Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Eli (Handlebar)
“You hear about Rip?”
I’ve gotten used to the guys shouting across the garage. They have to sometimes over the noise of the machinery, the banging of tools and general gossiping the men do. Sometimes I think they’re worse than women the way they stand around talking.
I haven’t heard anything but I’ve been holed up in here all day.
“Did someone take him to the shed?” Another guy yells out.
Everyone is well aware of what went down last night, because there are six bikes here having some kind of repairs carried out. News spreads fast and anyone not there knows the clumsy Prospect fucked up again.
A few of them laugh at the insinuation. The shed is no place anyone wants to find themselves. I’ve only been in it a couple of times and I don’t want to go back. You can smell death and desperation as soon as you walk in there, even after Hammer cleans it up when they’ve had guests.
I barely talk to the guy, he’s too macabre for me, even though he has his uses for the club. No man should like disposing of bodies as much as he does. Or the manner in which he does it.
“He’s gone. Shady booted his ass out this morning.”
That piques my interest. Like everyone else who overheard Mace’s comment about no one getting away with that shit at his clubhouse, we were wondering how Rip would be handled.
The kid is a walking disaster, but his heart is in the right place. He’s not motorcycle club material and is better off out of it.
He won’t see it that way for some time but hopefully he sees King did him a favor. You have to be a certain kind of person to take to this lifestyle and Rip did not have that in him.
I climb out of the Buick and indicate for Chester to bring over the carpet.
Everything is where it needs to be and it’s time to start fitting out the interior again.
The new bench seat is arriving in a couple of days, so I want the upholstery down and all the interior panels back in place before then.
I’ve been working on it non-stop, in between paid jobs coming in, especially late into the night. It isn’t just about getting it done and sold on, it’s soothing to me, watching the timeless beauty of this machine slowly be brought back to life.
It’s a fucking travesty the state it was allowed to get in but I see that all too often with classic cars.
They’re expensive to maintain. And if it wasn’t for those dire circumstances people sometimes find themselves in, I wouldn’t be able to do this.
I like that I’m a part of bringing it full circle and getting the cars into the hands of people who appreciate them.
Someone comes up behind me and I glance over my shoulder at Raptor. He doesn’t usually come in here. I step around him and watch as Chester gets in the Buick, taking the carpet with him. It’s a two-man job to make sure it sets right with all the cut outs placed perfectly.
“What’s up?”
Raptor leans back against my bench and tells me to carry on. It can’t be all that important cos he lets me finish which takes close to half an hour because I’m a perfectionist.
Chester gets out and stretches out his back with a groan so I send him off to work on something else. Now that the carpet is fitted, I can get back to working alone.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Raptor.
“It’s interesting to watch. How much is that thing worth?”
“More than we can afford,” I laugh.
“Right. Felix is sick.”
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, grabbing up a rag and wiping my hands on it.
Raptor rolls his eyes. “Strep throat, Doc has put him on antibiotics and says he needs to monitor him. Apparently he’s had it a while and didn’t say anything. Doc is worried about kidney infection.”
That doesn’t sound good.
“His old lady is about ready to rip him a new one and kicked him out of the house so her and the baby don’t catch it.”
“Sounds right,” I smirk. “What do you need me for?”
“He was part of a run for the Stroudsburg chapter. Ink asked if you can go in his place.”
Our Road Captain might have asked, but it isn’t something he expects me to turn down. After last night, the thought of working with his chapter is the last thing I want to do. But like the good brother I am, I nod.
Raptor tells me I’ll need to see Ink to get the details and slaps my back.
I fixed the Fatboy first thing this morning. I want it out of here and not have to deal with Mace again. Watching him drive away with Cassie last night messed shit up and against my better judgment I drank more than I would normally, even after King broke the party up.
I’ve been staying in Hudson’s old room at the clubhouse. The constant buzz and people coming and going at all hours of the night helped with the nightmares.
I feel good enough to go back home now they’ve subsided. I don’t like that it went on longer than normal and I made the choice to turn off the notifications for stories about my parents because they have been in the news a fuck of a lot.
