Page 17 of Monk
I nod, having no choice but to acknowledge the truth of the statement. We make good money dealing with them, and I never complain when I get my cut, so I guess I ought to probably keep my mouth shut about them. It’s just hard to do sometimes.
“Why do you hate them so much?” Cosmo asks.
I shrug. “They’re unpredictable. They always look like they’re a hair’s breadth from unloading on us. Especially Miguel. That dude’s not right up here,” I tell him, tapping my head to emphasize the point.
Cosmo waves me off. “Miguel’s all right. Yeah, he’s a little intense. But you just need to know how to talk to him.”
“I’d rather not have to.”
He laughs. “Hey, if you ever want to be road captain, you’re going to have to know how to get along with other MCs.”
“Who says I want to be road captain?”
“I know you, kid. You’re smart, ambitious,” he says. “I know you’re a natural-born leader. Why wouldn’t you want to have a leadership position in the club?”
I breathe out a mouthful of smoke and watch it drift off. “Maybe I don’t want the responsibility. Maybe I’m good where I am, doing what I’m doing now.”
He scoffs. “Playing bodyguard on these runs? You’re better than that. Even I know that.”
I start to grin. “You’re on these runs with me. What’s that say about you?”
“That I’m in charge out here. Being road captain’s a good gig,” he replies and punches me in the shoulder. “Besides, if I ever decide I want higher office, this adds to my résumé.”
“Christ, you make it sound so political.”
“Make no mistake, kid, everything is political. Especially in an MC,” he tells me, his voice earnest. “That’s why it’s important to know who you’re backing. Who you’re not. And more important than anything else, who you vouch for. In the club, your word is everything. Remember that.”
The rumble of engines approaching draws my attention and I see a pair of bikes riding in front of a black van. If it had been sunny, the chrome on the two bikes would be blinding. They’ve got ape hangers—those above-the-shoulder handlebars that are appropriately named given the gorillas on the backs of those Harleys.
They roll to a stop near us, and their van pulls in beside them. I drop my smoke and crush it out under my boot. Miguel Cerrano, known as Tarantula, gets off his bike and unbuckles the chin strap. He’s the road captain for Montezuma’s Raiders—a Mexican MC that operates in the Fresno/Bakersfield Central Valley corridor. He takes off his gloves, drops them into his helmet, and hangs it off the handlebars. His men stand near the van, waiting for their cue.
“Que pasa, hermanos?” he greets us.
Cosmo gives him a handshake and a brief, two-thumps-on-the-back embrace. I shake his hand and give him a nod, and he smiles at me like the Cheshire Cat.
“This one,” he says, his voice thickly accented. “Always so serious and shit.”
Cosmo smiles. “Yeah, we’re trying to break him off that habit.”
“Life is to be enjoyed,ese,” he tells me. “Learn to laugh a little, eh?”
“Yeah, I’ll take that under advisement, thanks.”
Tarantula looks at me stonily for a moment, then breaks into raucous laughter. He claps me on the shoulder, then elbows his man—Bala—in the ribs. Bala laughs along with him, as his eyes remain fixed on me. I suspect Bala and I are a lot more alike than not. He’s here to do a job and look after his MC—same as me.
I can tell that Bala’s smart. Shrewd. He may look to some like he’s laidback and is blissfully unaware of what’s going on around him, but I know the guy doesn’t miss a thing. And also, from having been in the military, I can tell you the guy is coiled tight, and though he may look casual, he’s ready for action in a heartbeat. If shit goes sideways, Bala is the first one I’ll take out because he’s obviously the biggest threat so far.
“How are things in the Central Valley?” Cosmo asks.
Tarantula shrugs. “It’s okay. Hot as fuck, but all good.”
“Business still rolling?”
He nods. “Boomin’, baby. Lots of people movin’ into the area means lots of new customers. Business is good,ese.”
“That’s good,” Cosmo replies. “We need to talk about upping quantities?”
“Could be. Could be. My prez will be callin’ yours, I’m sure.”
