to Australia, they could make a fortune by stopping off at a port in California en-route then pointlessly unloading the cargo and reloading it into their ship’s forward holds.
While other shippers went about their business selling low-margin commodities, Bruno imported the finest Whiskey as the premium scotch yielded the highest profits. This little ruse had enriched Bruno to the tune of $38 million over the past decade. Bruno invested into pubs, clubs, property and the markets. Ten years of excellent business without any worry of somebody baiting him out for illegal-activity. As a result, both Bruno and his MC were safe.
Three years ago, the laws had started to change. The clubs relatively ethical business started to change with it. Why? Because Bruno was a winner. And he had to keep on winning. No matter what. Although the Whiskey operation was still Bruno’s most profitable setup, I had grown deeply concerned about how the club would end up – especially now that I was in line to take over as president.
Bruno strolled right past Antonio without so much as a chin lift to acknowledge him.
I glanced at Antonio’s phone gripped tightly in his hand. He chewed on his lip in frustration as he dug furiously in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
Bruno walked right up to me and shook my hand with his signature white-knuckle style painful grip. He then winced, as he looked me over from head to toe. “What the fuck happened to your eye?”
“Nothing,” I replied as I shook my head “Got myself too close to a brawl at the bar. That’s all,” I added, shrugging it off.
Brawls at the biker’s bar were shockingly common. Too many guys in a small space. cheap liquor, live sports broadcasts and never more than a handful of women to fifty or so guys ‒ fierce competition and bust-ups were inevitable. It also probably goes without saying that the men who did back down from a fight were usually too embarrassed to ever return.
Bruno nodded, seemingly convinced. “Well, you look terrible, just letting you know,” he commented in his usual pleasant disposition.
“Thanks, Boss.” I replied, sarcastically.
“Let’s find a quiet place to talk,” Bruno said, his voice all business.
We stepped inside his marina office just in front of where our ships docked away from the loud, busy, and prying foot-traffic. The building was still and silent; a brother only entered with Bruno’s permission. It was a well kept, tidy and an extravagant place. With white marble floors, and avant-garde furniture, and nobody smoked in here, except for Bruno when he lit up one of his cigars. Nothing like the clubhouse. The front office was the most stunning room: large, beautifully furnished and decorated elegantly.
Bruno moved to the bay window that looked out over our section of the docks, and pulled up the blinds, flooding the room with light. We watched for a while as the prospects worked.
Antonio had been talking on the phone, and then he hung up, smiling smugly to himself. He shot a glare at me through the window and I saw hatred in his eyes – nothing surprising there. But this time he gave a smirk; a knowing kind of smirk. I envisioned Antonio with a knife at my throat.
“Charlie…” Bruno cleared his throat. “My brother would have been proud to call you family, Jax. What you’ve done for him. What you’ve done for me…” Bruno said his voice slow and calm. “I didn’t want to come down so hard on you the other day, Jax.”
“It’s alright. I understand,” I said softly.
“You needed to see things from a different perspective. That’s all.” Bruno paused for a beat. “We – me and the boys – we’re your family. We’re all you’ve got. Jax.”
I didn’t respond right away. I looked out of the window at Dino with the prospects working. Rivulets of sweat flowed from the prospect’s brows. Each of them was hustling hard despite their tired bodies and flushed faces.
“That was you once, you know that. Right?”
“I know,” I answered, simply.
“I know you.” A small, brief grin crossed Bruno’s face. “You’re my Jax. The boy who had nothing and no one. The boy who I turned into a man. The boy I gave freedom, and opportunity.” He paused again. “Taught you respect loyalty and honor.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir, you did that.”
Bruno inhaled deeply. “I trust you not to dishonour your family.”
I bowed my head briefly in respect.
The last thing that man said to me before we left the office that day was, “Don’t fuck this up.” His eyes were wide and soft as he looked into mine.
I exhaled deeply and nodded without breaking his gaze. It was the first, and undoubtedly the last, human moment I had shared with Bruno.
Bruno dug into his pocket, pulled out a cigar box and offered one my way. We lit up, took a drag and watched the guys reload the whiskey for shipment. Nothing more needed to be said. We were both thinking the same thing…in a couple days, the fate of the Black Devils would be in my hands.
What Bruno didn’t know, was that my faith in the future was paralyzed. Chloe and I couldn’t hide away forever. I knew that if anybody closed the connection between me and Chloe, or if I were to abandon my brothers for her, the club and likely my life was doomed.