Chapter Two
“What the hell took you so long? We gotta get this job done today,” Throttle said as he opened the driver’s side of the pickup.
“Some chick had a fuckin’ attitude at the nursery. Did you know Owen is outta town?” Rags went around the back of the truck and pulled down the tailgate.
“No.”
“Exactly,” Rags said as he threw down two bags of mulch on the flat cart. “And she thought she was so fuckin’ smart. Like she’s in tight with Owen or something.” He threw two more bags down.
“Watch it, dude. You’re gonna break open the mulch, and that’ll be a real pain in the ass. Why are you so wound up ’bout Owen being outta town?”
“I told you it’s that chick’s damn attitude. And there wasn’t a single bag of Irongate on the shelf. I had to buy this shit.” He kept slamming bags onto the pile.
Throttle craned his neck and looked over at the cart. “Eden’s a good brand.”
“That’s not the fuckin’ point.”
“Irongate’s mulch and fertilizers were recalled. They were contaminated.”
Rags stopped in his tracks. The muscles at the back of his jaw pulsed. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Why the fuck didn’t you know? Anyway, what the hell’s the difference?”
“Never mind. Let’s just get the damn job over with.” The sales clerk’s satisfied smile flashed through his mind.
Throttle guffawed and clasped his buddy on the shoulder. “This chick was hot and stacked, wasn’t she? Damn, dude. She got to you.”
“No chick gets to me, especially her. Let’s get this work done. I have things to do tonight.”
“Like what, jerk off with that sweetie on your mind?” Throttle laughed.
“If you keep this up, we’re gonna have a problem.” Anger pulsed through him. “I’m going to my parents for dinner, if you have to know.”
“So that’s your big night?” Throttle said, rocking back on his boot heels while a slow grin plastered across his face.
“One more crack, dude, and my fist is gonna wipe that damn smirk off your face,” Rags huffed as he brushed past Throttle. Gripping the cart’s handles, he pushed forward, ignoring Throttle’s guffaws.
Three hours later, Rags threw the empty bags of dirt and mulch into the truck’s bed while Throttle paid Willy and Pedro their wages.
When Rags and Throttle first began their landscaping business, jobs and contracts were slow coming in, but over the past few years, the reputation of their company grew and they had to take on seasonal help to handle the increase in jobs.
Willy and Pedro were reliable, trustworthy, and not afraid of hard work, a combination that was hard to find in most of the day laborers they hired.
Many of the workers came and went, so both he and Throttle appreciated the steadfastness of Willy and Pedro.
“We’re gonna have to grab a few beers sometime,” Throttle said.
“Any time is good for me,” Pedro said as he shoved the wad of bills into his jeans pocket.
“You guys helping out with the fall festival?” Willy asked.
Rags nodded. “You coming?”
“Is it still family-friendly?”
Rags laughed. “For the most part.”
“You gonna have those girls that live at your clubhouse there?”
“It’s a free world, right?” A slow smile spread across Rags’s face. “I mean, we got some shit that’ll be happening after the sun goes down. It won’t be where the main crowd hangs out.”
“Is it open to non-bikers?” Pedro asked.
“Hell, I got a bike,” Willy said.
“Bring it. We’re gonna have an area where bikes will be displayed. Also some racing,” Throttle said.
“Just stay away from the biker chicks, right?” Pedro said.
“Only the ones with our MC. There will be a lot of citizen babes who are into bikers. Those sweeties aren’t off limits.” Rags unscrewed the top of a bottle of water then guzzled the liquid down.
“Just don’t piss off any of the Insurgents,” Throttle said.
Rags crushed the bottle and threw it in the back of the truck. “Don’t even look at them. But you already know all that shit.”
Willy and Pedro nodded.
“That goes for any other biker who has a three-piece rocker on his cut. We’re expecting a few one-percenter clubs to show up.” Rags pulled the ignition keys out of his pocket.
Willy laughed. “I’m bringing my wife and kids, so we’re just gonna stick to the main area. Last year’s event was pretty tame.”
Rags nodded. “It’ll be the same this year until the public goes away, then the bikers will have their fun.”
The fall festival that took place in October on Elmer Myer’s ranch had grown over the last five years.
Elmer and Banger, the president of the Insurgents MC, had been buddies since high school.
Elmer had a passion for Harleys, and over the years had amassed an impressive collection.
When his six-year-old grandson was diagnosed with cancer eight years ago, it threw Elmer’s whole family for a loop.
