“We should go check it out,” said Bolt, the Coeur d’Alene vice president. The man was Picnic’s age, and they’d been friends their whole lives. If it wasn’t for Bolt I wouldn’t even be here—I’d met him when I was nineteen years old, fresh in my first prison term and scared shitless. He’d taken pity on me, teaching me how to stay alive and covering my ass when I needed it. I’d had a bike before I went in, but I’d never known shit about MC culture. By the time I’d gotten out two years later, I was ready for the Reapers. Bolt had pulled some strings and the next thing I knew, I was staying at the Armory, doing odd jobs, and earning my way into the club.
Best damned thing that ever happened to me, no fuckin’ question.
“I’ll go,” Gage announced, stepping up quietly. I wasn’t surprised—until last year, Gage had been our sergeant at arms, and he never backed down from anything. He’d been running The Line for the past two years and I knew he was restless. “Go in quiet, get a feel for how things are going. Maybe just a couple of us?”
“Thoughts?” Pic asked, looking to the other presidents.
“Seems solid to me,” Boonie said. “No need to tip them off—if it’s nothing, they’ll never know we questioned them, and if we have to take action, I don’t want them tipped off ahead of time.”
Rance nodded. “You got anyone in mind to take with you, Gage? They know most of the Bellingham brothers, so we can’t be much use to you.”
Gage looked to me, eyes speculative. “How about you, Painter? You’ve heard about the situation firsthand, and you’ve been out of circulation for a while. Less likely they’ll recognize you. I know you’re on parole, but I think we’ve got that covered.”
“Sure,” I said, mentally rearranging my week. I had shifts at the body shop, but seeing as Pic was the boss, that wasn’t an issue.
“Great, let’s talk after we finish here,” he replied.
“Moving on, let’s discuss the situation near Whitefish,” Pic said. I only listened to him with one ear, thinking through every conversation I’d ever had with Pipes in prison, wondering if I’d missed anything along the way.
“You want help?” Puck asked, his voice a whisper. “Know you’re going in quiet, but it never hurts to have backup.”
I liked the idea—felt natural to have Puck at my back. “Let me talk to Gage. See what he thinks.”
? ? ?
An hour later we’d finished all our business. There wasn’t a ton—this weekend was more of a social event than anything else. I caught Gage’s eye on the way out, and he waved me over.
“Puck’s offered to come with us,” I told him. “We’re tight, and it probably wouldn’t hurt to have someone from the Bastards along for the ride.”
Gage frowned.
“I’d rather not. I know he’s a good kid, but if we bring in a second club that complicates things. We take one of the Bastards with us, then the Jacks will want one of theirs along and suddenly there’s ten of us hitting town. Right now it’s contained in our territory and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Fair enough,” I said, seeing his logic, even if I didn’t like it. Puck was a good man to have at your back. Of course, so was Gage. He’d been sergeant at arms for a reason—the man was a brick. Solid, dangerous, utterly loyal to the club. “So when do you want to go?”
“I’m thinking we head out soon,” he said. “Already talked to Pic about putting someone else in place at The Line. It could take a while and I don’t want to leave them hanging. Now I’m trying to think of something that’ll let me set up shop there for a while, but also give me an excuse to take off whenever I need to . . . I don’t like going undercover but it’s for the best right now.”
“I hear you. So you think it’ll take a while?”
“No idea,” he replied. “You flexible? I won’t need you there all the time, but I’ll want you backing me at least part of the time.”
“Sure, I can make it work,” I said, figuring I’d bring along a few sketch pads or something. I’d gone more than a year without doing any serious art—no reason to get worked up about it now. “What if we say you’re a trucker? Lets you come and go, distances you from club life while still giving you an excuse to ride a bike when you’re in town. Not only that, Pic’s got his hands on Pace Howard’s big rig right now—he let him park it behind the shop while he’s deployed, promised he’d keep it up and running. Maybe we can use that.”