TSE, page 22
part #25 of Southside Skulls MC Series
“Boss, you’ve got me and all the guys...”
He snorted. “They all fucking left me. I can’t support this club any longer. We’ve got no fucking money left. They all left me.”
“I didn’t leave you,” Rock said as he got on the bike. “Tell me where you are, boss.”
“Nah, I just called to say thank you. I’ve got something I have to do. When you remember me, would you tell people that I wasn’t a coward? I just knew when the time was up.” Fuck.
“Becker!”
“I gotta go, Rock, before some shit-ass little security officer comes by and kicks me out of here. Imagine how surprised they’ll be to find me when they come in on Monday morning.” He chuckled but before Rock could say another word, he ended the call. Rock started his bike and sped toward the construction site. He knew his boss was having a hell of a time lately. The club had dwindled down to less than ten members. They hadn’t all left, some of them had died and some were just too old to do it any longer. Becker hadn’t ever been able to appeal to younger guys, so the bulk of the Tarantulas were senior citizens now. It had all been going on for a while. Rock had even told Ajei that Becker’s hanging onto the club had become like a dysfunctional relationship that he’d stayed in too long and didn’t know how to survive without. Becker liked his whiskey, but the night before at the party Rock couldn’t help but notice how much he was putting away. He could kick himself in the ass for not trying to talk to him then. He had noticed the shop was gone when they got to the club and he also noticed it was the elephant in the room that no one was talking about.
About a year prior, Becker had started selling off some of the club property in an effort to restock their coffers and start over. It had been sad to watch him, poring over maps and making decisions about what they did and didn’t need. Rock thought the sale that hit him the hardest, and was probably the catalyst for today, was the shop. They had sold their shop because business was so slow and they needed the cash. Becker was the one to bring it up for a vote...but Rock thought now that maybe Becker hadn’t really thought about how deeply it would cut him to see his life’s work be demolished. Rock was out of town at the time, but some of the guys told him that when they saw the cyclone fence going up around it and the demolition equipment being brought in, Becker lost it. He yelled at the construction crew, telling that he’d built that shop with his own two hands while they were still shitting their diapers. He’d even pulled out his gun and a couple of the guys had to wrestle it away from him.
That was about a week ago and now the shop was gone, demolished completely. All that remained was a slab of concrete and a pile of old wood. The sign Becker had commissioned over twenty years ago was in the clubhouse and one of the old-timers told Rock that Becker had climbed over the fence and taken it in the dead of night. He wished someone would have seen the signs or heard the cries for help their boss was putting out there.
When he got to the construction site, he didn’t see Becker right away. He stopped his bike and saw Rooney, one of the old-timers, across the street in front of the club. He pointed left. Rock walked around that way and saw Becker. He was sitting on a pile of debris with his gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. His pant leg was bloody and he was missing a shoe. Rock looked down and saw the shoe on the ground outside the gate. There was blood on top like Becker had cut his leg going over. “Hey, boss! You okay?” Becker looked at his phone sitting next to him. Rock shook his head. “I’m here, boss. Look to your right.” Becker looked left, and then right, and when he saw Rock he reminded him of a child the way he smiled and lifted his whiskey bottle in a little wave. “Boss, why don’t you come out and we’ll go over to the club and talk.”
“We can talk here, but just for a minute.”
Rock sighed. “Okay, but I have to make a quick phone call first. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
“Not yet,” he said. “You know it was noon on May 5th, 1970, when they laid this foundation? That was over thirty years ago. This club was living large then. I wish you coulda seen it.”
“I’ve seen all the pictures and heard all the stories, boss. I feel like I was there.” Rock suddenly realized what day it was. He looked at the time on his phone. It was 11:25, May 5th. Fuck. “I’ll be right there, boss.” Rock turned his back to Becker and took a few steps away. He called the clubhouse. Rooney had gone back inside and he answered it. “Rooney, I need a couple guys over here, fast. Who’s there?”
