Chapter 45 #2
When we arrive, no one has time to continue sulking. Prez has already got everyone ready to start working – with the exception of Words, who’s had to go to conduct a funeral, and, as an aside, while he’s there, put a couple of extra bodies into the cremator.
Just as we’re discussing the best way to clear the remnants of the original barn, we hear the glorious sounds of motorcycles arriving.
And, if I’m not mistaken, the distinctive throaty roar of a Dyna Super Glide.
One sideways glance toward Prez confirms he’s also listening, as he turns away and makes a sound that resembles a growl.
I admit it, I feel for him. He had a nice fucking bike, shame it’s in ruins.
Anything to delay the task, for which we have no idea what we’re doing, as a group, we head for the gate. When the bikes approach, Prez gives Knight the nod to open the gate and let them in.
Then it’s back slaps and greetings all around, after Lunatic and Hardcore from the California Kings, have parked up their bikes.
“Thank fuck you’re here,” Saint tells them as he leads them into the clubhouse to freshen up. “We have no idea what we’re doing.”
Hardcore looks at the new glass that Winchester and Rattler are currently installing in the clubhouse windows. “Looks like you’ve got this all in hand.”
“Nah, Brother,” Prez tells them. “We’ve got a bigger problem out back. Our barn, our bunkhouse, was destroyed, and it needs a total rebuild.”
“Fuckin’ with ya,” Hardcore replies with a laugh. “Big Daddy told us your situation. Well…” he slaps Lunatic on the back. “We’ve got the expertise you need. Just let us get caffeinated, and then we’ll have a look at what we’re working with.”
“We want something up and fast,” Winchester insists, and then sighs. “I need to have my own space. Can’t spend another night bunking with him.” He jerks his head toward Rattler, who gives him his finger.
Lunatic snorts. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither will your new bunkhouse. Perfection takes time, Brother.”
“We’ll pay you double if you’re quick,” Winchester responds sneakily.
“What the fuck?” Prez snarls. “You in charge of our bank, now, Win? ‘Cause I don’t remember agreeing to that.” Then, in his own sly way, he adds, “Anyway, they’re doing this out of the goodness of their hearts and because we’re all Kings.”
Hardcore swings around, a smirk on his face, “Yeah? You know you’re really in the shit with Big Daddy. Bringing the cartel down on us? Wrong fuckin’ move. This job’s gonna fuckin’ cost ya.”
“Changed my mind,” Prez informs them, a twist to his mouth. “We don’t need your assistance.”
Hardcore barks a laugh. “Just fuckin’ with you. But Big Daddy sure was recharging his electric chair when I left him.”
“Darn thing doesn’t work,” Prez snarls.
“Wishful thinking,” Lunatic puts in, nudging Hardcore in the arm, and they both double over laughing. He’s suddenly distracted. “Hey, darlin’. You make sure you’re around later, and I’ll give you a good time.”
Pippa carefully places the tray of coffees she’s carrying onto the table, then, in a move so fast it’s hard to follow, has Lunatic’s arm behind his back and his head pressed firmly down on the table. It didn’t land gently either.
“Ouch! What the fuck?” he growls, trying to get free and failing.
“I see you’ve met my ol’ lady, Pippa,” Saint drawls, one side of his mouth curved up. “Let him up, darlin’.” His voice sounds like he’s choking back mirth.
“Your ol’ lady? Fuck, man, I’d heard you’d tied yourself down, but I didn’t know it was with a fuckin’ ninja.” As Pippa lets him go, he sits up carefully, ruefully rubbing his head. “Nice to meet you, Pippa.” He starts to hold out his hand, thinks better of it and lowers it back down.
Hardcore’s snorting with laughter. He slaps Saint’s shoulder. “Looks like you’ve done good.” Then he sobers. “Hey, are you the FBI plant we’ve all heard about?”
“Ex-Secret Service,” Pippa confirms, adding casually, “And I was never a plant. Anyway.” She shrugs. “I’ve come over to the dark side. I use my skills for the Kings now.” She narrows her eyes. “You got a problem with that?”
Learning his lesson from how she’d treated Lunatic, he holds out his hands and declares with a deliberate shake of his head, “Not at all. I’m fine.”
“You better not have, else it will be me you answer to,” Saint barks as he approaches his woman and spreads the fingers of one hand over her stomach. “She’s carrying precious cargo, so I’ll do any fighting required.”
“We’re good, Bro.” Lunatic picks up a cup of coffee. “But you’ll forgive us if we mind what we say while she’s around.”
I glance at Pippa warily, but she shrugs off his comment like water off a duck’s back. She knows she’s proved herself to us. And, in time, I reckon the other chapters will come to see she’s good people.
