Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (11 page)

AFTER A LONG DAY’S WORK
toiling away at oxygen sensors, alternators, water pumps and the like, I preferred to sit in the office with my dinner plate and watch the news. As I chomped away at my medium cooked rib eye, the not unattractive reporter lady went on and on about useless bullshit going on in Deming, New Mexico.

She wasn’t telling me anything special, just the usual stuff about PTAs and community events of grandmas coming together to sew quilts for soldier’s overseas, and a sidebar comment about the Operation Fast and Furious scandal of 2010. I idly watched as I finished my half-raw steak and potatoes then lit a cigarette. The best cigarette of the day, right after dinner.

Exhaling slowly, I leaned back in the rolling chair and soaked in the disgustingly sterile office. Gracie did a real number on the place, and it had kind of lost its charisma now. Everything was in order, all prim, clean, proper, and half a dozen other adjectives that didn’t really fit my office. I took a deep drag and closed my eyes, picturing Gracie, her flushed face in the heat, the sweat dripping down her chest into her cleavage, and those lips . . . Oh man those lips.

I had lost my touch with reality, drifting until I hacked up a lung as I pushed the toxic smoke out of my nose and mouth. Tears welled up in my eyes as I caught my breath, until a flash of color brought me back to the TV screen.

“Breaking Special Report: Breaking news today as I’m just learning that President Obama has just announced ground breaking immigration reform. He stood in the Rose Garden today and announced the deferred, indefinite deportation of over five million illegal immigrants in the United States. He cites the unfairness and unjust process currently used by the INS as justification for this executive order. Lawmakers on Capitol Hill fired back at the President, saying that changing immigration through executive order is not how our Democracy works . . .”

Holy fuck. Had I heard that right? I had to get to the saloon. I shot out the door as fast as my feet would take me, across the long parking lot, and barged in, finding all the boys at the bar enjoying after chow shots of tequila.

“News . . .” I huffed, “turn on the news! Channel 5!”

I pointed to the nearest prospect and he shot into action. It flickered on, but the bar was still a ruckus of conversation and laughter.

“Shh. Shut . . . Shut the fuck up!” I quietly cursed my smoking habit as I continued to huff. The bar quieted down and I snatched the remote away from the young kid and turned it up. It was some old white guy from the Senate.

“The President’s decision to recklessly forge ahead with a plan to unilaterally change our immigration laws ignores the will of the American people and flouts the constitution.”

The Prez barged in from a back room, eyes locked on the television with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. This not only affected business, it was game changing, and now the news had the Prez’s attention. The report went on.

“
It seems the executive order provides amnesty for over five million illegal immigrants. Opponents of the bill cite that no background checks will be done for illegal activity and another opponent purports that this bill will be a beacon for those wishing to illegally enter the country everywhere. Let us know what you, the viewer, thinks by tweeting @demingfive with the hashtag #immigration2012.”

“Holy shit . . .” the Prez bellowed, “Looks like the game has changed, boys. Church. Now.”

We followed him out of the saloon, everyone as silent as the dead, just the eerie stomping of our boots as they marched on the pavement. The sound bridged gaps in generations. No one cared what war you fought or when you retired. By the time we reached the club’s expansive wooden table, everyone was in a frame of mind that left the bullshit behind.

No one knew what to say. The sitting members entered the meeting room, while the others turned the news on above the bar in the clubhouse. Some gawked at Obama’s boldness, some acted as if this was the apocalypse.

Maybe they were right.

I shut the door behind me and found my seat.

“So . . .” The boss slapped the gavel on the table. “The President of these United States just issued an executive order allowing amnesty for five million illegals in the U.S. Now every shmoe from Tread’s great Auntie to the youngest foot soldier the cartels got will be trying to cross the border before that order takes effect.”

A hand shot up, and I face palmed when I realized it was the old screw-up, Benny. Prez mimicked my embarrassment.

“Benny, you just grab the fuckin’ beers and don’t ask questions, all right?” Harvey said, blowing him off.

“Sure, boss, I was just wondering what the hell an executive order is?” Benny asked, anyway.

At least my face palm wasn’t for nothing. “An executive order is a special power bestowed upon the President, typically during time of war, to allow him to make small decisions without going through Congress . . .” Condescending was an understatement at my tone with the old timer. I respected Benny for his time as my dad’s grenadier in Panama, but holy shit was he dumber than a two-handled pistol.

The Prez nodded towards me. “Can we get back to business now, Benny? Please?”

“Yes, boss. Sorry.”

“So, boys, I see two options for our stance on this. Do we lock our quiet part of the border down and feel patriotic or do we turn this into a business venture? Pros and cons?” Prez pointed to his right-hand man, Darnel.

“I’m all for making money, Prez. If we don’t, then some other asshole will.”

“And a con?” Prez asked.

“Regardless of what the hell we do, there’s gonna be criminals flooding into Texas, Arizona, Mexico, and Cali . . .” Darnel trailed off, pondering the meaning behind his statement. “There goes the neighborhood.”

Prez pointed to Lonny, the Road Manager. It was his job to plot the route for the runs to ensure it was low key and we didn’t go stepping on our neighbors’ toes with a bunch of cargo in tow. He had to know where the speed traps were, the rival MC’s borders, and setting up a safe place for us to stop for the night, preferably with a sister chapter of the MC.

