Chapter Thirty Four
“Fury! Fury!” The voice broke through my sleep. A deep, uncomfortable sleep.
I pushed upright, my cheek almost ripping where my skin and beard had become stuck to the bar top. I pushed a handful of hair back behind my ear where it had worked loosed from the ponytail.
“What?” I groaned, eventually, my dry eyes struggling to focus on anything at all.
My head pounded like a thousand bass drums were signalling for battle and my mouth felt drier that Father Leverett’s sex life.
“The grave.” The words seemed to jumble in my ears. “Ste’s grave. Someone’s wrecked it. The headstone and everything has been kicked to shit.”
“Fuck,” I grumbled, unable to summon the energy to even be annoyed someone had desecrated our old president’s grave.
“Come on. Indie wants us down there.”
“Why, Magnet? What we supposed to do about it?”
“Work out who did it.”
I knew who would do it. And so did Magnet. But I pushed up off the bar stool at the Dog on the Tyne , where I’d been drinking hours ago and not moved since.
“You’ll have to drive, mate.” I tossed the truck keys at Magnet, my wrist going limp just before the keys left my hand and dropping to my feet. “Fuck,” I grumbled, bending down to pick them up and staggering forward, Magnet catching me before I face planted the floor
“Shit, Fury. How much did you drink last night?”
“Not fucking enough, that’s how much.” I shrugged.
“You know there’s plenty more women out there, don’t you?”
“What the fuck you talking about?”
“You mate. Heidi. She’s long gone. Has she called? Text? Anything?”
I said nothing, trying not to dwell on those words, because it was all I’d thought about for the last week. And I didn’t need Magnet saying them out loud.
“Get in the fucking truck, Magnet.”
Ste’s grave was in a state. Someone had torn up the topsoil, the flowers that were left after the funeral shredded, and the fresh ones that were laid since, stamped into oblivion. Over the headstone, red paint dripped. I reached forward, dipping my fingers into a red blob that sat on the very top, the paint still wet, clagging to the black marble but no longer dripping.
“They’ve dug his fucking grave up!” Reap breathed, disgust showing in his voice.
“Definitely the fucking Hand, this,” I mumbled, glancing at Indie, who stood staring down into the hole where half the coffin lid was smashed off, white satin on show in the box underneath.
“Guys,” one of the Twins started, staring at the same thing we were. “Where the fuck is Ste’s body? Please tell me they haven’t taken it.
“Nah, mate,” I grinned at him. “We cremated Ste weeks ago.”
“What? So, we buried an empty fucking box?”
“Aye. Never bury them. Not when a war is brewing. This is the first thing a rival MC will do. And it’s a Hand speciality. They’ll be furious as fuck now.” I chuckled.
“How did you manage that? I thought Heidi would have noticed. She was all over that place.”
I swallowed slowly, not wanting anyone to see how her name affected me.
“We did it before she got there,” Indie answered. “He never was lying in those freezers out the back. He’s been sitting on my shelf for weeks. Think my mam is going to take him home with her soon. No fucking idea why, but better than the kids knocking him all over the floor and Daisy eating him.”
The graveyard erupted into chuckles. Deep, loud, throaty laughs. But none of them were mine.
*****
Christmas Eve
The Dog bounced with the thud of music. The entire club drinking together. At the far end, a new table of prospects sat, clutching pints they’d barely had time to drink. My mam poked her head through the door again.
“Boys!” she shouted over the music. “I need someone to bring this food out.”
Magnet nudged the prospects, who’d only just sat down again after the last job we gave them. But they had to earn their patches and slave labour was as good as any initiation into the club as stealing bikes and patches from the Notorious, although it would have made me happier.
A woman wiped themselves against me, cooing something in my ear that I didn’t listen to. Another of Tori’s hangarounds. She’d swamped the club with them lately. Half dressed. Tits and tattoos everywhere.
“She’s good looking.” Magnet nudged me. “What’s wrong with that one?”
“Nothing mate. Just not in the mood.”
“What? Ever? Or just because the Fischer name is all over the news again?”
I tried to ignore him, but he stood there waiting for some sort of reply.
“Jake text me to say he was making an arrest.”
“Aye. Heard they’ve arrested Leverett too.”
