Page 8 of Gotta Dig Deep
Horse pulled him in, shoulder to shoulder and pounded a fist against Blackie’s back. “My honor, brother.” He didn’t know where the action or words came from, just that they seemed true.Felt true.Stepping back, he glanced at Blackie and then at the men around them. “Didn’t seem right, him pulling a gun when the rules of engagement had already been settled. You aren’t much of an asshole, so I thought I’d prevent him from putting a hole in you.” He shrugged. “Good people are harder to find than most folks think.”
“From the mouths of babes.” Blackie laughed through the words, grinding down on the bones in Horse’s hand for a moment. He released and Horse fought the urge to wring his fingers, then watched as Blackie crouched next to Roscoe. “You lived through this bullshit because I allowed it. Need to keep that a fuckin’ sharp memory, Roscoe. Sharp as a fuckin’ knife to the balls, man. Pull it out and polish that shit off every time you think about coming back to Gregg County. Or Upshur, or Smith. Rusk. Wood. Hell, boy, just stay the fuck out of East Texas. Draw a big circle and label itnot fucking yours. You roll back in here, and I’ll know. I’ll know.” He stood and pulled his foot back, chuckling darkly when Roscoe flinched, flinging his hands up in defense. “And you won’t survive my wrath a second time.” The square toe of Blackie’s boot landed in the center of Roscoe’s thigh with massive force, Roscoe’s keening cry splitting the air a final time.
Blackie turned away from Roscoe again and pointed to Dale, then motioned to Horse’s foot. The Freed Rider prospect stepped forwards and tapped Horse’s lower leg. Horse retreated a stride, releasing the gun into the man’s hands.
“Where’s your ride?” Another man stood next to Horse and gestured with one outflung arm. “It one of that pair over there? That other one your brother’s ride? Man who came in with you? We can roll it to the clubhouse, too.”
“He’ll have locked the forks. Bike’ll go in a circle, but that’s all.” Horse moved so he stood next to his bike and rested a hand on the tank. “This one is mine. Freedom.”
“Hey, Oaky.” His shout carrying across the lot had another man turning to look to where they stood. “Oaky, tell Durango to get the van and the trailer, brother. Might as well load both as load one.” A hand extended his direction and Horse gripped it, grimacing when the slap of their palms woke the ache left in the wake of Blackie’s grip. With a light laugh, this guy barely pressed down. “Blackie’s got a hell of a hello, for sure. I know man, I know. Hey, I’m Duane.” He grinned. “And I’m a menace, at least according to our fearless leader.” The men swirled around them, and Horse tried to keep track of the movement, finding it more difficult by the minute. “Buck up, brother. We’ll have you in a bed before you can shake a stick.”
A van pulled into the lot pulling a noisy trailer, looped connector chains spitting sparks as they dragged across the gravel. One of the FRMC members was driving, and he slowed to a stop in front of where Horse stood with Duane. The moment the van had parked, the area was swarmed by men, and Horse watched as a group of them crowded around Junkyard’s bike. Gripping various sections of the frame, they counted down from three and lifted, then shuffled their way up and onto the trailer. They set it down and a couple of them immediately set to strapping the bike in place.
“You mind if Dale rides the bike up? Be easier than rolling or lifting it.” Duane smiled his easy grin at Horse and held out a hand, palm up. “Come on, brother. Sooner we load it, sooner we get to the house.”
Horse dug in his pocket for the keys and placed them in Duane’s grip. “Be gentle.” His plea pulled laughter from the men around them, as intended. “She’s a good girl.”
It was the work of moments to load his bike and strap it in place, then the van was pulling away. Horse followed the group of men who moved across the graded gravel, noting several who peeled off and went to various cars and trucks still on the lot. Somewhere in the midst of things, he’d lost track of Roscoe.
“Where’d the asshole go?” He leaned a little closer to Duane as he asked the question, hoping to keep his interest quiet.
“Roscoe? Probably home to our momma, cryin’ about how bad I treat him.” Blackie appeared next to Horse, matching him stride for stride. “Like he always does.”
“Your mother?” That didn’t make any sense, and Horse was willing to put his confusion down to the amount of beer he’d had along with the adrenaline dump from the earlier fight.
“Yeah, the rancid son of a bitch is my brother. And not in the ‘I’ve got your back always’ sense. Asshole.” Blackie sighed heavily. “And I’m not nearly drunk enough for that story, man.” He stopped in front of the porch steps and spread his arms wide, a broad grin reopening a split in his bottom lip. With blood smeared over his teeth and trickling down into his beard, he smiled at Horse. “Welcome to our humble abode, brother. This here’s the house of the Freed Riders, and we’re pleased you’re accepting our hospitality.”
The building was narrow and long, two stories tall along the back end. In the moonlight and scant streetlight illumination, it looked like a hole in the darkness. Then light bloomed in one window, followed by another, and another. Horse caught a glimpse of the inside. Furniture clustered close to foster conversations, walls painted a warm taupe. It gave him a sense of welcome.
Like the men it housed, the building might have looked rough on the outside, painted black as night, but the inside was good as gold.
Home.
***
“No, no. You didn’t see it.” Oaky lounged back in his chair, beer can balanced on the swell of his belly. “Cool as ice, this dude.”
“Cool as ice and fast as fuck.” Along with the other men in the room, Duane laughed easily, shoulder buried against the back of a loveseat, knee cocked up on the cushions near where Horse was perched. “I saw him still up by the building, andbam.” He smacked his hands together, then leaned sideways to retrieve his beer from the floor. “He was in the middle of it and ridin’ ole Roscoe to the ground. Prolly called Horse cuz he runs like a racehorse.”
“Or is hung like a horse.” Durango’s laughter drifted across the room from where he was sprawled out across a chair. “Don’t care to know that, by the way. But you should know if you fuck one of the sweetbottoms, we’ll all hear about it anyhow. Swear those gals talk more than chickens cluck.”
That was the second time he’d heard the phrase and Horse thought he understood the meaning, but he still quietly asked, “Sweetbottoms?”
Duane drained his beer and whistled loudly, holding the bottle up by the base. “Club whores, not to be rented out, but up for using. It’s why they hang around. They like fuckin’ bikers or some shit. No harm no foul if you go with any of them, cuz if a member wanted to slap a patch on one of them, he’d have already requested a PO. Means ain’t any one of us got a claim on any one of them. They come, they make us come, they go.” Dale appeared in the doorway to the kitchen area and nodded at Duane, vanishing for a moment before coming back into view with a handful of beers. “Want another one?” He pointed to Horse’s still half-full bottle.
“Nah. I’m done, man. Hours of road under my wheels and then that shit at the bar? About to fall over where I am.” He blinked and shook his head. “Blackie mentioned a cot?”
“We can do you one better. Dale? Hey, Dale.”
The prospect paused in his circuit of the room and looked over his shoulder, “Yes, patch holder?”
That wasn’t the first time Horse had heard him use the phrase tonight, but unlike sweetbottom, this one was easier to decipher. Honor paid to the members of the club the man was working his way into.
“Show Horse to the room Blackie mentioned, would ya? You know the one.” He drained half of his new beer in one go. “About fuckin’ time it was in use again.”
“Whose room will I be taking?”Depending on the response, it might be better to ask for a ride out to the campground after all.
“Roscoe’s room.” Blackie walked from the kitchen area and stood with hands at the front of his waist, fingers wrapped around his belt. “Done holdin’ out to see if he’ll get his head pulled from his ass. Unfortunately for him, it seems a terminal condition with the little shit.” Lifting his chin, he winked at Horse. “Come on, I’ll show ya. I expect Dale’s got more beer to get.”
