Page 82 of Red's Peril: Part 1

I go to open my door to Crash. “Titch back?”

“Yeah. Just arrived. We need to sit and talk about what’s happened.”

“We do,” I agree. “Tell everyone church in ten.”

“Will do, VP.” He mock-salutes and then leaves.

I take a piss, change into a fresh shirt, brush my hands back through my hair, then picking up the letter Brick had left me, proceed down the stairs.

In the meeting room, I leave Brick’s seat empty, having no right as yet to sit there. As men walk in, all eyes go to the vacant chair as if acknowledging the ghost sitting there. There’s an air of despondency, as there would be, and a time for mourning necessary and will be allowed. But men also need help and guidance.

Brick had instructed me not to delay, his view being feeling adrift and abandoned wouldn’t help anybody. Someone has to take the reins, to show the gavel could be transferred quickly and smoothly.

Fox is both our treasurer and secretary. He records all the important decisions of the club. As he’ll be recording this one, I feel he’s the man who should read aloud Brick’s final words rather than myself. How could I properly give voice to the sentiments in Brick’s letter, written not just to me, but to them? I’d stammer, contradict his words, and my damn pale skin would betray me. Especially already knowing his final words to the club.

When everyone’s seated, I pass Fox Brick’s missive, his last chance to influence the club, his legacy for the Vegas Satan’s Devils.

Fox looks at what I’ve handed him, scans briefly then clears his throat. No one else speaks, and all eyes stare his way.

Brothers, if you’re reading this, I’m no longer with you. It’s hurts like fuck to think that way, but the grim reaper got me. I’d rather have had a bullet or come off my bike, but that choice wasn’t mine.

Red knew for the past couple of months, but I swore him to secrecy. If you want to place blame, place it on my head, not his. I wanted to leave this chapter strong, feared and respected, the way it’s always been. I didn’t want people feeling sorry for me or trying to sort through the pickings while I was still breathing. Drummer would have been all over this shit, and I wanted the final say to be left to me.

I’m not arrogant when I say I know you’ll be hurting. A ship is adrift when its captain is missing, and whatever else you’ll be thinking of me, I was at least that, a steering presence directing this club. In my own way, I’ll grieve the loss of each and every one of you. I’ve known some for many years, some for a few less, some just for months, but I love you all equally, Brothers. You’re more than a club, you’re family to me.

Drink, bemoan my loss. Celebrate my life, shed a tear for me. But then, buckle up and hang on for the ride. Nothing changes at the Satan’s Devils MC. We live to ride and we ride together. The club isn’t about one man, so after the mourning, move on. You’ll do just as well without me.

Take care of Rosa and my boys for me. I know they have a place in your hearts, and if you let her, Rosa will do right by the club. Those boys of mine are strong willed as fuck, people say they take after me (pause for a laugh).

Fox clears his throat. “Yeah, the old man really wrote that.” As a few chuckles sound, I reckon it’s not just me hearing Brick’s voice saying those words.

Then Fox continues.

They’ll need a strong hand and guidance to stay on the right path. I know I can count on you, Brothers, which means I can die a happy man.

“Sure you can, Brick.” Titch thumps the table, and his vow is echoed around.

Now I’m aware me leaving has left an empty chair at the head of the table, and if I know my men, it’s sitting vacant now. However much you’d prefer it, and maybe you don’t, I’ll never be sitting there again. As a ghost, I promise I won’t haunt you.

An empty chair needs filling, Brothers, and I can only think of one man. A man who you had enough faith in to make my second. A man who’s got a better head for business than I ever had, and a man who sees the future clearer than me. The man who I hope is your future, Brothers, and the man who sat to my left. The man I trust my life and club with, the man known as Red.

At this point, I want to sink under the table. I’d known those words were coming, but it’s still ultra-embarrassing to hear them read out. Blood rushes to my cheeks and I flush bright red.

Now Red isn’t a man who knows his own worth, who projects what he thinks of himself onto others. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have faith in himself, or doubt in his ability to run this club.

I know, I’ve groomed him since the day he stepped up as VP. I swore him to secrecy for the reasons aforesaid, and it worked as a test of his loyalty. And that loyalty he’ll show to you in return, if you show you’ve got faith in him.

I can’t think of better hands I’d wish to leave my club in, but we’re no autocracy, we’re a democracy. Discuss it all you like, but let me have one final vote and record it for Red.

If you can’t settle on someone, speak to Drummer.

I could ramble on. I could reminisce about the good times, pick over the bad, talk about men we’ve lost and men who’ll no doubt come along. I could express all my hopes for a future in which I won’t take part, but somehow, I know you’ll be doing that with no need for input from me.

So, this is my final goodbye. I’ll miss you, Brothers.

Stay the shiny side up, keep the dirty side down and ride on proudly as Satan’s Devils. The club rides on and depends on no one man.

Yours in love and forever

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