“That doesn’t seem like justice,” I said.
“Oh, it wasn’t,” Snarl said. “But after the military case was closed, I sued the shit out of the Army in civil court for wrongful imprisonment and was awarded four million dollars.”
“You have four million dollars?” I asked, just about choking.
Snarl smiled and shook his head. “I gave most of it to Chavez and Dixon’s families. But I kept a nice nest egg for myself. I work jobs here and there as I travel to make enoughmoney to live on and pay my club dues.”
“Club dues?”
“Every member of an MC has to pay dues. Some clubs pay them monthly. Some do it quarterly, or whatever. Each member pays dues to help pay for the clubhouse, beer and food, guns, protection, whatever it is the club needs to survive and operate as a functioning MC. In return, the club hustles in order for its members to get paid.”
“You mean commits crimes,” I said.
“No, not necessarily. Every club is different. Most own or have stake in legitimate businesses. Auto shops, pizza places, titty bars, the usual. And some deal meth and run whores. Every club has a different way ofhustling, but every club hustles. Everyrealclub that is.”
“What do you mean by ‘real’ club?”
Snarl shifted. “It’s like this. There are two types of MCs. Some are like the Howlers, whose membership is made up of lifers. Guys who are bikers twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five. Some are strictly social clubs filled with guys who just wanna talk about and ride motorcycles. Clubs for veterans, clubs for guys who race. Hell, they got clubs for Jesus freaks. Dudes who spread the word of God from the seat of a Harley.”
“I could see Jesus as a biker,” I said.
“He had the look, and he was no stranger to sleeping rough, that’s for sure.”
I nodded. “If you think about it, the disciples were basically Jesus’s crew. They were the first MC minus the bikes.”
Snarl laughed. “Holy shit, I think you’re on to something.”
“So, then what about the Primal Howlers?” I asked.
“No, I don’t think many of the brothers read the Bible much.”
I laughed. “No, I mean do they make their money legally?”
“The Howlers got in on the legal weed game from day one. Before then, really. They already had a pretty sweet grow operation before statewide legalization, but after 2014, they were instant legal weed moguls. The club has other business interests as well but weed has been good to us.”
“So, you’re a member of the Primal Howlers, but you’re a nomad?”
Snarl nodded. “My older brother patched into the Howlers right out of high school. Sundance was already a member, his late father-in-law was the president, and when he died, Sundance took up the mantle. Naturally, wanting to follow in Rocky’s footsteps, I started prospecting with the club a few years later.”
“Prospecting?”
“It’s like a probationary period, where the club can check you out in action, to make sure you’re club material. Basically, the members make the prospects do all the shit jobs within the club for a year or so, and if the prospect doesn’t complain, screw the pooch, or get arrested, theycan be eligible for a full-patch membership.”
“Which you are, but you don’t live in Monument full-time.”
“That’s right,” he replied. “Club life suited me. The freedom, the rides, the family of the brotherhood. My allegiance is to the Primal Howlers when the shit comes down. But I get really itchy after being in one place for too long. Maybe it has something to do with my type of agoraphobia. Not sure, but something deep within my soul needs to ramble. I don’t know why that is or if it will ever change, but being in motion is part of who I am.”
“Makes sense after your experience in the Army.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, as asoon to beDoctor ofAnimal Behaviorism, I’d say you’re far from being a lone wolf. In fact, you’re a natural pack animal. You joined the Army, you joined the Howlers. You place a high value on loyalty to those you’re committed to. You’re drawn to the pack.”
“Then why am I a nomad?” Snarl asked.
“Same reason every lone wolf separates from the pack.” I met his eyes. “Fear.”
He cocked his head. “Of what?”
