Chapter Three #2
Jock looked slowly around the circle of men assembled here for no reason other than he’d said he needed them. This is the good stuff. This is the family I’ve always wanted. “Brothers, thank you.”
“Goes without saying, but Baton Rouge would be all in on this if you need. It’s not too far for a casual warehouse run either.
All you ever have to do is ask.” Cherry shrugged.
“We kinda like dogs too. And fight rings inevitably bring greater scrutiny from the law, whether that’s local, state, or federal. Something none of us wants.”
Pony grinned. “Hey, anybody here old enough to remember when Jimbo had that fundraiser for a bunch of dogs?” Jimbo was Twisted’s grandfather and a past president of the IMC, one of the founders. “My daddy said it was a regional deal. I was barely patched into the-club-that-shall-remain-unnamed—”
Wildman coughed, hand cupped over his mouth, and Jock made out the words “Vicar’s Wrath,” a club long ago disbanded and folded into IMC.
“Asshole,” Pony continued. “I was gonna say two of the rescued dogs wound up at my house. Best dogs I’ve ever owned.”
Twisted smiled, the expression a little more wistful than Jock could remember seeing before.
“Jimbo was the shit, man. He could dissect a prospect using damn few words and assail an enemy with a preacher’s skill, wrapping a lesson in sharply cutting language.
I remember that fundraiser. We did a poker run, open to all clubs, and also had a 50/50.
I wanna say Po’Boy won that. Probably half paid for his bike. ”
“We should do that again, get ahead of the need. If there is a fighting ring, there’ll be a lotta dogs to rescue.”
“Dogs that are all going to need spay or neutering, deworming, vaccines. If we can cover all that shit, it lowers the bar on adoptions.” Jock felt a thrill of excitement.
“I’m down for a poker run. If we get enough clubs signed up, we could do alternating bars and clubhouses for destinations, winding up back here at the end of the day. ”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Twisted pointed two finger guns at Jock. “I’m glad you’ve got the time to plan it, too, brother. Bam. Bam. You’re on fire today.”
“Fine, I’ll do it, but I’m picking up Maynard today, so I wanted to let you know I won’t be in the garage for a few days. Want to make sure he gets settled in at home with Tank.”
“Seriously? I want that fuckin’ bike done by whatever run this winds up being.” Twisted looked annoyed, then broke into a wicked grin. “Maybe I’ll need to borrow your bike until my new one is finished.”
“Fuck you, Prez. Not happening.” Jock shook his head. “Nope.”
Twisted threw back his head and laughed, then held his hand out for a fistbump. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Are you without a bike to ride? We can sort something, boss.” Pony looked concerned. “I know Penny’s bike is running, though.”
“No, I am not without a bike to fuckin’ ride. I just bought a new one a few weeks ago and haven’t been able to ride it yet.”
“You got a bike without even a test ride?” Wildman looked mildly amused. “Unlike you, my friend.”
“Garage rot. I picked it up at an estate sale for pennies. It’s going to be beautiful when complete, though. Isn’t it, Jock?”
“Oh, maybe. I’m only doing the mechanics of the thing.”
“No, you’re doing the whole thing, asshole.” Twisted’s brows dipped deeply, creating a furrow between his eyes. “Whole thing, Jock. It’s all on you. You better be doing what we’d talked about.”
Jock grinned. “Yes, I am, boss. It’s gonna be pretty.”
“Fuck yeah.” Twisted kicked back in his chair, balancing on two of its legs.
“Now this run. Let’s do it pretty quick.
Far enough out to make sure we get commitments from the clubs we want to invite, but not so far that it’s forgotten before it even happens.
Let’s say two, maybe three weeks? We can call the clubs today.
It being Sunday, they’ll likely all pick up.
” He let the chair fall back onto all four legs.
“Now works for me. Nice suggestion, Jock.” He grabbed Jock’s shirt sleeve, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s get rollin’.”
“Glad you’re ready, Prez.” He followed Twisted into the office room in the front, the only place in the clubhouse with a phone line.
“Wrench,” Twisted shouted, already having dialed the phone before Jock could fully enter the room. “We got a good thing going, my brother.”
And so it went for the next while, Twisted making each call, Jock taking down information, and Twisted yelling at everyone who walked by to come in and help.
After a couple hours, the room was filled to bursting, and Jock walked out to take a break.
He looked at the time and scowled. He still had to pick up Maynard from the vet and then manage the greeting between the two dogs.
