CRASH: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Outlaw Series) (54 page)

“What he’s working through is Sonny’s whole line-up,” Wolf clarified.

“Christ,” Mack grumbled.

Wolf shrugged. “What? You’ve heard that expression
hair of the dog
? Maybe that’s just his own special brand.”

Mack rolled his eyes and looked over at Cole. “Keep him busy. Last thing
he needs is to sit around and stew about some goddamned piece of tail.”

“Think she was more than a
piece
of tail
to him, Mack.”

“Woman, broad…you know what I mean. Just do it.” Mack picked up his beer
and walked away.

Cole looked over at Wolf.

“Don’t look at me, brother. Maybe we could get him back in the cage. Let
him beat the crap out of Green again.” Wolf grinned.

Cole shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Green walked up. “Did I hear my name mentioned?”

Wolf turned to look at him. “Yeah, Cole’s got a job for you.” With that
Wolf grinned, picked up his beer and walked off.

Green looked over blankly at Cole. “What do you need, VP?”

*****

A couple of days later, Cole had invited Crash over for dinner. Cole was
in the kitchen helping Angel carry serving bowls to the table, when he glanced
over into the sunken living room. He watched as his daughter, Melissa climbed
up into her Uncle Crash’s lap. As Angel moved into the dining room with a
platter of meat, Cole hung back and listened to their exchange.

“Uncle Crash?”

“What sweet pea?”

“How much longer till Billy wants me around?”

“A little longer, punkin’.”

“Uncle Crash?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you sad?”

“A little bit.”

“Momma said it’s because Shannon went away.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Uncle Crash?”

“What sweet pea?”

“I’ll be your girl.”

“You’re already my best girl, sweet pea.”

“I won’t ever leave.”

“Pinkie swear?” Crash put up his little finger.

She hooked it with hers. “Pinky swear.”

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Cole watched as Crash stood, studying the pool table, a disinterested
look on his face.

“Damn, brother. Enough already. Quit moping around like somebody took
your puppy,” Red Dog complained.

“Shut the fuck up and shoot,” Crash snapped.

Red Dog grinned as he leaned down to take the shot.

“Really, man. You want this girl so bad, go fucking get her,” Wolf
advised, from where he stood next to Cole, leaning back against the clubhouse bar
and watching their game.

Crash’s cell phone was laying on the bar next to his bottle of beer. It
vibrated. Cole glanced down at the screen. “Cole, your phone’s going off.” He
frowned down at it. “Looks like a Birmingham area code.”

Crash looked up from taking his shot. “No name?”

“Nope. Maybe it’s your sister or grandmother.”

“Could be the Birmingham Chapter calling on a burner. Toss it here,”
Crash raised his hand.

Cole threw it to him.

Crash answered it. “Yeah.”

Cole watched as Crash frowned.

“Hey, Ace. Yeah, I remember you. How are you?” Crash’s eyes were
following Red Dog’s shot. And then suddenly his body came erect, and his tone
sharpened. “Say again?”

Cole focused in on the call, watching Crash’s reaction and wondering who
was on the other end.

“This is a joke, I’ll rip your fucking head off!”

Cole frowned, wondering what the hell that was all about.

“How?” Suddenly Crash’s breathing was sawing in and out of his chest,
and his face had gone pale. “I don’t understand. When?”

Cole took a step toward him.

“Both of them?” Crash snapped,
pain
flashing across his face.

Cole watched stunned as Crash’s eyes glazed over, and he lowered the
phone, and it clattered to the floor. Then in a move that shocked all the
brothers around him, Crash lifted his pool cue and slammed it against the pool
table, snapping it in two. He turned, swinging the broken piece at the nearest
high-top table, smashing every bottle and glass on it.

“What the fuck, man!” Green yelled, jumping out of the way.

“Crash!” Cole shouted trying to approach him, but staying out of the way
of the swinging jagged broken cue. And then as suddenly as the outburst had
started, it stopped as Crash walked backward, hitting the wall next to the
table and sliding down it to collapse on the floor. He let out a blood-curdling
yell.

Cole stared at his brother, in shock. His eyes moved to the cell phone
lying on the floor where Crash had dropped it. Cole picked it up. Seeing from
the screen that the call was still live, he barked into it, “Who the fuck is
this?” He nodded toward Wolf and Red Dog to take care of Crash, and he stalked
outside so he could better hear the man on the other end.