“Jammer and his boy are here. The boy is helping Jammer pack up some stuff...” Rock didn’t have time for one of Rooney’s longwinded explanations. Jammer’s “boy” was a thirty-year-old race car driver. He would do.
“Let me talk to Jammer.” Rooney put the other man on the phone and Rock told him, briefly, what was going on and what he needed him and his son to do. Jammer didn’t hesitate to say they were on their way. Once Rock hung up the phone he looked back at Becker. The old biker had his gun pointed at his face. Shit. In Rock’s twenty-five-plus years in the business, he’d seen more than one man die...but never by his own hand. Becker was never his favorite person, but the old man had taught him a lot and he’d given him a lot of breaks so he and Ajei could stay together, and as close to their son as possible. He didn’t deserve to go this way. With a sigh and a grunt, Rock pulled himself up on the fence and threw one of his long, heavy legs over. It was a good thing he was finished making babies, he thought, as the spikes on the top almost pierced him through his jeans. He awkwardly dropped down on the other side and Becker smiled at him again.
“I knew if anyone would be with me until the end, it would be you, Rock.”
Rock walked over and took a seat on the debris in front of Becker. He could block the front of the clubhouse that way and see the back of the construction fence. “This isn’t the end, Becker. Sure, the club is a wrap...but it had three long decades of success.” That wasn’t exactly true. They’d had more than their fair share of trouble and in the end they were all broke...but Rock thought it was okay to lie to a suicidal man. “You did that, boss. Your name will live on in this town forever.”
Rock realized just as the words came out of his mouth that he should have chosen them more wisely. Becker smiled, looked at his gun again, and said, “Yeah...they ain’t ever gonna forget me, are they?”
“Boss,” Rock said, cautiously. He could see Jammer and his “boy” helping each other over the back fence. “This isn’t the way you want to be remembered. Man, you were someone to be contended with. You were a man who commanded respect, and got it, from hundreds of men. You lived through two wars, you built something here out of absolutely nothing and for a long time, boss, it thrived. You want them to remember that man, not the one with his brains splattered all over a concrete slab.”
“Nah, see, that is something they will remember.”
“Yeah, sure, boss. They’ll remember it for as long as it takes them to clean your brains off the sidewalk. They’ll shake their heads and say, ‘I thought he was a brave man...I guess not.’” Jammer and the boy were waiting for Rock’s signal about six feet back. For a second he wondered if he’d even have time to send it. Becker suddenly pointed the gun at him and said:
“You’re calling me a coward? You were a sniveling little toddler when I took you in. How fucking dare you insult me?”
“I would never do that, boss. Ajei and I are both so grateful for everything you did for us. I have so much respect for you. I want it to live on...I want everyone in this town to drive by here and say, ‘That’s where the Tarantulas’ shop stood for three decades,’ and not, ‘That’s where that old man ate his gun.’”
“What am I going to do, Rock? If not this, then what? Should I wait to die alone in a nursing home while some little nurse wipes my ass?”
“You know what, boss? When I was in California recently I heard Coyote’s boy Wolf talking about wishing his old man had been around longer and taught him more. Maybe that’s what you could do...help the new guys. They don’t know shit about doing what you did here...I’ll bet men like Wolf would love your advice.” Rock had no idea if that was true, but he was grasping. Becker was laughing.
“Yeah, I bet those cocky little bastards would just love this old-ass broken-down man telling them what to do. I’ll start a fucking 1% biker club consultation business.” He laughed hard at that, and Rock laughed too.
“Hey, it all starts with a dream,” Rock said.
“Fuck dreaming,” Becker said. He’d stopped laughing and suddenly he looked like he wanted to cry. “Fuck this life...” Rock dove toward him as he raised the gun. Jammer and his son came in from behind. The gun went off as they wrestled for it but luckily no one was hit. The neighbors, who were probably all celebrating the end of the Tarantulas’ era, called the cops and before they could get the drunken Becker over the fence, they showed up. Rock and Jammer tried to cover for Becker, but he was so drunk and belligerent that he was still cussing them for not letting him “off himself” when the police arrived. Becker was taken for a 5150 evaluation to determine if he was a danger to himself. Rock thought the saving grace at least was that the neighbors didn’t know that. All they saw was the mighty president that had served three decades wrestled into the back of a police car. When he sobers up, he’ll like that, at least.
