The Dust and the Roar Page 12

  These were the hard times, weren’t they? The hard decisions. For Terry it meant relief, but for the rest of us conviction, fresh purpose, a new turn in the road.

  “Looks like we had our first official club meeting,” Mick said.

  I grinned. “I’ll get us a gavel at the five and dime.”

  “Let’s go to Pete’s, have a real drink,” said Willy.

  “You’ll be heading behind the bar, now won’t you?” Jump laughed, slapping a hand on Willy’s shoulders.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. I hated how Jump always insinuated shit with his cackle laugh, especially about our personal lives. It was juvenile.

  “Willy here’s been getting it on with the lonely widow,” said Jump, jerking his pelvis back and forth.

  Yep, juvenile.

  “Annie’s a good woman, asshole, and a good looking one too. You should be so lucky.” Willy marched out the door.

  In town at Pete’s, we got dirty looks as we entered the bar, but that didn’t stop us from sitting at our corner table as usual. Annie brought over a bottle of whiskey and two pitchers of beer. “I know what everyone’s saying, but it’s not your fault Kip got killed, and it’s not your fault he was drunk, it wasn’t even your party. I want you to know nothing’s changed for me. I believe in you.”

  “Thanks, Annie. That’s means a lot,” I said.

  “We appreciate it, Annie.” Mick and the rest of the guys raised their glass in salute to her.

  Annie leaned over the table. “That shit Cheezer …” she’d lowered her voice. “You know he used to deal for The Shepherd, right?”

  Willy put down his glass of beer. “Are you sure?”

  “I own a bar, don’t I? I hear shit, and I see a whole lot more.” Annie left the table.

  I downed my whiskey, all of us exchanging glances.

  Willy poured himself a refill. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Sneaky shit. He was always pushing us to be friendly with the Seeds, The Shepherd’s new flock. And now he’s taken off with them.”

  “He used to tell me he’d work off and on at his cousin’s funeral parlor in Rapid,” said Jump.

  “Yeah, that’s where he was stealing shit to cut up his drugs with. Guess he signed on with The Shepherd to double his money,” said Mick. “He’s going to get what’s coming to him.”

  A few days later, we all went to Colorado and officially became One-Eyed Jacks with Mick as our prez. Patches, colors, vests, and jackets. Guns going off. Handshakes, embraces, and one hell of a party. Bobby took on the road name of “Kicker” in honor of his crazy boot collection. We got our club tattoos at a Denver parlor that the Jacks patronized. The words “South Dakota” stared back at me in the mirror. With the final pass of the ink gun, the gleam in the skull’s eye was made even more vivid on my skin.

  Something settled deep in my core at the sight of my new ink over the landscape of my flesh. We’d brought an organization like the One-Eyed Jacks to our state. Life was fucking good and getting better.

  We rode home full of fire.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Demon Seeds contacted us. Their president, Cowboy, wanted a sit-down. Willy invited him to Meager.

  “What did you do that for?” Mick said.

  “I got an idea,” Willy replied. “They’re not bringing Cheezer back into South Dakota, right? They’ll come in force to kick up some dust, show us who’s boss. But we’re not going to be here when they arrive. We’re going to be at their clubhouse in Montana taking care of business.”

  We left for Montana after midnight. By five in the morning, we’d reached the outskirts of the small town of Cleg, west of Sydney, where their clubhouse was. We scouted out the area and waited for them to leave. They’d have to leave by seven to be at Meager by twelve noon.

  We headed to an enormous truck stop off the highway outside of Cleg where we parked our bikes in a compact row out back, out of sight. Mick and Willy wore baseball caps and sunglasses and slurped on coffees out front by the store on the lookout. An hour later, the Demon Seeds rolled by, all ten of them. Just as we’d thought, Cheezer wasn’t with them. They shot past, we moved out.

  At their clubhouse, two bikes stood on their own in the yard. Two lowly Seeds had been left behind to defend the place in their absence.

