Chapter Seventeen
Archer
P ULLING UP TO the club, I parked and Echo unbuckled her seatbelt. “Do you trust me?”
“When you say it like that, the answer’s no.”
She laughed. “I have a surprise, which requires a blindfold, so I need one of your bandanas please. We’ll get the stuff later.”
After getting out of the truck, I handed her a bandana and after she secured my blindfold, Echo led me into the clubhouse.
“What the hell is this all about?” I asked.
“All will be revealed in just a moment. For now, let me guide you and watch your step.”
“I can’t watch anything ,” I replied.
“You know what I mean. Okay, just a few more steps. And… stop.”
Echo then instructed me to remove my blindfold which I did, revealing a clubhouse stuffed with bikers. It felt like the entire Portland chapter was in attendance. Maybe they were.
The whole room erupted with applause and cheers.
“The fuck is goin’ on here?”
Echo looked so happy, her face practically glowed. “It’s your naming ceremony.”
“Naming ceremony?” I cocked my head. “What?”
Most Dogs are given club names when they patched in and became full members.
Over the years, member names had been earned and given in a variety of manners and often had a degree of ‘piss taking’ as Maisie would say.
Some of us, however, manage to slip past receiving a name.
Members like Cash, Maverick, and I grew up in the club.
By the time we were members, all the older guard were used to calling us by our names.
And let’s face it, our parents gave us club friendly birthnames as it was.
So, believe me when I say that a naming ceremony was the last thing I imagined I was walking into.
My parents were standing next to me and Echo, and my father signaled for everyone to quiet down.
“It’s recently come to my attention that my son’s birthname isn’t good enough for some of you,” he said to laughs all around.
“Well, his mother named him so you can all go fuck yourselves. However, after a lifetime in this club, Archer has done something noteworthy enough to earn a proper club name.”
Once again, the room broke out into hoots and hollers.
My father continued, “You all know Archer to be a stand-up guy and a loyal brother. He’s also kind to animals and helps little old ladies cross the street, but that’s all his mother’s influence. But truthfully, I couldn’t be prouder of him as a son and as a club brother.”
“But that’s not why we’re honoring him here tonight,” my mom joined in. “It’s not Archer’s integrity and loyalty that’s brought us all here tonight, although he’s certainly earned praise for both. No, tonight we’re here to honor Archer, the artist. The creative visionary, if you will.”
On cue, Hatch held up my teapot for the room to gaze upon, generating the biggest cheers yet. The back of my neck and my ears burned with red hot embarrassment. There was nothing I could do but smile, hang my head, and take the beating.
Echo squeezed my hand, laughing manically.
“I can’t believe you’re in league with these people,” I said.
“So,” my father continued. “In honor of my son, his newfound love for pottery, and most importantly his passion for high tea, by the power vested to me by the Dogs of Fire Motorcycle Club, I hereby dub him, ‘Bagger.’”
“Bagger?” I asked through the applause.
“Be thankful, kid,” Dad replied. “You were this close to being called ‘Tea Bag.’”
“Bagger it is,” I said .
Hatch then stepped forward and handed me my new nametag.
“Thanks, Prez,” I said.
He put his hand on my shoulder. “All jokes aside, you’ve grown up to be a good man to share the road with. I’m proud of you.”
Mom then addressed the room one last time.
“Now that you’ve all had your fun at my baby boy’s expense, I’d like to remind you that Echo is legitimately an artist and that her work is for sale on her new website.
The address is on the chalkboard over the bar.
Pick up something nice for your mother or your old lady.
All proceeds go directly to charity, so I expect every single one of you to buy something before you leave here tonight. ”
A barrage of ‘Yes, ma’am,’ ‘Whatever you say ‘Momfather,’ and chin lifts came back to her.
“I can’t believe you just did that.” Echo said.
“You’re family now, and this club takes care of its family members,” Mom replied.
Then, just when I thought the focus had been taken off me and that my beating was over, Buzz’s voice came over the P.A. system.
“Here’s a song for our teetotaling guest of honor by a legendary group who even had their own biker in it. You all know the words, so sing really fuckin’ loud!”
The 70s disco anthem ‘Macho Man’ by the Village People blasted out over the clubhouses two-thousand watts per side sound system.
Then on cue, and clearly rehearsed, when the chorus dropped the entire club sang “Matcha, matcha man. I want to be a matcha man,” in reference to the popular Asian green tea.
All I could do was laugh my ass off. I couldn’t believe the club cared enough about me to go through the fucking trouble.
“This is all you and my mother, isn’t it?” I asked Echo.
“She said I’m now a ‘Made Woman.’”
“You’ve kissed the ring of the Don Mom?” I sighed. “God help us all.”
Echo let out a quiet snort. “God can’t help any of you now.”
“Jesus, woman.” I bust out laughing. “I love you.”
She grinned. “Love you too.”
“Trina’s here,” Mom said, as she passed us.
“Who’s Trina?” Echo asked.
Before I could answer her question, Trina walked in.
With Floyd following her.
Echo let out an excited gasp and rushed to greet him. “Floyd! What are you doing here?”
