Link dropped his head and paced the front of the room. Those who didn’t know him would assume he was considering the question, but I knew Link better than that. Our president was preparing an argument. He was a wise man who liked to get the details worked out before he opened his mouth.
“A lot of the vets on the streets are there because they choose to be,” Zombie continued. “Strung out on drugs or crazy as fuck… we can’t do anything about that shit. Sometimes it seems like we’re wasting our time and resources… spinin’ our wheels when we could be doing something more worthwhile.”
“That’s a valid concern,” Link admitted. “Thanks for voicing it. Thing is… that, right there is exactly why we have to continue.”
Zombie’s brow furrowed.
“What you said just now. I’ve heard it a thousand times. Who else in this room has heard those same arguments? ‘Vets get more help than anyone.’ ‘Most homeless vets are on the streets because they’re addicted to drugs or crazy as shit?’ We’ve heard it all, haven’t we?”
The room was full of nods of agreement and mutters of affirmation.
“And how many of us—how many of the brothers in this room—would be on the street in the same situation without this club? I can name seven of you who have abused morphine for pain management. Who here hasn’t had a discussion with a doctor about triggers and been given a prescription for fuckin’ antidepressants, pain blockers, or antipsychotics? Shit, most of us could have easily ended up on the streets. But we didn’t. Why? What’s the one thing that separates us from them?”
“Each other,” Wasp answered.
“Exactly,” Link agreed. “I know if I fuck up, I have a club full of brothers who are going to call me to the carpet. These men on the street, they don’t have that. They don’t have Havoc to kick their asses and set them straight. They don’t have Pops to nag their ear off and make them get back into line just to shut him up. They don’t have Sage to listen as they talk through the memories and nightmares fuckin’ with their heads. The whole world looks at them and sees nothing but goddamn junkies and loonies, but we know better. We know what they’ve been through… what they’ve seen… and it’s our duty to offer them a way out of the hell they continue to live in. That’s why the Dead Presidents was founded, and it’s why we continue to stay the fuckin’ course. You feel me, Zombie?”
Zombie nodded.
“Anyone else have any questions or concerns they’d like to bring to the table for discussion?” Link asked.
Nobody said shit.
“Any other new business?”
He had new business. Our president was close to bursting at the seams to share his news. Hell, he’d already told me privately because he kept secrets like a goddamn school girl with her first crush. I couldn’t fault him, though. Link was happier than I’d ever seen him, and it served as a testament to his leadership skills and patience that he hadn’t blurted out the news the second we all arrived. Staying the course, following meeting protocol, he practiced what he preached.
Wasp, our vice president chuckled, hitting the table. “Shit, I’m just here for the party, Prez. Heard you might have a reason to celebrate you wanted to share with us.”
As his name suggested, Wasp was a white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant, spawned from old money and raised in privilege. Despite his family’s connections and wealth, he was a good-natured, level-headed, humble man. His time in the Navy had been served as a boat mechanic, and as he put it, the only real danger he saw came from the slop the cooks served. He had no deep-seated issues nor PTSD flare ups, which meant that unlike most of us, he’d joined the Dead Presidents out of a want to help others, rather than a need to help himself.
Wasp was a good man, here to help other good men.
But he was also a smartass who liked to get under Link’s skin. Despite that fact—or maybe even because of it—the three of us were closer than most real brothers. No doubt Link had also shared his news with Wasp. Hell, half the club probably already knew by now. The announcement was merely a formality at this point.
“I’m getting there. Have some goddamn patience,” Link growled, looking over the room as he waited for anyone else to speak up with new business. When nobody did, he announced, “I asked Emily to marry me.”
The room filled with hoots, hollering, and congratulations. When the ruckus died down, Wasp hit the table to get Link’s attention and said, “Aww man, she was about to leave your sorry ass for me.”
“Not fuckin’ likely. I already told you, stay the hell away from my woman. Goddamn pretty boy can’t even find his own woman,” Link grumbled.
“That hot little number agreed to marry your ugly ass?” Tank asked. Tank had been a tank driver back in the day… as in way back in the day. He was one of the founders who’d helped Link’s dad form the Dead Presidents, making him one of Link’s many honorary uncles.
Link flipped him off, grinning. “Yep. The day you drugged Amy and forced that ring on her finger I realized there’s hope for every sorry motherfucker out there.”
The room filled with laughter as Tank nodded, conceding the point.
Jake, Link’s father and the original club president, stood, waving a beer in the air. “I move that we wrap this shit up, so we can get to celebrating. My boy’s getting married to a good woman who makes him happy, brothers. I couldn’t be prouder. Now, maybe I’ll get some damn grandkids before I die.”
Loud cheers of agreement erupted, kicking off what promised to be a good time. One by one the men came up to congratulate Link. I stood back and watched as my friend shook hands and took an endless supply of shit from the rag-tag group of men he called family.
“Can’t believe he’s really doing it,” Wasp said, sidling up to me. “They’ve known each other for, what? Three months?” He shook his head. “He’s a braver man than me.”
Link wasn’t scared of anything. Not even marriage. “No balls, no babies,” I agreed.
Wasp stared at me for a second before clapping my back, throwing back his head, and laughing. “No balls, no babies, indeed. Havoc, you are one quiet motherfucker, but sometimes when you say shit, you sound like a goddamn biker Yoda. Come on. Let’s go find Emily and see how many hugs we can steal from her before Link kicks our asses.”
Watching Link and Wasp throw down was always amusing, so I followed Wasp out of the meeting room and into the common area where the women were waiting for us.
