Heavy Duty People: The Brethren MC Trilogy book 1 (9 page)

The
y always admitted that individual members might deal drugs, they could hardly do otherwise really as again, that was true enough. But they always maintained the distinction for public consumption, that individual members dealing drugs wasn’t club business.

But what was really left unsaid was that
, just the way it had been for us when we’d first patched up all those years ago, it was the club’s reputation, the club’s patch, which enabled those people to deal drugs. The Brethren patch was a brand that members could use to make money. As Gyppo had explained to me all those years ago when he first took me to meet Dazza, for anyone who wanted to buy stuff it was safe to approach a member with a Brethren patch because you knew their reputation, that no plod had ever infiltrated them, so you knew they were safe to deal with.

So
for the guys at the top of the tree, or anyone entrepreneurial who wanted to try, membership of the club could be a route to making serious money, with a willing pool of bodies amongst the lower ranking patches and support club members after some easy money, together with prospects and even hangarounds looking to prove themselves, to do the work on the ground.

As a patch club with members who dealt, we had the same issues.

Sometimes people would ask us why we didn’t disassociate ourselves from one of our guys who got had up for doing something, or condemn what they had done. Anyone asking that sort of question just showed they didn’t understand what membership of a club like ours meant.

Within the club we had quite a challenging regime. Like anywhere else you would have your core group of buddies within the club, the guys you hung around with, rode with, partied with. Every group was different, things changed over time, but even within this core group there would tend to be a continual process of mutual testing, winding each other up, checking to see commitment. This went further the less well you knew another member.

But whatever we might say to each other inside the club; whatever we might say in coming to club view; we never, never, never disagreed outside the club in front of, or to, non-members. As a patch, you never betrayed your brothers, whether they were part of your close local circle or someone from another cohort that you hardly knew, by word or deed to anyone outside the club, whatever you might say or do privately. The absolute rule was always absolute solidarity with anyone inside the club against anyone outside; a non-member. Whatever they said, whatever they had done, a brother was always right.

In a club like ours
, or like The Brethren, you could rely on your brothers, and their silence.

For them, i
t was also a world of Brethren. As they said, ‘The sun never sets on a Brethren patch,’ and so with their worldwide network of charters, members of The Brethren had access to an international set of connections if they wanted them.

So those
of our guys who were already well in with The Brethren, dealing with them on drugs or whatever, were generally very pro. Like Billy, they saw this as their big opportunity to move up the ladder from membership of a friendly but separate club to a Brethren patch themselves. Besides, if we fell out with The Brethren and their connections, where else could they get their stuff?

But it wasn
’t just a simple question of business. There were a whole range of both personal and club reasons why people were pro, anti or undecided.

But one thing was clear. There was now no
status quo ante
. It was join, disband, or fight.

North-east
president or not, Dazza wouldn’t have the authority to make this offer on his own. This was not a local decision. This affected The Brethren nationally in bringing in a whole club as new members, as well as the impact it would have on the balance of power in their rivalry with The Rebels in the UK. It would have to be something that had been agreed and approved by The Freemen leadership. Making an offer like that without proper authorisation would have been a fatal decision on Dazza’s part.

And what an offer. It was almost unheard of. Normally
, if a club like The Brethren wanted us to patch over it would mean the entire club, or those guys that were wanted anyway, going back to being strikers for a Brethren patch. We’d put on their bottom rocker, get our heads down and do our time. OK so you’d expect that if they wanted us, we’d be put up fairly soon, fast tracked to a patch vote after say three or six months, no one would be expecting us to stay striking for a year or more the way a straight tagalong, some potential wannabe would. After all, the reason the offer would be made would be because they could see we were stand up guys, good material with what it took.

But the point was, whatever you
’d worn before, to wear a Brethren patch, you would still have to strike for it, either individually or as a club.

A straight patch swap,
a guy transferring full membership straight from club to club, with no screwing about as a striker? Well sure we knew that occasionally, very, very occasionally it happened, in really special circumstances, but it was the rare, the extraordinary exception.

But this, this was something else. Wh
at Dazza was proposing was absolutely unheard of. The Legion weren’t just being offered the chance to patch over. The Brethren were offering a full patch swap for the whole club. Just like that.

One day The Legion, the next day Menaces.

It was such a fantastic offer it was scary in itself.

Coming to our club house that evening,
Dazza hadn’t been speaking for himself, or for the north-east charter, or even for the Great Britain charter. He was by implication speaking for the worldwide Brethren. And to say no was to say no to them all.

It was also a decision that could not take too long. The Brethren would want an answer.

So it was a period of uncertainty.

Me, t
o be honest I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

I was attracted certainly by the chance to share in their reputation. But at the same time I was cautious. There was no denying it, joining The Brethren was a serious
step up in commitment. I knew that if we went in we would have to live by The Brethren’s rules, and that meant the club would come absolutely first, the way we had tested strikers, but more so; before family, before friends, before work, before anything, for the rest of my life as a patch. And was I ready for that level of commitment? I had as I’d realised been drifting away from the life for a while now. I was still fiercely proud of my colours, of my club, of my loyalty to my brothers and their loyalty to me. But these were shared now with other things. I had Sharon, we had a home, we had a life at home outside the club, things that I’d not had for many years. I had my business. I could feel myself settling down. We had even talked about having kids.

