Page 17 of Gotta Dig Deep
“Man, you cannot be that stupid. Or maybe you fuckin’ are.” Duane looked to Blackie. “Shotcaller, call the shot.”
“I vote we cut him. I’d like to believe he’s got enough respect to mind his tongue.” Blackie glanced at Horse, then Duane. “That’s what I’d like to think, anyway.”
Duane opened and closed his mouth, then his head dropped forwards, side of his hand scrubbing along the edge of his scruffy jaw. It had grown so quiet in the backyard, Horse could hear every raspy noise and the man’s heavy intake of breath after breath.
Someone needed to break the silence, and Horse decided it should be him. “First night I spent in the clubhouse, he disrespected known rules to come to the second floor and attempt to intimidate me. Backed down immediately, and never gave another lick of trouble my way.” Horse pushed to his feet and took a step forward. “I think he’s noise and air, and no actions to back it up. I vote to cut the patch off his back.”
His words seemed to tip the balance, and the rest of the members stepped up and voted the same. Duane turned to look at Horse and quietly mouthed, “Thank you,” before he moved to Dale and held out a hand. The “give me your vest” was spoken with solid assurance his instructions would be followed. Unlike the actions Horse knew he’d have done if presented with the same demand, Dale complied. “Go to your room in the clubhouse and don’t come back out until someone comes for you tomorrow. That means if you need to piss or take a shit, you do it on your way.” He whistled and another prospect named Littleton trotted up. “Little, follow and stay next to his door until you’re relieved, yeah?”
The two men exited the backyard and Horse sighed as the atmosphere lifted slightly. It didn’t regain the ease and comfort from before, but at least there wasn’t the level of tension that had existed moments before. He reclaimed his seat, watching as the other men slowly did the same.
“I fuckin’ hate that shit.” The words exploded from Blackie alongside a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t people live up to their own expectations? Forget mine. It’s their own shit that always trips ’em up.”
“Question for the ages, brother.” Duane settled on the ground on the other side of Blackie, not even dragging a chair over. “I shoulda seen it coming. I mean, I saw something, we all did. I just didn’t know it’d come to this.”
“Will he make trouble for the club?” Horse stared at the flames, going back over every interaction with Dale. “He’s been pissed off at me just being here since that first night.”
“He and Roscoe were friends.”
Duane made a noise of surprise. “No fuckin’ way?”
“Yeah. Back in early high school or late junior high. They hung together for a year or so.” Blackie’s words came slowly, not as if he were considering his speech, but like he was remembering. “I didn’t remember it until Dale reminded me after I did the final ban.”
Shocked, words burst from Horse, “You kicked Roscoe to the curb, and he took the opportunity to remind you that he might have ties to the man? Fuckin’ read a room, dickhead.”
Horse turned to look at the two men, both staring into the flames as he had been.
“Yeah.” Blackie let a breath out as a loud raspberry. “I shoulda booted him then. I’d seen it comin’, just was thinkin’ we’d invested so much fuckin’ time and effort into the man.” He growled. “Ahh, fuckin’ hell. He’s not a bad guy, just not right for the club, or the life.”
“It’s done now.” Duane pushed off the ground and dusted his ass and thighs free of dirt. “I’m gettin’ a bottle. Beer ain’t cuttin’ it for me, not tonight. Anyone want anything specific?”
Horse shook his head, then Blackie did the same. They didn’t offer any words as Duane stalked away, each thud of his boot heels echoing solidly against the packed earth around the firepit.
“He’s going to carry this for a while.” Horse thought his observation was obvious, proved true when Blackie nodded. “I’ll help him as I can.”
“Tomorrow.” Blackie lifted a hand and gestured the direction Duane had disappeared. “Tonight he’s going to sink into sweet, sweet pussy and lose his mind.” Several women appeared from the darkness. “I’d already called the sweetbottoms before all this shit started. I know the timing is fortuitous, but it’s entirely unintentional.” Blackie’s camp chair rocked on two legs as he leaned closer. “Don’t tell a soul though. Let ’em believe I’ve got the sight or whatever.” Leaning back the other direction, he settled his chair onto four legs. “They won’t come over this way, so if you’re lookin’ for company, you’ll have to go huntin’.”
“Why won’t they come over here? You’re the president. I’d expect they’d be hot to bag that title between their legs.” That fit the behavior he’d seen so far of the women who hung around the group of men. A club member was preferred over prospect or hangaround, and bagging an officer was something the women would occasionally fight over.
“I’m still in mourning.” One corner of Blackie’s mouth drew down. “They know better than to bother me.”
“You had someone die?” It was the first Horse had heard of a significant other’s death. “Your old lady?”
“Not dead, which means there’s hope, however slim.” Blackie went to take a drink from an obviously empty beer. “Goddammit.” He crumpled the can with hard, angry gestures. “I don’t want to talk about that tonight. Had enough bullshit happen on what was intended to just be a good night. Nothing to celebrate, nothin’ to grieve over. Just a night to grow our brotherhood and Dale had to go and turn it to shit. Dillweed to the end.” He pushed up from the chair. “I’m goin’ to bed, brother.”
Horse watched as his friend stalked away, his boot heels hitting harder than Duane’s as he retreated into the darkness.
“Well shit.”
“Want some company?” The lilting voice came from his right and he turned that direction to see a lithe young woman standing there. Wearing cutoff shorts that left little to the imagination, her crop top exposed the bottom curves of her breasts. “It’s Horse, right? You looked lonely sittin’ way over here by yourself.” She stepped over his legs with exaggerated movements, the seam of the dissembled jeans riding tight against her crotch, pink flesh and dark curly hair on display. The hair on her head was blonde, tamed into a single-tail braid down the middle of her back. “Anyone sittin’ here?” She gestured to the empty chair. “I’m Reena.” Her extended hand turned into a tiny wave when he didn’t reciprocate. Sitting delicately on the edge of the seat, she kept her body inclined towards him. “You’re a quiet one.”
“Not looking for company. You’re wasting your time, Reena.” He pointed across the flames to a grouping of chairs she’d evidently walked past to get to where he sat. “More receptive audience over that way.”
“You’ve already got an old lady then? Story of my life.” She tugged on the short hem of her top. “Sure you don’t want a little tickle and a giggle? I won’t tell.”
“Not sure I owe you an explanation.” He drained his beer and lifted it high, catching the eye of a prospect manning the cooler. “And I’d prefer it if you were to vacate that chair. Blackie went inside, but I’m going to hold it for him.” She was up and out of the chair in an instant, eyes wide. “Thanks. Now go on. Sort yourself a lucky man for the night.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The words tripped over themselves as they fell from her lips. “I’ll… Duane’s always up for a good time. I’ll see if I can find him. Thanks, Horse.” Reena paused as the prospect approached. In a whisper, she asked, “Don’t tell Blackie I was in his chair, please?”