“Dirty bastard in more ways than one, that one.”
“Fucking was. I could hear the fucker wanking when you made me confess just to get that CCTV of you getting your end away in the churchyard. Hope you appreciate what I did for you?” Chaos leant his arm on the bar top, looking at me expectantly.
I sighed, staring into the half-drunk pint. The CCTV. The only bit of Heidi I had left, and I couldn’t bring myself to watch it for fear of the memories it might stir up. The investigation into her brother was complete. She was safe now. But she’d never returned.
*****
New Year’s Eve
The clubhouse was bouncing, heavy rock resonating the fucking windows out of their lintels. Nearly every bike club member and their ol’ lady were here. Everyone drinking and laughing. But me.
“Mate, lighten up. You’re as grumpy as fucking Reap.” Magnet patted my shoulder as I perched over a glass of whisky at the bar, one shot having lasted nearly an hour.
“Fuck off, Magnet.”
“How many of those have you had?”
“Not anywhere near enough.”
“Let me get you another. Fuck it. Let me buy you the whole fucking bottle.”
“I don’t want anything, Magnet. Now fuck off and bother someone else.”
But Magnet didn’t move, sliding his arse onto the seat of the barstool next to me and saying nothing. Together we sat there, saying nothing, Whitesnake wailing in the background, lyrics I could fall into. ‘ And here I go again on my own’ .
“You know Father Leverett has been let off?” Magnet said suddenly as the song played out its last verse.
“Fuck, really? And Gordon Fischer?”
“Convicted of the whole thing. He’s out on bail, waiting to be sentenced.”
My stomach flipped, a deep, sudden feeling of dread. But Heidi was long gone, tucked away in London, in her own city with her own friends, who would look after her. And the damage was done. Her brother convicted of fraud, no amount of going after her would change the outcome now. Father Leverett, the slimy bastard, was out to defraud another granny. Maybe the club would have a view.
There was a commotion by the doors, suddenly. Loud voices, urgent. Then a smash of glass and the smell of something burning. Rubber and fuel and intense heat. The bar moved, leather jackets rushing to the front doors, shouts and instructions, but not any discernible from the front.
Magnet stood up, the twins coming along beside us.
“What the fuck is going on?” Indie stepped out from behind the bar and together we moved towards the doors of the pub.
“Fire!” someone shouted. “The bikes are on fire!”
“Fuck!” I pushed through the crowds out into the open, to the billowing smoke rising in the night and the crackle and pop of flames and heat bending metal.
The bikes lined up against the wall of the pub were well ablaze. Three of them at the front, but with so many crammed in together, the rest would be up in flames in a few short minutes. And mine was only sheltered by one more bike.
“Get ya keys!” I shouted over the roar of the fire. “Get these bikes moved or we’ll lose the lot!”
Bikers poured out into the car park, scrambling for keys, the growl of engines competing with the raw crackle of the fire. A pushed mine backwards, searing heat at my arm, Magnet rushing to my side, to where his bike was the only thing between me and the fire.
“Magnet, leave it. It’s too close!” I shouted over the clamour of engines and flame.
“No fucking way. I’m not losing this bike.”
“Fuck.” I stopped moving backwards and kicked the stand out. “Throw iz your keys, then. I’ll start it from here. Then you can just jump on.”
A bundle of metal flew from behind me, my fingers just wrapping round the keyring and catching them before they fell to the ground. Dismounting, I leant over Magnet’s bike, the heat on my face, baking, melting heat, and I could smell burning hair. I couldn’t tell whether it was the leather of the bike next to Magnet’s or my hair. But I didn’t look up, reaching for the throttle and turning the engine on, praying the flames and heat weren’t so close that it caught the bike the moment the engine started.
Magnet’s precious bike stuttered, the engine not quite turning over. I tried again. And again. The surrounding air was baking hot, my face sweating, flames licking at me as the fire crept ever closer. I could hear shouts. My name. The bike stuttered again and still I didn’t look up. Didn’t check how close those flames were getting. Come on. Come on. I twisted the throttle; the engine shouting and then a purr. A deep, vibrating, wonderful fucking noise.
“Magnet!” I shouted over the resonating roar of the fire at my side.
