Taking The Heat (13 page)

TOAD

Axton slid his arm through his cut, began walking toward the bathroom, and glanced over his shoulder, “I think I cut my fucking ear shaving. What did you fuckers decide? Are you going downtown or are you going to just wait in the lot?”

Axton and I had stayed in the adjoining room, and Otis and Biscuit had stayed in the other. After a good night’s sleep and a shower, we were ready to go to the meeting and get our day of relaxation in Austin started. The temperatures in excess of 100 degrees were perfect for riding and enjoying the sun. Additionally, Austin was a place for everyone, bikers included. The cities motto was
Keep Austin Weird.
 

“Doesn’t make good sense to go downtown if the meeting’s only going to be thirty minutes or so, we can wait outside,” I responded.

Axton had explained that the meeting was to include only one spokesperson from each club. The existing clubs in the area would meet with the spokespersons from the new club, and after finding out the potential new club’s anticipated membership, intent, and claimed territory would vote on whether or not the club posed a threat or would be allowed to assemble in the territory requested. The fact the club asked for a meeting spoke highly of the founders of the club, as many MC’s start up every day without so much as understanding the proper protocol.

Starting a club and wearing colors with rockers claiming territory without the permission of existing clubs is a sure fire way to get killed. Texas was not only a Bandido state, it was
the
Bandido state. 1%er clubs in Texas were rarely given the right to even fly a rocker claiming the state as their own. The Bandidos refused to give permission. Being established in 1966, they were the original Texas 1% group. A great club with equally great men, but they had no interest in sharing the claim to their state. A non 1% club would have no problems starting up, though. At least this club was starting out on the right foot. After a short meeting, we, as well as all other clubs in attendance, would know their intent or interest in territorial claim. .

“Whatever you fellas want to do,” Axton sighed as he walked out of the bathroom holding his ear.

“I don’t know that it’s a good idea for you to be running across town alone. I’d feel more comfortable with the four of us. One Sinner is an easier target than four,” I responded as I looked toward Otis.

“I agree with the Sergeant at Arms. Fuck, last one of these I went to in Wichita lasted about twenty minutes, shouldn’t be a big deal. We’ll sit in the parking lot, out of sight so we don’t
intimidate anyone
,” Otis chuckled.

“All you got to do is show up, Otis and you intimidate people. Point taken, Toad. We’ll roll out there, I’ll go in the meeting, and when it’s over we’ll all go out and you fellas can have some beers. Hell, maybe some of the other clubs will want to go,” Axton said as he removed the bloody tissue from his ear.

“I’m going to go into this deal looking like an idiot who doesn’t even know how to fucking shave,” Axton said as he wiped his finger along the bottom of his ear.

“These are the richest, snottiest, brattiest little bitches I ever seen, but I can’t stop watchin’ this shit,” Biscuit said as he stared at the television.

“You’re the only motherfucker I know who doesn’t have a television, Biscuit. What the fuck are you watching?” Axton asked.

“What is it, Otis?” Biscuit asked as he continued to stare at the T.V.

“
Keeping up with the Kardashians
, he’s been watching it for three hours,” Otis laughed.

“This is some good shit. One of ‘em just dropped a $75,000 earring in the ocean, and she’s throwin’ a fit. Who wears $75,000 earrings anyway?” he asked.

“Shit, I bet that bitch wipes her ass with $75,000 toilet paper,” I chuckled.

“Big basketball player boyfriend just found it. Ain’t that some shit? You know they found that sum bitch when they was on a commercial. He probably handed it to that big dumb prick and told him to claim he found it when the commercial was off. God damn, these girls are hot,” Biscuit howled.

“You do realize that they edit this shit, right?” Otis asked.

“What do you mean?” Biscuit shrugged.

“Nevermind,” Otis sighed.

“Alright. Jesus fucking Christ, enough about the Kardashians. Good God, men. I feel like I’m in a room of high school girls. Let’s roll. My ear can air dry. It’s already 105 degrees in this God forsaken place,” Axton growled.

