“None of this is going to come back on us for a while. Right now, the club thinks we’re dead. That, my friend, is a good thing.”
“I can’t believe I’m reading about our own deaths,” I said. It was bizarre, like it was a story about someone else.
“What a trip, huh?” Crunch said. "I wonder if we'll get a funeral."
My thoughts were racing a mile a minute. “They think we’re dead. Do you know what that means?”
“We’re free,” Crunch said.
Free.
No. It was impossible.
I looked up at him. “You ever think of doing something else, Crunch?”
“Think about starting a new life, you mean? All the fucking time,” he said. “I've been thinking about it for years, ever since before I went to the Pen. You think about it?”
Every day.
“No,” I lied. “I mean, yeah, lately. I've been thinking about it more, I guess.”
“What would you do?” Crunch asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know."
“I speak Spanish,” Crunch said. “Thinking about taking April and Mac, going to Mexico, starting a fucking surfing resort or something.”
“You surf?” I asked.
“I could learn,” he said. "You need to get your Plan B in line, Axe. We're dead now, but when someone does get to figuring out whose those bodies are, we're fucked. And we'll probably be on the hook for murder. We need to give serious consideration to plans for relocating. Permanently."
"Can you see me, living in the tropics, sipping one of those fucking fruity drinks with a pink umbrella or some shit?" I asked.
Crunch laughed. "I'm going to be a fucking surfer, man."
It was a nice fantasy.
Was it possible?
You can't change who you are.
"On the other hand," Crunch said. "If we ditched everything, it would mean Mad Dog gets away with killing Tank..." His voice trailed off.
Back to reality.
"If we take care of Mad Dog, you know what that means," I said.
"War."
"Mad Dog started it."
"We just need to figure out if we're willing to finish it," Crunch said.
Inferno Motorcycle Club
Los Angeles, California
“The three men killed were our brothers," Mad Dog said. "Tank, Axe, and Crunch were our family. We will never forget them. And we will avenge their deaths."
Mad Dog looked meaningfully at Mud from across the room. Mud knew what that look was about. It meant that Mad Dog was finished with his tearful speech about brotherhood and loss, and was ready to get down to business. He nudged Tink and Fats.
"In the back," Mud whispered.
One at a time, the three backed away from the gathering of club members, who were busy drinking and regaling each other with stories.
Toasting their fallen brothers.
It was a spontaneous, informal memorial service of sorts, a reaction to the news reports of the bodies discovered in Benicio's warehouse. The brothers were angry. They wanted blood. And it happened in Benicio's warehouse, which meant Benicio was involved. It was a new day for Mad Dog.
In the back room, Mad Dog gathered his allies.
“Now,” he said. “Axe was one of the closest people in the world to me. I considered him like family, and I meant every word of what I said out there. It pained me to have to get rid of him, but he was in the way. So, understand that if I erased him, I would not hesitate to do the same to any of you who cross me. This is your only warning. You won’t get a second one.”
“Understood, Prez,” Mud said. “You have our undivided loyalty.”
“Good,” Mad Dog said. “Now, onto the business at hand. The Veep is still gone, but he’ll be back soon.”
“Has anyone been in contact with him?” Fats asked.
Mad Dog shook his head. “He’s off the grid. On his honeymoon.” He rolled his eyes. “Overseas-told us he was going to Mexico, but I wouldn’t put it past him to tell us he was going one place and go another. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is he’s out of contact, and he will be back.”
“You have a plan, Prez?” Tink asked.
Mad Dog smiled, the expression not a pleasant one. “Of course I do. He needs to be dealt with. But we need to play this right. We can't afford any fuck-ups."
June
"Hey, June." Stan waved as he came walking up to the deck. Bailey ran out to greet him, and he bent over to pat her. Satisfied, she ran off to sniff the yard.
I waved back, my paintbrush in hand. "Good morning."
"This place is really coming along nicely," he said. "It's shaping up real well. I saw you out here working on the porch, and thought I’d stop by and see if you needed any help with the house.”
“Oh, things are going fine here,” I said. “I won’t say no to help with the sealing, if you want to give me a hand. But don’t you have other things to do?”