“Let me buy the two of you breakfast. How about Mike’s diner? They got a private booth in the back where we can talk.”
Tommy shrugs. “I fuckin’ love their food.” When he glances over at me, and I chime in, “Love their fuckin’ omelets,” I tell him. “We can start there and do a pub crawl later.”
Mica pushes off the wall. “Great. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got business to discuss.”
We jump on our bikes and head out through the front gate. The other prospects look shaken. They’re probably wondering if they’re going to get the same treatment that Tommy did when their time comes.
As we ride out, I remember Mica saying he wants to talk business. Maybe he’s looking for someone to work on his club’s firearms. We do own a gun repair shop, so that would make sense.
***
When we walk in Mike’s diner, he gestures with his spatula. “I kept your booth open for you this morning.”
Mica shoots him a grin. “Thanks, Mike. Nova told me to let you know she’s craving your peach cobbler.”
The older man perks up. “Shucks, now I’m gonna have to box her up a slice for you to take home to her.”
Mica glances over his shoulder as we pass. “Best box up a fresh pan for her. I know it ain’t cheap but add it to my bill.”
“Your old lady knows the good stuff when she tastes it. That’s an old family recipe. Ain’t nobody makes it like I do.”
Mica answers, “Don’t I know it.”
Mica’s favorite booth sits in a little alcove off the main dining room. It’s tucked behind a half-wall that makes it feel more private than it is. Mike brings coffee and drops menus on the table almost immediately. I don’t bother with the menu, because I already know what I’m ordering.
After taking the first sip of his coffee, Mica gets down to business. His facial expression has gone from smiling to serious.
“First thing I want to say, is that what happened in there this morning was not fair to you. I mean that. You deserved that patch and for some reason, my old man dropped the ball.”
Tommy nods slowly, pouring another sugar packet into his coffee. “That’s good of you to say but I’m about tired of hearing it, first from Slate and now from you. Sons of Rage MC is a legacy club. Your old man did this.”
I pause with my cup to my mouth. “We ain’t tryin’ to be rude. Those are the facts.”
“I’m not here to talk shit about my family or twist the fuckin’ knife they stabbed you in the back with. I’m also not gonna pretend to be mad that it happened. As far as I’m concerned, their loss is my gain.”
The shock I feel at hearing him say that is staggering. “Say what?”
Not taking his eyes off Tommy, Mica continues, “When I heard what was going down, I hightailed my ass over to the Sons compound to ask for a meet up.”
Tommy takes a sip of his coffee. Mike decides this is the moment to take orders, so we make it quick. I’m dying to hear how this fucker thinks he’s going to recover the conversation.
Mica continues, “You know I’ve been building Raging Vultures for the better part of a month now. We’ve created a charter. As you can see from my cut, we’ve got colors. Right now I have six patched brothers counting myself. And we’re in the process of rebuilding our clubhouse on Vulture’s property.”
“That’s all great and wonderful but what does it have to do with me?” Tommy asks.
“Let me finish. The building’s got walls and a roof on it right now. The plumbing’s mostly done in the back. But it’s rough living, I’m not gonna lie to ya. The brothers sleep on cots, and grill most of our food out back. Every man who wears our patch is also swinging a hammer most days.”
“Sounds like real work,” Tommy says dryly. “Do you want us to work on your weapons? Is that what this is about? If so, we can probably work out a bulk discount.”
“That’s one of the things we need but not right now. Right now, I need club officers. Men who know how to follow club rules, can interact with the public without making us look bad and can recruit.”
I know where this conversation is going, but poor Tommy looks totally bewildered.
“The thing is, I’ve been careful about who I bring in because the men I’m bringing in now are the men who’ll shape the next fifty years of whatever this thing becomes.”
Tommy is quiet for a long moment, and I can see he’s taking the conversation seriously.
“What are you asking me, Mica? Do you want me to prospect for your club? If so, the answer’s no. I’ve had about as much prospecting as I can take from your whole family.”