The man rushed forward, jumping on the bike and pushing it backwards, out of the line of the fire, the four bikes next to it crackling angrily, and I followed him, moving my bike out of the way, to where the Harleys now gathered at the far side of the car park, like a frightened flock of sheep, cowering from a predator.
“That was fucking stupid,” Indie shouted over the noise, sirens and blue lights emerging through the clouds of billowing smoke.
“You know how much Magnet loves that bike. And how much Suzy loves Magnet. If anything happened to him…”
“And if anything happened to you? How would I tell Mamma Dot she’d lost another son? Huh? What do you think that would do to her?”
“I can’t live just for someone else.”
Indie shook his head angrily, then wandered off towards the firemen diving out of the trucks and attaching hosepipes as we watched our bikes burn in front of us.
“Which club’s done this, then?” Chaos or Carnage spoke from beside me.
I went to shake my head, to say I didn’t know, but as I looked across the carpark to the trees that stood sentries at the entrance, I saw the t-shirts hanging there. The bear staring down at us with its red eyes. I nudged whichever twin stood the closest, pointed over at the t-shirts swaying in the breeze.
“Fucking bastards,” he cursed, nudging his brother beside him, who followed his arm to where it pointed.
“The fucking Notorious. Fucking wank stains.”
Eventually, the fire brigade extinguished the flames, but the aftermath wasn’t pretty. The shells of four Harleys now stood in the carpark. Any leather now completely melted away, metal, charred or turned to white skeletal frames, the heart-shaped engine of the Harley cracked and burnt. It was a massacre. The side of the building was stained black where the fire had licked up the wall but mercifully hadn’t taken hold of the building.
“No more fucking bikes to be parked against the pub,” Indie grumbled.
On the road outside, a police car pulled up. A lone police car, the officers inside either brave, stupid or just plain suicidal.
“What the fuck does he want?” Indie mumbled at my side as Jake walked towards us.
“Any ideas what happened here?” he asked.
We all shook our heads.
“Electrical fault,” I answered, shoving the t-shirts with the Notorious’ emblem on further up the back of my jacket.
Jake sighed. Why he asked, I didn’t know. He knew not one of us would talk to the police.
“What you doing here, Jake?”
“Got a call to a fire on the radio. Heard where it was, thought I’d be the best officer to respond.” And we both knew he was full of shit. “You heard Alfred Fischer died the other day?”
I hadn’t. I’d heard nothing. And Jake knew that. I shook my head.
“How do you know that?”
“Heidi emailed me. She thought I should know as I helped with the investigation.”
I tipped my chin, not responding, knowing that he was trying to injure me with those words, and knowing it was fucking working.
*****
New Year’s Day
“Fuck! This is the best lamb ever, Mamma Dot.”
“Language Magnet. You’re at the dinner table. Mind ya manners,” my mam scolded.
My elbows knocked Demon, who scowled in my direction. Across from me, Reap cut at a potato, his elbows pinned against his sides as we all sat squashed round the kitchen table. Six men in leather, my mam and sister, all crowded around a table meant for six normal sized people.
“Would have been nice if Indie’d been here,” my mam grumbled.
“He’s with Emmie and the kids, mam. He’s got other things on.”
My mam frowned. “I know, son. I know he has his ol’ lady now. Just would be good to have him here. And where is Suzy?”
“She’s not feeling well. Gone to bed feeling sick.”
“Really?” Mamma Dot raised an eyebrow, a little smile pulling at her face.
“Aye. The events of last night seem to have got the better of her. She’s exhausted today, so I thought I’d just let her chill.”
The doorbell rang, the sound shrill. My mam glanced up and then shrugged.
“I guess Suzy didn’t want to miss Mamma’s good lamb after all.” My mam rose to her feet, the hint of a smile turning to a full beam.
She waddled off, and the scraping of cutlery on plates in the kitchen continued, everyone silent. But behind me, I could hear voices. Voices that weren’t familiar. Something not quite right. And the others had heard it too, their forks stilling, their heads looking up over the top of mine.
I turned in the direction, to where two women now stood, the blonde in the navy suit and baby blue shirt, just like the first time I had seen her, watching me quietly, the faint offering of a smile. My heart leapt like it had been restarted.