Eventually, all the New Mexico Kings are outside, astride their bikes and ready. After a rousing cry from everybody of “Nobody fucks with the Kings,” they rev their engines and then they’re off, leaving silence behind.
As they disappear out of the gate, any upbeat feeling leaves me. I feel flat as I turn and view the row of our ruined bikes.What I wouldn’t give to be riding right now. And from the looks on faces, my sentiment is shared by my brothers.
After a quick visit to the heads, I grab my beer and return to church. It seems quiet and smaller without our visitors, like they’ve taken some of our energy with them.
Bullseye and Saint haven’t appeared yet, so I question Freak. “Any further updates on Tempest or Genie?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, but I’m going to the hospital to visit once we’re finished with this shit.”
“I’ll come along,” Paint states.
“Wearing that fuckin’ sling? Oh no, you’re not,” Freak growls. “Remember, we’re playing this as a fight between two brothers.”
“I could have gotten injured separating them,” Paint argues.
But Freak’s adamant, and shows him his middle finger.
“I’ll come with,” Winchester offers. “After all, I was with them all night. Won’t look odd if I go back again.”
I’d like to offer, but I’m torn. I’ve got a family now I need to keep tabs on, and anyway, we’ve already agreed, going en masse won’t support our story.
Prez enters, closely followed by Saint, and all brothers stop talking.
Tiredly, Prez bangs the gavel again. “Church is back in session.” He passes a hand over his eyes. “Saint and I have spoken to Big Daddy, he’s not fuckin’ happy.”
“Fuckin’ understatement,” Saint murmurs.
After a quick glance at his VP, Bullseye resumes, “He’s worried California’s too close for comfort when there’s a big cartel involved. He’s hoping it won’t spread beyond New Mexico and Arizona.”
I’m not the only one to grimace. It’s not the done thing to upset the national prez. There’s a rumour he’s got an electric chair in his basement, and no one wants to find out if it’s capable of being plugged in.
“So, after the asskicking,” Bullseye’s set jaw tells me it had to have been bad, “he agreed he’s got two guys, Lunatic and Hardcore, who’ve got some construction skills. He’s going to send them across to us to help with the rebuilding. They’ll be here in a couple of days.”
A tired cheer goes up from all of us.
“Any spare bikes to send our way?” Rattler puts in, a bit hopefully in my view.
“I didn’t actually admit they totalled our bikes,” Bullseye admits, giving a wry shrug. “While we’re on that subject, Woody, can you speak to everyone, make an assessment of where we stand as to our rides? Brothers, the rebuilding of the barn is going to hit our coffers, so you will have to contribute to replacing your bikes if that’s what it takes to get you back on the road. Stalker? Can you run through the books and look at our reserves, so we know what we’re dealing with?” He pauses and looks around. “In my opinion, getting a roof over our heads is our main concern. Unless we want to take a vote, all brothers, club girls, and prospects rent off compound.”
“Bikes or housing?” Rattler looks aghast. “I want both.”
“There’s another problem we need to address. We’re down to just one prospect,” Freak reminds Prez.
I sit forward and let my eyes rest on Words. “Jester told me our funeral director has a couple of gravediggers who are interested in the club.”
Now Words is the centre of attention. He shrugs. “Yeah, but until recently, we had three prospects, so I didn’t want to bring it up. And they’re weird fuckers. Unrelated, but hell, they look like twins, dress the same, talk the same…”
“Fuckin’ homos?”
“You know what, Rat? I didn’t think to ask.” Winchester glowers at him. “As long as they do their work, I don’t care about their sexual preferences.”
“Doesn’t bother me one way or another if they could be a good fit for the club,” Prez says. “Can you vouch for them, though, Words? Don’t want another Griz situation.”
“They’ve worked for me for five years,” Words confirms. “Both are in their late twenties and have no affiliations I’ve ever seen. And they know how to keep their mouths shut.”
“I suppose they’re already good at one prospect duty.” Rattler grins widely. “Burying bodies.”
Bullseye sits back and steeples his hands. After a moment, he says, “Okay, Words. Arrange to bring them in, and I’ll have a conversation with them. Saint?” The VP’s head snaps to look to his side. “In the absence of Genie, can Pippa do a deep dive into their backgrounds?” When Saint replies in the affirmative, Bullseye continues, “So for the rest of today and tonight, we’ll concentrate on getting the clubhouse to rights. Win, Rat, can you measure the windows and go buy new glass? Oh, and the doweling to fit it.” After the two men nod, he carries on, “Tomorrow, Paint, I know you’re one-handed, but you’ve got a good eye. You work with Short,” he pauses to catch my eye, “and the prospect and sort through the bikes. See what’s salvageable and what’s not.”