Of course the press drags up their tragic backstory of losing both their kids. I sat through an interview my father gave where he said they’re still looking for me, still holding out hope that nothing befell me and I’m living a life somewhere.
If only he knew. But that motherfucker never will.
It’s taken nearly twenty years but I’ve finally cut myself off.
I had to, or I would never get the only memory that seems to have glued itself into my brain of my baby sister out of my head.
I barely remember what she looked like and when I try to reach for it, all I see is her floating face down in that tub.
I shake those thoughts out of my head as Raptor heads out. I should talk to Ink sooner rather than later, given he’s requested it. He’ll be expecting me.
He’s in the kitchen when I get to the clubhouse and we head to the basement so he can go over everything with me. Ink is a huge guy, covered in tattoos with a thick beard and short hair, shaved close to his scalp, which shows off the artwork on his skull.
It’s made clear this is a Stroudsburg operation, and we are only sending along one guy to assist. Felix is highly experienced with making runs which was why he was chosen.
Someone else from Hudson’s crew would have fit in better but they’re heading to New York again, so I’m the next most experienced.
“Felix is a fucking idiot,” Ink tells me. “But he knew what he needed to do.”
“Meaning?”
“We’re not spying on anyone. King trusts Mace but this is a run he wants to hear back about. If all goes to plan, there’ll be changes to the Stroudsburg chapter.”
My brow lifts and Ink shakes his head. “Not what you’re thinking.”
Okay, so he’s saying they’ll officially be off leash. It’s been a few months with no trouble, so I guess it’s time. I understand what Ink is saying.
“How much do you want to know?”
“You’ll figure out what needs to come back and what doesn’t. Keep your head down and do what you’re told. Their Road Captain is good at what he does.”
Ink doesn’t need to say Mace will be scrutinizing everything I do.
It would have been the same if it was Felix.
I agree to be at the Stroudsburg clubhouse at ten tomorrow.
It’s a cargo protection run which can get dangerous if rival factions or cops get wind of it.
I trust my brothers implicitly when I’m on a run.
Working with the Stroudsburg chapter is different. I’d rather not be doing it, but I have my orders.
When I get back to the garage, there is a beat up Toyota parked outside.
I know my bookings and this isn’t one of them, which means one thing, a fact that is confirmed when I see Chaos, one of the old Kingsmen, leaning against the back of the car.
He’s smoking a cigarette and scowling at nothing and everything around him.
Mace is standing in my bay next to his bike with a phone to his ear and his back to me. My fists clench and a ripple of annoyance trickles down my spine at the memory of him climbing into Cassie’s car. It takes effort, but I wipe all of that off my face as I head over.
Mace turns as if he senses me and lifts his chin as he talks quietly into his phone, then ends the call. I’ve always been a good reader of body language and he’s pissed.
“That was Ink.”
“I just got back from talking with him,” I reply.
“He fill you in?” Mace asks. I nod and he glances around, looking out through the front of the garage, probably at Chaos. “What do I owe you for the bike?” he asks, instead of elaborating any further.
We settle the bill, Mace handing me a roll of cash without counting it. He checks the bike over and leaves, Chaos driving the car behind him. Tomorrow is going to be shit.
I’d rather suffer through more nightmares, and that is saying a fuck of a lot about how I feel.
It pisses me off to admit it, but Mace’s Road Captain is good at what he does, not as good as Ink but we can’t all be perfect.
No one seems surprised Mace is gearing up along with the rest of the men, so I figure it’s a thing here. King doesn’t come along on runs.
He hasn’t spoken a word to me and is letting Jefferson, their RC take the lead. There were no other introductions made when we all gathered in the room where they hold church.
They’ve positioned me near the back as a blocker, to work alongside their tail gunner. Our main objective is making sure nothing comes up behind us while we’re making the delivery. Another thing I’ve not been filled in about is what they’re transporting, and I won’t ask.
There are eight people making the run and they seem to be taking a hell of a long time to get their shit together. Mace is talking with Talon away from everyone else. I can’t help wondering what happened in the car with Cassie last night.
She’s made it clear she is not interested in bikers. Why would she give him a ride? It’s a question I’ve asked myself too many times to be normal. But it’s difficult getting it out of my mind.