Five minutes later, he walked shell-shocked back into the clubhouse and
over to Crash, who was still sitting on the floor, his head in his hands.
Cole’s eyes lifted to Red Dog, who stood next to Crash, not sure what to do. At
the questioning look in Red Dog’s eyes, Cole started to speak, but the blasting
music made it hard for them to hear.

Dog twisted and yelled, “Cut the fucking music!”

A moment later, there was silence, except for the crunching of glass
under the boots of several of the brothers as they shifted uncomfortably from
boot to boot.

Dog looked back at Cole.

Cole looked down at Crash, and then back up to Dog. He cleared his
throat. “It’s his sister and grandmother. They’re both dead.”

“What?” Wolf asked in a stunned whisper.

“How?” Red Dog asked.

“House fire. His grandmother’s place.”

“Jesus Christ,” Red Dog murmured, looking down at Crash.

*****

The next day, Crash, Cole, Angel and Mack boarded a plane for
Birmingham, Alabama. The brothers had quickly taken up a collection at several
chapters and support clubs to get enough money together to buy the four plane
tickets so that Crash could go home and bury his sister and grandmother, the
only living immediate family he’d had left.

Mack had quickly made arrangements with the Birmingham chapter of the
club to pick them up at the airport. They were also arranging a car for Angel
and some loaner bikes for the men, who were going to lead the processional with
the club members at their back.

As they sat on the plane, soaring across the country, Crash couldn’t
help but remember the last time he and Cole had been back to their hometown. He
looked over at Cole, who sat next to him. “Seems like just yesterday we were
back, huh?”

Cole looked over at him, sadness in his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, brother.
What was it, three, four months ago?”

Crash nodded. “Bulldog’s funeral.” Mack had told them at church that
he’d gotten word that Bulldog had finally succumbed to the lung cancer he’d
fought for the better part of the year. Bulldog had been the Birmingham
chapter’s VP back when Cole and Crash had first prospected the Birmingham
chapter as young punks just out of high school. It wasn’t until they were five
years in the club that they’d moved out to join the San Jose chapter. Mack only
needed to send one guy to the funeral to represent the chapter, but he knew
since both Cole and Crash knew Bulldog, they’d both want to attend.

Crash leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and remembered the last
time he’d been home. The last time he’d seen his sister and grandmother.

Four months
earlier…

Crash and Cole rolled through downtown Birmingham. It had been years
since they’d been back home. They got off on 20
^th
Street and rolled
through Five Points South. Stopping at the light, Crash looked around his
hometown. The place was the same, but the businesses had all changed. The
fountain was still standing center stage on one corner—still attracting the hippie-homeless
types. A couple of musicians were set up, playing—a guitar case taking tips.
The restaurant on the corner with the outdoor courtyard had now become a
microbrewery. The music hall where he’d first found his love of blues was now a
pool hall. He wondered if the place around the corner still had those awesome
Bloody Marys on Sunday mornings.

They turned left onto a side street, and the two bikes pulled into a
parking spot about half a block down. They both climbed off their bikes,
stretching. It was a long fucking ride from California to Birmingham. Even
broken up, twenty-three hundred miles was a strain.

Crash looked up at the storefront window. Lily Pad was painted across in
block letters. The trademark statue of a frog sat center-stage in the window.
He moved up onto the sidewalk, and Cole followed him inside.

A bell tinkled over the door as they entered the shop. Crash glanced
around. She may have moved locations, but this place suited her. The floors
were wood, the walls brick. Pottery, sculptures and assorted art pieces filled
the place. Pot lighting from the ceiling spotlighted different pieces
haphazardly arranged on upturned wooden crates. Brightly colored scatter rugs
lay throughout.

There were several huge metal sculptures. One in particular caught his
eye, and he stepped closer studying it. Damn, he’d love to be able to do
something like that.

“She does work like that?” Cole asked from behind him.

Crash looked back at him and shrugged. “Not that I know of, but hell,
we’ve been gone awhile.”

The smell of incense permeated the place. God, he hated that smell. He
had to grin though, knowing what it probably was an attempt to cover up.

They strolled toward the back, the floors creaking with their every
step. They were half way to the back, when Crash spotted her. Her back was to
him, but he’d know the shape of her body anywhere—her thin shoulders and arms
sticking out of the faded denim overalls she wore. A tube top, all she had on
underneath. Her feet—as usual—were bare.

