Page 21 of Gypsy's Lady
“Prez, I don’t wanna argue with you, and I won’t, but have you thought this through?” Doug’s head snapped to the left when Tugboat’s abrupt laughter boiled free. He glared at the man. “What the fuck are you laughingat, OG?”
“The idea Mason hasn’t already considered every angle of this ask. Jesus, kid, I thought you were supposed to be the up-and-coming new guard.” Tug laughed again, his hand shaking with the force of it as he lifted his beer for a drink. “Fuck, that shit’s funny.” He swiped at the foam in his mustache as he pitched his voice higher, still laughing as he mocked Doug’s words, “’Have you thoughtthis through?’ Jesus, you’re hilarious, kid.”
“Gimme a reason not to move you. Give me a good oneandI’ll consider it. You got one shot at this, Tatum.” Mason dangled his beer between finger and thumb, corner of his mouth tipped up in a grin. “Convince me. Gimme your best shot.”
It still pinged as wrong for the club members he knew and trusted to call him by name. Too much like being calledout by the captain in the squad room, or the bullpen. As if his hard-earned detective title hadn’t been enough to warrant a second thought. Not that he wanted to be reminded about Winger every day, the pain was still too fresh, but hearing an occasional Lawman would have evened the playing field.
“If I go back to the Fort, there’s risk of attention to the club because of who I am. There’s norunning from my past career, and I wouldn’t want to, because there’s a lot of work I did I’m proud of. We’ve talked about my time in Cali, and how we stopped a credible terrorist threat. I’m also proud of my efforts to stop the human trafficking highway running up through Indiana. But me being back and wearingan RWMCvest has the probable chance of drawing notice.” Doug didn’t look away, kepthis gaze on Mason as he waited for a response. When none was forthcoming, he kept going. “I remain unconvinced any benefit from my skills or knowledge isn’t offset by that risk.”
“And I disagree with your opinion. I’m not talking today, but soon, brother. How long you got until you’re done with school?” Mason tipped his chin up as he drank, eyeing Doug over the top of the beer.
“Not long.”
“I need you in the Fort.”
Doug sighed and let his gaze roam the bar for a moment. Three men who’d entered a few minutes ago were standing at a pool table in the back, clustered near the cue rack on the wall. Cutting his gaze to where Slate stood against one wall, he caught his eye and angled his head, waiting until he got a nod in response. Gaze back to Mason he was surprised at the broad grinin place on the man’s face.
“That right there? That’s why I need you.” Mason leaned back, hooking one elbow over the arm of the chair. “Don’t tell Slate, but he’s stepping up sooner than you.” Grinning at Tugboat, Mason continued, “Tomorrow night?I thinktomorrow night’s about right for Slate.” Tug nodded,andMason looked back at Doug. “And I need you to have his back, brother. He’s gonna needmen he trusts to do what’s needed, and he trusts you a fair measure. You’ve been in the Fort, you know how it is there. You know the climate when it comes to the River Riders.” He mentioned another club in Fort Wayne the Rebels were friendly with, but held separate from. There’d been no conversation about rolling them into the Rebels, not like with Winger’s little riding club. The distinctionwasn’t lost on Doug, and he wondered about the real politics behind the separation, putting those thoughts aside for now.
“So you want me to back Slate up, is that it?” He could get behind the idea. Doug liked he’d found a fast friend in a man who’d been a prospect not long before him. Andy, Slate’s government name, had rolled all across the states looking for a home before finding it in theRebels. With him, more than almost anyone else, Doug felt a sense of kinship—that brotherhood he wanted. They’d rolled on club business more than once over the past months, and he trusted Slate with his life, knowing the sentiment was returned.
“More than that. We’ve got a couple of businesses there, and I plan on adding to them. We’re also working hard to lure the bike guy from Norfolk to rollanother garage here, which would mean I’ve got a couple of mechanics I can spin down to Indiana. Got a lot of pieces in play, and knowing you’d be waiting is key.” Mason set his empty on the table, picking at the edge of the surface with one thumbnail before he cut his eyes up to meet Doug’s. “And you understand this isn’t actually a request, right?” A pause, then with heavy emphasis, Mason added,“Brother.”
