Dead Men Motorcycle Club (6 page)

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.

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 muffled 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 club
house.
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.

A hand touched me on the shoulder and I spun, startled. It was Tubbs. He had been driving the van, rather than a part of the crowd. I nearly flinched away from him, but then I remembered the way we'd spoken the previous night and realized he was just trying to comfort me. His president and friend had just been shot, but he was sparing a moment of comfort for me - there was definitely more to Tubbs than what I had first assumed.

"It was those bastards. Trenchers," he said flatly.

"What happened? Was there a big fight?" I asked him. I was full of questions. There didn't seem to be any other injured, but how could I be sure? Was there going to be retaliation? Will this place be swarming with cops? Did San Viero even
have
a police force?

"Not a big fight, no," he explained, "We were talking to Martin, the top guy in the Trenchers. Everything seemed to be fine with him, but whatever deal they were making didn't sit well with his vice, apparently. After they shook on it and we started walking away, that prick pulled a Saturday night special and put one in Cash. From the look of it, Martin didn't know it was coming. He was as shocked as we were."

"Holy shit!
What happened next?" I demanded. By this point I was twisting the rag so hard in my hands that they were starting to ache.

"Well," he said, "Martin ran for cover, but that prick just stood there like he was gloating or something. He didn't take another shot right away, which was good for us and bad for him.
Me
and Kurt had our pieces out in a second and he was down.
Woulda been a firefight with the rest of the Trenchers, but Cash and Martin were both yelling for their sides
to calm down. If that bullet had been a few inches to the side, Cash
woulda been gone and there's no way we'd have gotten out of there without a lot more bullets flying."

I feel like I was going to be sick and I was sure I was turning green. I looked down and saw that Tubbs' hands were red with blood, presumably from helping Cash into the van. "Is he okay? Is he going to be okay, Tubbs?"

"Shit, I don't know," he said, exasperated, "He took it in the shoulder, but I don't know what's what.
Hep
was an army doc, so he knows how to patch guys up. I'm sure he's with him now. Once it calms down a little you should go see him."

"Me?" I asked, off balance, "But... I mean..."

"I'm not an idiot, Emma," he said to me, "Everybody knows the way Cash has been looking at you and the way you've been looking at him. You two might not have everything figured out yet, but
it's clear to the rest of us."

I just stood there, too shocked to say anything. I figured that my ride with Cash was the talk of the clubhouse - at least until Cash took a bullet - but evidently the gossips had come to a conclusion that I hadn't. They saw how I felt about Cash, deep down, even if I was trying to deny it to myself ever since Karen had told me. Now I was being confronted with everything, all at once. My feelings for Cash were being put to the test when the evidence of his bloody and dangerous lifestyle couldn't have been more obvious.

Just then, Zach came walking out of the garage. He had a scowl on his face as usual.

"You gonna
finish that transmission any time today, Emma? What's the hold up?"

Before I could say anything, Tubbs turned on him and spoke up for me.

"Lay off her, Zach," he said, "Cash took one in the shoulder. He's inside now with
Hep."

All of the ferocity went out of Zach's face then, and he quieted down. Apparently even he could see that there was something between Cash and I, and that I had more important concerns than a beat up old Chevy. Tubbs turned back to me and tried his best to smile.

"He's going to be okay, Emma," he said, "Let's get a drink and wait to see what Hep can do."

The two of us walked towards the clubhouse, leaving Zach behind to have the garage to himself. For the first time in a very long time, I had no desire to be in a garage right then. Usually working on cars was a great way to work through my problems, but just then it felt almost blasphemous that I would be working when someone I cared for was in danger.

The clubhouse was larger than seemed to be from the outside, in part due to the high ceilings and a large bay of windows against the rear wall. A handful of Dead Men were standing around talking loudly, presumably about the deal with the Trenchers and what had gone wrong. Tubbs led me over to a long bar and went behind it. He grabbed two glasses and a bottle of rum and poured. I'm not usually a big rum drinker, but if that was what Tubbs was recommending as my ersatz therapist, then who was I to disagree? I drank down the shot and pushed the glass over to him for another.

As I started in on my second shot, a couple of Dead Men I hadn't met before came over to the bar. They were both young, and from their patches, one of them seemed to be a recruit.

"What happened, Tubbs?" asked the slightly older one.

Tubbs went into the story again, telling it to those two just the same as he'd told it to me. Neither the two fresh faces nor anyone else in the clubhouse seemed to be bothered by my presence. I was sure it wasn't the strangest thing in the world having a woman around here, but this was a tense time and I was an outsider. More and more I felt like the Dead Men had already decided what I would do about Cash before I had decided for myself. To them, I was already his girl, even if neither of us had admitted it yet.

A door opened at the back of the room and Hep
stepped out. He went to the sink behind the bar and started washing his hands, which were slick with blood. From all sides he was being pestered with questions about Cash, but he stayed quiet. When his hands were clean he walked to the other side of the bar and approached me. I didn't know what to say so I said nothing.

"He want
to see you," he said.

My eyes went wide. Cash wants to see me? I was suddenly very worried that the other bikers were going to see it as a slight that he wanted to see me and not them. I could only hope that the widespread certainty they seemed to have about Cash and I would smooth over this slight as well.