CHAPTER SEVEN
Brick
The ride toShreveport is uneventful. I navigate my way through the city, then drive the final ten miles in the country, finally turning down the private driveway that opens into the new Iron Norsemen compound. Cars and bikes are parked everywhere. I wasn’t expecting a welcome party. After I park my bike, I make my way to the main house. As I pass by some of the guests gathered on the lawn, I get a couple curious stares, but no one stops me.
The place is rustic and comfortable looking, definitely more polished than the Philly headquarters. There’s raised gardens and storage sheds off the gravel driveway, and a detached multi-car garage. A covered patio, complete with an outdoor kitchen, spans the front of the building. The entrance opens into a spacious, multi-use room. There’s framed movie posters along the wall and two rows of leather theatre seats arranged in front of a projection screen. I eye the man-sized gun safe situated next to a full-service bar. The oversized kitchen and dining area are on the other side of the room.
No wonder Eagle sent for me. What brother in his right mind would want to leave here? He needs me to keep the members productive and doing what they’re supposed to.
As I search the crowded room for Eagle, I grab a longneck from a cooler and pop the top with my lighter. I take a long drink, eyeing the people nearby. Civilians mixed with the occasional brother. This must be a club appreciation party, because I’ve never seen so many nonmembers roaming around a compound so freely. I don’t like it at all. It’s a security nightmare.
“How the hell are you?” someone says from behind me.
I whip around and find a brother offering his hand. When I’m not too quick to take it, he laughs.
“Let me guess, Brick.”
I eye him, wondering how he recognizes me. “Yeah.”
“I’m Shorty.”
We grip each other’s hands in greeting. “Eagle has been expecting you for weeks now.”
“I got a little sidetracked on the trip down.” My thoughts go immediately to Starlet.
“Easy to do when you haven’t seen this part of the country before. Let me show you around. There’s a full bath down the hallway across from the master suite. Three bunk rooms down there.” He points. “The vice president quarters are this way.”
We cut through the growing crowd, this time countless people say hello or pat me on the back. I give curt responses, hoping my duties don’t include socializing too much with the locals. I respect boundaries, and as long as civilians stay out of my way, I have no problem with them. My life rarely crosses paths with people who aren’t directly involved with my club.
“Did you bring a bag?” Shorty asks.
“On my bike.”
He nods, then opens the door to my quarters. “Home sweet home.”
“Thanks.”
He steps aside and I go in. There’s a queen-sized bed, dresser, table and chairs, bookshelf, and a flat screen anchored to the wall. There’s also a bathroom. “I can live with this.”
He rubs his chin. “Good—everything is new, Eagle remodeled the place a few months ago in preparation of expanding the club. If you need anything else, let me know.”
“More beer and some food.”
He grins. “Follow me.”
We head outside again and I fill a plate with a burger, smoked sausage, potato salad, and green beans. Once I finish eating, I drink two more beers. “How often do you host these kinds of parties?” I ask.
“Twice a year at the other chapters. It’s different in the south. A little hospitality goes a long way. In return, these people help us out—call us when the police are asking too many questions, and help keep an eye on our assets. Shreveport is a bit of a pet project for our prez. He’s forward thinking—always finding ways to reinvent the club.”
Not sure what Shorty means exactly. Where I come from, the Iron Norsemen have been doing the same thing for decades—guns, money laundering, security, and running bitches if it’s profitable. “Care to expand on that a bit?”
“Technology.”
“Online scams?”
“Not as simple as that. We like to call it targeted appropriation.”
“Identity theft?”
