For Your Sake (9 page)

              But something about the smell permeating from the kitchen didn’t sit right until a plume of smoke followed by a bunch of female expletives spilled from it.

              “I ain’t goin’ in there.”  Tanner shook his head and poured himself another shot.

              Taz had no such problem.  “Bitches slappin’ and grabbin’ at each other’s clothes?”  He raised his hand as he hopped off the stool.  “Allow me,” he offered, taking off towards the ruckus.

              Aero and Doug finally joined them.  Ben poured two extra shots for them.  “Well?  What’ya think, Doug?”

              “If Emilio wants to sever ties with the club, it’s gonna hurt us - big time.”  Doug drank his shot then shook his head fiercely.  “Can’t do it, man.  Shit my brother and I barely broke even this past summer.  Ain’t enough lawns to mow or trees to take down to live on.  All’s we got is plowin’ in the winter.  We gotta do somethin’.  Gotta convince those guinea’s not to fuck us on this.”

The Skull’s sergeant-at-arms was fifty three, big-bellied and loyal to the club, but with too much of a rah-rah attitude for Ben’s taste.  He also had a bit of a selfish streak and needed reminding that his wallet wasn’t the only one on the chopping block.  “Not just this charter either,” Ben reminded him.  “Don’t forget the other three who count on the transport.”

              “Body shop sustains itself,” Tanner offered.  “And the parts gig is small potatoes compared to the drug runs.”

              While the Skull’s president and his wife kept up appearances with the town, the body shop quietly doubled as a legit cover for a chop shop.  It was a deal they made with the Lakeland Hogs, a non-1% club in southern Ohio.  They fed profitable body work into the shop in exchange for washing stolen parts along with clean ones.  The nice, monthly fee kept their beaks wet, but it was the narcotics runs for the Santagio’s which kept their bellies fat.

              “Placed a call to Vic to fill ‘im in,” Aero said.  “On his way back.  Can’t do anything till the meet’s arranged with good ol’ Uncle Emie.”

              Ben poured another shot for himself, knowing he wasn’t doing himself any favors until he got some food in his gut.  But judging from the disaster in the kitchen, he’d probably find himself holed in his corner booth at Ziggy’s tonight.  The roadside dive off 40 became his favorite spot to unwind when he needed separation.  They had cold beer, a hell of a steak sandwich and a pretty waitress or two. 

“What is going on back there?”  An authoritative female voice perked his ears.  It could only be one person.  Swiveling, he saw Elle Connors walk in and towards the back.  “Tarts burning down the kitchen?”

Ben admired the woman.  Tough enough to stand beside her MC president husband, juggled raising two kids while running the body shop’s financial affairs, she also played the part of a concerned resident who kept herself involved in the town with class. If there was a decision which needed to be overturned or a cop who needed to look the other way, Elle could manufacture it. Looking sharp in a beige dress, chain belt, black leather boots, edgy short haircut and various gold jewelry, she motioned towards the kitchen. 

“Taz got it under control.” Ben replied.

She snorted a laugh.  “Oh, this I have to see.”

As if he heard, Taz exited the kitchen, two girls under each arm as he struggled to keep them from apart.  “Ladies.  Am I gonna have to take you in back and teach you both a lesson?”

Both women immediately stopped trying to grab at each other.  It was common knowledge among the club girls that Taz’s ‘lessons’ were highly sought after.  They grinned, each kissing his black sideburns, giving their answer.

Ben shook his head then went to get up.  “Guess no one’s eatin’ tonight.”

“Except Taz,” Elle quipped.  “Hang around.  I’ll order from Clark’s”

              The mention of the café made him think of Eva, sitting inside, startled blue eyes staring right back at him.  “Nah.  Gonna head out to Zig’s then go home.” 

              He felt a comforting hand on his bicep.  “You doing okay, Big Ben?”

              Elle knew.  She was one of those in-the-know ol’ ladies who balanced the role with her civilian responsibilities without missing a beat.  It was obvious Vic shared the outcome of that bloody shootout where she could very well have lost him. No way she wasn’t going to find out the cause – and the retaliation for it -which she also knew Ben was responsible for carrying out.