“I’ll do what’s needed, Prez. You know I will.” Doug sighed as he acquiesced gracefully. “I appreciate the chat, I know you don’t put up with a lot of shit from folks, and I was pushing hard. Sorry, boss.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s your job to raise the questions, but it’s also your job to understand when the time for talking is over.” Doug noddedandMason grinned, then shouted,“Need some beers over here.”
A woman’s voice responded,andDoug lookedatthe bar in time to see Slate moving quickly across the floor, headed towards the men he’d noticed earlier. Slate got in one man’s face, crowding himbackwardsand Doug stood, watching tensely until the man’s posture relaxed, turning apologetic. All three men turned and walked out, their path steering clear of the waitressbringing beers to Mason’s table. Slate trailed them out, and then came back to pull up a chair at the table.
“Fuck me. I’m so goddamned tired of wannabe bullshit I cannot even fucking explain the exhaustion.” He tapped the tableandthe waitress nodded before walking away, understanding his demand. “Those boys said they came down from Milwaukee, said they were told this wastheplace to scorein town. Specifically, Jackson’s. Right fucking here in our goddamned house.”
Doug watched as Mason’s expression hardened, going from jovial, to fierce and angry within a breath. Drugs were one of the three things he didn’t allow in the club businesses, unlike many clubs. Flesh trade and military grade weapons were the other two, and Doug had found he had no problem at all getting behind theban on all three. So, knowing what he did, the fact someone sent those men down from Milwaukee with a false story was telling. “We got trouble brewing, boss?”
“Probably. Mange ain’t got the sense God gave a goddamned goose, and it’d be just like him to want to piss me off today.” Pulling in a deep breath, Mason rolled his shoulders. “Mange or Hawk, because those fucking assholes can’t plan theirway out of a wet paper bag. Fuck, Slate. They say anything else?” Slate shook his head. “Okay, I’ll get on the horn in a bit, see what I can shake out. Pisses me off.” He leveled a finger to point at Doug. “Trap—shut. Make your plans, brother. This is your official, goddamned notice.”
Doug nodded.
***
Standing on the curb in front of a Fort Wayne strip joint owned by the club, Doug checkedhis phone for the third time. Slate was supposed to be incoming to pick him up with the intent to take him back to the clubhouse where Doug’s bike was. Doug had ridden to the business that morning with DeeDee, Winger’s widow. She livedinthe clubhouse, something Doug still struggled to understand, and managed this business for the club, hiring bartenders, wait staff, and talent along with runningthe day-to-day stuff. Myron had asked him to go through the books with DeeDee, and he had, finding everything not only inorder,but a great example for how things could be done better at a couple other of the club’s businesses.
Now, he was tired and hungry, and ready to head back to the clubhouse. It was strange being back in town. Familiar in ways he didn’t expect, and easier in others.
Likethe clubhouse.
Without Winger, it was a strangely somber place.
Before he’d died, Winger and DeeDee would hang out until the party got going and then leave, usually taking their daughter Lockee, and her best friend, Melanie, with them. Now, with DeeDee and Melanie living in the clubhouse, most nights it was them heading to their suite that signaled the start of the real party.
The sound ofan engine caught his attentionandhe looked up to see a run-down truck turning into the lot, Slate’s face grinning from behind the wheel. Rolling his eyes as he swung into the passenger seat, Doug settled himself before asking, “Where did you dig up this piece of crap?”
“Oh, hey now. I’m offended.” Grinding the transmission hard between first and second gears, Slate pulled onto the street andheaded north, the opposite direction from the clubhouse. “Mostly offended.” The light ahead of them turned amber just as he jammed the gearshift into third, grinding gears again. “Slightly at least. I’m definitely slightly offended.” A high-pitched squeal accompanied the firm use of the truck’s brakes, and Doug winced at the noise.
“Where are we going? Brother, I haven’t had dinner yet.” Therewas no immediate answer as the light turned green and Doug watched as the strip malls and shopping plazas slipped past, the road leading them farther and farther out of town. “Seriously, Slate. Where are we going?”
“We’re—” Slate paused as he downshifted, the transmission complaining again at his handling of theclutchand stick shift. “We’re headed to pick up something for tonight. I neededthe cargo room and muscle.”
“Okay.”Not that my agreement was needed. Doug shook his head as he looked out the windows, noting they were out of town and headed into the country now.
