“Tell me about the job.”
Wasn’t I looking to move somewhere that started with a B? Last I heard, Ethan was out in Boston with his wife, Amanda. She works as some type of head shrink or something like that. Pretty lady with a nice chest – no disrespect to either of them.
Deacon gives me a distrustful look but decides that I must be trustworthy enough for the job he has in mind because he goes on ahead with his business proposition.
“Small armed militia groups are popping up everywhere. It’s underground, need to know, but with the National Guard descending on every major city in America, people are scared. They want to exercise their Second Amendment rights.”
“Can’t say they’re wrong for that.”
“No,” Deacon says. “Massachusetts has stricter gun laws than we do. Ethan got us a warehouse out in Randolph, just outside the city where we can stay undetected. I have three trucks with bolt-action precision rifles, pump-action shotguns and a few boxes of double barrels.”
“Anyone caught with that would spend a long time in federal prison.”
“Exactly. That’s why I talked to Wyatt and he thought it was best we send a convoy. Considering everybody who might have done it otherwise has family business and a wife standing in opposition, I told him I would talk to you.”
“Why me?”
“You served our country. You know that what’s going on over there isn’t right. It doesn’t matter if they’re blue-bellied liberals. They have the right to protect themselves and their family.”
“It’s a waste of the army’s time,” I mutter, mostly because I don’t know what to say and I want to consider very deeply what Deacon wants from me.
“How much are we going to net with this?” I say before Deacon can comment on my remark.
“Might be a good source of income for a while depending on how many trips we can pull off without anyone finding out.”
“First round?”
“Your cut will be 5% of what we sell. Plus whatever you make doing extra work for Ethan out there.”
“I don’t have a place. I’ve been staying at Doc’s old cabin out in Missouri.”
“It’s your lucky day, veteran. Wyatt said I could offer you something like a sign-on bonus if you agreed. Fully-furnished one bedroom apartment right in Somerville.”
“Close to the warehouse?”
“No. You need some distance to stay out of trouble. The neighborhood might be a little fancy for you.”
I can handle fancy. I can handle anything as long as I get a break from slinging shit out West. I need a change – and Boston sounds like a good one.
Chapter Four
Janelle
Present Day
“Okay,” Rana says when we step into the dingy dive-bar that smells like beer with an undernote of purple Fabuloso. “The reviews didn’t say anything about this place being a biker bar.”
The music is good, so my body moves without me. I don’t mind the vibe. It looks like she totally nailed the dive bar expectations. This place looks like it hasn’t been updated since the eighties, which doesn’t bother me. There are all these vintage stolen road signs everywhere, some of them from Boston, some of them from Las Vegas and California. It’s an attempt at a Route 66 highway theme with dollar bills pinned to the ceiling behind the bar and the smell of beer everywhere. My feet stick to the ground.
The drinks looked good here on Rana’s app and bikers are all basically cops, right? I never watched Sons of Anarchy, so I don’t know what they do except for hanging around trying to look tough. I won’t have any problems with them as long as they don’t have problems with me.
“It’s not… as far as I know. I’ve seen this place on Instagram,” I keep bobbing my head as we move through the seats towards the bar. There are bikers at almost every table, but I see some grad school aged kids that look very MIT.
“Bikers can’t be any worse than the mob,” Rana says. Weird comment, but I guess she’s right.
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” Rana responds nonchalantly. “What do you want to drink?”