And it was also a commitment for life, when they said
‘BFFB’, Brethren Forever, Forever Brethren, they meant it.

*

We jacked Wibble the next week.

Prayers were over and as the guys headed down to the bar Butcher went in search of Wibble who was boots up again on the desk with one eye on the screens and one eye on the porno mag he was flicking through. From up where we were, I could hear Butcher bawling him out, a tower of tattooed rage as Butcher ran him through the bar and up the stair
s to where we, the other officers, had hung around in the meeting room.

We
’d all picked up baseball bats from where we’d stacked them earlier. Tiny had his on the table in front of him while Gut was swinging his back and forth, just getting the feel of it.

‘
Fucking piece of shit,’ stormed Butcher as he pushed through the doors with Wibble, ‘goofing off on the job.’

Wibble looked around the room and then back
at us, taking in the bats, the air of pervading menace. He’d never been in the meeting room before. It was strictly for full members and like Dazza, invited guests only with the membership’s permission, and by tradition, strikers were never invited. This was the members’ holy of holies, this was where we had prayers, so only the faithful were allowed in.

‘
What’s up?’ asked Tiny in a dangerously low and controlled voice.

‘
Like I said, he’s jerking off with a mag when he’s supposed to be watching the screens.’

‘
Is that what you are now Wibble?’ joined in Gut, ‘Just a little wanker?’

‘
Hey fuck off,’ he pushed back, ‘screens are clear, everything’s secure.’

‘
There’s serious shit going on here Wibble, you know that don’cha?’ Tiny continued quietly, ‘So you know we can’t have any weak links in the chain.’

Watching him,
he was loosening himself up for a fight. It was subtle but you could just see it in his body language, they way he was moving so as to give himself some space. Here we were, four guys with baseball bats with the rest of the club downstairs, giving him a bollocking serious enough to have him drag his sorry arse up into the meeting room, and he was starting to square up for a fight? Mind you he might just be thinking that it’s what was coming anyway.

‘
What are you saying?’

Butcher pushed a chair behind him and barked
, ‘Sit!’

He didn
’t like that. I could understand that, if I was facing a potential rat fucking I’d want to be standing too.

‘
I’ll stand.’

‘
Did you hear what I just said?’ demanded Butcher menacingly.

‘
Yeah, what d’ya think I am, deaf? And I said I’ll stand. Now say what you’ve got to say to me.’

‘
Striker, just shut the fuck up and listen to me,’ said Tiny, ‘We’ve got serious shit to do now, a serious decision to make and we can’t afford to have anyone around who’s not serious…

That was as far as
Wibble let him get before erupting in anger, ‘Hey fuck, if you don’t think I’m serious then you’re out of your fucking minds.’

‘
When you’re wearing our flash you know you’re repping the club right?’ Tiny overrode him in turn, ‘From the moment you first tagalong, to being a striker or even god help us if you ever make it to real member, it don’t matter. If you’ve got a Legion tab you’ve gotta hold the rep up.’

‘
Hell yeah! You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I carry the rep for you? I’m the best fucking striker you’ve had for years, and you fucking well know it!’

Tiny and Gut just exchanged looks.

‘You want me gone? Is that what this is?’ Wibble was really rising to it now, ‘Well I ain’t walking out for this crap! If you want me out, you’re just going to have to fucking throw me out. So come on then, who’s going to try it?’

‘
Well then,’ Tiny said slowly, rising to his feet and picking up his baseball bat. I pulled mine up beside me as I rose too and walked round the table. ‘Guys, it looks like we don’t really have a choice then do we?’

‘
Guess not,’ Gut said, as we closed in towards where Wibble was standing his ground by the door, our eyes never leaving his face. With a few steps the four of us stood round him in a semicircle, about a bat swing’s wide.

There was a moment
’s silence.

And then Tiny said,
‘We’re gonna have to get you a tattoo organised pretty pronto kiddo aren’t we?’ as, reaching into the inside pocket of his cut off, he produced a fresh Legion top rocker and rolled up centre patch and letting his bat slip to the floor, he grabbed the astonished Wibble in a huge bone crushing bear hug that just about lifted the smaller guy off the floor, before pressing them into his hands.

‘
Congratulations mate,’ he roared, ‘welcome to The Legion.’

‘
You complete and absolute bunch of fuckers!’ Wibble was almost crying with joy and disbelief as we all joined in the celebration.

‘
Love you too mate!’ I said laughing like I was fit to bust, ‘Christ mate, you should have seen your face!’

That was one of the great things about The Legion, we knew how to have a bit of a laugh.

Of course he was in. There was never any real doubt. It had been a unanimous vote. He would be the last of The Legion. And he could hold his mud.

There was an enormous cheer from everybody as the grinning Wibble emerged into the bar downstairs a few moments later with us following him, and a path opened towards it for him.

His piss-up went on until about three or so. I crashed in the bunkroom I got so hammered. Cost him a fortune.

Tiny took him to our inkman the next day.

*

The following week’s
High Church was it. Tiny, flanked by us officers standing beside him, addressed the room.

‘
We are a club. We decide things as a club and we do things as a club. That’s what we’ve always done, and that’s what we’re going to continue to do.’

‘
And if anyone has a problem with that, then they’d better say so now.’

No one
in the room moved a muscle.