Page 27 of Devil's Marker

“Why’s that?”

“Just sayin’ that a crunch to the nose might hurt more than usual.”

There were a few snickers around the table.

Win looked at his sandwich, took a bite, and nodded. “Been through worse.”

“Why’d you leave the Huns?” Zipper asked.

Win appeared to be giving his words careful consideration before he spoke. That was something bikers could appreciate, especially in a new recruit they didn’t know.

“Was all good for a long time. No regrets. Let’s just say I missed Texas.”

Boss raised his chin, displaying a look that said appreciative appraisal. “Diplomatic. I like that.”

“Happy belated birthday,” Win said. “You were busy last night.”

Boss chuckled. “You done with that?” he said as he was rising. “We got some briefing to accomplish.”

Win stuffed the last bite of BLT in his mouth and grabbed his juice before falling in behind the other men on their way to the belly of the beast.

The conference room, called ‘church’ by some clubs, featured an oval table that would easily seat eighteen. Eight on each side and one at each end. It was finished in the same mahogany as Boss’s office desk, but had an intricately designed interpretive painting of the club logo that covered most of the surface. A large American flag was displayed on the wall behind Boss’s seat at the far end and a Texas flag, same size, on the opposite wall. The two side walls were lined with cuts and photographs, presumably of ex members.

Win guessed they were not ex members because they’d left the club voluntarily, as he’d done with the Huns. They were probably dead. Perhaps some were even dead from old age. The Marauders had been founded in the early eighties. So the club was old enough to have members who’d died of natural causes.

The room was practically full when the breakfast contingent arrived on the scene. They all gave Win a good looking-over as they made their way to their seats.

Win waited to be told where to sit.

When the door closed, two guys took up a standing post by the door while seventeen sat down. There was one chair left and it was at the opposite end of the table from the prez.

“Yeah. That’s you,” Boss said pointing to the chair. When he saw Win’s hesitation, he added, “Yeah. We know. Everything about this is unusual. We’re patchin’ you in, but we’re still gonna keep an eye on you for a couple of days because we don’t know you. If we’re gonna experience a disturbance of the peace together, we’re gonna need to feel like we know ya.”

That sort of scrutiny wasn’t Win’s first choice. He’d have much preferred to blend in and draw as little attention as possible. The end-of-the-table chair looked more like a ‘hot seat’ than anything else. But understanding that he was in one of those situations where the only way out is through, he sat down at the end next to Cue and leaned into the back of the chair like he was relaxing in Margaritaville.

Bo named off the guys he hadn’t already met at breakfast. Win had a sharp mind, but didn’t expect he’d remember all the names. Cowpie was fairly unforgettable. So was Paul. But the others kind of ran together.

“We had a meetin’ about you yesterday,” Boss began. “Huns speak well of you. So on that note, we’re dispensin’ with the usual formalities.”

“That bein’ prospectin’,” said Zipper.

“Believe me, we’d like to have the luxury of havin’ you lick boots for a year or so, but you might say we’re livin’ in interestin’ times.”

After a brief and awkward silence during which everyone turned to look at Win for his reaction, he finally cleared his throat and said, “How so?”

“We’ve held this territory without much difficulty for a long time. Put down challenges from Mexicans without sustaining too much damage.” By that Win understood Boss to mean bikers of Mexican descent. “Couple of times we’ve had to discourage start-ups by provin’ that we’re not softer than we look.”

Win nodded slowly, letting his eyes wander over the congregation that seemed determined to stare at him unabashedly. He supposed it was natural to be exceedingly curious, having a stranger in a setting normally reserved for those who had demonstrated extreme commitment over time.

Win said, “Okay,” because they seemed to be waiting for a response and he had nothing insightful to offer. His philosophy at that point was the less said the better.

“Regarding our income-generating activities, we’ve got the market covered. We stay out of prostitution because it’s just more trouble than it’s worth. People are gonna do drugs, hookers, and guns whether it’s legal or not. It’s not like these things are goin’ away if we decline to supply the need. We’re as deservin’ as the next guys. More than some. So we do what we do, but that don’t mean we got no morals.”

When Boss stopped, everyone turned from looking his direction to looking at Win, almost like it had been choreographed and rehearsed.

“I understand,” Win replied.

“You understand,” Boss said, “but do you agree?”

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