Dead Men Motorcycle Club Page 4

  I finally found the culprit of the noise we'd heard in the bike on the way out. It had been a simple loose connection that was fixed in less than five seconds once I knew what I was looking for. I reassembled the parts of the bike one by one, taking even more care than I had when I removed them in the first place. Just as I was wiping my hands clean on the rag, I saw Karen pull up outside the garage in her truck. She rolled down the window and called out to me.

  "Hey Emma, want some lunch?" she yelled.

  I nodded enthusiastically back at her and tossed my rag amongst the toolbox. I suddenly realized that I was starving. I'd had a big breakfast, but it had been a bigger morning. The pressures of a new job were plenty to get my stomach rumbling, but there had been so much more. Besides my hunger, I was eager to have someone to talk to about everything that had happened. Karen was my boss just as much as Cash was, but she was also the only other woman I'd seen at Peasant Motors, and one way or another I was sure she'd have some insight for me.

  We drove just a couple blocks over to a restaurant called El Sol, which promised authentic Mexican food and air conditioning. It wasn't quite warm enough out that we needed the latter, but I was eager to try the cuisine. Coming from the frozen wastes of the mid-west, it was hard to find decent Mexican food, but here I was in Southern California and I wasn't going to miss it for the world.

  We sat down and ordered a couple drinks. I waited to see if Karen would get herself a beer before I ordered one for myself. You never know when having lunch with a boss whether it's acceptable to drink, but my guess turned out to be perfectly accurate and Peasant Motors was not the kind of place where a mid-day beer was looked down upon.

  "So," she said, "How was your morning?"

  "Well, I'll just lay it out for you because I'm sure you'll hear it from someone," I said, assembling the pieces of my story in my mind.

  "This sounds juicy."

  "Oh, it is," I said with a grin. I then went on to explain to her everything that had happened with Vickers, Tubbs and Mike. Her face was a snarl of rage when I told her the way Mike had grabbed me. She looked half furious and half confused as to why I was still here having lunch with her after such bad treatment from one of my co-workers. Then I got to the part about Cash.

  She listened intently as I told her about him swooping in to save me, and then how we'd talked. Then I told her about the riding lesson and her face was absolutely glowing. I tried not to pour it on too thick, but I think any woman knows when another one is smitten, and Karen was probably used to hearing the way women talked about the Dead Men when they were interested. She smiled quietly at me as I finished the story and proudly told her that I'd gotten Cash's bike fixed.

  "Well," I asked, finally, "What do you think?"

  She took a short sip of her beer and then came back with a somewhat more somber expression on her face. "Emma, we need to talk," she said.

  I was terrified about what she might have to say. Clearly there was a piece of information I was missing. Was Cash married? Was she going to tell me that I shouldn't pursue him for professional reasons? I was afraid to find out, but listened closely all the same.

  "Did you know that Cash is my nephew?" she said.

  I immediately blushed. I hadn't known that. Though I hadn't exactly given her details about the way Cash had made me feel I still felt awkward telling someone about a crush I had on their relative. "No," I said, trying to keep my cool, "I didn't know that."

  "Well he is," she said, "And I love the boy like he was my own son. But that's not the whole of it. I like you a lot, but you have to know what kind of man he is and what kind of life he leads."

  "I think I know," I said, "I mean, a little."

  "What you know is just small talk," she said with a sour expression, "I'm a part of the family, and I've got no choice but to stay as deep as I am. You have a choice, but you only get to make it once. If you decide to get mixed up with Cash, that decision might mean you're mixed up for the rest of your life. These boys play for keeps and if he never gets tired of you, then things can get serious, real fast."

  I nodded along. What she was saying made sense. I was used to relationships where, if I decided I wanted out, I could just end it. In fact, that's how nearly all of my relationships had ended; with me deciding that I had better things to do. But if I were to start something with Cash, that would be very different. I could tell that there would be no telling him "no."

  "It's not just the commitment though," she said next, "it's a couple other things. On the one hand, he's your boss. I might be in charge of the garage, but he's in charge of everything. When he tells someone around there to jump, they ask how high. You know what I mean. If you get tangled up with Cash, that means your job's going to change in ways even I can't predict. It's certainly not going to ingratiate you with Zach or the other mechanics. They're already sore about having a woman around. Now it’s a woman that's rolling around with the boss after hours? That's something else entirely. That situation's gonna breed nothing but contempt, and they're not gonna have an outlet for it because you'll be under Cash's protection. I can't even tell you what will happen next."

  I understood that concern perfectly well. If I was Cash's girl, I could expect that my job might turn from full-time mechanic to something stranger. Would Cash want me in the garage all the time or would he want me spending my time with him? I didn't think I would want to be kept from the garage, even for a guy like Cash. He was gorgeous, but working on engines was my life.

