CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Our president is as slow as a dead snail in pig shit. All those who agree, say aye.” - Texas.

 

 

 

 

“Do you think it’s the bubonic plague, Prez? I’ve seen The Exorcist. That movie gave me intense nightmares when I was a kid, for like a month, I even slept in my parent's bed.” Asked Texas in all seriousness across the church table rubbing a hand on his unshaven chin, hair falling into his eyes he took that same hand upwards and shoved it back on his scalp.

“You’re such a pussy, Tex.” Laughed Snake. Ever the comedian, forever the member who said what everyone was thinking. Asshole. If you looked past the quick fired jokes, and his effortless smiles, you’d see someone who held his cards close to his chest and knew when to play them. That was the true Snake. Texas read people very well. 

Texas flashed him a grin.

“Oh, shit. Me too. I can't watch that.” Offered up Pretty-Boy in solidarity.

“I amend my previous pussy statement. We now have two. Besides, if Z-girl had the plague we’d know about it, she’s just puking like she has it, is all.”

“Careful how you talk about my old lady, dickbags.” Warned Rider in a growl that wasn’t so much heated but Texas heard the seriousness in it nonetheless. He looked contrite down the table to the boss. And said. “I’m only saying. The way Z-girl dived for the trash can and hurled up the Tuesday tacos. She made the exorcist noises. I had horrible flashbacks.”

“I’m never eating tacos again.”

“Until next Tuesday.” Fired back someone.

On the inside Texas was smiling and casting looks around the table at the patched in brothers, the only members allowed in this sacred room to ever see the great oak table and the gavel sat by Rider's right hand. Watching Rider come undone was Christmas morning and maple pancakes. Texas would eat maple pancakes all day long especially if they had crumbled Canadian smoked bacon on top.

That’s what this conversation was.

Fucking glorious.  He hoped he won the pool. He only needed one more day, that was all before they had to reset it again, for the third time, Rider was slow-as-fuck to catch on, just one more day was going to be the day, he could feel it. Rider glowered at them all, each of the brothers earning his own personal marked president scowl that said he was signing his own death warrant if they joked one goddamn minute more about his sick old lady.

Of course, if sweet Zara really was sick. Well, that would suck, because they had a pool going and that was a little bit crass of them.

Even if he did want to win.

He had a good feeling about this pool, he’d lost the last five and here he was the money man. Bad for his reputation to drop hundreds time after time.  

He adjusted his blue tie and ran a hand through his short clipped brown hair, resting both hands on the table top to listen in as the meeting got underway.

His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket and he felt the kick of dread in his gut, that low oily sense that made his breakfast want to hurl into his throat and Texas hated, absolutely hated puking, he wasn’t lying when he said he’d turned green when watching Zara triple backflip her way to vomit in the trash earlier, he’d gotten himself out of there, Texas couldn’t deal with puke of any kind, so it would suck for him to now throw up all over the sanctioned table. He wouldn’t, of course, he had better manners than that, but as the silent phone vibrated again, stopped and went at it again, his brain checked out of the meeting and he swallowed back the bile.

Ignoring the phone. He would ignore it.

But he’d never changed his number.

He should change it, he knew that. But just … couldn’t.

“If you ball-bags have quit your fuckin’ gossipin’ for a minute, can I have the damn floor back.” Rider didn’t pose it as a question, his gaze ranged up and down the table, and every voice shut up. All but one.

“It wasn’t me, boss.” Snake pointed a finger right at Texas who lifted his head and glowered back. Thank god, his phone became still again. They’d given up for now.

Until the next time.

“I don’t give a fuck.” Rider said. “Shut up so I can dole out jobs and get back to Icy.  You can work the shop without me today, I’ll be at home.”

And so, the meeting went. Texas had a bit of paperwork to deal with in the office he usually shared with Zara, but since she was at home being ‘sick’ and hopefully winning him the pool, he would have the cabin office to himself. On a day like today he preferred it, as much as he liked their queen, he wanted to eat his protein bars in peace and have a scout around on the internet.

First, however. He slid a hand into his pocket, drew out his phone and looked through his missed calls log. Five, all from the same person. Same time, same day, different month, just like clockwork. A stormed sigh caught in Texas’ throat, taking the slow walk from the church out into the main area of the clubhouse, he didn’t stop for a coffee with Uncle Jed, or pass five minutes talking with Helen who had dropped by today, nor did he give an endless list of jobs to the prospects who were always eager and waiting. He strode out to his bike parked in its usual bay alongside Hawk's empty spot.

He had somewhere he had to go. Not wanted to go.  As it stood, with his belly in a tight vice, he was sorely tempted to walk back into the club and tell Rider everything.

The text that came a minute later read the same as it always did and Texas was sure he’d ignore it this time. He read it once, then twice.

M: 4:55 - Same place. Ten minutes.

He was a man of few words.

Clamping his jaw until both sets of back teeth ached, Texas started his motorcycle, watched his friends pour out of the clubhouse, laughing, horsing around, he quirked a grin and held a hand up to them before pulling on his leather gloves with the wool lining inside, zipped up his leather jacket to his chin and knocked the kickstart up.

