Dead Men Motorcycle Club (14 page)

For my part, I wanted Cash to be the best around, too. I guess that has a different connotation when your man's livelihood is mostly earned through shady deals and violent pursuits. When he would daydream on my behalf, thinking of how I could get featured in bike magazines or maybe even get my own reality show, it felt more like what you imagine prosperity to be. My hopes for him were always tempered with the desire that someday he
wouldn't need the Dead Men, but I knew it was a pale ghost of a chance. If everything went right, I could be famous. If everything went right, he'd be a shadowy underworld figure with a veritable army at his disposal. No matter how much you love someone, that's a frightening concept to wrap your head around.

For three weeks, the garage at Peasant Motors had been overrun by work. For me, that was
a dream come
true. When there aren't any engines to work on, I get restless. I'd rather have a million things to do with my day than none. I still know how to relax, but I didn't grow up very used to the idea if you get my meaning. The recent influx of work was due to some of the recent activities of the Dead Men. For almost a month, a silent war had been raging at the heart of San Viero. On one side stood the long-serving and well-respected mayor of the town, a man everyone simply called Taylor. He'd been in his job since the early 90s with almost no opposition. In that time, he'd managed to get his hands into almost everything San Viero had to offer - except the garage. That level of independence made the Dead Men the perfect tool for an outsider to use when it came to unseating our venerable elected official.

Reginald Donnovan
compared his wealth to Mayor Taylor in the same way that Taylor might compare himself to me. To say that
Donnovan
was rich was a bit like saying the Pacific Ocean was pretty big.
Donnovan
was the patriarch of an extremely influential East Coast family who had made many fortunes in the world of real estate. Recently he'd set his eyes on San Viero. Like many sleepy little Southern California towns, the threat of being swallowed up by a larger city was always present. When that happened, prices would explode and the quiet town would become something very different. When
Donnovan
had come to Cash with his proposal, my man had made the pragmatic choice. No matter how influential he was in the area, there was no way Cash could stand in the way of that kind of progress. Better, he thought, to profit off of it.

And so they'd made a deal. The Dead Men would use their muscle and influence to force Taylor out of his properties - which
Donnovan
would be doing his best to acquire for pennies on the dollar - and in exchange, the Dead Men would be allowed to continue in the area when things began to change. It wasn't the kind of deal anyone liked to make and it certainly came with no guarantees. That being said, being a success means knowing when to take a stand and when to take the only deal on the table. Cash had done the latter and I couldn't find it in myself to blame him.

Since then, the Dead Men had done their best to put Taylor's properties in disarray. Work had been stopped, businesses had been vandalized and pressure had been applied where it would do the most good. Cash had made a special point to sabotage vehicles on all the properties the Dead Men had visited under cover of darkness. The result was a seemingly unending stream of cars, trucks and machines that needed the tender loving care of the only garage in town. With every turn of my wrench I was reminded that, for the first time, I couldn't really call what I was doing "honest work". That stung a bit, and I couldn't bring myself to imagine what my dad would say about the situation in San Viero. It probably would have further confirmed his belief that bikers were no good and that I should stay away from them. That advice seemed reasonable a few years ago, but living the high life in San Viero had done a lot to change my perspective.

Of course, not everyone was happy with the increased workload. I love getting my hands dirty in the garage and Tubbs was just glad to have something to do other than riding in the club. He might be a patched member of the Dead Men, but Tubbs was always happier working at Peasant than anything else. We were just two though, and the garage was full to capacity most days. Organizing it all was Zach, the longest-serving employee here at Peasant. He was more than just an employee, really. He used to own the place before he sold it to Cash on the condition that he always
have
a job. The other mechanics and I might have been getting our hands dirty, but the hard work was in the hands of everyone's favorite den mother, Karen. She handled the paperwork in ways that would make a Wall Street accountant's head spin. In most areas of life, Karen was humble and soft-spoken. When it came to crunching numbers and getting things done on schedule, she was
Atilla the Hun with a spreadsheet.

