Nick

I glanced around the shop, taking time to make eye contact with each of the men. As they returned my gaze – some seeming eager, while others appeared concerned – I remained stone-faced.

“It’s no secret that the Savages run thirty deep while our membership is eighteen. I don’t say this for the sake of saying it. I say it because I believe it. Thirty deep or three hundred deep, it doesn’t matter. There’s not an MC on this earth that has more heart, soul, or guts than the Fuckers.”

The shop erupted in fuck yeahs, grunts, and shouts. To boost morale, I gave the men a moment of celebration, then raised my hand and silenced the crowd. “It’s no secret that this has been coming for some time, and ever since they stole Bunk’s bike, they’ve been asking for it. Well, now they’ve decided it’s okay to ride right into our territory, and even come into one of our bars. If we don’t stand up now, ain’t one of us worth the patches we’re wearin’.”

“What are we gonna do?” Stretch asked. “What’s the plan?”

I nodded. “I’m getting’ to that. We’re not huntin’ ‘em down, but we’re giving no grace when it comes to territory. Not now. If one of ‘em is spotted on our turf, it’s on. Right then and fucking there.”

“If you whipped Whip’s ass, you know they’ll be comin’ for us,” Ryder said.

“If I whipped his ass? If? There’s no if. I beat that motherfucker like he owed me money. And then I stomped his head in the dirt. Him and that little steroid eatin’ sidekick of his, Panda. And, you’re right. They’ll be comin’. So, here’s the best advice I can give each of you.”

I raised my index finger in the air.

“If you’re on your sled, you’re going to be wearing your colors. If you’re wearing your colors, you’ll be a target. We need to always be in pairs.” I pointed to Pee bee, and then to myself. “No exceptions. I realize there’s going to be little short runs where you’re alone, but what I’m talking about is being out on the road alone. Don’t do it.”

“Closest patch is ten miles from where I stay,” Cholo said.

“Meet halfway. A ten-mile run alone on the highway is asking for it. I know some of you don’t like doin’ it, but splittin’ lanes in this state is legal. If you get stuck in traffic, split lanes and get on down the highway.”

I studied the men. Each of them stood in wait. Some for further instructions while others waited for reassurance that everything would be okay. A few probably hoped for an invitation to go bust someone’s head.

“I know some of you are eager to bust heads, and there’s others who would just as soon have this thing end without any bloodshed. Well, I got news for you, fellas. This won’t come to an end without spillin’ some blood. Not now. The Savages have gone too far this time. And if there’s anyone thinking that what I did was wrong, go ahead and turn your patch in now. They came into our territory, walked into one of our bars, and pulled a knife on me. To tell the truth, if that reporter wouldn’t have been with me, we’d probably be burying those two pricks”

“Where’s it end?” Ryder asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Will this be like the Hells Angels and the Outlaws? A never ending battle that lasts a lifetime? If you say no, tell us what’s going to stop it. What’s gotta happen to get this thing to end?”

“Listen up, fellas,” I shouted. “Ryder asked how this thing’s gonna end? My answer isn’t what any of you want to hear, but it’s the best I’ve got. My answer’s this: I’ve got no fucking idea. If these pricks give us the respect we deserve, then I guess it’s over. If they don’t, it’ll continue until they do or they’re all dead.”

The men fell silent.

“Anyone take exception to what we’re doing?”

Silence.

“Anyone want out of this club? Now’s your chance. If you’re not willing to be part of this, I’m going to ask you to turn in your patch. I’d rather have you walk away now than not have my back or one of the fellas backs when the shit gets real. And, believe me, it’s gonna get real.”

Silence.

“Nobody?”

“I’ve got somethin’,” Pee Bee said.

“Listen up, fellas. Peeb’s got something to say.”

Pee Bee raked his fingers through his hair, glanced around the group, and sighed. Although I was the president of the club, the men looked at him as a spokesperson, their protector, and someone who would never bullshit them about club business.

“We might not follow society’s rules, and we sure as fuck don’t abide by society’s laws. But, we’ve got a strict morale code that we live by. Our own set of rules. Each and every rule we follow gets back to the same thing, respect. We don’t ride in San Bernardino County. Because we’re pussies? No. Because we respect the Devil’s Head MC. And we don’t go to the Five Corners in Escondido. Why? It’s a Hells Angels bar. We show respect to these clubs because we respect them. And, in return they give respect. What this is about, with the Savages, is respect. They don’t respect us, and they’re flexin’ their muscles.”

