CHAPTER SEVEN
Brick
The ride to Shreveport is uneventful. I navigate my way through the city, then drive the final ten miles in the country, finally turning down the private driveway that opens into the new Iron Norsemen compound. Cars and bikes are parked everywhere. I wasn’t expecting a welcome party. After I park my bike, I make my way to the main house. As I pass by some of the guests gathered on the lawn, I get a couple curious stares, but no one stops me.
The place is rustic and comfortable looking, definitely more polished than the Philly headquarters. There’s raised gardens and storage sheds off the gravel driveway, and a detached multi-car garage. A covered patio, complete with an outdoor kitchen, spans the front of the building. The entrance opens into a spacious, multi-use room. There’s framed movie posters along the wall and two rows of leather theatre seats arranged in front of a projection screen. I eye the man-sized gun safe situated next to a full-service bar. The oversized kitchen and dining area are on the other side of the room.
No wonder Eagle sent for me. What brother in his right mind would want to leave here? He needs me to keep the members productive and doing what they’re supposed to.
As I search the crowded room for Eagle, I grab a longneck from a cooler and pop the top with my lighter. I take a long drink, eyeing the people nearby. Civilians mixed with the occasional brother. This must be a club appreciation party, because I’ve never seen so many nonmembers roaming around a compound so freely. I don’t like it at all. It’s a security nightmare.
“How the hell are you?” someone says from behind me.
I whip around and find a brother offering his hand. When I’m not too quick to take it, he laughs.
“Let me guess, Brick.”
I eye him, wondering how he recognizes me. “Yeah.”
“I’m Shorty.”
We grip each other’s hands in greeting. “Eagle has been expecting you for weeks now.”
“I got a little sidetracked on the trip down.” My thoughts go immediately to Starlet.
“Easy to do when you haven’t seen this part of the country before. Let me show you around. There’s a full bath down the hallway across from the master suite. Three bunk rooms down there.” He points. “The vice president quarters are this way.”
We cut through the growing crowd, this time countless people say hello or pat me on the back. I give curt responses, hoping my duties don’t include socializing too much with the locals. I respect boundaries, and as long as civilians stay out of my way, I have no problem with them. My life rarely crosses paths with people who aren’t directly involved with my club.
“Did you bring a bag?” Shorty asks.
“On my bike.”
He nods, then opens the door to my quarters. “Home sweet home.”
“Thanks.”
He steps aside and I go in. There’s a queen-sized bed, dresser, table and chairs, bookshelf, and a flat screen anchored to the wall. There’s also a bathroom. “I can live with this.”
He rubs his chin. “Good—everything is new, Eagle remodeled the place a few months ago in preparation of expanding the club. If you need anything else, let me know.”
“More beer and some food.”
He grins. “Follow me.”
We head outside again and I fill a plate with a burger, smoked sausage, potato salad, and green beans. Once I finish eating, I drink two more beers. “How often do you host these kinds of parties?” I ask.
“Twice a year at the other chapters. It’s different in the south. A little hospitality goes a long way. In return, these people help us out—call us when the police are asking too many questions, and help keep an eye on our assets. Shreveport is a bit of a pet project for our prez. He’s forward thinking—always finding ways to reinvent the club.”
Not sure what Shorty means exactly. Where I come from, the Iron Norsemen have been doing the same thing for decades—guns, money laundering, security, and running bitches if it’s profitable. “Care to expand on that a bit?”
“Technology.”
“Online scams?”
“Not as simple as that. We like to call it targeted appropriation.”
“Identity theft?”
“Yeah … the best kind, though. Eagle will explain more. But I know you have some mad hack skills—at least that’s what your old club bragged about the most.”
“That’s where I hung my cut,” I clarify, “but I wouldn’t call it my old club.”
“Goddamn nomads,” Shorty says as he shakes his head. “Your resume is impressive.”
“I do what I need to.” A girl with a tray passes by and I drop my empty longneck on it. She stops and stares at me, then smiles and winks.
“Want another drink?”
“Nope. Just take the empty away.”
She looks me up and down for another long second, then shrugs. “I’m Kitty.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, then turn my attention back to Shorty.
“Where’s the IT room?”
“There’s a small one on the back side of the house. The club headquarters is located southeast of the main property, a brilliant plan to keep the house and club-related assets separate—in case there’s a legal issue. Anything pertaining to club business is done there. You can use the internet in the house for personal reasons.”
“Eagle subdivided the property?”
“Yeah. Louisiana has a nasty reputation for policing for profit.”
“I’m familiar with it,” I say. “Civil forfeiture laws are a fucking abuse of power.”
“Yeah—police and prosecutors can seize property without charging the owners with a crime. Completely different from criminal asset forfeiture. We get that, play with fire you’re gonna get burned. Two years ago, a smaller MC lost everything to the New Orleans PD. It was a wakeup call for us.”
I chuckle, knowing now what the targeted appropriation of assets is used for. “Let me guess, our targets include prominent members of the government—maybe their family members and some locals who make trouble for the club.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, brother.” Shorty winks.
I graduated high school early, and by the age of fifteen, I was already taking online college courses in IT. Some of my teachers labeled me as a computer genius. If anything, I got a first-class education in bullshit from my father, which opened my eyes to what the world really had to offer—pain. A side I kept hidden from the scholarly types who tried to convince me to apply to college. Eventually, they lost interest and I moved on to the next military base my father was assigned to.
That resume Shorty is referring to earned my way into the Iron Norsemen. I only prospected for six months. It didn’t take long to realize I didn’t like staying in one place too long. After receiving my patch, I spent eight months with my first club and then requested the honor of qualifying for a nomad patch. Not an easy accomplishment. It required four kills and various other challenges that demonstrated I was a cold-blooded bastard incapable of taking orders. Not to mention a unanimous vote to leave my charter.
“Ready to meet the prez?”
Shorty escorts me back inside to a room down the hallway from the master suite. He knocks on the door and someone calls, “Come in.”
The door opens and I guess who’s standing in front of me. “Are you Eagle Laramie?” I ask. I’m a couple inches taller than him, but he looks capable—young enough to fight, but old enough to know when to hold back.
“Yeah,” he says, offering his hand. “Who wants to know?”
“Brick.” We shake hands.
“My new enforcer? You’re four weeks late showing up. Where ya been?”
“Took the scenic route down from the east coast.”
“There’s a lot to see in this part of the country. And a lot you don’t want to see. We can catch you up on logistics later. In case you didn’t notice, there’s a party going on out there. How do you want to be introduced?”
“As Brick.”
“Not Austin Anderson?”
“That’s on an as-need-to-know basis.”
“Understood,” Eagles says. “Let’s grab a drink.”
A few minutes later, we’re standing by the grill and Eagle introduces his pregnant wife, Angel.
“This must be a big change for you, Brick,” Angel says. “Moving from the city to a small town like Shreveport.”
“I like it,” I say. “The heat, clean air, and women.”
“You just rolled into town,” Eagle observes. “What women did you have a chance to meet?”
“This one.” I hand him Starlet’s expired ID card.
He reads her name out loud. “Starlet Vega. Who is she?”
“That’s what I hope you can tell me. She’s from Holly Beach.”
I share the card with the other old ladies standing around with us. No one recognizes her. “Sorry, bro.” Eagle gives it back to me.
I tuck the card in my vest pocket, disappointed no one recognizes her. Starlet is unforgettable. “I’m going to get my bags,” I announce and then walk away.
If I really want to find Starlet Vega, all I need to do is sweep the internet. But I’d rather do it the old-fashioned way—run into her unexpectedly, seduce her, and fuck her brains out all night.