  Mick wielded his favorite clipper with an evil grin on his face and destroyed the chain and lock at the crappy metal front gate with one, two chomps of his tool. “Let’s do this.”

  We stalked inside. The place was an abandoned small ranch house that now had a ton of graffiti on the outside as well as inside. All of it red and black paintings of skulls and devils.

  “There he is,” muttered Willy.

  Sprawled on the sofa was Cheezer sleeping in his clothes, snoring, his mouth open.

  “So cozy,” I said.

  Mick traced the barrel of his gun up Cheezer’s chest. Willy slapped him, and Cheezer’s eyes rolled open. Startled. Afraid. He jacked up, squatting in the corner of the sofa.

  Murphy aimed his gun at his face. “Good morning, motherfucker.”

  “What the hell?” Cheezer wiped at the saliva trailing from the side of his mouth.

  “Where’s your jacket?” I said.

  “My w-what?” he replied.

  “Your jacket.”

  “My jacket?”

  Willy grabbed at a mound of worn leather from the floor. He’d been using it as a pillow. “Here we go.” Willy took out his knife and sliced at the federation patch on Cheezer’s jacket. The rip of the stitching filled the air.

  “What are you doing? What’s going on?” Cheezer said, rubbing at his eyes, sitting up straighter.

  “We’re claiming what’s ours.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what, asshole?” Mick said.

  “You killed an innocent civilian, a friend of ours. Then you took off,” I said.

  “You took off, leaving us to deal with a shitstorm,” said Willy.

  “You been planning on this all along, us becoming part of their club, haven’t you?” said Mick.

  “Why not?” said Cheezer.

  “And you were dealing for The Shepherd,” I said. “What else you do for him? Give him information about us and the Jacks? Were you going to sell us out for some deal?”

  “And look at him now, huh? A real king,” said Willy.

  “Yeah.” Mick brought his gun to Cheezer’s forehead. “He needs his crown.”

  Cheezer shuddered. “Come on, Mick!”

  Willy tore the last of the stitches from the patch, the rip making Cheezer let out a moan. Tucking the patch in his jacket pocket, Willy dumped Cheezer’s jacket on the floor. “We’re done with you.”

  “Hang on, man—” Cheezer’s eyes bulged.

  “The police came looking for you. We told them we didn’t know where you’d gone to, and that was the truth. Then we heard tales from people who’d spotted you out here and in Oregon,” Mick said.

  “Guys, come on, I panicked, okay? We’re friends, brothers.”

  “You’re no brother. A real brother doesn’t think only of himself,” said Mick, his voice low and controlled. “A real brother doesn’t put his brothers in danger and sell them out to their enemies.”

  A shot boomed through the room, and my heart stopped. Blood and bone pieces splattered everywhere. Cheezer was nothing more than a busted rag doll hanging off the couch.

  My body seized. Mick had shot Cheezer in the head. “Crown of blood,” muttered Mick.

  A surge of adrenaline pushed me toward the body. But there was no need to attend to the wounded. He was dead, and this was another kind of war.

  Another shot rang out, a bullet whizzing right by my neck. I swiveled, gun ready. A young Seed stood there, eyes wide, his gun aimed at me. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Mick shot at his foot, and the kid howled, stumbling forward, his gun raised up again at Mick. I lunged at him, beating him down, his grunts and groans egging me on. I tore his leat
her vest off him. The name “Vig” was stitched on a fresh, clean patch.

  “Tie him up!” said Willy.

  We dragged Vig into the kitchen and tied him to a thick pole by the stove.

  “You tell your brothers we came and cleaned up our mess, our way,” Mick said to Vig. He punched him in the head, and the kid’s body fell forward, snagging over the rope. He was out.

  In the yard, Mick lit a fire as I ripped the patch off Vig’s cut and pocketed it. My souvenir. My pulse was still going apeshit. I hadn’t expected to come here and kill. I didn’t know what the fuck I’d expected.

  “You okay?” asked Willy, a hand on my back.

  “Yeah, uh-huh.” I pocketed my knife.

