Page 27 of Johny B

I instantly recognize the decal on the back of the vehicle as one that I’ve seen not that long ago.

It had only been a few days after I’d arrived at the Nevada clubhouse, that I’d notice a van parked down the side of thebuilding. I’d asked Stone, who was making his way towards it, what they were having delivered from a printing company, as the signage depicted. He’d explained that they have an agreement with the owner of the company who gives them free use of his vehicles whenever the YOMC required it.

Apparently, the deal has been going on for some years after the club got him out of a life-threatening situation. Seeing as they are the perfect cover, the club uses them to transport guns and drugs while conducting their own ‘business’ deals.

So, why was one of the vehicles pulling up to the loading bay now?

Once the van is fully backed up into the bay, the engine cuts. Both cab doors fly open and out fall three guys, one of them being Fox. I’ve seen the other two guys hanging around here, but other than a nod of the head in acknowledgement, I haven’t spoken to them. Both of them are bloodied up. One is cradling his arm against his torso, his face screwed up in pain. It’s clearly dislocated.

It’s obvious they’ve been in some kind of fight, although Fox doesn’t look to have a scratch on him. That is until he walks towards us and, once closer, I can see a puffiness around his left eye, that in a couple of hours is going to be as black as coal, and a deep split to his bottom lip.

“I guess you came up against some resistance?” An unfamiliar voice comes from behind us. I hadn’t even heard the footsteps against the concrete floor. The Irish lilt to the voice, and the way all the guys seem to straighten up, even Mal and Fox, and their eyes instantly focus past me, and I know it’s him.

At last, I get to meet the elusive Paddy ‘Jimmy’ Dunne, and the head honcho of the Death Valley Irish.

“Then again, I didn’t think for one minute that Smoke’s lot would have handed over the goods without a fight.” My earsprick up at the mention of the Nevada Prez, but I keep my face stoic. “How many were they?”

“Two in the vehicle,” Fox replies, wiping the blood that’s started to ooze a little from his lip, with the sleeve of his black hoodie. “They had a couple of guys on motorcycles as backup, but Daryl managed to shoot out their tyres when they came up level with us, and before they’d managed to get off a shot. The speed we were all going at, they went down hard, I’d be surprised if they got back up.” Fox sneers. “Dirty fucking bikers.”

It takes all my strength to stop me from clenching my fist and burying it into Fox’s fat mouth, making that split twice as wide. I want to make him bleed.

“Good work.” Dunne slaps Fox on the shoulder, showing his approval. “Mal, make sure, once the van is offloaded, there’s nothing that can lead it back to us, then dump it. When the cops find it in a couple of days and check it over, only Outlaw evidence will be detectable. Might as well rub some salt into the deep cut we’ve just hacked into their business.” He waves a hand towards the two injured guys. “Get cleaned up, and for fuck’s sake, get someone to drop him at the hospital to sort that arm out,” he points to the one groaning in pain. “Get them to pop that fucker back in.”

“I can do it,” I intervene, moving forward and nearer to Dunne. “I was forever throwing my shoulder out back in my college football days. It’ll be quicker and less painful than making the drive.”

Dunne eyes fall to me as he tries to weigh me up. Mal shows his displeasure at my speaking up by scowling at me. I ignore him and keep my attention fixed on Dunne.

The air is thick with tension. Dunne’s eyes are still rigidly fixed on me, but his expression gives nothing away.

“You’re Jackson,” he barks harshly. “The new recruit that Mal brought in.” It’s not a question. More of a statement.

“That’s me.” I throw back a little cockily.

A deep crevice appears between his eyebrows. His eyes stormy, and I brace myself for an onslaught. Suddenly, he wastes no time closing the gap, his forehead smooths out and his mouth curls, opening into a toothy smile.

“Cocky shite aren’t ya now?” he laughs, swinging his arm around my shoulder.

“I prefer confident to cocky.” I lift my chin a little higher, showing that I’m not the slightest bit intimidated by him.

“Jesus!” he laughs again. “Do you know how fecking refreshing that is?” He leans in closer and mumbles under his breath so that only I can hear him. “I’m sick of these arse lickers. Not got a decent set of balls between em.” He takes a step back and points his index finger at me. “You on the other hand, seem different. I like that. I think we’re going to get on.”

“And who are you exactly?” I enquire with little facial expression and a slight tilt to my head. I come across as an arrogate ass, but then again, I am.

His eyebrows shoot so far up his forehead that they nearly disappear into his hairline. His mouth falls open in surprise, and an equal amount of annoyance as his eyes roam my face, trying to decipher who the actual fuck I think I am.

“Only joking,” I give out a hearty laugh. “It’s nice to meet you at last. Now, do I call you Jimmy, Paddy or Mr. Dunne?”

“Fucker!” he chuckles, giving me a slap on the back. “You, my friend. You can call me Paddy like all the rest of these reprobates. But don’t think just because I like you it gets you any special privileges.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, I’m just glad that I’m part of all this.” I wave my hand towards Deck, who is still pathetically whimpering in pain. “You want me to sort this?”

“No!” Deck snaps at the same time as Paddy nods, before turning and walking back to where he’d appeared from. Fromhere I can see a set of metal stairs that lead to what must be where he hangs out while here. The wall is a bank of glass windows giving a perfect view over this side of the warehouse. What goes beyond that wall, I intend to find out in time.

“Buddy, just give me your hand,” I turn my attention back to Deck, holding out my hand to him. “Trust me.”

“Deck, just let him do it,” Mal speaks up. “Turning up at the ER at this time of night, there’s going to be questions, and we can do without the fucking hassle.”

Deck huffs out like a reluctant kid but holds out his arm toward me, albeit tentatively. I wrap my fingers around his wrist, taking a firm hold. “So how the fuck did you do this?” I ask, distracting him.

---