                With only a few hours of restless sleep, Ben hadn’t enough regrouping time to deem himself as ‘okay’.  Still, he shrugged off Elle’s concern and kept it vague.  “You know me.”

              “She was your only family.”

              “Club’s my family, Elle.”

              She nodded without question and dropped her hand, thankfully not pressing him.  Twelve years she’d known him – seven since he patched – and knew how he handled his day-after shit.  He smiled appreciatively then went to head out, only for Wes to call after him.  “Ben.  Hey, wait.” The young patch bolted out from the office, a folded piece of paper in his hand.  “Glad I caught you before you left.”  He handed over the paper.  “Here.”

              Opening the paper, he peered at the meager details on Eva whose last name was Sinclair.  “That’s it?”

              Nodding with a shrug, Wes headed back to the office, calling out over his shoulder, “would’ve been faster if I just looked in the dictionary under ‘boring’.”

              Giving the contents another quick once-over, Ben folded it back up and stuffed it inside the pocket of his cut.  He then motioned ‘call me’ to Aero, who was in discussion with Vic and Doug, before finally leaving.

              For almost two hours Ben just….rode.  The evening was pleasant, the air warm with a hint of refreshing breeze which numbed his arms and face.  But not his mind.  He had cared for his baby sister.  Fuck it, he killed and went to jail for her and his mother.  But after getting out of WV State Pen at twenty-three, he had no one but himself.  He had no money or place to live and no one willing to give someone with a prison record a job so he could get both. 

              Except an outlaw motorcycle club.

              With nothing to lose, he had wound up on the Skull’s doorstep shortly after getting out twelve years ago.  He remembered Elle staring at him through the body shop’s office window, cell phone in hand.  Moments later, Vic had exited the clubhouse, no doubt on the other end of that call.  The club’s new president at the time was both wary and impressed by the balls of the quiet young man the size of Mt. Rushmore.  But with priors of his own, he also knew the importance of a second chance.

              After thoroughly checking his background, the club put Ben to work in the body shop, as well as got Tanner to score him some work at Owen’s Mill.   One night after a late shift together at the mill, he and Tanner closed up and left, only for Tanner to be jumped by the guy whose girlfriend he snatched away and was now his old lady.  The guy had a friend in tow and didn’t care for the meaning of a ‘fair fight’.  Thinking they were alone, they both had Tanner pinned to the ground, pummeling the shit out of him.  What they didn’t count on was a young, big, quiet dude standing behind him with a six foot two by four in his hands.  “Hey!”

              Both guys halted their beating to turn around before the friend received a hard slam of raw lumber across the side of his head.  The guy stared at his friend lying on the ground with blood pouring from his head then up to the big guy standing there, calm as a May breeze, holding a piece of blood-spattered lumber.  “
Now
it’s a fair fight.”

              Jumping up, Tanner finished off the guy to within an inch before leaving him on the ground next to his still-alive friend.  Ben then bent over next to them.  “You ever come back, you ever say a word of this, next time I’ll swing hard enough to take your heads off.”

              It wasn’t long after that Ben was voted into prospect, earning his patch at twenty six.  Over time his big, strong, silent type and ability to remain calm when shit went down earned him enforcer status, as well as being the one the club called upon when things couldn’t be settled rationally.  In civilian terms: Ben Lawson was the Mountain Skulls’ assassin.

              That lifestyle left little room for him to emotionally attach himself to anyone other than his club family.  Even though Vic and Tanner managed to balance a home and family life outside the club, Ben wasn’t sure how to go about it without compromising his position.  At times it gnawed on him, the ache for someone steady, the need for stability.  Maybe it was his age.  Or trying to re-write his past. 

But last night was first-hand evidence what letting his guard down got him.  He let it guide his choice in the wrong direction which resulted now in three deaths.  Aero was right.  He needed to move on.  Shut the door tight and lock it.  And with a potential separation from the Santagio family looming on the horizon, he needed every ounce of focus.