The lot was packed with vehicles in need of service. Even so, it was quitting time. San
Viero's
only real contribution to the history books - other than a half-mythical story about how someone had struck gold here in the 1800s - was that this was home of America's first auto mechanics union. With a reputation like that, even a taskmaster like Zach knew better than to ask anyone to work late.

Tubbs and I finished replacing the plastic that covered the steering column and got everything put back where it was supposed to be before we checked out for the day. Nobody would have bat an eyelash if we'd called it quits at five o'clock, but some people just can't leave a job half-finished. I think it was that attitude that made Tubbs and
I
into friends. While we were working, I noticed Cash enter the garage. He might own the place and he wasn't half-bad with a toolbox, but this was definitely my domain. I wasn't about to tell him
how to ride his bike and he wasn't about to tell me how to fix a car. That understanding was a huge part of what worked so well in our relationship. I flashed him a wide smile and he grinned back at me.

When the job was finished, Tubbs and I walked over to where Cash was standing.

"Everything go
alright?" he asked. It was a broad question, so I gave it a broad answer.

"Yeah," I told him, "Should be running fine. We'll give it a final go-over tomorrow morning and then call up..." for the life of me, I couldn't remember whose car it was I was working on. The long list of vehicles, mechanical faults and names was blurring in my head after the long day.

"I think it's Annie Jackson's," Tubbs said.

I shrugged. "Anyway, yeah, we'll let her know in the morning if it checks out."

"Good, good," Cash said. Every now and then he had to act like he actually owned the place. His name was on the paperwork, but everyone knew it was just business. Someone had to own it, even if all the profits were being channeled right back into the club and the garage. Peasant Motors kept the Dead Men running in more ways than one.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Emma," Tubbs said, heading for the office. "Later, Cash."

We each nodded at him and said goodnight. I was too tired for a long farewell and Cash was just following my lead. He might have been the president of the club Tubbs belonged to, but Cash recognized that Tubbs and I were closer now than the two of them had ever been.

I turned to Cash and stared deep into his eyes. It had been a long day without any sign of him. Tubbs had told me some of the Dead Men were going to be out on a job that afternoon, but didn't know the details. More and more he was becoming just another grease monkey.

"So what did you get up to today," I asked as I cleaned the last bit of grease from between my fingers.

"Donnovan
wanted to have a sit down with us about progress," he said. "That jackass couldn't even be bothered to make the meeting though. He sent his kid instead."

I nodded, trying not to say a word. "His kid" was Alexander
Donnovan
. I'd met him when this whole series of events had begun and, for a time, I'd found myself wound up with confusion because of it. Alexander represented all of the things that Cash couldn't. He was wealthy and powerful and he'd seen parts of the world that Cash had never heard of. He was manicured and styled where Cash was tough and rugged. Alexander had tempted me with a life away from San Viero, and I had nearly allowed myself the possibility. It was all just a ruse, though. As charming as he seemed, Alexander was devious just like his father. There was another agenda behind
Donnovan's
work with the Dead Men. At the end of the day, he wanted to turn San Viero into a playground for the rich and famous. That's not the kind of place you want a motorcycle gang making its home. Alexander's task in this had been to disrupt the club enough so that we could be forced out right on Mayor Taylor's heels.

Discovering the duplicity didn't mean putting an end to the deal, though. It meant circling the wagons and resisting. Cash knew that no matter what
Donnovan's
end game was, he'd never make a move against the club before Taylor was gone. That gave him time to find a better solution. Just what form that solution would take had formed the bulk of the discussions between the officers of the Dead Men of late, and quite a few late night chats between Cash and I.

"Do we have the night to ourselves?" I asked him. I might have been off work for the evening, but there was no motorcycle gang union keeping guarding against unpaid overtime for Cash. Too often I'd been stuck eating alone or sharing a table with Karen while the men in our lives were off causing trouble in the town.

"I'm all yours," Cash said with a smile. I couldn't help but wear my own smile from ear to ear. Those were just the words I was hoping to hear. I didn't have a clue as to what we'd be doing, but I was just glad to have the time to do it. I leapt at him suddenly and threw my arms around his neck as though we'd been separated for years. He didn't hesitate to return my embrace, despite the grease stains that were all over my pants. What's a little engine grease to a biker, anyway?

