“Nah.” He takes another puff off his cigarette and coughs.
“New blood, that’s our future,” I say. “Recruitment is down across the country—with all clubs. We live in a PC world right now, so finding the brightest and most talented prospects is a challenge. I promised Eagle we could increase interest with a little online presence.”
Shorty scratches his head. “Like ISIS?”
“Jesus Christ.” I roll my eyes and fish my cell out of my pocket. I scroll to a website for an MC in New York. “Check this out.”
“Goddamned instant gratification generation,” he complains as he studies the interactive website. “Photo galleries? Music videos? A contact option?”
“The future,” I remind him. “That doesn’t mean the old ways aren’t in here.” I tap my fist over my heart. “If the Iron Norsemen are going to survive the changing times, we need to evolve with it, not fight against it.”
“So it’s true, you’re going to design a website for us?”
“The Facebook page isn’t doing anything. We need to sell club merchandise online, post when we’re having the next run, next fundraiser.”
Shorty shoves my cell at me. “Gonna give live updates when you pull the trigger on that sonofabitch Lane wants dead?”
We exchange frowns.
“Speaking of which…” He hands me an envelope.
I open it and eye the stack of hundreds. “About ten thousand in here.”
“Start over money.”
“For what?”
“Down payment on a cabin? Condo? Something to make you stay in Shreveport, I guess. Eagle doesn’t want you going anywhere. Despite your shitty attitude, he likes the vision you have for the club.”
I attempted a similar plan in Philly, hoping to get the club caught up with technology, but that charter is still dominated by brothers who aren’t open to change. With a young president like Eagle in charge, the possibilities for the Shreveport charter are endless. I shove the money in my inner-cut pocket. “Tell me more about Lane.”
“Local politician and rancher whose brother went to prison for us.”
“For what?”
“Illegal arms deal.”
“Paying back a favor, then.”
“Nope. We consider Lane a friend. He’s offered to lease us some property to build a clubhouse here.”
“Why haven’t we?”
“Too many MCs nearby.”
“What about Dwight?”
Shorty growls. “Used to be a hangaround with the Dead Dogs. Has a long, twisted history with porn and young girls. Only this time, he messed with the wrong one.”
I’ve killed for less. “I’ll take care of it.”
Shorty nods and looks at his watch.
“We have somewhere else to be?”
“Nope.”
“Then let’s go home.” I climb on my bike, but Shorty doesn’t move.
