Chapter 27

Dart

Lost calls church as soon as we arrive in San Diego, and manages to get all the boys around the table in not much more than an hour. Being stunned and confused with the events of the past couple of days, everyone was hanging close by to find out what the fuck is going on.

The first matter of business is dealt with fast. There are unanimous ayes when we take the vote that makes Lost prez of the chapter, and that no one queries his suitability to sit in the chair seems to take him by surprise. I hide my smile. It’s not unusual for a good man not to recognise his own worth.

When the congratulations die down, it’s only minutes later when he introduces me as his temporary VP, and that goes down better than I’d thought as well. To be honest, my new band of brothers seem to be in such shock they’re just happy someone’s stepping up and taking charge. As I cast my glance around the table, I see various expressions of disbelief and disenchantment. This chapter’s lost so many men, it’s vital the numbers don’t get further depleted. I make a mental note that keeping those that remain from giving up and walking away will be my number one job. These men have lost those they’d called brothers and friends. They’ll all be feeling betrayed. As my shoulders pull back I sit up straighter, getting ready to carry the load.

When I was here a few days ago, some of those now around the table had been out on a run, so they’re still strangers to me. When one starts to speak, I ask him to introduce himself. When he does so, as Pennywise, I can’t keep the smile from my face. That’s a fuck of a handle if ever I heard one. I raise my eyebrows, and Lost explains.

“Our old prez, Bird, went through a spell when he had a likin’ for Stephen King novels. Pennywise was unlucky enough to be patched in durin’ that clown phase.” I vaguely remember the old prez who had died, Snake only held the top spot for a couple of years.

“I got my name from him too.” Salem, the enforcer, puts up his hand. I hadn’t made the connection before.

The conversation gets half smiles, which quickly fade. Not surprising, as Pennywise takes the floor and starts on the topic foremost on all of our minds. “What are we going to do about the…” he breaks off as though he can’t bring himself to say the word brothers, but hasn’t an alternative at hand.

“The traitors?” Lost supplies, then looks around the half-empty table. “That’s what we are here to discuss and will need to take a club vote on.” He runs his hands over his shortly shorn head. “Goes without sayin’ Snake and Poke were the ringleaders, and they got what they deserved. Stripped of their patches and dispatched to meet Satan. That was the decision of the mother chapter. Now we get to decide what to do with the rest.” He looks stern as he regards his brothers. “One thing’s for certain, Poke’s no longer around, so we need a new sergeant-at-arms. I’m proposing Grumbler.”

The man in question nods towards Lost, and doesn’t look surprised. I reckon he’s already had a quiet word with him before coming into the meeting. No one objects, so he seems to be the obvious choice. Token, who appears to be their secretary, as well as their computer go-to expert, notes it on his tablet.

Lost looks tired, and I don’t think it’s all down to two days of hard riding. “Gator’s already swelling Satan’s ranks, now we’ve got to deal with Shark, DJ, Crow, Rattler, Tinder, and Bastard. I know what I want to do, but I’d welcome your thoughts.”

“Out in bad standing,” Salem suggests. “The only other officer was DJ, and he was only the treasurer because he could add up.” He points to a man aptly named Bones. I’ve noticed before he eats like a horse but never puts on any weight. He’s more like a skeleton covered with skin. “Bones here would probably do a good job in his place.”

“I’ll take your suggestion on board, and we’ll vote on it later. For now, we’ve still got a man in that post until we make a decision.”

“Not happy letting any of them come back,” Blaze, who I know is their road captain, puts in. “Not sure as I’d ever trust any of them again.”

I’m on his side. That’s the way I’m leaning as well.

“Anyone want to speak up on their behalf?”

The silence that follows Lost’s question is deafening. The prez raises his chin toward me, and I nod back. It’s the moment of truth. “We’ve got two options. One we make them disappear for good, and the second, as Salem suggested, they’re out bad. Let’s take the first option first.”