She proves it now. “Getting back to your offer, Lunatic. While I’m not on offer, I’m sure Trixie, Heaven, Star, and Sweetie will be around to cater to all your needs. They’ll probably enjoy some fresh meat.”
Pointing a finger at her, Lunatic grins. “I’m starting to like you a bit better.”
Smiling to myself, I consider that the girls would probably prefer being taken back to one of their motel rooms, that we’re reserved for our out-of-town brothers, rather than sleeping on the cots in church.
Coffees drunk, the California brothers accompany us outside. As we’ve exited via the front of the clubhouse, their eyes fall on their two lonely bikes sitting outside.
“You put your rides away? Should we move ours as well?”
After we explain what happened to our bikes, Hardcore’s eyes fill with compassion, and he barely has the words to express what he's feeling. “Fuck.” That’s all he can manage.
“How are you even a club?” Lunatic can’t help himself from taunting us. “Big Daddy’s going to revoke your charter—”
He stops when Hardcore plants his fist in his stomach. “Read the fuckin’ room, asshole.”
And yeah, you better bet Lunatic steps back when Bullseye focuses that glare on him, the one that men normally only see just before they’re about to die.
Big Daddy might be the national prez, but Bullseye’s got a power all of his own. Especially on his own turf, and one where bodies tend to disappear into ash.
Back to business, we start to remove the remains of the bunkhouse.
The fire, which had continued to smoulder for quite some time, is all burned out now.
The remains are cold enough to be walked on.
Freak takes point, leading the closest people we’ve got to experts around the site, explaining how it was laid out, and how we wanted the rebuild to be similar.
I’m impressed as they come up with some good ideas about an improved layout, and the brothers for whom it will be their new home are all ears and delighted.
“So, eight members live here?” Hardcore studies the charred remains.
“And the four club girls, and currently one prospect, but we’d like to have accommodation for more,” Prez explains.
“Whatcha thinking?” Lunatic defers to Hardcore.
“I’m thinking that building a decent structure is going to take months rather than days. They converted the loft area and made a two-storey building. What I’d like to do,” he kicks at some charred wood, “is build something that will be stronger than before.”
“And with a sprinkler system.” Lunatic grins.
“That’s a fuckin’ given,” Freak butts in.
“The Amish can build a decent-sized barn in a day,” Rattler moans.
Rolling his eyes, Hardcore addresses that statement. “Sure, one fit for animals.”
“That would suit him.” Winchester points at Rat, who launches himself at his tormentor, grabbing the pointing finger and damn near tearing it off.
Seconds later, they’re on the ground, going at each other. Freak grabs a still full bucket of water that hadn’t been needed for damping down and throws it over them. They part, shaking themselves like a pair of dogs. The expression Freak’s wearing keeps them separate.
Hardcore continues as if he were never interrupted.
“What you need is a place where humans can live, which means electricity and water supplies will have to be fixed and re-plumbed in. It’s all going to take some time to make it habitable, I’m afraid.
” He turns to Prez. “Have you considered getting some trailers as temporary accommodation?”
Bullseye simply stares at him for a moment.
“If you want to know, we’ve been chasing our tails since the attack, just trying to keep our heads above water.
But your suggestion is good. Saint? Can you ask Pippa to look into trailers, and, Stalker?
You want to look at the books and add that to the cost of the replacement bikes, and see what we’ve got to play with? ”
“Something else for you to consider. We can lend you some bodies to do the work, including a plumber and an electrician. But even at King’s rates, all joking aside, that’s going to cost you. Civilians like to make a living.”
Prez just stares at Hardcore, shakes his head, and then addresses our treasurer. “What he said. And Saint? Make sure Pippa concentrates on emptying the fuckin’ MDMC’s bank accounts. They’re going to fuckin’ pay for this.”
“Wait,” Lunatic butts in. “The FBI agent can do that?”
“Secret service,” Saint states proudly. “And yes, there’s not much she can’t hack in and out of with no trace.
And as it’s all ill-gotten gains, who are they going to complain to?
” He chuckles softly. “If I know my ol’ lady, she may even leave a hint it was the cartel.
Leave them to fight it out among themselves. ”
“Fuckin’ brilliant.” Hardcore nods approvingly.
There’s not much else we can do today but continue to clear the site of all the debris.
We put aside anything we find that survived the conflagration, but there’s very little.
I find a gremlin bell that Rattler claims, and for some reason, hadn’t put on his bike.
It was a gift he’d felt too daft to use.
But the fact that it had come through unscathed, I think might have changed his mind now.
Dusk falls in the late afternoon as it’s getting close to winter, so once we’ve done everything we can, brothers congregate in the clubroom.
I make my excuses, as there are more than enough men to make our California brothers feel welcome.
I’m anxious to get back to my woman and find out how Trip’s therapy has gone.