  "The last thing is..." she said, trailing off slightly, "I don't know what you've heard about what the Dead Men get up to when the sun goes down, and I don't want to be telling tales out of school, either. But you've got a right to know before you make a decision. Those boys are fighters and they're not standing with the law, if you catch my meaning. Plenty of things I've seen pass through that clubhouse are ones I never would have thought I'd see in my life, for fear of incarceration or worse. Drugs, weapons, you get the picture. That's not all though. I'm not sure about you, but I've never killed a man."

  I shook my head, as if it needed to be said. At the tender age of 22, no. I'd never killed a man. The thought was so silly that it was hard to keep a straight face.

  "Well he has - Cash, I mean - and not just one. The MC is a dangerous business and there are plenty of other crews that are looking to get a hold on what the Dead Men already have. Some of them are willing to fight and some of them are willing to kill. Cash knows that, and he knows the only way to fight back is to play by the same rules."

  I nodded at her quietly. That was a lot to take in. Cash was friendly and charming, but I was well aware that there was a dark side to his personality as well. As ever, he was a living contrast. This time though, the dark side seemed to be creeping all over the fairytale image I had been constructing of him in my mind. His shining armor was turning rusty and blackened. His faithful steed was becoming a creature of nightmare.

  "Thanks, Karen," I told her, "You've given me a lot to think about." I mulled over what she told me as I ate my enchilada - which was just as delicious as I hoped. The rest of our conversion turned to much less heady topics, such as the quality of the food at the couple restaurants I'd eaten, the quality of my motel and whether she might be able to find me a more permanent place to stay, and the general state of San Viero itself. Karen seemed to have boundless knowledge when it came to the town. She said that she had been born in Portland, but had moved down to Southern California when she was just a girl. Now, she said, she couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

  When we got back to the garage, she went to the business office and I went off to find Zach, to see what else needed to be done. When I found him, he was talking to Tubbs about the Ford I'd seen on the lift earlier. From what I gathered of their conversation, Tubbs had been slacking off and the truck was supposed to be finished already. I didn't even have time to show initiative and volunteer. As soon as Zach spotted me, I could tell that the work was now mine.

  "
You two go get your hands in that engine and get it worked out. If it's not starting by five when Taylor comes to pick it up, there's going to be hell to pay," he said.

  Tubbs and I walked over to the truck together in silence. He had been present with Mike and Vickers, but aside from laughing, he hadn't really participated in anything, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt for the moment. I was relieved when we reached the truck at the end of the line and he cleared his throat as if he had something important to say.

  "Uhh," he started, "Listen, about earlier..."

  I kept my gaze steady, watching him and not wanting to let him off the hook for his role in the incident, small though it might have been.

  "Sorry for what Mike did. He's a prick."

  I could tell that was all the apology I was going to get out of him, soft spoken as he was. Still, it was something, and probably more than I could ever expect to hear from Vickers or Mike themselves. I wondered how much of the apology was because he honestly felt bad and how much was because of Cash. In the end, it didn't really matter.

  After I accepted his apology, Tubbs was a bit more talkative, though he was still far from loud. He explained the trouble he'd been having getting the starter working on the truck. I lobbed him a few softball theories, but he brushed them aside, explaining that he'd already tried my solutions. I was stumped as to what was wrong with the starter. We brought the truck down to the floor and got under the hood.

  I was impressed by Tubbs' knowledge, and I like to think he was impressed by mine. I'd worked with a lot of different mechanics over the years, but Tubbs was the one who seemed to come closest to my Dad's skill. Sometimes he would just stand and stare at the engine for a few minutes. Some people might see that and suppose that he was just confused, but I could see what he was up to. He was doing all of the investigation and testing in his head. He was able to look at the engine and take it apart just by looking at it. The condition of one part compared to the part next to it informed him of what was working and what wasn't. It was impressive, and I have to admit I was a bit jealous.

  It took us almost two hours but we figured out the problem. As is often the case, once we knew what we were looking at, we had the truck starting in less than ten minutes. When it turned over and came to life it was the first time I saw Tubbs smile genuinely. Once I saw the way he looked when he was actually happy, I realized that the smiles I'd seen on him earlier that day had been a mask he was wearing. For whatever reason, he'd attached himself to Vickers and he was stuck now, forever his partner in crime - except that in this case, that was sometimes literal.

  "Fuck yeah," he said. "Taylor will be here soon, and this thing's running smooth now."

  "Who's Taylor?" I asked him as I gathered the tools back into the box.

  He looked like I'd just asked him whether water was wet, before it dawned on him that I was from out of town. "Taylor's the mayor. Shit, I didn't even remember that you just got here, sorry. Frank Taylor's his name, but everyone just calls him Taylor."

  Suddenly I was even more proud of our work over the previous hours. There's nothing quite like fixing a man's truck to make a good first impression. I didn't know what kind of man the mayor was, but everyone loves a trustworthy mechanic.

  "Glad we finished in plenty of time, too. I’ve got to get to sleep early tonight," he told me.

  "Why," I asked, "Got a big breakfast planned?"

  "Something like that," he said, opening up to me more than he had even up to that point, "Me and a few of the guys have a meeting with some of the Trenchers in the morning."

