Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
FREAK
Although I’d promised to take Ace to Flagstaff at the end of the week, he’s grumpy, expecting the days to drag, and I have to admit, it feels that way for me, too.
Though it’s unlike me to have such thoughts, I keep getting a picture in my head of me, Toni and Ace, together as a family.
Maybe my bachelor days are getting weary, or maybe I just like seeing my son with a smile on his face.
This coming weekend will be another chance for us to see if we can meld together.
I do my shifts at the strip club on autopilot, perhaps snap a little more than usual at the self-important dicks who think they can take liberties they haven’t paid for, but apart from having a short fuse, no one can complain I’m not pulling my weight.
I find myself watching the clock more than usual, wishing the hours and subsequently the days would go faster.
Absence is making my heart grow fonder, though I do caution myself, in case I’m building her up to be something she’s not in my head.
Bullseye knows Ace and I are going to be heading to Flagstaff come Friday, so to accommodate my absence, he calls church a day early.
Thursday comes around, and, not unexpectedly, I get a ribbing, being the one to blame for upsetting the schedule.
“I’m fuckin’ going for Ace, to make sure he’s okay,” I say for the umpteenth fucking time.
Rat aims and then shoots a paper plane at me from across the table. “Yeah, yeah. You’re going to get your dick wet.” I try not to duck as the flimsy missile flies over my head, refusing to give him any satisfaction.
“Freak’s got a girlfriend,” Paint adds in a sing-song voice.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, just as Bullseye walks in and takes his seat
Prez’s eyes scan the table, making sure everyone’s here. He then bangs the gavel and tells everyone to zip their fucking mouths. After silence descends, he gets down to business.
The image of Toni lying naked on my bed comes into my mind. Tomorrow, she’ll be sucking my dick again, and this time I’ll make sure she swallows. Or, shoot my load over her tits… I completely zone out as Stalker gives his treasurer’s report.
The gavel banging the table brings me back to the present, as does Bullseye’s snarl. “You with us, Bro?”
Mentally slapping myself around the head, I give a sharp nod to Prez, then raise my chin toward Stalker. “All sounds good.”
The treasurer smirks as if he knows I haven’t heard a word he’s said. Luckily, he keeps that knowledge to himself.
Then we discuss the businesses, and I give a report on the strip club. Woody gives an update on the auto shop, and Tempest on the gun range.
Then Words talks about the funeral home – it was in his family before his dad died, and he took it over. But when he needed financing for a new cremator, the club stepped in and loaned him the money. It was a logical step for him to join the MC, and for us, the ideal way to dispose of our enemies.
“Since Dum and Dee started prospecting, the demands of the club mean they’re neglecting some of their duties at the graveyard,” Words tells us, adding quickly, “not that I resent that. They’re proving that they’ll eventually make good Kings, but I need extra manpower.”
Stalker consults the tablet in front of him, then steeples his hands. “You’re good for another employee.” As our treasurer, he handles the accounts for all our businesses.
Bullseye's fingers tap the table. “Agreed. But you’ll have to get someone who won’t ask too many questions,” he observes.
“Know that, Prez.” Words doesn’t need to be reminded that his services often come in useful to dispose of evidence of the human variety.
“I’ll bear that in mind. Though they’ll be primarily digging graves and keeping the graveyard tidy, so they shouldn’t have much to do with the cremations or the funeral home. ”
The meeting continues. It’s the normal shit.
Running the club is much like running any other business, balancing finances coming in with what’s going out, how much money we’re laundering, discussing new business proposals, any problems that may have arisen and which need us to put our heads together to answer, and whether the MDMC have raised their ugly heads.
You know, typical business shit, just like any respectable conglomerate.
Then there’s the less-than-legal side.
Bullseye looks around the table. “Freak, Tempest and I had a meet with Pagan—"
Tempest, already bursting a gut, leans forward to interrupt.
I’m already laughing, knowing what’s coming.
“Wyoming’s come up with a new idea of how to send a pervert a message.
” Bullseye grins widely, and motions for the sergeant-at-arms to continue.
