“We’re going to have to make some sort of deal with the Black Reapers,” I said, “but no, we are not fucking joining them. Consider it an alliance of convenience. For now, everyone but prospects and Spawn, go home. Get some rest. There may not be many days ahead in which things are normal.”
I left them before they had a chance to react to my warning. I made my final stop at the last door and found Hailey on her phone.
“You need to get back to work?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “Can we go somewhere private? I have to show something to you.”
I snorted.
“If you just want a fuck—”
“No, Satan,” she said. “I want to show you the truth.”
Hailey
Iwas terrified I would die.
I’d never found myself that close to real-life gunshots before. I saw Satan kill those two men. I heard everything.
And in those moments when I thought about the likelihood, or at least the possibility, of death, I knew that I couldn’t go to the grave with Satan hating my guts. He needed to see the unedited cut that I had. If he still wanted nothing to do with me after, then so be it.
But I needed him to know that the piece I’d made was honest. It might get me fired, but I’d ensured things wouldn’t be an issue on that end.
“You want to drive back to my place?” Satan said.
I nodded.
“All right, but don’t go fast. I’ll stay by you. We need to exercise extreme caution.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice.
* * *
Fortunately, we arrived at his house without much trouble. I was very paranoid on the drive over, but I didn’t see anything to validate my paranoia.
When we got inside, I pulled out the laptop that I carried with me wherever I went, clicked a few files, and turned it to him.
“What you saw on TV was a bastardized version of what I produced,” I said. “I don’t expect you to perfectly love what I made. It’s not club propaganda. But I think it’s fair, and I hope you agree.”
Satan grunted. I waited for him to say something more. When he didn’t, I pressed play and stood behind him, my arms folded. I was a little bit nervous. Not only did I want him not to get upset, I kind of hoped that he liked it, too.
“Despite what you may believe about the Devil’s Patriots, they are not violent, law-breaking hoodlums who are a menace to Phoenix.”
Those were the words, as I had written them, that opened the piece. They were balanced, nuanced words. Following this, a series of short clips played that showed Satan speaking about the club, as well as Spawn adding his own two cents.
“We’re not a crowd of successful people, OK? A lot of us have had hard lives, some of it self-inflicted, a lot of it just shitty circumstances handed to us,” Satan said in one clip.
“We’ve had bad cards dealt to us. We’re just trying to make the most of it,” Spawn added in another.
“We’re not going to make it long-term in the ‘real world.’ We know our limitations. If I can give these guys a place where they’re a fucking brotherhood and a family, that’s good enough for me,” Satan said.
“We’re not trying to hurt anyone that gives us our space,” Spawn added.
From there, much of the content was the same. It discussed how, yes, at times, interacting with the club could be a bit exhausting—though, noticeably, it didnotinclude the shot where Satan had tried to kiss me. There were B-roll clips of club members drinking.
And then, just before it ended, it got to the part that I was most nervous about with Satan’s reaction—my ending face shot.
“In my time with the Devil’s Patriots, the one thing that I came to understand was that there are really two clubs—the one that you make of them, and the reality. If you are not into drinking, into the hedonistic lifestyle, or into driving bikes, it’s easy to see how one might view the Devil’s Patriots as being from hell. If you are a college male, enjoy the freedom of the open road, are divorced, or perhaps simply yearn for simpler times, you might see the Devil’s Patriots as a gift from the heavens.”