Epilogue
One Month Later
Ajei and Rock sat in the bleachers of the little football stadium and waited for Tommy’s name to be called. When it was, a rush of pride unlike anything Ajei had ever felt rushed through her. She came to her feet and clapped until the palms of her hands ached. Rock clapped too, his chest swollen out with pride. Tommy graduated from his high school that day with honors and he’d already been accepted to Stanford University in California. Ajei was both thrilled and sad about that. All of this...all these years…they had been about making sure her son had a future. Now that his future was here, Ajei and Rock had retired from the club. Jeremiah was no longer able to take care of the store, so she and Rock took it over for him. They were making improvements to it, making it a real neighborhood store again and something to be proud of. Ajei had hoped Tommy would take a year off after high school and stay home so they could spend that time together. But as much as it hurt when he refused to do that, Ajei understood. When she was his age, she had to do what her soul was calling her to do. Tommy had grown up listening to his great-grandmother’s stories and learning about their culture, just the way she’d wanted him to. Now, what he wanted more than anything was to get a degree in the kind of science that would see him preserving and/or restoring the land their ancestors had lived on, bled on, and died for. It made her happy, and proud...and sad, all at the same time. Maybe someday her little family would all be in one place...and maybe not. But no matter where they were, they were all together in her heart and she’d hold them there always.
Ajei looked up at her old man. Still so handsome and strong. She wondered if she had expressed enough in her lifetime how grateful she was for him and how blessed she felt. He had literally saved her life, and then he’d gone on to give her the best life he possibly could. They didn’t always have things and they didn’t get to travel to any exotic places...but through it all, Rock had loved her fiercely and when she was on her deathbed, she knew that’s what she would remember.
Rock looked down at her and smiled and before they went down to congratulate their son, he bent down and kissed her softly. She put her hands up on the sides of his face and said, “Do you think he will understand someday, that we did it all so he could have this life?”
Rock bent and kissed her again and then he said, “Tommy knows that no matter what, his mother loves him to the moon and stars, Ajei. He’s always known that, and when he’s ready to pass from this life to the next, that will be what he remembers.”
Excerpt from AJ: Phoenix Skulls
Skulls MC Romance (Book 26)
Chapter One
Lake Havasu, Arizona
It was nearing closing time for the bar as Jace and five of his men sat in the shadows across the street and waited. Jace saw Streak, illuminated underneath the lights of the parking lot as he came out the front door. He’d left his vest on his bike and his white t-shirt was almost luminous under the full moon. He’d gone inside to make sure the woman they had come for was there, and now he casually walked until he was under the cover of the thick row of trees across the street and then he jogged toward them. He stopped in front of Jace’s bike and said, “She’s there...but so is one of the Garibaldis.”
“Fuck. Which one?” Jace’s dark mood was quickly turning as black as the night. He hadn’t wanted this job in the first place.
Jace’s club, the Phoenix Skulls, had spent the past year building their shop and their club and recruiting new members. Although the Boston and California chapters had both financed the Phoenix chapter’s initial expenses, Jace ended up having to put a tremendous amount of his own money into the club over that first year to keep things going and make sure everyone got paid. Eventually he was faced with the task of deciding exactly how his club would support itself, and that was what had led them there tonight.