He pauses and looks around, his expression showing the severity of the decisions we’re going to make. For some of us death is preferable to losing our patch, the loss of the brotherhood being more than we could reasonably take. It’s not easy to become a member of a club, the year or so prospecting while shits thrown at you from all directions means many don’t make the grade. You earn your place to ride with your brethren. To lose that place is losing more than a way of life. I’ve known men who have committed suicide, as they can’t take living outside of the club.

“First vote. Should any, or all of the traitors, meet Satan. If there are any ayes, we’ll come back to discussing individuals.”

“No.”

“No.”

The man named Kink seems to think seriously for a moment before shaking his head and saying clearly, “No.”

It continues around the table. I give my negative answer, and then Lost adds his. “Record that will ya, Token?” Lost seems to relax a little. “Second vote. That all, or some, are out bad. Again, we’ll come back and discuss individual members if there’s a need.”

There’s no need. Everyone agrees, all the traitors are out in bad standing. It really doesn’t surprise me. Trust is hard earned, and once lost, nigh on impossible to recover. Nevertheless, it’s a hard day for this club.

“Snake’s mother? She going to stay in the club?”

“She’s got a house in the city.” Lost seems to be thinking aloud. “Let’s leave it to her. She’s done nothin’ wrong, but she’s lost her son. I doubt she’ll want to come back.”

And there’s another moment of sadness for the woman who’d apparently mothered the whole club, albeit without a smile on her face.

Leaving the compound unmanned isn’t something we like to do, but Eva’s around, so we give her strict instructions about not unlocking the gate. Out of all of the club whores, she’s got the best head on her shoulders. The others are lazy, and rely totally on the club. Unlike in Tucson, no one’s yet taken an old lady. The old prez’s wife had moved away after he’d died.

The three prospects have been watching over the group of men kept in the warehouse since Drummer went back to Tucson, and it’s Lost’s decision, to which I give my full support, that all of the remaining San Diego brothers should be part of what needs to be done. That way, no one can raise any objections after the event. In the end, he doesn’t even have to give the instruction, no one wants to be left out. As we ride to the warehouse the mood’s much the same as for a funeral. No one wants to go, but nobody wants to stay behind, all feeling they owe it to the club to take their individual responsibility for what is about to happen.

The men who’ve been held prisoner haven’t given the prospects any trouble. They’ve been kept locked up, but fed and watered, and awaiting their fate, probably hoping Snake would turn things about. When the doors are pulled open and we bring them out into the sun, they’re all blinking their eyes as they haven’t seen proper daylight for thirty-six hours. After giving them a moment to acclimatise, Lost steps up.

Twelve eager eyes look at him. A few more hopeful than others, a couple already resigned.

“Snake’s gone.”

They’ve been brothers long enough to read between the lines. After a moment, while that sinks in, their new prez adds, “And Poke’s gone the same way.”

“What the fuck, man? Shark steps up, and quickly moves back into line when he’s faced with Salem’s gun. “That’s fucked up, man. They had good plans for the club.”

“Plans we have no wish in followin’. It’s in our bylaws that Satan’s Devils don’t deal in drugs.”

“Yeah, but it makes good business sense.” DJ, their previous treasurer argues the point. “Just look at the kind of money we’d bring in.”

“And look what interest the cops would have taken in us. You’d have dragged the club down into the mud.”

They’re casting wary glances at each other, as the point sinks in none of us are going to listen.

“You gonna kill us?” Bastard sneers. “Take us out like the prez?”

Lost is keeping his calm. “I’m the prez,” he updates them. “And no, we’re not.” He nods toward Grumbler, who’s the new sergeant-at-arms, and at Salem, who retains his position as enforcer. “Start strippin’ their cuts.”

Twelve eyes open wide. Six men start protesting. But Salem and Grumbler just go down the line, taking off their leathers, some more forcibly than others, some more easily as the traitors give up. Soon there’s six leather vests on the ground.

Lost nods at a prospect who rolls over a metal barrel. Salem picks up the cuts and puts them inside. Another prospect has a can and soaks the contents with gas. Lost himself steps forward and lights a match.

Each of us stand stoically, our nostrils flaring at the stringent burning smell in the air, but none of us making a move. We’re probably all thinking what it would be like to see our own cut being burned. Two of the men who’ve lost their status and insignia are wiping tears from their faces.