His heart broke when his son first told him the news with tears rolling down his cheeks. Seeing his son cry tore Elmer in two.
The endless rounds of treatments and long stays at Children’s Hospital in Denver had not only drained his son and daughter-in-law emotionally but financially as well.
Elmer’s son joined a support group, and Elmer was surprised to learn that there were several bikers who were going through a similar experience.
Six years later and his grandson was thriving.
Elmer helped his son pay the large amount of medical bills, and that was when he got the idea to start a charity to raise money for biker families whose kids were diagnosed with cancer and needed help paying the bills.
He approached Banger with the idea and the Insurgents president was all in.
Over the years, the fall festival grew to include vendor booths, live music, motorcycle shows, charity rides, and tattoo competitions.
It was one of the bigger festivals in the area and brought in a lot of money for the charity.
Citizens worked side-by side with the Insurgents MC.
For the most part, it was a weekend of family fun until the sun set, then the bikers closed off the area and partied outlaw-style.
The sheriff and his deputies were a visible presence while the fairground was open to the public, but when the sun went down, they headed back to town.
Over the years, the sheriff and the Insurgents had a tacit understanding and a degree of unspoken cooperation: The MC would refrain from engaging in the sale and distribution of hard drugs and the sheriff’s department would look the other way, basically tolerating the Insurgents’ existence and activities as long as they didn’t break the agreement by dealing in hard drugs.
For years the outlaws co-existed with Pinewood Springs law enforcement without too much friction.
“My kids are looking forward to it,” Willy said.
“Bring them around to the bikes and I’ll let them hop on mine to get a feel for it,” Throttle said.
“Same goes for me,” Rags said.
“Andy will love that. Sera’s into the jewelry, like her mom.” Willy laughed.
“Does that go for me? My two boys are always pointing out motorcycles on the streets or parking lots. They’re beginning to recognize some of you guys’ bikes,” Pedro said as he opened the driver’s door to his Silverado.
“Fuck, yeah, dude,” Rags replied.
A wide smile spread across Pedro’s face. “I’ll have to make sure my wife doesn’t see them hanging around the motorcycles. She hates when my American Rider magazine comes every month. I gotta hide it or we get into an argument.”
Rags laughed. “Hiding a biker mag from your ol’ lady is too funny, dude.” Throttle and Willy joined in the laughter.
Pedro shook his head. “It’s funny to you ’cause you don’t have to hear Silvia go on and on and on. It’s easier to hide the damn thing.”
“That’s why I don’t have an ol’ lady. I like my freedom too much,” Rags said as he swung up into the truck. “Gotta get going. See you tomorrow.”
Throttle ambled over to the pickup. “Are you going to Blue’s Belly on Saturday? A few of the brothers and their old ladies are going to support the local band that’s gonna be playing there.”
“Who’s the band?”
“I dunno. Chas said Addie knows the lead singer.”
“But he didn’t know the name of the band?”
“Nope. I’m sure his old lady told him, but you know how it goes.” Throttle’s lips quirked.
“Yeah, I do. Chicks tell you so much shit, how the hell can we remember it all? What kinda music do they play?”
“Covers—mostly 80s and 90s stuff. Puck, Tank, and Klutch are going.”
“I’ll probably go unless something better comes up. See ya.” Rags closed the truck’s door, started the ignition, and headed toward the clubhouse.
An hour later, showered and shaved, Rags pulled up in front of his parents’ house.
The lawn had been recently mowed, and the mixture of flowers in the pots on either side of the porch steps added a punch of color against the tan brick walls.
He and his three siblings had been raised in the house, and whenever he walked through the front door, a wave of memories washed over him.
His parents had renovated the kitchen, a couple of the bathrooms, and had repainted the walls a few times over the years, but, for the most part, the house remained largely unchanged.
Rags swung open the screen door and walked inside. “It’s not safe to leave the screen door unlocked,” he yelled out as he went into the kitchen.
The refrigerator door was open and he saw his older sister, bent at the waist, staring at the shelves.
He gripped the fridge handled and slightly pulled it. “Where’s Mom?”
A startled cry pushed through his sister’s lips as she straightened out and looked at him. “You scared the crap out of me. When did you get here?”
“Just now, and that’s why you should’ve locked the screen door.”
Pushing back a few tendrils that had fallen across her forehead, Megan shook her head. “You’re always creeping around. I didn’t even hear you.”
“Again, that’s why you should’ve locked the damn door.”
They glared at each other for a few seconds then she looked away. “I thought I did.”