Texas had a lot of respect for those men, a real lot, they’d banded together time and again, shown what true brotherhood was all about.

Being a brother didn't always mean blood.

 

 

 

******

 

Ruby was in love.

Touching the head rest of the high-backed cream leather chair, she ran her fingers across the arm, feeling how buttery soft it was. Second-hand, of course, one of the RS boys had gotten a good deal in town for everything she’d requested for her little back room inside their clubhouse. She smiled looking around. She was in love with everything. Rider had asked what she needed, having only taken one quick pass through of her ink book and decided right then and there she had the job. Just like that. She’d looked at him crazily at first, sure he was doing it because of Preacher, but who was she to argue, it was a job and good money, great money, for very few hours work and it meshed well with her bar job. Now two weeks later here was her little room, all set up with its table, a sink, her supplies, and the gorgeous chair, she felt a sense of pride rush through her, it had been so long since she’d put ink on anyone, she hoped her skill was still there, jokingly saying to Preacher last night she needed to use him as a guinea pig first.

Too late for that since her first client was due any second now.

What if she did his design wrong? She'd worked on the sketch for an hour last night and then again, this morning. What if he didn’t like it? The Renegade Souls men were not easy men to take a mistake lightly and not with something so permanent as ink in their skin.  

Oh, god, now she was having a tiny meltdown. 

She perspired a little and walked across her little windowless room to grab a water bottle, drinking half of it, she went through her steps in her mind of what she needed to do. She had this, she’d left college with her arts degree ... just barely ... life had been shitty back then, what was new, right? Bombing most of her classes to take care of Rita and her constant running melodrama she called her teenage life at the time, but she managed to scrape by with makeup tests, and rather than use it to get into some prestigious art school, or a museum, she’d showed her credentials to a local tattoo parlor for fast money, and was hired on a trial basis. Two years later, with enough money saved, she’d bought out his small shop when he wanted to retire to Florida. A year after that she had to sell it on to Big Si who still ran it.

Life was a kick in the balls like that, she was back where she started, on a lower rung than she had been, but rather than feel despondent about it, Ruby was excited to get her hands into something creative again.

A knock on the doorjamb reared her around, and she smiled at Snake who framed the entire entryway blocking out the light behind him.

“Come on in. I have everything ready. Do you want to take a second look at my sketch before I trace it out?”

“Sure, babe. But I trust you.”

Ruby was glad one of them had confidence in her. Strengthening her jittery shoulders, she thought of what Preacher had told her this morning; Ruby, you got this. Short, simple, true. She watched Snake strip the shirt over his head, popped-muscles and skin exposed, she was too busy whittling her lip to care he was half naked as she passed him the sketch he’d asked for and awaited his decision. "It's amazing, babe. I got no problems with it, and don't look so nervous, I trust Preacher's girl."

Preacher's girl. She gulped.

"That's good. But Armageddon was yesterday, today we have a serious problem." She smiled quoting one of her favorite movies. Snake laughed getting it. See, it was only Preacher man who was movie-lacking, one of these nights, when they weren't humping to death, she'd have to educate the man.

Four years out of the inking business. It was like riding a bike … right?

No time like the present to find out, she mused, taking a big bolstering breath and began mixing her inks into little pots.

 

 

 

******

 

 

Precisely ten minutes after he’d left the club compound, Texas stepped off his bike, it was an unseasonably sticky June day, every breath felt like he was sucking in honey, he sauntered towards the Shop N Go on South Logan Street. The very same store that was the location for Hades’ murder last year. He showed no outwards signs that it was anything other than a mom and pop store that sold beef jerky and titty-mags. A gruesome necessary act, Zara still wasn’t the same for it, for everything those Raging Rebels had put her through, and mind, Texas had only heard very few details, Rider not wanting to talk about his old lady’s ordeal, but he knew those men, knew what they were capable of, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to fathom what she’d endured. They were all glad Hades was dead.

Ironic though, that this meeting was taking place at the scene of the crime no one knew about except for those who wore the Renegade Souls patch.

The black SUV stood out like a sore thumb parked on the side of the road. Could he have looked more conspicuous, jackass?

The jackass in question was tall, Texas knew him to be exactly six-two, even as he leaned against the driver’s side of the car, dressed immaculately in a tailored slate gray suit and black loafers, the top two buttons on the white shirt was open, and Texas judged him for no tie. Who didn’t wear a tie with an eight-hundred-dollar suit? It was just bad dress sense.

“You look like a fucking cop waiting out here. Why not go the whole way and put on the flashing lights?” His tone clipped, eyes clocking just who was going in and out of the store, the last thing he wanted was for someone to recognize him.

“I am a fucking cop.” The man grinned some hundred-watt white toothpaste commercial smile.

“Really, Malachai, this was the best place to meet?”

“What? I was hungry. I grabbed a pizza pocket from inside, not bad, could do with more spice.”

“Right.” Texas inhaled and shifted on his feet, both gloved hands in his pockets. He wore gloves for every meeting, too goddamn many, he didn’t put anything past the ATF officer to want Texas’ fingerprints, it was bad enough he was wearing a noose tied around his neck.