  Mick’s face was pulled tight, his jaw pulsing. “Had to be done. Bastard had to die, and by our hands.”

  “More blood on top of more blood,” I murmured.

  “Had to be done!” Mick repeated, his eyes blazing at me in the heat of the fire. “Say you trusted him, come on, say it!”

  “No, I didn’t trust him,” I said.

  “He was a good time, but man, total shit show,” said Willy.

  “I—” started Jump.

  “Shut up, baby boy,” grit out Mick. “We’re out there on our own, if we can’t trust each other with our lives, then we’re nothing but garbage. That’s not why we’re together. We either got each other’s backs a hundred percent, or we die. If we don’t got loyalty, we got just plain nothing.”

  “I’m not in this for nothing,” Willy said. “This is all I got. This, us, means something to me, and I ain’t letting no son of a bitch motherfucker destroy that. Not ever.”

  My heart drummed in my chest with the emotion in his words. He was right.

  Willy put a hand on Mick’s shoulder. “Not ever.”

  Their eyes met mine.

  “You having a hard time with this, Wreck?” Mick asked. A challenge, not a question.

  “Hey. The man was a medic in the army, Mick,” said Willy. “Trained to save lives, not shoot to kill.”

  No, I wasn’t a killer, but life demanded justice. We’d done something there was no going back from. Our voices had been heard loud and clear. Cheezer was a total fucking shit show poisoning the rest of us.

  I threw Cheezer’s jacket in the fire, and sparks and black smoke burst in the air with a poff. The fire rumbled and hissed, swallowing the jacket whole.

  Greedy, greedy flames.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kicker had gotten a big bachelor party booked at the Tingle, and he was excited about it. “We do this right, we can get more of this kind of specialized business happening.”

  “Kick, you’re all up in the details, I’m sure it’ll be a solid success,” I said.

  “Something’s got to give. We got Scout on our ass about our chapter dues.”

  “Yeah, responsibilities suck.” I left the bar area where Kicker prepped shot glasses with a couple waitresses and headed outside where Willy and I would be working the door.

  Two hours later, all the party asshats had arrived in a couple of limos, most of them drunk already. We got them into their party and then went back outside to have ourselves a smoke.

  A Suburban pulled up, and the driver darted to the passenger side and opened the door. The Shepherd emerged as did three well-dressed women from the back seat. Sparkly short dresses, high heels, lots of makeup.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” He had a long white scarf slung around his neck like he was a glamorous partygoer on the Riviera.

  “Sorry, but we’re not open to the public tonight,” I said. “Private party.”

  “Oh no!” said one of the girls.

  “Shoot.”

  “Bummer!”

  “Private party?” said Shepherd moving forward, coming to a stop before us. “How interesting.”

  “How’s that?” Willy asked.

  Shepherd met his gaze. “My instinct about this place was right. It’s a good little business.”

  “It’s a local family-owned business, and that’s how it’s going to stay,” I said.

  He laughed. “Would that be One-Eyed Jacks family?”

  “What the hell do you want?” I folded my arms.

  He lifted his chin at his bodyguard, who immediately got the women back in the vehicle. “Your buddy Cheezer disappeared with my money on him and a good amount of product. I want my money back, and my shit.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “He was working for you on his own. He took off before we joined the Jacks,” said Willy. “That’s on him, man. And you.”

  “I’m owed.”

  “Since he took up with the Demon Seeds, you should take it up with them,” I said. “I’m sure they all enjoyed your blow and your cash. Y’all are friends anyhow, aren’t you?”

  Shepherd’s gaze went to my Jack’s skull patch. “The Jacks in Colorado have tried for years to go through my territory to head north and west, and I’ve never allowed it. Setting you up here in my backyard is Scout’s way of upping his ante. He can fuck himself, and so can you.”

  “That a threat?”

  “That’s your reality. All your roads lead to me, motherfucker. You need to accept that fact, like everybody else.” He took in a slow, satisfied breath as if his words had emitted a fragrant cigar smoke that he savored.

