18. Garret
GARRET
The Cardinals were down by three in the seventh and I couldn't have cared less. I'd been sitting on my couch for two hours staring at the tv without registering a single pitch, turning the same problem over in my head until the edges were worn smooth.
My cut was at Sara's house. I'd left it spread on the grass behind the engine shop and I needed it back before the club rode this weekend, because if Lightning noticed I wasn't wearing it he'd start asking questions.
And if those questions led back to Sara I'd have a bigger problem than a missing patch.
How many times over the past three days had I tried to send a message to her to let her know I needed it?
When I rolled by the diner and saw her bike there, I just kept riding.
Facing her felt impossible now, and foolish.
Andrew held a gun on me to chase me off—an actual gun.
It didn't matter if Sara and I wanted this thing to work.
Clearly, her brothers felt the same way Peter did.
And Lightning would make things ten times worse anyway. It wasn’t safe for Sara to be in my life at all. It never had been, and I'd been stupid enough to let myself crave her.
I picked up my phone and typed out a message again, and this time I left the emotion and explanation out of it. It was direct and to the point to send a message that needed to be sent, and it wouldn't send any mixed signals. At least I hoped it didn't.
Garret: 7:14 PM: I need my cut back. Can you meet me behind the Griddle tomorrow after your shift?
I set the phone on the couch cushion and went back to trying to distract myself with the ball game.
The batter struck out and the inning ended, and I was reaching for my beer when headlights swept across the front window of my trailer.
The rumble of a few bikes rattled the old bones of this dump and a few seconds later, Butch and Rusty came through the door without knocking.
Butch had a pack of cigarettes in one hand and a six-pack in the other, and Rusty was already pulling a joint from behind his ear.
They were joking about something, laughing it off as they strolled into my living room and took up residence like they owned the place, which wasn’t abnormal after my wreck.
They were the only two club members who acted like they cared much at all for me.
"You watching the game?" Butch asked, dropping onto the other end of the couch.
"Trying to," I said, bringing my beer to my lips to slurp it. Neither one of them noticed the scowl on my face or my missing cut. Or if they did, they said nothing about it.
"Cardinals are getting killed." He cracked a beer and handed it to me, then cracked one for himself and took a long drink before settling back into the cushions.
Rusty grunted and nodded at the screen saying, "They gotta put in their back up pitcher.
This guy is a joke. He can't throw nothin'.
" I didn't have an opinion considering I wasn't really watching the game nor following along with the season.
It could've been figure skating on the thing for all I cared.
"You hear what happened with the new prospect?" Butch asked before taking a few pulls from his beer. I'd been hiding out for so long club life seemed to move on without me lately, more so than when I was laid up.
"Which one?" I asked.
"The kid from Hollister. Tall, skinny, had a beard that looked like Shaggy…" Butch shook his head and set his beer on his knee. "Lightning beat the living hell out of him yesterday over at the shop—in front of everybody."
"For what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. It was just like Lightning to teach a prospect a lesson but a beating that warranted gossip about it wasn't like him.
Rusty lit the joint and took a drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before he answered.
"Kid mouthed off about something during a parts run. Nobody's clear on the specifics, but whatever he said, Lightning didn't appreciate it. Put him on the ground and kicked him twice in the ribs before Hank pulled him off."
"Twice in the ribs," Butch repeated. "Kid's twenty years old, Crank. He's been prospecting for three weeks and Lightning caves his ribs in over a smart remark. What kind of message does that send to every other kid thinking about prospecting for us?"
It sounded to me like these two felt the same way I felt about our second in command. Lightning was out of control, and he had been for months, maybe years.
"Where's the kid now?" I asked, finishing my beer before reaching for another. Hearing how Lightning was overreacting didn't bolster my confidence in any hope of a relationship with Sara at all.
"Gone." Rusty passed the joint to Butch. "Packed his stuff and rode east. Word is he's prospecting for the Locusts now."
"You're kidding me."
"Wish I was," Rusty said, settling into the recliner by the window. He put his foot up on the end of the coffee table and coughed a little. "We handed the enemy a guy who knows our faces, our routes, and where half of us live, all because Lightning can't keep his hands to himself."
Losing a prospect to the other side was bad enough on its own, but losing one who'd been inside our operation, even briefly, was the kind of mistake that had consequences down the road. Lightning knew better than that. What had gotten into him to make him lose control so bad?
"This feud's gettin' dumber by the week," Butch said.
