Page 96 of Devil's Due

RIP, president of the Colorado chapter of the Wretched Soulz stands and reaches out his hand, clasping Demon’s by the elbow and then pulling him in to slap his back. Next, he turns to me, his eyebrow raised quizzically. “RIP. R.I.P.” He spells out his name with a grin.

“Beef.” I shake his hand.

“Judge.” Demon jerks his chin toward our companion. Having schooled him, I’m pleased when Judge folds his arms over his chest and satisfies himself with a sharp nod. Muscle isn’t expected to say anything.

“Charmer.” The man with the VP badge is next to greet me. His name would give no clue to his appearance as he’s covered in battle scars with an obviously broken nose which hasn’t been set right. Maybe his character will live up to his name, though something suggests it might not.

“Bam Bam.” Again, his cut gives me a better introduction. He’s their sergeant-at-arms. Interesting they’ve brought him.

RIP catches the eye of the bartender and holds up three fingers. They’ve already got beers on the table for themselves. Seconds later beers appear for each of us. A civilian couple wander in and make as if to sit at an adjacent table. As Bam Bam scoots back his chair noisily and stands, they change their minds quickly.

Looking from his sergeant-at-arms to us, RIP leans forward. “So, what have you got for me, Demon?”

Demon gestures to me.

I don’t miss a beat. “The woman going by Stevie Nichols. I’m claiming her.”

“Jeez.” RIP rolls back his head and stares at the ceiling. “You gonna think about that for a moment?”

“Don’t need thinkin’ time.” I shrug. “Didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. I’ve come here with Demon to smooth the way. Don’t want to find an old lady just to lose her.”

“You’re out of Tucson, aren’t ya?” Charming motions his beer toward me. Something must give him his answer, as he shakes his head. “What is it with that fuckin’ chapter that you’re all about women and kids? Give me a sweet butt every time. No commitment, and she gets the job done just how you want it.”

Manly chuckles from Bam Bam, though RIP stays quiet, glaring quickly at his VP. I take it he’s got a woman himself. Not that he admits it, but he does take over the lead in the conversation. “Ms Nichols is a problem.”

“Only for the Warped Jokers,” I say quietly, mindful of keeping my voice low. “What’s your take on them, RIP?”

He seems surprised I’ve asked him a direct question. Bam Bam stops laughing, and Charmer regards his prez seriously. RIP looks from one to the other, then at Demon, finally at me and shrugs. “They’re a pain in my ass.”

I didn’t expect him to come out and say it so openly. I sit back, putting my thumbs through my belt loops. “Here’s how I see it.” I used the personal pronoun deliberately. If RIP objects to my reasoning, he’ll see it as all mine and nothing to do with the Colorado Satan’s Devils. “Warped Jokers are everything that citizens are scared of. This latest escapade, they got caught, but not before taking out a load of innocents.” Shaking my head, I continue, “Not an MC I want to be associated with: careless, greedy and incompetent.” I don’t say committing a crime is wrong in itself, leaving them to fill in the gaps that what I object to is them getting caught. Heaven knows what the Soulz get up to, rumours are quite a lot I wouldn’t want to know about. Not that we’re angels or averse to taking a life, but only those who deserve it.

“Know your prez.” RIP points his bottle at me. “Got a lot of time for the Devils. You do walk on the government side of the line but aren’t afraid to cross it when it’s needed. Soulz might move that line a little further over, but Jokers can’t even see the road anymore, let alone the marking in the middle of it.”

Now comes the hard bit. “To citizens we’re all MCs. Especially one-percenter clubs. One does wrong, we all get pulled into it. Bad news for us all.”

“You got that fuckin’ right. Reason why we’ve got to stop your woman testifying. No conviction, no stain.” He thinks for a moment. “She’s your responsibility, if you can keep her quiet—”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’.” I feel Demon tense beside me, knowing this is where I’m getting to the hard bit. “The US Marshals have got her again. I don’t know where she is to stop her testifying.”

RIP’s face gives nothing away. If that’s not news to him, he’s not showing it. Or is he thinking she’s been easy to find once, and she will be again? Just who has these contacts with a federal agent?

“RIP, what I’m sayin’ is, maybe we should throw the Jokers to the wolves. Step back from them. Denounce them. If the Wretched Soulz withdrew their charter, then they’re adrift. Sends a message to the public and feds that we’re not all tarred with the same brush.”

“Laid a lot on me there, Brother,” he responds, casually, again, no intonation to give away his thoughts.

I know when to push, and when it’s time to step back. But I think I’ve got a chance to say one more thing before over-pressing my case. “RICO is what we’re all worried about. Step away from the Jokers, disavow their activities… It strips the feds of an excuse to go after the rest of us.”

Again, RIP’s bottle is pointed toward me. “If she testifies, your woman is dead. Mad Bull’s got friends on the inside.”

“Some of those friends are Soulz.” I raise and lower my shoulders again, and from then on, keep my mouth shut.

RIP looks down at his bottle as though the low level of beer is interesting, but I don’t miss the sideways glance he gives his VP, nor can I read any of their silent conversation. The silence draws out until it becomes almost painful. I think all of us have to suppress the urge to fill it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Demon draw in a breath, but I give a miniscule shake of my head which he interprets correctly.

Finally, RIP meets my eye. “Heard good things about you, Beef. I, personally, can see the benefits in what you’re suggesting. Not up to me, of course. Up to LA. Our chapters run independently.”

It’s rumoured the Wretched Soulz have a national prez, but no one will admit to being that man. He’d only be making himself a target. As such, the chapters are thought to run autonomously with no overall control except the same binding regs. No one outside knows how much influence one has over the other. Much like the Devils though, all chapters recognise Drummer as the National Prez, in part because he’s a clever motherfucker and they do well to seek his opinion. Also, as our chapters are smaller, it helps having someone who can rally the others around should we need their support. It’s understandable RIP can’t speak for the Los Angeles’ Soulz. He may, however, be able to influence them. I can’t ask. All I can do is hope he passes on my suggestion.

“Okay,” he puts his beer bottle down empty. “I’ll have words in ears. Can’t guarantee anything. But I’ll get your suggestion heard. Chaz up to speed?”

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