  Our roads did not lead to that motherfucker, and they never would. And I knew then as that acidic smile flickered over his lips once more that one day we would make sure of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Weeks had gone by. We’d laid low, but the town remained the same. Cold. Unfriendly.

  Annie, however, remained a loyal friend. She offered to let us flop at the large shed garage that was part of the Pete’s Tavern property. The large shed was pushed in the back behind the parking lot of the bar, hidden by trees. All she asked was that we clean out the junk that her father-in-law and husband had accumulated in there, and we could use it as our hangout and garage. And that’s what we did. We were damn lucky there was no rent to pay because now we had to save up to pay our club dues to Colorado.

  In the tavern’s shed, I found a shitload of tools and some car parts, and she told me to keep whatever I wanted, which was mighty generous of her. I even found an old still dating back to Prohibition days that had probably been used to make Pete’s famous moonshine back in the day. The shed was big and sturdy and had been weatherproofed, so storing our shit there worked out fine with a new bolt and chain on the door.

  It was a Friday evening and unusually warm, and I was hanging with Is and the guys in the backyard of the house where I lived, eating pizza and drinking beer. The owners had taken off for the weekend, and it was only me and the two elderly ladies who rented the first-floor apartment. They didn’t mind us sprawling all over the yard, especially when Willy and Mick took the time to chat with them and help them with a jammed window.

  “You’re nice boys, no matter what they say,” Mrs. Jenkins said to me as she handed me a pitcher of iced tea to bring out to everyone.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” I winked at her, and she patted me on the arm and shuffled back into her apartment.

  Kicker was laying down on the grass, hands under his head, staring up at the sky. “Most people don’t seem to be letting up on the bad vibes any time soon. Fucking sick of it.”

  Isi sat in my lap, her fingers in my hair. “They’re real loyal, always have been. You want the town to warm up to you, you should do something that shows you give a shit about the town.”

  “Like what? A please-like-us party? Fuck that,” muttered Mick.

  “No, I meant do something nice for someone in the community, someone who’s in need,” she replied.

  “Raise money for a cause?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She slid her arm around my shoulders. “You guys know Josie, the waitress at Marla’s?”

  Willy glanced at me. Josie had gotten pregnant a couple of years ago and had abruptly ended her partying ways. She had a kid now, a
boy she’d named Noah for her brother.

  “Yeah, sure,” all of us said.

  “Her little boy is sick,” said Isi.

  “Sick?” asked Willy.

  “Yeah. Leukemia.”

  My stomach fell. Little Noah? Leukemia?

  “He needs to have all kinds of treatments,” said Isi. “They have to go to a big pediatric medical center in Denver. It’s going to cost money. You could throw a fundraiser to help the family cover the expenses.”

  “A fundraiser?” said Mick. “Like have a party and charge an entry fee for it?”

  “Well, yeah, but not dancers from The Tingle doing a wet T-shirt contest sort of party,” Isi said laughing. “Maybe something that’s more … community inclusive.”

  “Community what?” asked Jump.

  “For families,” Isi said. “An event that’s about them—for them.”

  “We don’t do bake sales, honey.” Mick burst into laughter, and Jump and the others joined in.

  “Hang on—Halloween is coming up in a couple of weeks, right?” I said. “Why don’t we do a haunted house with an entry fee? I remember going to one once when I was a kid. Freaked me out and was such a good time. It was a goof, but a good goof.”

  “That would work for little kids and their parents, as well as the teenagers,” said Jump.

  “Where would we do it, though?” Kicker sat up from the ground. “It’s gotta be in Meager.”

  “We can ask Jim to use the barn on their farm this once. It’s still sitting there empty since they kicked us out. This is one night and for a good cause, and all the proceeds go to the kid,” said Willy.

  “I could ask my family about the old go-kart factory,” Isi said.

  “The Dillons own that?” I asked.

  “It was my grandfather’s. You’d have to clean it up some and use only a small section of the building. I think there might still be some machinery in there, although I think they sold most of it.”

  “People already think that place is haunted,” said Jump. “That would be so cool, man!”