not
sure when he’ll be home, but I’ve told him to take his time.”
“So who’s going to be road captain on the next run?” Striker
asked. He was a big bald man who loved to watch stupid parody
movies, which was where he’d gotten his nickname. He’d quoted
Airplane! one too many times.
“You can, if you want to,” Wick said with a shrug. “Unless
anyone wants to challenge Striker?”
Head shakes were his answer. Striker folded his arms and
leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. Wick didn’t care who was
road captain, as long as the run got done. This would be their first run
riding with the White Death MC, through new territory, so there was
a lot depending on a smooth journey. In return for distribution of their
product, they were to be introduced to the White Death’s supplier of
pseudoephedrine. Wick trusted Heart impeccably, but he also knew
Striker wouldn’t let anything happen to their inventory.
“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Striker will be road captain when
Heart is not able to. Now, the other aspect to this meeting is the
official patching in of our returned Brother, Darrell McBryde.”
The men banged their fists on the table top in a show of their
approval. Wick picked up the bag that lay next to his chair. From the
inside, he pulled out a brand new leather cut and laid it down upon the
table with the patch of the Forgotten Rebels MC featured
prominently. He noticed Darrell couldn’t take his eyes off the vest.
“On behalf of the Forgotten Rebels, I would like to thank you
for your service to our country,” Wick said, reciting the official
indoctrinate greeting. “But now it’s time to hang up your dog tags and
wear the colors of a forgotten hero.”
He held out the cut and with trembling hands, Darrell took it.
He traced over the new patches with a fingertip while the men
clapped and whistled.
“All that’s missing is your name,” Striker said.
“You could go with Peg Leg,” one man suggested. The others
chuckled.
“Man of Steel,” another said.
The names came flying out. Tripod. Spare Parts .
“Pogo is still my top pick,” Wick murmured.
“Thanks,” Darrell said dryly. “But if any of you fuckers call
me those names I’ll kick your ass.”
“One legged man in an ass kicking contest,” Striker snickered.
The men laughed, and Darrell grinned as he slipped on his cut.
“All right,” Wick said, deciding to take pity on Darrell. “We’ll
have a party tonight to celebrate your return. Now, we should talk
about the run scheduled—”
“Actually I have something to say,” Darrell said, speaking up.
“I want to propose a notion of ending our drug business.”
One second they’d been laughing and teasing one another, the
next silence descended as everyone stared at Darrell in shock. Anger
flashed through Wick.
“You don’t get to propose a notion, Darrell,” he said tightly.
“Especially not one that requires a full member vote.”
“Why not? I am a member now.”
“There’re procedures for how this works,” Wick replied. “You
can’t simply repeal a unanimous decision with a blindsided
announcement.”
“Then how do I go about it?” Darrell asked. “Or are you going
to shut me down every time?”
“If you feel that passionately about it, I’ll take it under
consideration,” Wick said.
Darrell snorted derisively and looked around the table. “I
spent a year in rehab learning how to fucking walk again after my leg
got blown off. I shared a hospital with all the soldiers addicted to the
shit we peddle in an effort to mask their pain. So when I come back
here and see that we’re contributing to hardships of our fellow
soldiers, I know what we’re doing is wrong. We’re part of their
problem.”
Some of the members shifted in their seats and Wick just
wanted to punch Darrell for the insubordination. He hadn’t had the
cut five minutes and already he was shaming what they did to
sure when he’ll be home, but I’ve told him to take his time.”
“So who’s going to be road captain on the next run?” Striker
asked. He was a big bald man who loved to watch stupid parody
movies, which was where he’d gotten his nickname. He’d quoted
Airplane! one too many times.
“You can, if you want to,” Wick said with a shrug. “Unless
anyone wants to challenge Striker?”
Head shakes were his answer. Striker folded his arms and
leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. Wick didn’t care who was
road captain, as long as the run got done. This would be their first run
riding with the White Death MC, through new territory, so there was
a lot depending on a smooth journey. In return for distribution of their
product, they were to be introduced to the White Death’s supplier of
pseudoephedrine. Wick trusted Heart impeccably, but he also knew
Striker wouldn’t let anything happen to their inventory.
“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Striker will be road captain when
Heart is not able to. Now, the other aspect to this meeting is the
official patching in of our returned Brother, Darrell McBryde.”
The men banged their fists on the table top in a show of their
approval. Wick picked up the bag that lay next to his chair. From the
inside, he pulled out a brand new leather cut and laid it down upon the
table with the patch of the Forgotten Rebels MC featured
prominently. He noticed Darrell couldn’t take his eyes off the vest.
“On behalf of the Forgotten Rebels, I would like to thank you
for your service to our country,” Wick said, reciting the official
indoctrinate greeting. “But now it’s time to hang up your dog tags and
wear the colors of a forgotten hero.”
He held out the cut and with trembling hands, Darrell took it.
He traced over the new patches with a fingertip while the men
clapped and whistled.
“All that’s missing is your name,” Striker said.
“You could go with Peg Leg,” one man suggested. The others
chuckled.
“Man of Steel,” another said.
The names came flying out. Tripod. Spare Parts .
“Pogo is still my top pick,” Wick murmured.
“Thanks,” Darrell said dryly. “But if any of you fuckers call
me those names I’ll kick your ass.”
“One legged man in an ass kicking contest,” Striker snickered.
The men laughed, and Darrell grinned as he slipped on his cut.
“All right,” Wick said, deciding to take pity on Darrell. “We’ll
have a party tonight to celebrate your return. Now, we should talk
about the run scheduled—”
“Actually I have something to say,” Darrell said, speaking up.
“I want to propose a notion of ending our drug business.”
One second they’d been laughing and teasing one another, the
next silence descended as everyone stared at Darrell in shock. Anger
flashed through Wick.
“You don’t get to propose a notion, Darrell,” he said tightly.
“Especially not one that requires a full member vote.”
“Why not? I am a member now.”
“There’re procedures for how this works,” Wick replied. “You
can’t simply repeal a unanimous decision with a blindsided
announcement.”
“Then how do I go about it?” Darrell asked. “Or are you going
to shut me down every time?”
“If you feel that passionately about it, I’ll take it under
consideration,” Wick said.
Darrell snorted derisively and looked around the table. “I
spent a year in rehab learning how to fucking walk again after my leg
got blown off. I shared a hospital with all the soldiers addicted to the
shit we peddle in an effort to mask their pain. So when I come back
here and see that we’re contributing to hardships of our fellow
soldiers, I know what we’re doing is wrong. We’re part of their
problem.”
Some of the members shifted in their seats and Wick just
wanted to punch Darrell for the insubordination. He hadn’t had the
cut five minutes and already he was shaming what they did to
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