“Rollin’,” Otis said as he pointed to the door.

Biscuit, still standing with his eyes glued on the television, held his finger in the air, “Gimme just a minute.”

Frustrated with Biscuit, Axton shoved the hotel room door open and burst out into the parking lot, “I swear, I wonder if you motherfuckers don’t just do shit to piss me off.”

He hopped on his bike and immediately started it. After the engine warmed, he began revving the motor, blowing the loud exhaust against the building.

“Poor fucker doesn’t have a T.V. at home,” Otis yelled.

I nodded my head as I started my bike. Within a couple of minutes of coming outside, we were all revving our motors loudly. It sounded like a bunch of children had been given control of the throttle of our bikes. As the deafening sound of our exhaust echoed against the wall of the brick building, Biscuit came through the door.

“Sorry fellas. Had to see how it ended,” he yelled as he hopped on his bike.

“It
doesn’t
,” Otis laughed as he released his throttle, “That one you’re watching is a few years old.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Axton hollered over his shoulder.

“Meeting is at some warehouse two miles south of here. Two abreast, and maintain distance, who’s up here with me?” Axton hollered.

I raised my left hand. Axton nodded his head, released his clutch, and slowly began to move forward. As we rolled out of the parking lot and onto the access road which ran parallel with the highway, the sound of the bikes echoed against the concrete structure supporting the elevated highway. Being in the club provided a sense of brotherhood, but something about riding in a group always provided me with a feeling of brotherhood
and
power. As we merged into traffic, our positioning and ease of riding with each other reminded me of Marines marching. When the Sinners rode in groups, we were always synchronized.

After a few miles, Axton’s left arm shot upward, indicating a right turn. As we exited the highway, it was immediately apparent which building we were going to. A few hundred feet from the intersection was a metal building with a small concrete parking lot out front. Twenty bikes perfectly positioned in the small lot stood as proof the riders were in tune with club practices. Axton tossed his head in the direction of the building. I nodded my head in affirmation as I pointed toward the building.

As we pulled into the lot, we situated our bikes at the end of the row of motorcycles already parked. A quick check of time by Axton indicated the meeting was probably underway or close to it. Now even more frustrated, Axton stepped from his bike and turned toward Biscuit.

“You and that fucking Kardashians shit,” Axton growled.

“Can’t help it boss, that girl turns my fuckin’ crank. I’d like to fuck her until she couldn’t even walk,” Biscuit said.

Axton shook his head and turned to face his bike.

“Don’t imagine Kanye West would appreciate that,” Otis chuckled.

Biscuit turned toward Otis and shrugged his shoulders, “Who the fuck’s Kanye West?”

“Alright, you three can stay out here and talk about rappers and millionaires, I’m going in. Don’t be dicking around out here making a bunch of noise or racing up and down the street like a bunch of fucking kids. Just stand here and enjoy this weather. I’ll be back in thirty minutes or so,” Axton said as he looked at his ear in the rearview mirror of his bike.

“Got it, boss,” Otis nodded.

“I’ll keep it civil,” I said flatly.

“Do that,” Axton said as he turned and walked toward the door.

Biscuit stepped toward Otis and me, pushed his thumbs into his front pockets, and grinned, “So, when we were headed toward Temple and that truck kicked that fuckin’ rock up and hit my windshield, it got me to thinkin’. What’s the biggest thing you ever had to dodge on the road? And I don’t mean some deer on the side of the highway that startled you. I mean you had to take the ditch or hit the shoulder or the other lane or somethin’? Biggest object or whatever?” 

“You all know my story. When we were headed to Sturgis in 2006. On that two lane highway when a truck in the other lane lost half a tire. I was riding sweep, and keeping my distance, and this motherfucker lost a tire. I watched that fucker roll toward me thinking it was going to miss me. Next thing I know, boom! I hit that motherfucker, blew out a front tire, and rode on the rim for a half mile before I got stopped. Damn near shit my pants,” Otis responded.

