Page 48 of Red's Peril: Part 1

“With Rainman,” I state, confirming I’ve not been caught napping.

Wraith’s more direct. “And they’re the reason you wanted to talk to us?” He takes a long drag on his cigarette, blows out smoke, then asks lazily, “And there’s a purpose you wanted to talk to us outside of church?”

Singling us out from the other members, he means. That’s what interests me. Allie forgotten, my curiosity increases.

Drummer’s mouth twists. “You two wandered into the club and found your places here. I couldn’t ask for two better members.”

“Aw, Prez, you’re making me blush.” Wraith has to state it while I, of course, simply go red.

Drummer raises an eyebrow at Wraith’s interruption, but otherwise ignores it. “For a while, I’ve been concentrating on building the mother chapter up. Still got a ways to go, but I’ve been reminded recently that I’m the national prez of the Satan’s Devils, and that means I can’t be selfish.” He pauses, takes a swig from his glass, then carries on, “I can’t keep all the best members to myself.”

Fuck.I recall Slick mentioning Brick coming here for a recruiting drive. Could this talk be anything to do with that?Is he going to ship Wraith and I off to Vegas?I suppose going together wouldn’t be too bad, but hell, I’d miss this club. I love all the brothers. I particularly love the location of the compound and its unusual facilities. Wraith’s eyes catch mine. He seems equally worried.

Another drag on his cancer stick, then Drummer stubs it out. “Brick’s lost three members recently.”

“How?” Wraith asks when Drummer comes to a stop.

Prez shakes his head. “Fuckin’ gambling. They got in over their heads. Needing money, the stupid assholes tried to fuckin’ rob one of the casinos. Got caught, and heat’s come down on the club. Brick’s been fighting to get the police to accept it was nothing to do with any of the other members. Feds were all over it.”

“Jesus,” Wraith breathes out. “He succeed?”

“Eventually. But not until after a few good men ended up behind bars. Oh, they all got out, but the club’s taken a hit, were searched far too often to be comfortable. It’s blown over now but at the loss of three members who quite rightfully have been banged up.” I suppress my smile, knowing it’s not the crime that will have gotten Drummer rattled, but the unwanted attention they brought on the Satan’s Devils. “Morale’s rock bottom,” he continues. “Brother looking at brother, wondering who will be the next to fuck up. Spending nights in cells and lawyers having to be brought in to defend the club. It was only pure fuckin’ luck no one, except for those guilty ones, were stitched up.”

“And Vegas has now got the cops looking at them closely.”

“You got it, Brother.” Drummer raises his chin at me. “We all got out of most of the hard stuff some time back, but we still dabble when there’s money in it.”

We do. I’ve been on a few gun running trips myself. But someone’s going to be moving those guns across country, why shouldn’t it be us? If someone wants a weapon, he’ll get it one way or another. We might put it in his hand, but we don’t aim or pull the trigger. It’s a good money earner.

“Brick needs to clean up the club. Make sure everything’s legal.” Wraith continues my line of thought.

“Exactly.” Drummer nods first at Wraith, then at me, as though we’re his star pupils. “Money’s coming in short, and ideas on business ventures are coming up lacking.”

“Which means there’s discontent in the club.”

Drummer raises and dips his chin once again.

“And you want us to go there, help them out?” Wraith startles as I sum up what I think Drummer will say next. My brother’s expression shows he thinks as little of that as I do, and his body stiffens as though readying for a fight. “Why us, Prez? Why not bring this to the table? We’re still new. Why not send someone experienced? Dollar would be good, or Viper or Bullet, they know about setting businesses up, or—”

Wraith interrupts, “Is this because we’re still finding our place here? Are we dispensable?” His eyes flare.

“Why not Dart?” I suggest. He’s not long been patched in.

Prez raises his hand, stopping our protests and suggestions mid flow. “It ain’t nothing to do with the length of time you’ve worn your patch. And you’re only half right. I don’t want you both to go, I’m only prepared to lose one of you.” He waits a beat for that to sink in, enough time for Wraith and me to exchange worried glances with each other. Then, tugging on his beard, he again takes up the thread. “I’ve some members I won’t see leave this club. Some, I know, would go if asked, but they haven’t got the skills Brick’s in search of. You two? Well, I’ve been fuckin’ impressed with you both. You’re both officer material in the making.”

I flop back on my seat. That, there, is some fucking praise from the prez. It’s also something I’ve never considered.

“I’m not saying now,” Drummer quickly adds. “For a start, there are no vacancies. But hypothetically, if there was one to come up, I don’t doubt either of you would get sufficient votes to take it.”

Wraith seems lost for words, as am I, myself. I recover faster. “Well, thanks, Prez, but I don’t know what the fuck I’ve done that’s anything more than any other brother.”

Having also absorbed the compliment, Wraith backs me up. “Same goes here, Prez.”

Drummer’s lips curve. “And that, right there, is what makes you so fuckin’ good. Red, you came up with some ideas for the strip club, as well as the auto-shop. Didn’t seek praise or thanks, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Wraith, you’ve input a lot into the running of this club. You speak one fuck of a lot of sense at the table, and don’t get side-tracked by the jokers.”

In Wraith’s case, he’s right. I could see him with an officer patch. But me? “I’m just your run-of-the-mill member,” I protest. “I do no more, no less, than anyone else.”

“No? I disagree, Brother.”

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