Page 90 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

Sliding my phone from my pocket, I wander down the hallway and send a quick text to Brandy.

MARCUS: HEY BABE, ARE YOU STILL AT HARLEY’S?

BRANDY: NO. WE GRABBED BREAKFAST AND THEN I HEADED HOME. I HAVE TO WORK AT 5. ANY NEWS ON BILLY AND RED DOG?

MARCUS: YEAH. THEY WERE IN JAIL, BUT THE CHARGES WERE DISMISSED BECAUSE THEY WERE ALL A LOAD OF SHIT.

BRANDY: OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT! GLAD THEY’RE OUT. SEE YOU SOMETIME TOMORROW?

MARCUS: BET YOUR SWEET ASS.

BRANDY: I’LL BE WAITING FOR YOU. WINK. WINK.

Smiling, I set the phone on a side table and pass out on a bed.

***

Later that evening, we all sit around the clubhouse, drinking and talking about the excitement over the weekend. No one seems to know why the police have it out for us. That is, until the nightly news draws our attention.

“Reported here first on News 18 from the steps of the state capital earlier this afternoon, State Assemblyman Mickey Patterson spoke of his recently passed crime bill.”

“I hate that guy. Turn that shit off,” Green calls to me from the bar.

“Today is more proof that my crime bill is working as intended. We arrested two one-percent motorcycle club members in connection with a drive-by shooting.”

My hand stills on the remote control.

Red Dog stands from his stool. “Turn that up.”

I press up on the volume until everyone’s attention is on the screen.

“These motorcycle clubs like to pretend they are beneficial to the community and businesses, but all they bring is violence and crime. We need to rid our streets of these criminals, and that’s just what my bill is doing.”

“Is he kidding with this bullshit?” Red Dog roars.

“None of the charges stuck,” Shane reiterates Red Dog’s point.

“Doesn’t matter; he can claim he’s hard on crime, even if none of this shit sticks,” I mutter.

“He’s not even our fuckin’ rep. He’s from San Francisco. Why the hell’s he messin’ in San Jose?” Cole slams his fist onto the bar top.

“Seems like he’s using the raid for political capital,” Crash chimes in.

“Yeah, he’s probably aiming for higher office, like Senator or some shit,” I agree.

“Well, if you want to move to higher office in this club, you better tail this asshole and find some shit,” Cole barks at me, pointing at the screen. “I want to know everything there is to know about this guy. I want to know his every move. You better be able to tell me how many times he shits a day. That’s how closely I want you following him. Because there’s one thing I know. Men in his position never have clean hands. I’ll bet he has a mistress or an addiction or some weird fetish we can use to bend him to our will.”

“Yes, sir. When do you want me to start?”

“Now. Move your ass.”

“You got it.”

I move to the door and out to my bike, shooting a quick text to Brandy before I pull out.

MARCUS: LOOKS LIKE I’M GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE A RAIN CHECK FOR THE NEXT LITTLE BIT. CLUB BUSINESS.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – RUBBER DUCKY

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