“What do you want?”

“It’s like that, is it? We can make this pleasant you know, it doesn’t have to be this way at all.”

“Nothing is ever pleasant with you. Spit it out.”

“I need information about----”

“Nope. Not going to do that. You’ve asked before and I’ve told you time and again, it’s not happening.” He took a deep inhale and tried to steady his nerves, a kid came out of the store, looked at both men before climbing onto his pedal bike. Texas turned his attention back to the cop.

“You haven’t heard me out yet.”

A fucking cop. He was having a secret meeting with a cop no one knew about.

Shoot him now.

“Nope.”

Texas could literally think of a billion other places he wanted to be than here. And those included death-row and having sloppy-joes with the moron in charge of the country right now. He wasn’t normally one for sweaty breakouts, or nervous outbursts, but he was nervous and sweating under his clothes.

He was in that slither between rock and a hard place, having the life squeezed out of him.

“That’s not how this goes, Tait.” Malachai keeping his position by his car, smiled, seemingly in a sign of friendship, Texas suspected, but knew differently.

Yeah, he knew differently.

“You can keep asking, and my answer is still the same.”

“You know what I’ve done,” the smile gone, the friendly demeanor gone. “I could make trouble for the Souls, Tait. I don’t want to do that.”

Of course, you don’t.

“My name is Texas.”

The cop laughed and scrubbed a hand through his hair as the breeze picked up and blew some of the dark locks into his eyes. “Maybe you’ll tell me one day where that came from. Since you were born in Harrison. Long way to come.” The cop cast his gaze around as if he considered Colorado the back of beyond and further still. Texas didn’t show a flicker of emotion thinking of his home -not home- in Harrison, a quiet rural area of NY, he didn’t need reminders. Armado Springs was his home now and he wouldn’t let anyone, this cop included look at it like it was shit on his loafers.

“I’m not doing this again. Find another puppet.” He began to turn to walk away.  

“You don’t want to do that, Tait. Think about what Addison would say if she knew you were being uncooperative.”

The name went through Texas in the same way a bullet would, ripping at his intestines leaving nothing behind. The threat halted his entire body, backed him up and before he knew it he was in the cop’s face, close enough he could see every color in the other man’s eyes, his teeth clenched, eyes blazing pure fire, his voice, however, cultured, or so his brothers called it, never raised in tone. “Ever say that name to me again, I’ll do jail time for burying you.”

“Well, well … look at this, spoken like a true Renegade Souls, I think your transformation is complete, Tait. Rider should be so proud.”

“I’ll let my president know you approve.” Composure back in place, he reached up to fix his tie, though it probably didn’t need it, his hands were shaking. “And I mean it, don’t call me again, don’t text me again.”

“You didn’t change the number.“ The cop accused in a quiet inquisitive tone. Texas hated he knew what this man was thinking about that. He'd wondered the same damn thing.

No, he hadn’t changed it. And he should have a long time ago. Texas was prone to hanging onto things much too long when he needed to rid himself of the toxic surrounding him.

Some ties were hard to break, harder to severe, devastating to forget. Texas knew, in the long run, it was best for him to do that, the last tie cut.

“You’re right, I didn’t. But I will. Thanks for the reminder.” Walking off, but as usual, Malachai needed the last fucking word.

“Aren’t you going to ask about your mother, figured you’d want to know how she is?” Smug motherfucker could land his punches like Mike Tyson when the mood struck, Texas kept on striding away from Malachai, the jump up-start-cop, and his smugness.

“Not even if it came with a free bottle of Patrn. Later, Malachai.”

The cop laughed lightly, and for a second Texas was tempted to look back, to meet the same color of eyes as his own. Nothing in him relaxed, every muscle was clenched until he felt pain in his gut.

Keep walking. Don’t look back.

“Just as well, she’s not pleased with you. Later, Twin. Talk to you soon … oh, and that info last month? You did well. Thought you’d want to know.”

Bile rose in Texas’ throat, he swallowed hard. Climbed onto his bike, started the engine.

Don’t look back. He disliked everything about this day, and everything to come, he felt like punching something and never stopping until his hands were destroyed.

Maybe he could tell Rider everything and have his president take care of it for him; namely, put Texas six feet under.

Funny, last year Preacher had assumed the club had a mole somewhere, feeding information to Hades somehow. That hadn’t panned out to be the case as it turns out.

Little did his brothers know he was an informer.

He deserved that pine box. He deserved an unmarked grave.

As much as he’d held Malachai off this past year, he had told him some stuff. Incriminating stuff. To get him off his back, to make him shut up and leave him alone, if only for a short time.

Of course, he looked back, just once. His brother, the eldest by a few minutes, standing where Texas had left him, a weird look like regret on his face. The brothers weren’t identical, but close enough in features Texas worried every time his brother came to town that someone would see him and point fingers at the club and put five and six together and come up with bingo.

I can’t do this again. I won’t do this again. Not for Malachai or for Addison.

He was Renegade Souls. That’s who he was now.