Page 66 of Red's Peril: Part 1

“Get yourselves stocked up with body armour. Doesn’t protect against a head shot but will stop a bullet headed to the heart or a stabbing.”

He’s right. It would. I raise my chin in appreciation. “I’ll bring it to the table.”

Blade nods. “Yeah, Peg’s made sure we’re stocked up.” He pauses, and his eyes narrow. “You had enough of the bright lights yet?”

Is he suggesting if I have, I could go back to Tucson? I turn away, watching the people around me. If the option was there, would I take it? Go back to where a prez is fully fit and won’t send his men into danger? Go back to having a suite with a bathroom all to myself? For a moment, I seriously consider the idea, then dismiss it.

“Nah, Sin City’s okay, once you get used to it.” And there’s work to be done here. Whoever the next VP is, he’ll need support. I’d held back from approaching Rainman, not thinking it was my place, but it irks me that as I hadn’t tried hard to dissuade him, I bear some guilt in his death. Whether it’s Twister or Crash who steps into his boots, I’ll step out of the shadows. They’ll get my views whether or not they want to hear them.

But any future plans have to be put on hold as I spend long hours socialising. It’s good to catch up with my Tucson counterparts, then making myself known to brothers from our other clubs. Sarge, bolstered by help from prospects from other chapters, is run ragged trying to keep glasses topped up.

Funerals are emotionally draining, and I feel myself flagging. My bed starts calling me loudly when I notice I’m not the only one looking tired. Pixie, Jinx and Angel have been in high demand all evening, and spying Angel now, I see her eyelids are drooping. I’d seen Drummer go off with Pixie earlier, and Jinx is missing, probably servicing one of the visitors.

It’s not unexpected. Death seems to want to be celebrated by acts of procreation, or at least, fucking, if only for a celebration of those still breathing, an affirmation they still have a life they’re living.

Passing Angel, I give her a pat on the shoulder as I walk past.

Being one of the few hosts remaining upright, I forgo the temptation of my bed and stay until the clubroom begins to empty, or rather, people drag sleeping bags in and crash on the couches, and when those are filled, make do with the floor. A few of the visitors go to motels in the vicinity, but most have decided it’s cheaper to bunk down at the clubhouse.

Brick looks dead on his feet, I notice, when the lights dim, and the music turns off completely. Rosa’s got her arm around him, and I read concern in her eyes as she encourages him across to the metal staircase.

He grabs onto the handrail and pauses as he passes me. His chin lift seems to suggest he’s pleased I’m still around. “Church tomorrow once our visitors have left.”

I raise my chin. It’s what I expected. “I’ll be there.”

“Red—”

Seeing his eyes full of regret, I shake my head. I want no apology, no acceptance that had he listened to me, Rainman wouldn’t be dead. I don’t want that shit brought out in the open. I want us to learn and move on from it. If Brick accepts responsibility, we’ll have to talk about whether he’s the right man to lead this club, and that’s a topic I don’t want to have to address yet.

He blinks, tightens his jaw, then starts pulling himself up the staircase, pausing halfway as a coughing fit makes him struggle for breath. I stand, watching Rosa help him to the top, unable to stop myself worrying about what’s wrong with him, and how it will affect our chapter, when I hear a familiar voice.

“I’ve got faith in you, Brother.”

I spin around. “Drummer.” He’s holding a bottle of water and is obviously making his way up to bed. We’d be accused of poor hospitality if we were unable to find room for the visiting mother chapter prez. But his statement unnerves me as I’ve no idea what he’s referring to, or what response he might expect. So, I simply settle for another chin lift, and then stepping back, allow him to go ahead of me.

Then, with a final glance around that everything’s quiet, I take myself off to bed where I fall into an exhausted slumber.

My sleep is broken by the sound of loud voices, boots stomping, and groans and cursing, then thunderous roars as bike after bike leaves the Vegas compound.

I’d said my goodbyes last night. Not being an officer, I’d had no duties to see our visitors off this morning. Instead, I roll over, closing my eyes, but I can’t stop my mind from thinking.

A funeral should be a new beginning, a final goodbye then eyes turn to the future. But I can’t get the desire for justice out of my head.Rainman shouldn’t have died.I should have done more to prevent it. But would saying more have had any effect?

I’ll speak to the new VP.He’ll share my concerns about Brick, won’t he?

By the time I’ve gotten to the front of the line to use one of the showers and have returned to my room and dressed, the clubroom is virtually empty of anyone but Vegas members. There are only a few stragglers.

Rosa and Tiff are bringing out fresh cups of coffee, so I grab one, and also a bagel from a tray which has been organised.

I drink, munch on my inadequate breakfast, eyeing Titch in the corner holding court with a couple of the other old-timers who’d hung back.

Then Brick appears from his office, announcing himself not with his familiar whistle, but with a hacking cough which serves well enough to get our attention. His arm wave in the direction of the meeting room is the only instruction.

Titch says his goodbyes. I put my used cup on the bar top, then along with the rest of my brothers, answer the summons.

We file into church, as if paying homage, each of us in turn looks at the empty chair to the left of the prez, knowing it won’t be left vacant for long. There’s only one reason for this meeting. To vote in the next VP. A club is vulnerable without the full quota at the top, unbalanced like a car running on only three wheels.

As I sit, I glance at the two men who I believe are in the running, wondering which of the pair I’d vote for if they both are contenders. I settle on Crash. He’s the steadiest. Twister’s okay, a good enforcer, but I’m not sure he’d handle the VP’s role quite as eloquently as I’d expect from the sergeant-at-arms. I wonder which way the others will be voting.

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