Her hair—now
that
was new. Her
beautiful long golden brown hair now hung in long dreadlocks to her waist. The
top of her head was covered in a blue bandana tied atop her head—the little
triangle points falling in the back.

Crash took another step, and she turned at the creaking of the floor.
When her beautiful blue eyes landed on him, her face transformed into a beaming
smile.

“Ty!” she yelled and launched into a full out run, jumping into his
arms, her legs wrapping around his hips. She was the only person that called
him by his given name, other than the grandmother who’d raised him.

She hugged him tight, and he hugged her back. She noticed Cole standing
back and held her hand out to him, pulling him in for a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, get your hands off my woman.”

Crash looked over her shoulder to see a big man standing in the doorway
to the backroom.

Now the dreadlocks made sense.

The big muscled man had his own long dark dreads hanging to his waist.
They were tied back in some semblance of a ponytail—as thick around as Crash’s
forearm. His skin was a smooth mocha brown.

She turned to look over her shoulder at the man. “Relax, Ace. He’s my
big brother.”

“Who’s this, Loretta?” Crash asked, his voice low as he set her back on
her feet.

“
Loretta?
” the man asked, dark
brows arching.

“That’s my given name, Ace.”

“Please, God, tell me your mama didn’t name you after a country singer.”

“Yep. Loretta Lynn Shaw.”

“And I thought Letty was bad enough.”

“Shut up, Ace, and get over here and shake hands with my brother.”

He strolled over, if a large muscled man could stroll and extended his
hand. “Ace Luther.”

Crash studied him. He was bare-chested under his own pair of overalls.
His eyes were a golden cat-eyed color. “Crash,” he said, shaking the man’s
hand.

“Doesn’t he have the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen, Ty?” his
sister asked, starring deeply into the man’s eyes with adoration and possibly
love, Crash noted.

“If you say so, sis,” was all Crash would admit to, not about to call
another dude’s eyes beautiful.

Ace smiled, revealing even white teeth. “Your sister’s a goof-ball.”

Crash flashed a smile back. “You got that right.”

“Crash? Is that apropos of your riding skill?” Ace asked, nodding toward
Crash’s cut.

“No, it’s apropos of my tendency to throw motherfuckers through
plate-glass windows.”

Cole made a snorting sound as he tried to stifle his chuckle.

Ace’s eyes moved between them. “Uh huh,” he nodded. “Should I be taking
that as a warning?”

“You fuck over my sister, yeah.” Crash stared him down.

“Your sister, I’m finding, can fight her own battles.” Ace touched his
chin, turning slightly to reveal a scratch along his jaw. “I’m learning to
watch out for her claws and never to tell her I don’t particularly care for one
of her pieces of pottery.”

“Next time you tell me you don’t like one of my pieces, I’m going to
break it over your head,” Letty warned, her hand landing on her out-thrust hip.

Cole chuckled.

“Chill, woman. Christ, she’s got a temper. That run in the family, too?”
Ace looked at Crash.

Letty grinned. “Nope. Ty’s as laid back as they come. Takes a lot to
rile him. But once he’s riled—watch out.”

“Point taken.” Ace smiled down at Letty.

“You two have a few things in common,” she told Ace.

“You mean other than you?”

“Yes, other than me. Ty works with metal. He does the most amazing
pieces with wrought iron,” she bragged on her brother.

“Really? I work with metal, too. Mostly cast iron pieces.” He nodded
toward the sculpture Crash had been admiring. “Sculpture mostly.”

“That so?” Crash turned to take in some of the big pieces. “You made
these?”

“Yup.”

“Ace is one of the resident artists out at Sloss,” his sister bragged,
linking her arms around one of Ace’s big muscled arms.

“Sloss? Sloss Furnace? The historic old ironworks?” Cole asked.

“That place we went on field trips to as kids?” Crash frowned.

“Yeah. I remember you made a cast iron tile and brought it home, so
proud. Gram still has it. She uses it as a trivet,” Letty informed him.

“Yeah. I think that was sixth grade.”

Letty turned to Ace. “You should take him out there. Show him the
facilities.”

“Hell, I’d love to see it,” Crash admitted.

Ace nodded. “I could take you out there. How long you gonna be in town?”

“Couple days.”

“I was heading over there in about an hour or so. I could take you then
if you want. That give you enough time to go see your gram?”