Page 46 of Red's Peril: Part 1

“Hot out there?” I grin at him.

“You know it, Brother.”

A rumble of thunder sounds, making me add, “At least you got back in time.”

Tucson’s summer monsoons aren’t for pussies. I’ve learned to keep wet-weather clothing in my saddlebags as the storms seem to spring up from nowhere and aren’t conducive to riding bikes. If it’s not the sandstorm that blinds you, it’s the floods from the washes that only a fool would attempt to drive through. Many’s the time I’ve had to wait out a storm, stuck on the road unable to get anywhere.

Taking out my pack of cigarettes, I offer him one. When he takes it, we both light up.

“What time is the Vegas crew getting here?” he asks, drawing smoke into his lungs. His eyes close as though to better appreciate the nicotine hit.

As lightening lights up the clubhouse, I glance up then back down, and wryly offer, “A little later than expected, I suggest.”

He gives a booming laugh. “Too fuckin’ right, Brother. You know what Brick wants?”

“Not a fuckin’ clue. Just a sit-down with Drummer is all I’ve heard.” Brick is the prez of the Satan’s Devils chapter in Nevada. He’s riding in later today with Rainman, his VP.

It’s not unusual for the mother chapter to have other clubs visiting, but normally we have a heads-up as to why and have already discussed our response around the table. On this occasion, if Drummer knows, he’s keeping the cards close to his chest.

“Whatever it is, it won’t affect us, Brother,” I tell Wraith confidently, flicking ash into the ash tray.

“Fuckin’ weather.” Slick announces his entrance by flinging the clubroom door open so hard the frame shudders, and he comes in shaking rain off his shoulders while running a hand over the drops of water dripping from his bald head. “Hey, Prospect? Get me a fuckin’ beer and a towel.”

“Coming right up!” Dale, our latest prospect, a clever guy who seems to have a good head on his shoulders, jumps to comply.

Slick sits down beside Wraith, dripping water all over him.

“Asshole,” Wraith remarks, shifting along. Then he eyes the prospect as the required items are delivered to Slick. “He was a good find,” he remarks quietly as Dale walks off, and Slick polishes his head with the towel.

He’s not wrong there. Dale’s got the right attitude and I suspect he’ll go far in this club. At first, I suspected he was far too soft. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, but he’s proven he’s got the backbone needed, and isn’t not slow to stand up for himself.

“Whatcha gossiping about?” Slick starts drying his arms and hands.

“We’re wondering about the reason for Brick’s visit,” I tell him.

Slick pauses, holding the towel to his face, his eyes peering at us over the top. “You don’t know? He’s recruiting.”

Wraith and I glance at each other. “What?” we both ask at once. “And you know this how?” I narrow my eyes.

Slick gives his easy grin and looks not at all contrite. “Blade was on the phone to Drummer. I might have overheard him.”

“Well, I’m going fuckin’ nowhere. Vegas isn’t for me.” Wraith leans back, kicking out his long legs. “Too full of fuckin’ tourists following their get-rich-quick dreams.”

“Too noisy,” Slick agrees.

“Yeah, I don’t much fancy the place, too full of suckers.” My mind goes back to the days when my only goal was to get somewhere warmer, and how I’d decided not to give Las Vegas a try. My reasons haven’t changed. I love Arizona and will be quite content to stay here until I die.

“Who do you think would go?” Wraith creases his brow.

“Who do we want to get rid of?” I chuckle in response.

“Dart?” Slick suggests, mentioning our newly patched in member. “Last in, first out?”

“I like the fucker,” I protest. In truth, I don’t want anyone to leave. I’ve gotten too used to calling them brother.

This time it’s Wraith who gets out the cigarettes and offers them around. Both Slick and I take one. After we’ve all inhaled smoke into our lungs, Slick lets out a slow whistle.

“Who the fuck’s that with Pussy?”

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