Nine men filed into the Court Room, as the Steel Talons called it, and Jim took his seat on the far side, tossing his feet up onto the old oak table that dominated the room. As he looked around, he saw faces as grim as his own staring back. Everyone except Ari felt the same sense of foreboding hanging over their heads, and Jim certainly didn’t like where the club was headed.
If Ari hadn’t insisted on going into enemy territory out of greed and had listened to some of the ideas the rest of the brothers had for new investments, they wouldn’t be in this position. But as it was, their fate rested in the hands of Rechoncho and all of his Diablos Blancos minions. Ten percent of the take wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy anyone undertaking the risk they were asking. Jim would have snubbed his nose instantly at such an arrangement, and he knew it had been a mistake to send Sauza back to ask his president to agree to the terms.
Half a million dollars in counterfeit money, every two weeks, with the feds already looking for the culprits, was far too risky to make a measly ten percent for making the run. If Jim was in the Diablos’ position, he would demand twenty. But Ari was a hard son of a bitch, set in his ways, and Jim wasn’t the only one who thought he was purposefully trying to start a war.
Meeks closed the door behind him, and all nine of them were seated. Ari cleared his throat, and Jim lit a cigarette. He was going to need the nicotine to keep his peace through this meeting.
Ari leaned forward in his chair and said, “We all know why we’re here. Those damn Diablos demanded some kind of payoff if we’re going to be running in and out of their territory.”
It was a warped perspective of the truth at best, and Boxer, who sat to Jim’s left, put a warning hand on Jim’s arm to stop him from arguing. Ari continued, “I’m taking advantage of the situation and trying to ease our own risk factor. I told them that, if they’d meet us halfway on every run and take the unfinished product the rest of the way, then come back and return the completed product at the same halfway point, they would earn themselves ten percent of the cash. Sauza offered a little resistance, but he’s taking it home to Rechoncho, and I’m hoping the man sees reason.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Tipper asked. He was a small man, and he didn’t say much, but he was smart, and Jim could see the wheels spinning in the man’s head. Tipper already knew the answer.
Ari spread his hands wide, as if the outcome was completely beyond his control. “I’m doing everything I can here. But I’m afraid we’re going to have a war on our hands.”
“Couldn’t we just hear them out and find a happy medium?” This came from Donnie, who didn’t usually speak up. It surprised Jim. “I mean, we’re bankrolling already, and it’s going to get better now, with the smaller bills we can run anywhere. How bad could their demands really get?”
Ari’s brows knit together, and Jim swore he smelled sulfur on the man’s breath. “You know the policy, Donnie. If we give an inch, they’ll come back and ask for a mile. We can’t start negotiating now.”
Jim scoffed. “That’s funny, because if we’re going to survive a war with Rechoncho’s men, we’ll have to negotiate with the Diamondbacks to get some firepower.” The Diamondbacks ran weapons out of Wyoming. The distance between the two clubs kept them from rubbing each other the wrong way, but the Talons had never particularly been friendly with the militant group, either.
“Better them than the Devils,” Weasel grunted as he twirled his scraggly beard around his finger. “And if we tell them why we need their help, I bet they give us a major discount. They hate anyone that’s not white or straight.”
“Exactly,” Ari agreed. “So, since I’m told we’re better off as a democracy, I’m putting this to a vote. We got two options. We can listen to the counter-offer and consider it, or we can make a trip to Wyoming and see about bonding with the Aryan brotherhood out there.”
Jim said nothing. The last vote would be his own; that was his tactic. He sat on the far side of the table, beside Ari, so he could get a feel for what the rest of the group wanted before casting his ballot. He didn’t just listen to the votes; he watched his brothers’ faces for signs of concern.
Now, he paid close attention as the vote went around the table. By the time it was his vote, there were already six in favor of working with the Diamondbacks, and Jim’s vote wouldn’t matter. With all eyes on him, he shook his head. “I don’t want a war. My vote doesn’t matter now, but I would vote for a truce with the Diablos.”
