Chapter Thirteen
Steel leaned againstthe wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his brothers shuffle into the meeting room. The club normally had church once a week, but if something pressing came up, he’d call an emergency one to flesh out the problem and try to come up with a solution. The topic for the day’s church was the buy that Jigger had set up.
“My fuckin’ 1200 Custom could outride your Roadster any damn day,” Eagle said as he pulled out one of the chairs from the large table.
“Put your money where your fuckin’ mouth is,” Crow answered. “Let’s test it out this Saturday on Old Trail Road.”
“I’ve got five hundred bucks on Eagle’s Custom,” Cueball said as he tipped his chair against the wall.
“Three hundred on the Roadster,” Sangre said, throwing three hundred-dollar bills on the table.
Soon all the brothers were in on the betting, and the two piles of bills were growing larger as the minutes lapsed. Steel looked on in amusement. He secretly thought Eagle’s 1200 Custom could beat Crow’s bike, but since he was the president, he decided not to join in the betting. The jovial ribbing turned into snide remarks, followed by shouting, and then the inevitable fistfights.
After a few brothers punched each other, Steel stepped in. “Take your fucking seats! We got shit to discuss. You wanna fight? Do it after church.” He slammed the gavel on the wooden table. Some of the brothers grunted, wiped their noses, and stared daggers at one another, but they sat down, joining the other members. Steel nodded, then looked at Jigger who was nursing a bloody nose. “You got shit to report?”
He tipped his head back, pulling another tissue from his pocket and stuffing some of it up his right nostril. “Yeah. The first thing I wanna say is I’m fuckin’ stoked that I’m not a teen anymore.” The membership roared, clapped, and whistled. “And I’m never gonna throw another fuckin’ bowling ball again.” Again, laughs and retorts from the brothers.
“So you’ve proven you can do stand-up comedy if your ass gets thrown outta the club, which I’m aiming to do if you don’t get to the goddamn point.” Steel pushed the chair in front of him with his steel-toed boot. Paco snickered, along with a few other brothers.
Jigger stood up. “Sorry, Prez. I got the info for a couple of dudes selling smack in the area. I’ve set up the buy for next Thursday night. I figured it’d be better ’cause this cow town dies at about eight on weeknights.”
“Did you find out the motherfucker’s name?” Steel asked.
“Goes by something real original—Candyman.”
The members busted up again, and Steel banged his gavel down a few times. “Figures. Do you have his phone number?”
Jigger nodded. “I set up the buy by using the number some fifteen-year-old gave me. Candyman uses a burner phone ’cause I called the number the next day and it was no longer in commission.”
“This Candyman isn’t the main source, but we’ll bring him back here and ‘persuade’ him that, if he likes living, he best cooperate with us. Any volunteers?” All hands in the room shot up as the members yelled out and cursed the drug dealer. “You fucking animals,” Steel joked as he picked Crow, Sangre, Diablo, Cueball, Skull, and Brutus to be part of the welcoming committee for the following Thursday night.
The rest of church was filled with reports from Sangre about the money coming into the club from its various businesses. Some discussion was had on securing contractors to repair the roof of the clubhouse, as well as other administrative issues. When Steel slammed the gavel down, announcing church was done, the men jumped up and made their way to the main room to have a drink.
Sangre leaned over and scooped up the bet money. “I better oversee this one,” he said to Steel and Paco as he counted the bills and secured them with rubber bands. After he was done, he left to join the other brothers.
“How about a game of pool? I got three hundred bucks to lay down tonight,” Paco said as he pushed in the chairs.
“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I got somewhere I gotta be.”
“You gonna see Chenoa again? I thought you spent most of the day with her.”
Steel narrowed his eyes. “How the fuck is it any of your business where I’m going?”
Paco stopped sliding a chair and looked up. “What the hell’s up with you? Since when are you so damn testy?”
“I just gotta get going.” As he walked out the door, he turned sideways and pointed at a chair. “You pushed that one in a little crooked. Better fix it.”
“Fuck you,” Paco said as he went over to straighten the chair. Steel laughed and left the room.
An hour later he came into the main room and went up to the bar. The prospect set a shot of tequila in front of him. “Thanks, Rugger,” Steel said as he brought the drink to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Paco racking up the balls on the pool table. He threw back the shot and jerked his chin at the prospect.
Outside, pomegranate pink emblazoned the sky as the sun started its descent over the craggy mountain peaks. The eastern sky was already darkening to obsidian as a few scattered stars poked through, shimmering brightly. Steel stretched his leather gloves over his hands and swung his leg over his Harley. He was just ready to switch on the engine when he heard footsteps approaching him. He looked over and saw Paco and Skull coming toward him.
Fuck!
“Hey, don’t mean to keep you, but Skull and I have an ongoing argument we need you to settle,” Paco said.
“What is it?”