I released him from my grasp and smiled. "So where are you taking me?" I asked. That was the kind of line I always wanted to use and I couldn't resist the opportunity to try it on for size. He chuckled, and I got what I wanted.

"Well," he said, "I was thinking we'd go a bit upscale."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Upscale" in San Viero usually meant using a napkin while you ate at one of the same four restaurants everybody ate at.

"You've got a plan, you sneaky bastard," I told him, poking him in the chest with my index finger accusingly.

He simply grinned at me. "Tell you what, you go home and change into something nice and I'll pick you up. I want to wrap a couple of things up here and talk to Karen before she heads out."

"Sure thing, boss," I told him with a smile. I leaned in for a quick kiss but he turned it into something even better. He pushed his large, powerful hands around my back and pulled me in close. I could feel the sharp graze of his stubble against my face as we kissed. I might have been tempted by the soft, comfortable life of leisure, but I belonged with Cash. There wasn't a tropical island in the world that could make me feel as good as the tender kisses of a man who truly loved me.

We slowly parted from our kiss and I gave him one last squeeze on the arm before heading off in the direction of my bike. He stood watching me go and I made sure to throw a little extra something into the way I swung my hips. I heard him chuckle and I knew that he was grinning in that way that always got me.

I grabbed my helmet off the wall and walked my bike out into the lot through the open garage bay door. I'd been working on the bike for months, but I hadn't had much time recently to give it any attention. It was still purring like a kitten though. When I fix an engine it tends to stay fixed. That's doubly true if I'm working on my own stuff. You'll never find a hairdresser with her roots showing and the same is true for mechanics.

I mounted the bike and strapped the helmet under my chin. In seconds I was pulling out of the lot of Peasant Motors, heading for the small apartment that Cash and I shared on the other side of town. It would have been little problem to find something closer to work, but I was glad for the daily ride through town. Every minute I had on that bike was pure joy. My father had warned me against the dangers of motorcycles since long before I could even drive a car, but he'd never told me about the rush.

When the road is flying beneath you and the bike is humming just right, it's easy to get lost in the sensation. It's half like dreaming and half like being more awake than you've ever been in your life. It's almost like the bike's engine is converting fuel into energy for both the
bike and yourself. When I would kick it just a little faster, I could feel my heart matching the pace. Every corner was as thrilling as a great twist in a story you love to read. Riding a bike is more than just a way to get from point A to point B. It's a mental and emotional thrill as much as it is a physical one. Maybe my dad just never felt the rush the same way I did. Sometimes I wondered if even the Dead Men felt that way. Even amongst bikers, sometimes a bike is just a machine. For me, it was a true love that had only one challenger - the man who'd taught me to ride in the first place.

I arrived home and parked my bike on the street, right where I always kept it. That's another great thing about small towns - parking is like elementary school; everyone's got assigned seating. I hopped off the bike and made my way inside, hanging my helmet on the rack we kept by the door for exactly that purpose. It was too large and could accommodate more helmets than we owned, but it was a nice touch for a home like ours.

I left a trail of clothes leading from the front door to the bathroom. If was going to get dressed up for some special date, I certainly wasn't going to do it looking like I'd just spent nine hours in a garage. I started the shower and stood back for a moment to look myself over in the mirror. You'd think that days on end of hard work in the garage would have made me look tired, but I felt like the opposite had happened. Work, riding and Cash were the three things I'd found in life that could make me truly feel alive. Lately I'd been surrounded by my three passions 24 hours a day.
The result as a vitality that was positively bursting from me.
Of course, Karen would have told me that, at the age of 23, it was hard not to look good. She never seemed to miss a chance to remind me that I was young and that someday I wouldn't be. I took it as the good-natured ribbing I knew it was. I'd seen the old pictures of Karen from when she was my age, and she could put me to shame in any disco or drive-in or whatever the young people back then were getting up to.