Page 16 of Gotta Dig Deep
At a loss for words, Horse simply nodded.
“Blackie, we playin’ pool or what?” JD called from the other side of the tables. Rolling a stick across the green felt, he made a satisfied sound as he picked it up. “Ready for an asswhuppin’, old man?”
“You need a reminder of who I am too?” Blackie’s grin transformed his face and genuine amusement radiated from him as he visibly put the altercation behind him. “Cuz I am not the one gettin’ whupped, brother.”
“What happens to Dale now?” Horse turned to Duane who’d stopped his imitation of a human blanket and had moved up beside Horse.
“Nothing if he sticks to the script. Prospects don’t get a vote in anything for a reason. They keep that patch until their sponsor petitions the club to vote on membership. Unless he does something stupid, like epically stupid, Blackie won’t take it from him.”
“Who’s his sponsor?”That should be something I already know, shouldn’t it?The idea he’d been inattentive grated on him.
“You’re lookin’ at him.” Duane sighed. “He’s my brother’s brother-in-law and the baby in his wife’s family. Was bound and determined to hangaround the club before the motherfucker found out who I was. After? He was fuckin’ relentless.” Mouth slack, Duane tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling with a low groan. “Gawd, the hours of bullshit I’ve had to endure since then.” Grinning, he angled his head back to the main entrance. “And there he stands. My prospect. Family sucks, brother.”
Horse grimaced. “Sometimes they really do. Sorry for your luck.” That earned Horse a chuckle as Duane walked over to where the chapter presidents were clustered, arguing about teams for pool.
Once the other chapter members had left the next morning to go home, the clubhouse had settled back into their normal routines.
As introductions to being a member of the FRMC, that night didn’t suck. Three weeks past his patch day, life had returned to a new version of normal. Now, instead of vacating the clubhouse when the members needed to talk about business going on, Horse found himself drawn into the middle of those conversations, his opinion legitimate and valued in a way he’d never had before. That sense of belonging, of a found kind of family, had only grown stronger, and he could nearly see the ties he had to these men snapping into place.
Dale had been the picture-perfect prospect, referring to Horse only as patchholder, same as he’d kept to calling Blackie President, as demanded. And it didn’t look like Blackie would be letting up on those instructions any time soon. It wasn’t that Blackie went out of his way to remind the man of his infraction, but tapping a finger against his president officer plate when Dale was talking to him was an unsubtle reinforcement of his desires.
Tonight they were in the backyard with a blaze burning brightly in the firepit, coolers of beer near to hand. It was a members-only event, no hangarounds. Prospects were allowed in their service roles, so Dale and Seth, a newly minted prospect as of last weekend, were hustling between the grill and coolers, answering every member’s request.
“How long you gonna hold his feet to the fire?” From Duane’s question, Horse wasn’t the only one paying attention.
“I’ll admit, he’s doin’ real good lately.” Blackie traced the lip of his beer bottle with the tip of one thumb. “Man’s stayed pissed, though. Oh, I can see he’s got it pushed down, tamping it back best he can, but he’s pissed, my brother. Righteous in his mind, but pissed all to hell and back.” Exhaling a heavy sigh, Blackie said, “Don’t think he’s gonna cut it. Know that’ll fuck with you because he’s family, but that’s my opinion.”
“Not going to be a member?” Dale stood a few feet away from where Blackie sat, the look on his face incredulous. The flickering fire cast light and shadows across his features, giving him a sinister expression. “You’re talkin’ about me. Because Duane’s brother’s married to my sister, which means I’m the family that’ll make his life harder. You’re going to cut me.”
“Yeap. Planning on it. Thought I’d do it quietly in my office this week, so you didn’t have to face folks if you didn’t want to.” Blackie never dropped his head and he didn’t try to backtrack anything he’d just said. His willingness to confront uncomfortable conversations head-on once more raised his estimation in Horse’s thinking.
“Why?” Dale didn’t sound angry, more stunned, but Horse still braced himself for potential violence. He knew if they were to try and take his patch, he’d fight for it, wouldn’t hand it over willingly. It only stood to reason Dale would be the same.
“Because you’re trying to fit this life into what you want.” Blackie half turned in his chair, throwing one elbow around the back. “Means it’ll be work for you. Every single day, this life will be work. Then, one day in the not-too-far future, a resentment will begin to build inside you. That could come out as you deciding to pack up stakes and leave. Or—” With a writhing twist, Blackie shoved to his feet. “—that could come out as resentment against the club, or me. I’ve seen it before, Dale. Plenty of times. Hell, you’ve seen the end result with how things fell out with Roscoe.”
“And that’s why you haven’t patched me? You think I’m like your brother? You think I’d threaten you?”
“Not just yet. But man, a body can tell the life isn’t in your heart. It’s not what drives you forwards. Isn’t the first thing you think about in the morning and the last thing you consider as you drift off to sleep. It’s work and gets in the way of other things you want. I’d say I’m doing you a kindness, but I know that won’t ever be how you see it.” Arms lax at his sides, hands relaxed, Blackie faced Dale. “Come to me in the morning and we’ll sort things out.”
“I live here. I live for the club.” The cracking pain Dale’s voice was heart-wrenching and Horse had to force himself not to look away, a sense he needed to witness this rolling through his veins.
“I’ll help you get set up. This is no fault of yours. You’re just not made for the life.”
“And he is?” Dale flung out a hand, finger pointed directly at Horse.
“Yeah. Hell yeah. Horse was born to it, just had to find his way home.” Not turning his attention away from Dale, Blackie continued, “Some men fit the life better than others. Some are made for it. And some work at it, have to keep working at it the entire time they’re breathing. There’s no rest for those men. It’s such a chore, a burden, it’ll break their backs. Those men can take down clubs, kill the brotherhood for the rest of the members. I’ll point you to Roscoe again, because he wanted the life but without the work, which means his attempts were filled with struggle and pain. I don’t want that for you. Hell, if you give it a single thought, you’ll realize you don’t want that for you either. It’s not all Easy Rider, Hollywood shit.”
“I’ve seen things. Hell, I’vehelpedwith things you don’t want anyone to know about.”
Silence dropped into the backyard like a suffocating blanket. The only sound or movement was that of the flames, consuming the fuel that fed the fire.
It took a few seconds, but Dale finally realized what he’d just done.
“I didn’t—that wasn’t me threatening the club.”
“Oh yeah, I think it was.” Duane rose and joined the conversation for the first time. “That sounded like blackmail, and that shit’s not happenin’ on my watch.”
“No, I swear.” Dale took a step backwards just as a form materialized behind him. The next retreating step was brought up short as he ran into Oaky. “What’s goin’ on?”