He raised his fist and flexed his bicep. “It’s time we flex our muscles. We’ve got two of their patches in the safe. Far as I’m concerned, we ain’t done ‘till we got twenty-eight more. That’s all I got. I’m droppin’ my mic.”

“Good point, Peeb.” I nodded. “He’s right, fellas. Respect. That’s all we’re asking for. And until they give it, we need to watch our backs.”

Pee Bee’s eyes shot wide and he motioned toward the street. “Fuck. Cops.”

I turned toward the open garage doors. Without lights or sirens, police cruisers pulled in one after the other. After the fourth, an unmarked Dodge Charger parked alongside the last cruiser. In unison, eight uniform officers – and who I suspected were two detectives – got out of their cars at the same time.

The detective driving the unmarked Charger stepped a few feet inside the shop and stopped. His partner and the remaining officers stood in position.

“Nicholas Navarro. You can either surrender, or we’re coming in.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll give you fifteen seconds.”

“Nobody do anything,” I whispered. “Don’t fucking move.”

I took two steps forward, separating myself from the group of men. “I’m Nick Navarro. You placing me under arrest?”

He nodded. “I sure am.”

“What are the charges?”

“You’ve got six seconds.”

“What are the fucking charges?”

“The disappearance of Bryan Whipple for starters. Time’s up.”

I pulled off my kutte and handed it to Pee Bee. Having it confiscated by the police and used as a trophy during a news conference wasn’t going to happen. After handing him my cell phone and wallet, I gave my only instruction. “Get the reporter to come see me in jail if they don’t let me bond out.”

“The girl?”

I nodded. “She works for the Union-Tribune. Name’s Peyton Price. She’ll be easy to find.”

He folded the kutte over his forearm and nodded. “You got it, Crip.”

I began walking toward the officers. After the third or fourth step, guns were drawn and commands were barked out as if I were a suicide bomber.

“Do not come any closer! Place your hands behind your head! Interlock your fingers, and lower yourself to the floor!”

Standing twenty feet from the officers, I locked eyes with big-mouthed detective. I slowly raised my hands, placed them behind my head, and interlocked my fingers.

“Get down on the floor!”

“I’m not getting on the floor.”

“Get down on the floor!”

“I’ve got seventeen fucking witnesses. I’m not resisting arrest. I’m surrendering.”

“Get down on the floor!” he shouted. “I’m not telling you again!”

No differently than the issues the MC was having with the Savages, I viewed the detective’s demand that get on the floor as disrespectful. If I were resisting arrest, committing a crime, or attempting to evade arrest, I would have no other choice.

But I wasn’t.

I was peacefully offering myself to them. His repeated commands were for no other reason than to feed his ego. I had little doubt that if it wasn’t for the seventeen witnesses standing behind me, I would have been shot.

I shook my head. “I’m not telling you again. I’m surrendering without incident, detective.”

He drew his weapon and pointed it at me. Nine others followed.

Sorry, fellas.

You’re trying to scare the wrong man.

I’d been shot at far too many times to allow myself to become petrified by someone who was simply pointing a gun at me.

With his weapon pointed at my chest, he nodded his head toward the floor. “Get on the floor, or I’ll shoot!”

I coughed out a laugh. “You got any idea how many of those fellas behind me have cell phones?”

His eyes thinned.

“Any idea how many know how to push the record button?” I asked.

He exhaled heavily.

“I’m surrendering.” I cleared my throat. “Now. Be a man, and come arrest me.”

“Lower your weapons.” He holstered his weapon and removed his handcuffs. “Turn around. Slowly.”

I nodded. “Sure thing, detective.”

I turned around, locked eyes with Pee Bee, and winked. He shook his head and grinned.

The detective frisked me, placed the cuffs on my wrists one at a time, and turned me to face the officers. “Nicholas Navarro, you are under arrest in association with the disappearance of Bryan Whipple. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“I’m under arrest?”

“You sure are.”

“Under the protection afforded me by the Fifth Amendment of the US Constitution, I would like to exercise my right to remain silent. And, I refuse to subject myself to any questioning without having an attorney present,” I said.

“So you’re a gang member and a legal expert?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

He was doing his best to goad me into a conversation, but it wasn’t going to work. There were only two people I was going to talk to.

The club’s attorney, and Peyton Price.

In that order.