As a chapter of the Southside Skulls in Boston and the Westside Skulls in California, the Phoenix Skulls were automatically tagged as a 1% club by everyone—most notably, the local authorities in Phoenix and the rest of Maricopa County. Jace had spent years as a nomad for the Skulls and he was well aware that every move they made was being watched...by someone. During his time in the MC, he had seen too many good men die violently and even more incarcerated for the better part of their lives. Even worse, he had seen entire families wiped out—innocent women who stood by their men, and children who weren’t given any choice in the matter. He’d seen women abused and mistreated and he’d seen brother kill brother over things like sex and money. So, before Jace made any major decisions he made a promise to his old lady and to his brothers that this club would be a safe place for them all. They could raise their families there without the threat of having their doors kicked in by rival clubs or federal agents; and as far as the community that their families would have to learn to live in harmony with, they would be model citizens. Then he set about making a plan that would support his club and protect his “family.”
Jace’s strong point was research and he used it that first year to gather information on all the clubs located within the state of Arizona and even a few in Utah and New Mexico. He’d categorized them from lowest to highest risk based on what type of business they did and how often they were in the news due to deaths, arrests, or affiliations with organized crime or cartels. He tried to veer away from clubs that associated with the kind of people that didn’t hesitate to come after a man’s family for retribution. Once he had his list narrowed down he began to reach out to them and offer them the “services” of the Phoenix Skulls. The services were varied and didn’t always fall on the right side of the law, but Jace evaluated each one individually and always reserved the right to say no. He weeded out the crap and took the others to church so the club could vote on them. Jace didn’t have a problem saying no, but this job had been different from the start. This request had come directly from Wolf Lee, the president of the Westside Skulls in California. Wolf was one of the few people on earth that Jace couldn’t say no to, so here they were.
“Eugene,” Streak said.
“Fuck.” Jace said again. As usual, Jace had done his homework before they headed out to Lake Havasu. Finding information on the Garibaldi clan had been easy. Not only were they one of the wealthiest families in America and written about often in the news, but Jace had an entire dossier on each family member that had already been collected by a man named Hunter. Hunter was an investigator and bounty hunter who worked closely with the Skulls and the dossier had been done years earlier at Wolf’s request. Jace didn’t know what Wolf’s business was with the Garibaldis, or why he was interested in the woman they were there to grab that night...but those were need-to-know questions, and those things Jace didn’t have a need to know. Everything else, however, he had committed to memory.
Angelo Garibaldi, the patriarch of the clan, owned casinos in Atlantic City, Tahoe, Reno, and Vegas. His empire was built with crooked money, huge payoffs, and a lot of blood. He had been arrested multiple times and so had his four sons. In over twenty years, not a single one of them had ever been convicted of a crime, however. According to Hunter’s report, that was thanks to the gaming commission officers, politicians, and local police officers that Garibaldi had threatened, paid off, or otherwise convinced to come over to the dark side for the most part, but there had also been times when his “friends” in high places didn’t come through. That was when Angelo and his “boys” resorted to other measures. Normally the Skulls, any of the chapters, wouldn’t be interested in how someone else handled their business, but disappearing witnesses was exactly why Jace and his guys were there.
The girl they were picking up that night was one of three witnesses who had gone missing just prior to testifying against Angelo’s oldest son at his murder trial. What Jace knew was that the Feds had them all in a “safe house.” The house blew up in the middle of the night...gas leak, supposedly. Three FBI agents and one of the witnesses died, or at least that was the body count when the fire was put out and all was said and done. But the other three witnesses, including this girl, were nowhere to be found. The Feds assumed Garibaldi had set up the explosion and since none of the witnesses had been seen or heard from in eight months, they presumed they too were dead, somewhere. As usual where the Garibaldis were concerned, they didn’t have any evidence, only presumptions. Anthony Garibaldi had to be set free for lack of evidence in the murder trial and as yet, no one had been charged with arson or murder in the deaths of the FBI agents and the witnesses. Jace had read about it in the papers before he received Hunter’s file. His assumption had been the same as everyone else’s, that the witnesses were all dead. He had no idea how Hunter had tracked this girl down, how she’d managed to escape both the FBI and the Garibaldis, and how she’d been living for eight months on the run. He was curious, but again, it was all need to know.