"You realize that, right? We've been going back and forth with these guys for four years and nobody's any closer to finding out who killed Mandy.
We're burning money and manpower on bar fights and territory disputes that don't move the needle, and I heard two locusts went to jail over that bar fight in Vincent we snuck out of. "
"Better them than us, but that kid seemed to understand the stakes," I said.
"Exactly my point." Butch leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "We're losing people, Crank. Good people. And for what?"
"It's not about what we're losing," Rusty said. "It's about who keeps pushing for more. You notice Lightning's always the one calling for the next hit? Every time things start cooling off, he's right there stirring the pot and getting Fox riled up again."
Rusty shrugged and motioned at his joint, which Butch still pinched between his fingers. "Who knows? Maybe he thrives on the chaos. Maybe he needs Fox focused on the Locusts instead of paying attention to what's happening inside the club."
He took the joint back from Butch and pulled on it. "Fox has been swinging between depressed and homicidal for years. He's grieving his wife and he wants blood, and as long as somebody keeps pointing him at the Locusts, he's not looking anywhere else."
I held my tongue rather than jump into this thing with both feet and my eyes closed.
If word got back to Lightning that we were talking about him, he'd come after me, no doubt.
But my stern glower must've told them I didn't appreciate how they were talking.
These guys were pointing out facts, not accusing anyone.
Rusty blew smoke toward the ceiling. "I'm saying he benefits from the feud more than anyone else in the club, Crank… Every time he sends us in and we whip someone's ass, Lightning looks like the savior, and Fox eats it up."
Butch nodded but didn't add to it. The Cardinals gave up another run but neither of them reacted to it. And I let my mind wander for a few seconds. They were right about one thing. Lightning had Fox snowed for sure. If we stood back and didn’t retaliate to anything the locusts were doing, they’d simmer down and eventually forget about us, but we kept getting sent back to rile them up again.
That was Lightning's doing, nobody else's.
"There's more," Butch said after a minute. "Lightning's been talking about hitting the Locust clubhouse. And not just a shakedown. He wants to burn it down."
I set my beer on the coffee table. "He told you that?"
"He told everyone at church last Tuesday before you got there. Said it's time to stop playing defense and take the fight to their front door."
Butch finished his beer and set the empty on the floor. "Fox didn't say yes, but he didn't say no either, and that's as good as a green light when Lightning's the one doing the asking."
"If he burns their clubhouse," I said, "it won't be a feud anymore."
"No, it won't," Butch agreed. "It'll be a war. A real one with real bodies, and we'll be the ones who started it."
"And the cops will finally have a reason to come down on all of us," Rusty added. "Not that they've been much help in the past, but an arson investigation is different from a bar fight. They'll bring the feds in for that."
Nobody said what we were all thinking, which was that Lightning's plan was reckless and none of us had the rank to stop it. He was second in command, and Fox was too blinded by grief to see that his right-hand man might be leading the club off a cliff.
And with Lightning running the show, attacking our fresh blood like they're the enemy, now was not the time to stake a claim to Sara.
He'd already warned me off her once. Defying him would mean a beating of a lifetime, not to mention being stripped of my patch and sent down the road.
I'd have no place to go again, and this time there was no Peter Ducette to take me in.
"We should get going," Butch said, finishing his beer and standing up. "Early ride tomorrow. Lightning wants everyone at the shop by seven to prep."
"I'll be there," I said.
Rusty offered me the joint, but I waved him off, so he followed Butch to the door. "Keep your head on straight, Crank. Whatever happens next, we're going to need you thinking clearly."
"When do I not think clearly?" I asked.
"I could name a few times," Butch said with a grin.
Then they were out the door. Their bikes fired up and the sound of them faded down the road until the trailer park was quiet again, but my mind was louder than ever.
It was obvious how much I wanted her—probably loved her if I was truthful with myself—and protecting her was more important than my ego and what I wanted. Lightning was out of control. Sending Sara away was better for her though it hurt like hell to admit it.
So when my phone buzzed and I saw her name on my screen I picked my phone up to read the message.
Sara: 8:02 PM: I'll have your cut. I'm sorry about Andy. He had no right to come out there with a gun and I told him as much. Thank you for listening to me the other night. It meant more than you know.
I read the message twice and set the phone face down on the cushion beside me. This would be the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I honestly had to tell my own heart no. I couldn’t have her. Because I had to keep her safe from men like me, just the way Peter wanted.
I'd finally come around to see his reasoning, and I hated myself for ever putting her in harm's way.