Only Tipper and Donnie had agreed, which meant the decision was made, but he knew damn well that Boxer and Willie would have voted the same, if they’d gone with their intuition. That would have turned over the vote, but Ari would’ve made their lives hell for it. Instead, Ari stood with a triumphant grin and stuck out his chest like some puffed-up rooster.
Jim wasn’t sure when he’d started to hate the club president. In his younger days, he’d had a lot of respect for Ari. But somewhere along the way, Jim had grown up, and he’d seen too much of the world to believe that Ari had their best intentions at heart. Greed was his game, and eventually, it was going to get them all killed.
He walked toward the back of the clubhouse and out the back door, lighting another smoke, and Boxer joined him, saying, “That went well.”
Jim laughed. “You are a sarcastic son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
Boxer lit up his own cigarette with a shrug and said, “We got an extra twenty years out of the bargain. If we die tomorrow, we can at least be grateful for that. Without Foreman, we’d both probably have done something stupid like overdose as teenagers. At least we got to be adults. Hell, you even got to fall in love once.”
Jim nodded. Foreman – Aaron Morgan – had actually been the foreman on the construction crew both his and Boxer’s dads had worked for. When the boys were twelve, their fathers had been working on a job site, up on a beam four stories high. The beam had fallen, landing both men on the ground, and several steel posts had fallen on the pair, crushing them. Foreman had seen Jim and Boxer as troubled youths, with mothers too overcome by the loss of their husbands to be bothered with raising boys on the cusp of puberty, and he’d stepped in as a father figure.
“I guess we did,” Jim agreed. He hesitated, remembering the day Foreman had brought them to the clubhouse for the first time. “Do you ever regret joining the MC?” Jim asked.
“Hell, no!” Boxer’s response was enthusiastic. “It’s the best I could hope for. I didn’t do so well in school, bro. You know that. And I’m not exactly Mr. Charming, but I get all the women I want.” He laughed. “I remember the look on your face, Wade. We walked in here, and some chick with these giant tits was sitting on Ari’s lap. He had his face buried in them. You looked like that wolf in the cartoon with your eyes bugging and your tongue dangling six feet out of your mouth.”
Jim laughed, too. “I was fourteen years old. I’d never seen a pair of knockers before, except my own mother’s.” From that point on, there’d been no turning back. While he and Boxer hadn’t attended the big parties or ridden with the club, they’d been junior members. They’d had jobs, earned money to support themselves and their mothers, and grown into men with the club.
“The club is all I got, Wade,” Boxer said, somber now. “This is all I’ve had since my mom died. I don’t have any other family except you and these brothers. Even Foreman’s gone.”
Jim nodded. “I know that. We’re both alone here.” Except for Susan. The thought ran through his mind unbidden. He pushed it away; he wouldn’t rely on Susan as family. They would never be that close. They led separate lives that would come together once in a while for a mutual release. He stood next to the person he trusted most in the world, and the others on that short list were somewhere in the building behind him.
Boxer turned to face him, eyes burning with conviction. “The only difference is, I would die for this club, Wade. That’s how committed I am. I’m not sure you’re there anymore.”
Jim didn’t want to admit it, but Boxer was right. There had been a time when his loyalty to the Steel Talons was that deep, but now, he wasn’t sure anymore. Ever since Trina died, he’d questioned his commitment. He wanted more than just brothers. He couldn’t tell Boxer or anyone else the truth, but he wanted passion and tenderness, something to counteract the hard, cold demeanor he encountered here on a daily basis. Tossing his butt, he smiled. “Come on, Boxer, we’re brothers more than anyone else here. I would do anything to have your back.” That was the most he could say and still be honest.
“I know that,” Boxer said, turning to go back inside. Jim stared after him, wondering what was going through his best friend’s head. He had a suspicion Boxer was preparing to die in the war that was inevitable, and Jim didn’t like it. He had to keep a positive outlook, maintain some hope of making it out alive, and that was going to be really hard if Boxer couldn’t keep his head straight.
Concerned but determined, Jim followed Boxer’s trail, heading to the bunk to get some rest. He hadn’t slept last night after he’d left Susan’s house, and he was dead tired. He’d need his rest if he intended to make the run back to Diablos territory and then another to Wyoming.