  He didn't explain, but I took it to mean that the Trenchers were another gang. It was strange to imagine that the people I'd been meeting over the course of the day were also members in a criminal organization - even if it wasn't one officially. They might call it a club, and they might register themselves as such on their paperwork, but when it came down to it, a gang is just what the Dead Men were. They lived outside the law and they weren't afraid to hurt people who got in their way. It was terrifying but at the same time inspiring to think about. These were men who saw what they wanted from the world and simply took it. Even at my age, I'd seen plenty of people who didn't have the guts to stand up and take what they wanted, and I saw what happened to them when the world didn't cooperate. Maybe the MC crowd had the right idea after all.

  Tubbs thanked me for helping him with the truck and I waved him off. It was good to know that even first impressions don't count for everything around here. Tubbs had seemed like one of the bad guys just that morning, but by the evening he was friendly and seemed to be more willing to speak to me than he was with any of his fellow bikers, even.

  I couldn't find Zach in the garage so I went into the business office. Karen was sitting at the desk, struggling with her mountain of paperwork, just as she had been the last time I'd seen her here.

  "Oh, hey Emma," she said when she noticed me. "You can take off if you want. Zach always putters around on his own projects after hours, but you don't need to stick around for that."

  "Okay, thanks, I’ll see you in the morning," I told her.

  I was glad to be done with a long day. As fascinating as my new place of business was, there was nothing I needed more just then than some fast food, some mindless television and a hot shower. The Oceanview motel might not be great, but it could provide me with the last two, and I'd seen a burger joint on the way into town that would provide me with the first.

  I sat down on the bed in my motel room and unwrapped a warm, soggy burger that probably had enough calories to feed me for a whole day in the wilderness. I found something suitably mind-numbing on the television, but the reception was poor and I wasn't paying much attention. In my mind I was going over everything that had happened on my first day.

  My attraction to Cash was clear, but the warnings Karen had given me - and the thought of going against Dad's wishes - were pulling me strongly in the other direction. By the time I finished my last bite of burger and started in on the fries, I was already sure that no good could come of letting myself get too close to a man like that. I wanted to stay in San Viero for a long time, but I wasn't sure if I was prepared to commit myself to the life as one of the Dead Men's girls. I relaxed on the bed and digested my greasy burger, content with the decision I'd made for myself.

  Looking back on it now, I have to laugh. There I was, confident in the way only a 22-year old can be. I had my whole life ahead of me, and I thought I knew what the best way to live it was. I was wrong about a lot of things, but that most of all.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning started out much like the day before had. In my ongoing quest to make San Viero feel more like home, I grabbed breakfast at the same restaurant. Establishing yourself as a regular in a place like that is a long, hard process, but there's no way to take a shortcut with it. Either they know you or they don't. I can pretty confidently say that, by the end of my second meal, they were starting to recognize me. I wondered if any of that had to do with rumors that were circulating amongst the town about the leader of the Dead Men and his new riding companion.

  When I'd had my fill of sausage and eggs, I headed into the garage to see what work needed to be done. Zach told me that "the boys" weren't back from whatever it was that they were doing at such an early hour, and that I should start trying to diagnose a problem with the transmission on a Chevy that had come in earlier that morning.

  I got to work, happy to have my hands inside a car again. I was still riding high on my decision to restrain myself around Cash, and that meant renewing my efforts when it came to mechanical work. I was sure that I could get the Chevy up and running in no time. Sometimes things can be more challenging than they seem though.

  I was just starting to get frustrated by my lack of progress when I heard the roar of bikes approaching the lot. From the sound of it, half a dozen members had just pulled up. Rather than the wild, joyous behavior I'd become so used to from assembled groups of Dead Men, I heard only muffle
d whispers and angry yelling coming from the lot where their bikes were cutting out, one by one. I grabbed a rag for my hands and went out to examine the situation for myself.

  Just as I was stepping up to the group of them, prepared to ask how the job had gone - as if I knew what the job truly entailed - the large black van that I'd seen parked amongst the cars in the lot pulled to a speedy stop just outside of the clubhouse. Everyone crowded around the van when it pulled up, so I stayed back, not wanting to push and shove when I didn't know what was going on. One of the guys opened the rear doors and Cash stooped out. I wondered for a second why he was riding in the back of the van instead of on his bike, but that question was quickly answered for me. His right arm was awash in red, and I could see that he was holding his shoulder. He had been shot.

  I nearly leapt from where I was standing, but there were too many of the Dead Men around for me to get close to him, and over the crowd there wasn't even a way to get his attention. I didn't know quite what to say, anyway. He and I might be developing a bond, but as of that moment, we were still nearly strangers. Every one of these men had more cause to care for him and to help him than I did, but I still felt slighted and useless that I couldn't offer him so much as a helping hand or a word of sympathy.

  Cash was pushing bikers away with one hand as they crowded around him. He made his way from the van to the clubhouse door and the whole bunch of them pushed inside. I'd never actually been inside the clubhouse at this point, so I wasn't sure about the etiquette of following him in. I stood outside the door, feeling lost and helpless.