He stuck his head back into the room and pointed at Twisted, who was on the phone with yet another MC president.
“What?” Twisted didn’t bother covering the speaker.
“That’s your last call, Prez. That’s Retro, right?”
“Good to hear you again, Jock.” The president of the Bama Bastards MC over in Alabama spoke loudly. “Glad to hear we’ve got a good cause for a fun run.”
“We can count in the Bama Bastards, then?” he asked, since Twisted now seemed to be cleaning his fingernails.
“Always, brother. Shoot me the date, and we’ll bring a column. Haven’t visited my Louisiana brothers in a long time.”
“Okay, now I gotta go break Maynard out of vet jail and take him home.” He looked around the room. “Thank you, brothers. Much appreciated.”
***
“So he’s good to come home?” Jock looked at Kent with dubious hope. “He’s still a mess of wounds.”
“You’ll continue the antibiotics and steroids.
That’s what’s most important medically. Getting him out of here, though?
That’s important mentally. I’ve had him out as much as I can, resting underneath the reception desk and such, but at the end of the day, it’s back to the metal kennel for him, and he knows it.
” Kent didn’t miss a beat as he measured out a bottle full of pills.
“These are three times a day. The steroid is just once a day. Don’t mix them up, or you’ll have a wired and angry little pitty on your hands. ”
“Should I have brought Tank? I did right bringing him, right?” Tank was on his left, in a sit-stay that he would only break for Gunny’s little girls.
Still, he was nearly vibrating with excitement.
Maynard was still in his cage, but he, too, was in a pretty little sit-stay that Jock had zero confidence in.
“It went well yesterday, them meeting.” It had taken place in the working cattle lots out back of the veterinary office, with each dog on a leash and in adjoining pens.
“It was through the mesh, but they both seemed good, right?”
Kent turned around and patted the air. “Even I can feel the excitement rolling off you. Bring it down a few notches, man.”
Jock sucked in a deep breath and held it, then blew it out slowly. “Better?”
“Tons better. Yes, it’s good you brought Tank. And yes, the meet and greet yesterday went really well. Today is the real test, though. I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t have the crates in the back of the truck like we’d talked about.”
“They’d be in the sun all the way home. I’ve got the back seat, and my plan is to buckle them in on opposite sides back there.
Tank’s already used to it, so the worst that’ll happen is if Maynard has his eyes set on Tank’s favorite side.
” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I want them nose to nose before we get in the truck, though. What other instructions do you have for me?”
“I like the idea of those pajamas you talked about. That’ll help keep him from licking and pulling at the wounds he can reach.
If you have a cone at home, use it if you think he needs it.
Tomorrow through Thursday should be the most intensive itching.
Steroids will help with that, but I’m also giving you a light sedative to take home in case.
Hopefully you won’t need it, but if you do, don’t hesitate to use it.
Call me if something doesn’t look great.
Hell, call me if it does. I’ll talk you down off the edge.
You’ll be back here in a week so I can check on him.
” Kent turned back to the table and started shoving filled pill bottles and folded paperwork into a bag.
“That should be all of it. Wanna get Maynard out? If you think Tank won’t break, I’ll stay over here in case you need help. ”
“Tank’s solid.” Then he second-guessed himself.
“Good sit, Tank, you sit. Stay. Tank, stay.” With a brisk nod, he took a leash from a hook on the wall and opened Maynard’s kennel wide enough to get an arm through.
The slip lead went over his head, and Jock pulled it taut. “Hell, I forgot his fucking collar.”
“Hold on, I’ve got one we’ve been using.”
Jock held out his hand and leather slapped his palm, hard enough to sting. “Ow, motherfucker.”
“Cry me a river.”
Collar in place, Jock ran the slip lead through the hook and pulled it.
“Here we go.” Pushing the door wider, he planted his feet and held tightly to the handle of the leash.
And then he wound up laughing because Maynard didn’t break his sit-stay.
“Good boy, Maynard. Good stay.” He paused a beat, then snapped out, “Maynard come,” as he took a step away from the kennel.
The dog moved with him but never took his eyes off Tank.
“Moment of truth. Maynard, sit, stay. Tank, heel.” Tank moved forwards with the momentum of his namesake, then circled wide around Maynard and Jock until he could snap into position on Jock’s left side.
“Both dogs look good to me. I think you need to be less, I don’t know, maybe less military. They’re picking up on every little bit of nerves or anxiety you’re letting leak. They need to decompress.”