Chapter 2
Even though I was the club’s president and, technically, I could be excused from working at one of the businesses due to my duties as such, I didn’t. For one reason, I led by example. Slacking wasn’t tolerated from anyone. Someone might only work part-time due to other duties, but that was it.
I loved to work in the garage. It took me back to my youth.
So much of my life truly started because of a garage.
I didn’t mind helping wherever needed, but I preferred this place.
I got my hands dirty in a different way—rather than blood, I got grease on them.
I wasn’t in charge of the business side.
That fell to Handler, while I assisted him and managed the gun sales, with everyone else helping out.
With Handler’s one arm fucked up from last night, he’d need more help today for sure.
He not only managed the garage but also turned a wrench.
Since it was a legitimate revenue maker, the others who worked there were non-club employees.
There weren’t enough members or prospects to cover everything.
Hell, we even used the cumsluts as waitresses in the roving casino and as strippers and sex workers if they wanted.
I let the work push my concerns about the Jacquot family to the back of my mind.
Until Crypto came up with something, there was no need to worry about it.
Worrying didn’t get you anywhere. As soon as we knew the truth, we’d be able to make a move one way or the other.
However, to keep them from suspecting we were onto them if they double-crossed us, I called Hugo Jacquot first thing this morning.
Hugo, in his late sixties, was the family patriarch.
He ran the family business, which included more than just gun sales, with his two sons, Jean-Baptiste and Pascal, and his nephews, Bastien and étienne.
They were a crime family out of Quebec, Canada.
Our town of Turmoil was so close to the future Nebraska International Port of the Plains, an inland port, that it made it easier for them to bring their illegal goods in and out of the country.
The port would be a center for multimodal transport and the distribution of merchandise and goods.
It was created to reduce congestion found at coastal ports.
I called at six-thirty, and I knew by the sound of his voice that I had woken Hugo up as if I gave a damn.
“You’re calling awfully early, Tyrant. It must be something important. Do you need your next shipment already?” he asked.
The reason that we’d made a deal with Arturo’s bunch was that Hugo had claimed that he couldn’t fill their order in order not to short us.
The Jacquots had an issue with a delayed shipment, so Hugo asked us to sell some of our surplus to Arturo as a favor.
It was unusual, but we were willing to do it.
Plus, he offered us a discount on our next order.
“No, we don’t need our next order. We still have the other one.”
There was the ever-slightest pause. “We should meet if you’re unhappy with the order,” he said.
“No need. I just wanted to let you know that your acquaintances needing those car parts didn’t pan out. I wouldn’t do them any more favors if they ask you to help them find more. They’re not reliable.”
Since we were talking over an open line, we had to be careful what we said—more like we were cautious because he didn’t trust his lines.
I had Crypto, so I knew ours were encrypted and couldn’t be broken.
His family did sell actual car parts, which was legitimate on the surface, so using those code words worked.
“I’m distraught to hear that, my friend. I promise I will not do business with them or send anyone else that I haven’t ensured is ready to buy to you. Is there anything I can do to make this up to you? Maybe meeting after all is a good idea.”
He sounded upset and willing to appease any anger caused.
However, I didn’t fall for it. Last night was what I got for not asking Hugo and Arturo the right questions.
My gift hadn’t been triggered due to the way they answered the questions I had asked.
Whether it was by coincidence or they’d heard of my ability, I didn’t know.
Or they were so used to mixing truth and lies so seamlessly that it came out without a hint of untruth.
That rarely happened and only with those who were pathological liars.
“That’s not necessary, Hugo. I know that you would never knowingly associate with someone so unreliable.
We’ve been working together for a good while, and I believe we have found a perfect middle ground.
It works for both of us. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to place another order.
It should be soon. Until then, tell your family I said hello.
I hate to cut this short, but I have to get to work.
You know how it is. No rest for the wicked,” I told him.
He laughed as I knew he would, though my tone wasn’t comical. “That’s so right. There isn’t. Take care, mon ami, my friend. I’ll await your call and look into that other matter. I’m not happy about that at all. Have a good day.”
“You, too,” I said before I hung up.
After that call, I got dressed and went to the garage.
I would update the rest of the club about the call at sanctuary.
It was held on Fridays after work before we got down to partying.
Most of us got off a little early on Friday, so we were back at the compound and could meet by six.
The only excuse to miss was if you were on a run for the club or out of town for another reason.
The day flew by. We were busy, and that was the way I liked it.
The civilians who worked with us were friendly, and we were the same, but there was always a line between them and us that was never crossed, and the one time it was, it had led to our prospect, Knife, joining us.
He’d worked in the main garage and had proven himself.
Knife approached us about becoming a prospect.
We agreed, and after a while, we put him to work in the chop shop for Wrangler, our secretary.
Wrangler oversaw that business for our chapter.
Before I knew it, it was time to call it a day. The other mechanics would finish the day and close at six o’clock. Handler and I left at four o’clock. That would give us time to get to the compound, shower, and maybe eat. With the traffic, it was hard to judge.
Our compound was outside town along the North Platte River.
It wasn’t one of the nicest areas of North Platte, but we chose it for that reason.
It was outside the town limits, and with land around us, the cops stayed away unless called.
Without us having nosy neighbors right up our asses, that wasn’t a huge risk.
There was so much crime in town that it was almost impossible for the police to have eyes everywhere.
For us, that was good. Our nearest neighbors liked having us there because the criminals tended to stay the fuck away from us and ours, making the surrounding area safer for them.
Not everyone who lived or had businesses in Turmoil was into illegal stuff, so it worked out.
They didn’t bother us, and we left them alone.
I knew Turmoil and chose it as the location for our chapter of the Kings of Anarchy because I served in the Navy with a friend from Nebraska. My time in the Navy with Pete had me stopping in this area and exploring a few times.
When I was asked to start a new chapter, I knew some of the brothers thought I’d stick closer to home, but this was the spot for me.
I had Pete here from my time in the Navy, and he was the one who told me about the plan to build the Port of the Plains here.
It wasn’t like I had to start with no one knowing me.
My brothers mainly came from other chapters or were nomads like I was for a short while. A few were guys I knew from my time in the military, whether they were Navy or not.
There were plenty of military bases in Texas where I’d been stationed, including the Navy, Army, Marine Corps, Coast Guard, and Air Force.
I was thankful the weather was warm enough to ride our bikes rather than be in cages.
When winter was heavily upon us, that was one downside here.
You were better off leaving your ride in the garage.
The icy roads were a hazard even if the temperature didn’t bother you.
In the spring, summer, and fall, they weren’t only fun to ride but came in handy for weaving through the crazy-ass traffic.
Riding through the heavily armored gate of our compound, I took in my surroundings.
We’d taken over an old shut-down lumberyard.
It had a front-facing perimeter composed of a ten-foot-tall concrete block wall.
The other three sides were made of metal.
We’d added razor wire at the top as an added deterrent.
It gave us several structures in place rather than building everything from the ground up by buying the lumberyard.
The admin building was converted into the clubhouse.
A couple of other buildings were converted into storage and even a vast communal garage.
We constructed the three-story townhomes with communal walls ourselves.
We used a decent amount of insulation and soundproofing materials to ensure privacy, not that most of us cared.
The non-officers and prospects lived in the clubhouse, as did a select number of cumsluts.
We’d recently started working on a second set of eight townhomes.
That one would house more members, not just officers or visitors.
The guys had a choice about whether to live in one.
I was proud of what we’d accomplished in the time we’d been here.
It wouldn’t be nearly this complete if we’d started from scratch.