“Don’t count. I said dodge. You didn’t dodge shit, brother. You
hit
it. What have ya missed?” Biscuit snapped.

As Otis stood and thought, I stared blankly across the street. The building where we were parked was in what appeared to be a residential area. The adjoining streets were filled with small poorly taken care of homes. A street perpendicular to the street in front of the building intersected a few feet beyond the far side of the lot the building was on. Close to the intersection of the two streets, a man sat in an old Ford Taurus. An intermittent puff of smoke indicated the car was running. The manner in which he was positioned in the seat indicated he was either half asleep or he didn’t want to be seen.

“Guess it would have to be a dog. Had one run out in front of me chasing a cat or squirrel or something. Motherfucker got in my lane, stopped, and just fucking stared at me. Hell, I was east of Wichita, coming in for a poker run. We stared at each other like we were both in a trance. At the last minute, it was pretty obvious he was either too stupid to move, or stubborn as fuck. I took the other lane and missed him by about five feet,” Otis said.

“That’s a boring as fuck close call. What about the Toad man? Whatcha got Toad,” Biscuit asked.

I shifted my gaze from the car to Biscuit. Although the car and the occupant made me uncomfortable, I didn’t dare say it. Spending many years in Iraq, I learned to study people, their patterns of behavior, and their body language. Seeing someone nervously walking toward a car in Iraq typically indicated the vehicle was loaded with a bomb or the person was in route to plant an Improvised Explosive Device. How a person held their arms as they walked or what they were wearing may indicate they were hiding a weapon. In previous wars, our troops were fighting a force of resistance who were in uniform, and clearly identified as the opponent. Encountering a person in civilian clothes provided our soldiers and Marines with comfort the person was in fact a civilian, and not a threat. In Iraq and Afghanistan, the opponent was incapable of being labeled a civilian or a threat by their dress alone. Anyone, at any time, could be a threat. As a result, we learned to identify a threat based solely on their behavior.

Upon returning from the war and becoming a Prospect for the Sinners, I repeatedly made verbal note of anyone who made me uncomfortable. The constant replies of
you’re not at war anymore, Toad, no one’s out to get ya
caused me to stop revealing my thoughts. My nervous attention to detail, however, never ceased.

Biscuit’s fast talking brought me back to a conscious state of awareness, “Where’d you wander off to, motherfucker?”

“Huh?” I responded as I attempted to focus my eyes on Otis.

“Over here,” Biscuit said as he snapped his fingers.

“You alright brother? You go back to Afghanistan for a minute?” Biscuit chuckled.

“No, I was…I was just thinking,” I responded.

Biscuit looked down at his feet as he kicked a rock from the concrete lot toward the street, “About stinky twat?”

“She doesn’t have a stinking fucking twat, and no. Just, I don’t know, thinking. Why the fuck are you fucking with me?” I snapped.

He looked up with widened eyes, “Whoa. Settle down, killer. Did ya get enough sleep last night? Maybe you need to take a little nap.”

“Fuck off, I’m fine,” I snapped. 

“Damn, take it easy. We was talkin’ about dodgin’ shit in the road. What’s your best?” he asked.

I glanced toward the car. The occupant was still slumped in the seat. After a few seconds, a puff of smoke from the exhaust provided proof the car was still running. After staring blankly for some time, I shifted my gaze to Biscuit.

“A wheelbarrow,” I responded.

“No shit?” he asked.

“Yep,” I nodded.

“Already heard this, it’s a good one. Tell him, Toad,” Otis chuckled.

“Well, I was on the highway headed up to Newton. I’m behind this guy in a truck. The highway’s a two-lane at that point, headed north on 35. So, I’m behind this prick, and there’s a string of cars on my left, and cars behind me for a mile. It’s rush hour, if Wichita has one. It was like 5:15, just after everyone’s getting out of work,” I paused and glanced toward the car.