He grinned, his hands raising as though he might flap them, but Echo took one and squeezed, and he calmed immediately. “Hi, Echo. Dani asked me to pick up their neighbor. Have you met Lindsay?”
She shook Lindsay’s hand. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s lovely to meet you too, sweetie.”
“Hey, Trina,” I said, pulling her in for a hug.
“Wait, I thought you just said your name was Lindsay,” Echo said .
“The Carvers call me Trina,” Lindsay said. “It’s a funny story.”
“I’ll fill you in while Mom and Trina introduce Floyd around,” I said.
“Maybe we should stay with Floyd,” Echo said.
“Can Echo come?” Floyd asked, and I grinned.
“Sure, buddy.”
For the next hour, I was forced to share my woman with Floyd and since she beamed with joy, I couldn’t begrudge his time with her.
He hadn’t seen her in over a week and I know he missed her.
I got it.
Hell, I’d miss her if I was away from her for even one day.
“Bagger, Hardcase, my office,” Hatch bellowed, and it took me a beat to realize he was talking about me.
“I’ll keep Echo company,” Mom promised.
“I’ll be right back.” I kissed Echo gently and reluctantly left her to join my nemesis in Hatch’s office.
“Have a seat,” he said, and I sat, while Hardcase leaned against the wall.
Idiot.
“Are you hearing impaired or did you earn your name because you can’t follow orders?”
Hardcase took the seat next to me.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Look, I don’t want to rain on your party, but you’re both here tonight so I’ll make this quick.”
I nodded .
Hatch leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. “The built-up roof on Big Ernie’s is being replaced next week, and I know two assholes who are going to join the crew.”
“Who’s that?” Hardcase asked, obviously playing dumb.
Hatch nearly took the bait. “That’s the exact kind of wise-assery that I’m hoping a couple of days in the sun, shin deep in tar and gravel will be exorcised outta you two.
I won’t have descension in my ranks, so the two of you are gonna work out whatever the fuck you need to work out up on that roof.
I don’t care how long it takes, but your shit isn’t gonna be settled inside my club anymore.
” He speared us each with a glare. “Got it?”
“Crystal clear,” Hardcase said.
“Affirmative, boss,” I grumbled.
“Good,” Hatch said. “The roofing crew is gonna be there at seven a.m. sharp on Monday, you need to be there to open the gate, better yet, be there at six forty-five in case they show up early.”
I glared at Hardcase but didn’t comment.
“You do everything the foreman says, no exceptions,” Hatch continued. “He tells you to pick up trash with your ass cheeks, you do it. If he tells you to stir the tar with your faces, do it.”
“I’m sure you know all about gettin’ a hot facial, don’t ya, Hardcase?” I taunted.
“Just for that, be there at six-thirty,” Hatch snapped. “Now, get the fuck outta my office and go enjoy the party.”
I stormed out and headed straight for Echo .
“Jesus,” Mom breathed out as I approached. “What’s wrong?”
“Not worth going into it.”
“I’m starving. Can we grab a burger?” Echo asked.
“Yeah, baby, let’s get you whatever you want.”
As we started toward the back sliders, Echo grabbed my hand and pulled me into one of the conference rooms, locking the door behind us.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, leaning against the table.
I dragged my hands through my hair. “Fuckin’ Hardcase.”
“The guy you were fighting with a few weeks ago?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d he do?”
“Fucked around and found out, and now I’m pourin’ tar on Big Ernie’s roof with him because he’s an asshole.”
“Wait, Big Ernie’s has a tar roof?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“Baby, you’re missin’ the point,” I hissed.
“Oh, right, sorry. I’m incensed on your behalf. Hardcase is a dick.” She held her hand out to me and I took it. “Tell me what happened.”
I filled her in on everything and she let out a quiet whistle.
“Do you even know how to pour tar?” she asked.
“No, but I’ll figure it out. The important part is I will be missing out on clients and stuck with this asshole for two days. Devlin’s gonna be pissed.”
“Why would Hatch do that?”
“He apparently wants us to work our shit out.”
She wrinkled her nose. “My mom put me and Delta in one of our Dad’s T-shirts when we’d fight.”
“Like, together?”
She nodded. “We’d have to clean our rooms in a straitjacket of sorts and couldn’t take it off until both our rooms were spotless and we’d apologized to each other.”
“Did it work?”
“Sort of. We got really good at faking it, but Mom had peace, so she was happy.”
“I don’t really think that’s Hatch’s goal. Us faking it, I mean.”
“Probably not.”
“He genuinely wants us to work our shit out.”
“And you don’t think you can do that?”
“No way in hell. Hardcase is a fucking knuckle dragging Neanderthal.”
She slid her arms around my waist. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it. Just gotta suck it up and do what my president tells me to do.”
“How long do you need to stew about this?”
“You think I need to stew?”
She chuckled. “I’ve learned that you always need a little time to rage, Arch—um, Bagger.”
“I do?”
She bobbed her head. “Yes. I’ve averaged it out to about twenty minutes or so, and then you seem to let it roll off your shoulders.”
“In that case, let’s assume I need half an hour,” I grumbled.
She smiled gently, pulling me closer. “Whatever you need.”
I buried my face in her neck and closed my eyes.