Seems he needs no encouragement. “Bootneck and Fabio described, in vivid detail, how they shoved a computer mouse up his ass, then left him tied down naked on the table—”
“With a knife through his hand to keep him there.” I make sure he doesn’t miss any of the details.
Tempest tosses a quick glare my way as if I’ve interrupted his story.
Chuckling, he tells them, “They described in vivid detail how it was a team effort. Bootneck had to hold his asshole open, while Fabio pushed the mouse in. Then they wrote Property of the Kings across his ass cheeks and just left him there to be found by the cleaners the next morning.” He chuckles.
“They did show some mercy. They left the mouse wire hanging out so he wouldn’t need surgery.
” It may not have been as funny had not Tempest been using his hands to demonstrate an approximation of their actions.
By this time everyone around the table is doubled up laughing. Words is banging his hand on the table with tears running down his cheeks.
“Oh man, I’m going to have to remember that,” Woody comments.
Bullseye lets them enjoy the moment, then bangs the gavel to get back down to business.
When all’s quiet, he lets them in on the reason he started the conversation.
“They’ve got another shipment of guns they want us to take over the border.
Only issue is they’re having problems with their supplier, Huntley.
” His face tightens. “At the moment, all he can assure me is that they’re coming, but can’t tell us exactly when. ”
There are a few choice swear words that the lack of real info means we can’t get anything planned. Not much we can do when we don’t yet know the date, let alone the delivery time.
“When we’re ready to go,” Bullseye states, looking at me, then Tempest, directly in the eye.
“We have to remember this is the first time we’re using the new route and process to cross the border.
I want the enforcer and sergeant-at-arms to go along in case of any trouble, and to know whether to proceed or when to abort. ”
All nods, including mine and Tempest’s, are accompanied by serious expressions.
When the fucking Mojave Devils put a plant in our club, they found out about the tried and tested route we’d successfully used without a hitch for years.
To stop them getting the benefit of it, we’d leaked the details to the Feds and took great delight that one of their shipments had been stopped and the product – which happened to be young girls which was a plus – was confiscated, and a few of their guys were locked up.
We’d tried a different route since, but only got away by the skin of our teeth. Now we’ve agreed on yet another new method, and this cargo of guns will be the first tryout. So yeah, having officers close to make the difficult decisions is a good call.
Without enough information to hammer out the details, Bullseye adjourns the topic to be discussed when we’ve gotten the intelligence to hand. Then, after asking for any other business and getting no response, he closes the meeting.
I stay for a moment to have a chat with Tempest about how we’re going to handle the run when it happens, then, when I step outside, Trixie is waiting.
A couple of days ago, she’d approached me and had apologised for her behaviour that evening when Toni had left.
I’d brushed her off, a whore’s opinion being of no consequence, but at least she’d realised she’d stepped over a line.
It had, however, been awkward, and we’d ignored each other the past few days. So I’m surprised when she accosts me.
“Er, Freak, I wanted to have a word.”
Immediately on the offensive, my back stiffens. “Can’t see what you’ve got to talk to me about.”
She flinches, but stands her ground. “I’ve been thinking, it’s Ace’s sixteenth birthday next month. I wondered if you wanted to arrange a party for him?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I respond, “What the fuck for? It’s just another birthday.” To be honest, I’ve not really made a thing of them before. I might throw a token present at him, but no more than that.
“Oh, come on, Freak. It’s his ‘sweet sixteen’.”
“Sweet sixteen?” My brows rise. “Sounds like some girly shit to me.”
She still doesn’t back down. “It’s a milestone. Most people see it as something special. His first step toward adulthood and independence. He can get his learner’s permit.”
My little boy becoming an adult? No fucking way.
“You’re not in New York now,” I remind her.
“You’re in Arizona. He could’ve gotten his permit six months back.
” And he had done. Got the percent, did all the tests, and shit.
But he’d taken it no further. “He shows no inclination to learn to drive. I’m certainly not going to force him. ”
“Or are you just holding him back? All you’ve got is that monster truck of yours…” When she sees the expression on my face, she quickly backtracks. “Anyway, sixteen is important to most kids. Why not celebrate it in some way? I’d be happy to pull something together for him.”