In the midst of the flames shooting up from the barrel, Lost addresses the men. “It’s the decision of the club that you’re out in bad standin’. Ain’t no way back from this, so don’t even bother to try.” He pauses, then repeats from the club rules he knows by heart. “You may not wear the club colors or participate in club activities. You undertake to get your ink blacked out as soon as fuckin’ possible. You may not ride with the club. Since you went against the bylaws of the Satan’s Devils charter, you may not affiliate with any other Satan’s Devil’s chapter.

“If any of you are seen by members of this chapter or another, you will be beaten and run off.” This means they will need to leave their home city if they want to stay unharmed or even alive. “If you’re seen wearing our ink you’ll have it burned off. You may try to join another club, but if they find you have left in bad standin’, and they leave you alive and let you in as a member, that club will become our enemy.” Which means it will be very difficult for them to find another biker home. And difficult to hide what’s happened with a blackened tattoo on their back. Realistically, this is the end to them being a member of any biker club.

Crow drops to his knees with his head in his hands, sobs quietly.

“Is there any comin’ back from this, Lost? Will you let us back in after, say, six months?”

Lost rounds on the man who’s spoken. “Tinder, you fucked up. You threw in with someone who you knew was breakin’ club rules. You know Satan’s Devils don’t deal in drugs. You went against the regulations and had made plans to take our Tucson brothers out.”

“Didn’t know about that.” But the way Tinder’s eyes flick away from mine makes it pretty clear that he did.

Rattler calls out, “Don’t do this, Brother. Please. Snake misled us.”

Lost is impassive. “It’s done.” And he turns to walk away.

Shark is obviously out of his head. He runs to Lost and grabs him by the shoulder, swinging him around and drawing back his arm. Before his punch can reach its target, he’s pulled back and several remaining members of the chapter give him a severe beat down. The other five men look nervously at his unconscious body on the ground. From their expressions, it’s sufficient warning and they’re not going to copy his actions.

“Get them out of here,” Lost directs Salem, then when he glances at me I see the pain in his eyes. In forty-eight hours, he’s seen his prez and sergeant-at-arms killed, I dispatched Gator, and now, Shark, DJ, Crow, Rattler, Tinder, and Bastard are out in bad standing. His club’s been decimated. My job is to help build it back up. And that starts with supporting the prez.

I slip a friendly arm around his shoulder as we walk back to our rides. “We go forward, not back. No point regrettin’ what can’t be changed.”

“Easier said than done, Brother.” Lost steps astride his bike and waits while the other men come up to their sleds. As they’re sorting themselves out, he continues, “These men, I trust them all with my life. But two days ago I’d have said the same for any of the other nine, too. Difficult to see how we can come back from this.”

“You try. Of course, there’s always the option to disband the chapter. But,” I indicate the men getting ready behind us, “do you really want to kick them out of the home of their hearts as well as their bodies? No, I didn’t think you did. We build on the trust that’s there already. Maybe we’ll all have to work at it a bit harder, but we will come back.” As I talk it hits me how long that might take, and how much of my life I’ll end up giving to this chapter.

“I’m biased, Dart. Fuck knows why Drum made me the prez. I’d have died for any of those men, and now I have to accept, as I’d never have agreed with the direction Snake wanted to take the club, let alone with startin’ a war with the mother chapter, they wouldn’t have turned a hair when they killed me. My judgement is fucked up.” I go to speak, but he lifts his hand. “Need your help, VP. You don’t know the men in the same way I do. Speak to them, see what you think. Were any others involved? If we’ve got any more bad apples, I want them out of the fuckin’ barrel.”

Suppressing the surprise I still feel at hearing the VP title from his lips, and the warm glow of pride it gives me inside, I nod my head. It makes sense that I can be more impartial with men Lost has been riding with for years and who he trusted to have his back. “Lost, we got this, man.”

He reaches out his hand and I clasp it in mine. “Yeah, we got this, VP. We got no fuckin’ choice.”