He saw the exit for Ziggy’s and pulled off.  It was a simple, log-cabin style hovel surrounded by pines.  Except for a worn, painted sign, the place was non-descript which was right up his alley. And for a Friday night, the place was as quiet as it looked.  No music.  No blinking neon signs. No rowdy assholes who couldn’t handle their liquor.  Just hardworking people who needed a small niche to unwind, drink and eat in peace. 

Kick-standing his bike, he removed his helmet and swung off.  There were two entrances - one which led to the floor area with bistro-style wooden tables which had seen their fair share of fights.  Ben always used the other – a side door which brought him to the edge of the bar.  Across from it, was a circular, built-in bench with a bolted down table which was Ben’s spot when he came in. It was shrouded in darkness because Ziggy kept forgetting to change the bulb in the fixture hanging above it.  Ben told him not to bother, that anyone sitting out of the way didn’t want a damn spotlight on them. 

The old man spotted him from where he was stretching up to adjust the volume on an old style television.  Ziggy was pushing seventy, but a stint as a light-weight boxer on the local circuits back in his heyday and a full head of silver hair kept a strapping look about him.  And he had a soft spot for Ben, having worked the mines with his old man after his short, boxing career ended.  Ziggy was there that day at the mines.  The trauma of the collapse was so thick he quit shortly after.  Years of living cheaply and never having married, he sunk every dollar he saved earned drenched in soot and sweat and opened this place twenty years ago.  It quickly became the refuge for the hard-working man who carried even harder burdens.

Right now, that fit Ben to a ‘T’ as Ziggy wobbled over to greet him.  “Big Ben.” 

Ben was considered ‘big’ to just about everyone.  He gently hugged him, careful not to break anything before straightening up.  “How are ya, Zig?”

The old man studied him.  “I think I should be asking you that.”

Ziggy may’ve been old, but he was sharp.  Ben’s cut gave away his affiliation, but not his role.  Oh, there were whispers and rumors about what he
really
did for the club, but nothing anyone could prove.  But Ziggy knew what happened when Ben was seventeen which earned him five years in jail, so he knew what he was capable of.  Men came here to unload their minds, so Ziggy’s statement wasn’t a revelation.

Ben slid his huge frame into the wooden bench. “Couple of beers and a steak sandwich, I’ll be right as rain, ol friend.” 

Nodding, Ziggy waved someone over, pointed to the cooler behind the bar then headed back to the kitchen.  Less than a minute later, a bottled beer was placed in front of him.  Ben followed that arm up to find a waitress attached to it. Nice body, good rack, pink lips, dark red hair and brown eyes.  Ziggy sure had a good vetting process for his staff.

“My shift’s about done.”  Her voice was a seductive purr which left no question behind its hidden intention.  “Let me know if you…..need anything else.” 

The double meaning was obvious.  They always were and never came sparingly.  If the cut wasn’t a pussy magnet, Ben’s size and looks were.  Big and quiet.  Those were the ones to watch out for because when they did make noise, it was meaningful.  That was the pull.  The draw.  A commonplace which could be so unchallenging it bored him sometimes.  But not now.  Not tonight.  Not with the poison inside which needed to be sucked out.  Several hours sleep, some club business, couple of shots of good scotch and hot food on the way, the only thing missing to end the day on somewhat of a high note would be physical release.  He came here to purge.  Might as well go all the way. 

Taking the waitresses hand, he let his eyes continue to give her a hard, appraising look before bringing it up his lips to kiss her fingertips.  “Meet me outside in two.”  As hard as his heart needed to be, he could be charming when he wanted to.  This chick was probably soaked as soon as the whiskers tickled her hand.  A quick wink sealed it as he slid out of the bench and towards the side door. 

He passed Ziggy who was coming from the kitchen.  “Cook finishing his break. Sandwich’ll be up in fifteen.”

This wouldn’t take long.  “I’ll be back in ten.”

He gave her two minutes.  She was outside in one.  Eager thing.  Perfect.  A wink and a hand-kiss was all the romance he was capable of as he leaned against the rear of the structure while she approached.