“I don’t like it. If there’s no background check required, we’re going to be up to our assholes in cartel soldiers and maybe even Al Qaida shitheads.”

“Lookin’ for a pro and a con, Lonny, c’mon,” Royal interrupted, saving us from a long radical anti-Islam rant.

“Making that money will bring us the heat from Feds. We’re talking BP, ATF, DEA, and the FBI . . . That’s my con in case some of us are confused.” He leaned back and looked at Benny sitting in a children’s chair by the door.

“Let’s see, a pro . . . A pro could be networking, I guess. We could make a lot of contacts for future business as we screen who comes walking through our quiet town.”

“Good point, good point. Pete then Auggie, say your piece.” Prez continued in a counterclockwise motion around the table.

Pete and Auggie were the first and second lieutenants, respectfully. They could be trusted to run side jobs with the permission of the Prez and VP.

“Pro . . . money and side action, which is more money, will be plentiful here. Con would be the possibility of rivalries starting and blood feuds,” Pete put it simply.

“I agree with Pete’s con. All this traffic, there’s going to be blood spilt. A pro would be the new additions to the Soiled Doves we could take on, with my approval of course.” Auggie laughed, the old timer had his mind on women at a time like this.

I shook my head. I couldn’t wait until it was my turn to hold a seat at this table, speak, and have a vote. The first generation was starting to get up there in their years. As much as I loved these guys and they were my family, I still couldn’t help but look forward to my generation’s reign.

It was Royal’s turn. He seemed uninterested and distracted at the table. “Let’s vote,” was all he offered for opinion. I had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from reaching over and smacking him upside his fool-head.

“All right, VP, all right.” Prez grabbed the gavel. “Aye for turning a profit the likes of which we’ve never seen, nay for protecting our precious little border town.”

“Aye.”

“Nay.”

“Nay.”

“Aye.”

“VP?” Prez asked.

After a long pause, “Fuck it . . . aye,” Royal voted.

Three to two. It all came down to the Prez’s final vote now. I couldn’t imagine he would be for letting all those people just waltz in without at least paying a toll, not to mention it went against what the club was founded for: keeping illegals out.

“After hearing everyone’s pros and cons, I thank the members of this table. After careful consideration, I vote aye.”

“So what’s the play now?” Lonny shot up from his chair. “Just wave as Osama Bin Laden walks in and heads for downtown Albuquerque?!”

Not waiting for a reply, he left the room, and as the door slung closed we heard him order three shots of Johnny Walker.

“Sounds like he’ll be having a shit fit for the rest of the night,” chuckled Benny, still waiting by the door.

Hendrix and I both stood, but a few of the brothers pushed us back down.

“All right, enough drama, boys. I want ideas and thoughts on how to best capitalize on this by the morning. We’ll brief at 1400 right here tomorrow and get to work. Royal, call Dromo’s boys. They need to up surveillance at the well and just got extended three days. Enjoy the night, boys.” He pounded the gavel. “Adjourned.”

I sat and watched everyone leave and got my spot at the end of the train. I tapped Royal, who instinctively spun around with his fist clenched.

“Easy, bro. What’s up with you today?” I asked.

“It’s nothing. Just worried about this announcement, is all,” he growled.

“Bullshit, man. Let’s get a beer. We need to work this out so we can come up with a game plan.”

“I’m not pouring my fucking heart out like we’re girlfriends.”

I wrapped a hand around his neck and pushed him across the bar, snagging two bottles on the way.

“Hey, Gracie.” She looked up and gave me a sweet smile. “I’m gonna borrow your room for a few minutes. We’ll be right back.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek, getting a nose full of apples from her shampoo. “Thanks, doll.” I walked away without giving her a chance to derail my plans. Royal and I followed the stairs up to the only room that I knew for sure was vacant. Kit’s turned Grace’s.

Hitting the door with my shoulder and lifting on the knob popped it open. It was an old trick we learned as kids, but I wondered absently if anyone had bothered to tell Grace. The loud cough from behind the door had both of us reaching for our guns.

“Damn fucking dog,” I muttered, taking in the slobbering face and drooping eyes, even when asleep.

I turned and bounced on the bed, getting comfortable against the headboard, watching Royal roam around. Lost. He picked up perfume bottles from the zillion she’d always collected on the dresser and sniffed them before choosing another.

He lifted a green bottle with a poofy thing on the side and twisted to me. “I got her this one for her sixteenth birthday, you remember that?”

“Yeah, dude,” I answered, though I could barely recall why it was such a big deal at the time.

He smiled down, looking happy for a moment, wistful even. “Her dad wouldn’t let her wear makeup or get any smell good shit, and she wanted something for prom. Said it wasn’t for the boys or anybody else. She just wanted to smell pretty.” He swallowed hard and set the bottle down gently in its place. “I gave her the first bottle she ever had, and she left it here like it was nothing.”

“I’m sorry, man. We’ll find her.”

“You’re fucking right we will. She could be anywhere in this goddamned country right now. Is she even in the country?” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What the fuck is she thinking? With this Obama thing, there’s gonna be every lowlife in South America coming here in our goddamned back yard.”

“Yeah, and you just voted to let them through.”

“What?” He spun around.

“Were you even in that fucking room just now?”

Royal stared at the dick apparently growing from my forehead.

“Yeah, bro, you just voted for the MC inviting cocksuckers with the right money to cross the border under our protection,” I explained to him. “Are you wearing your hearing aid?”