Page 53 of Dizzy

“Fuckin’ blown job,” a couple brothers echo.

It’s the reason that the Rebel Raiders and Steel Bones have been feuding since ’93. We used to be one happy club. Then it all fell apart.

“If Slip hadn’t asked Stones Johnson to take that load for him, we wouldn’t be in this situation today,” Eighty says, gettin’ warmed up. This is one of the old-timers’ favorite topics of conversation.

“If Stones Johnson hadn’t let that boy of his drive, they would’ve never gotten pulled over on Route 29,” Gus opines. “Boy had a lead foot.”

“Stones should’ve taken the River Road. Cops ain’t never on the River Road.” Boots adds.

“If whoever had fucking planted those Kalashnikovs under the cigarettes had done a better fucking job, Sheriff Do-Gooder would’ve never found ‘em.” Eighty hawks and spits in an empty beer can.

Sheriff Do-Gooder is Senator Do-Gooder now. The bust was huge deal. Made the papers and the nightly news. He rode the publicity all the way to Washington, D.C.

“That’s dumb as shit,” Cue Ball scoffs. “Stones would still have been busted for the cigarettes. What you think the cops are gonna do with three pallets of name-brand smokes? Leave ‘em in the truck when it goes up for auction? You can’t hide shit in a cargo container.”

“The question is who put them guns in that vehicle.” Gus leans back and strokes his chin.

“I still say Stones did it himself. He saw an opportunity, and he went into business for himself.” Eighty’s a proponent of the “inside job” theory.

Grinder’s a true believer in the “government conspiracy” theory. “Sheriff Fuck-nuts planted those guns. You gotta ask yourself. Who stands to benefit? Stones is in jail. Fuck-nuts is on C-SPAN. Who came out on top, eh?”

I don’t know the answer to that, but I know the clubs lost. Steel Bones and Rebel Raiders.

Stones and his oldest kid Knocker got twenty-year bids. Stones died on the inside. His other boys—Inch and Dutchy—blacked out their Steel Bones ink and founded the Rebel Raiders with Rab and Book Daugherty.

We could have lived in peace, but then when Stones died, Dutchy went crazy and brained Heavy’s little brother Hobs with a baseball bat. Now, there can be no peace. Only lulls in a two-decade war. It’d be worse if the Raiders were organized. Besides the Johnsons and the Daughertys, they don’t have much heart for the fight. They’re busy dealing meth and brawling.

“We may never know.” Gus leans back in his chair, lighting up a smoke.

“No.” Heavy doesn’t raise his voice, but it still rings out, and every man listens. “We will know. As the man says, ‘My righteousness draws near speedily. My arm will bring justice to the nations.’”

“Leviticus?” Grinder guesses.

“Isaiah.”

It’s a particular habit of Heavy’s to quote Scripture. His mother, Miss Linda, was always thumpin’ her Bible. She was a passionate woman, may she rest in peace.

“Does that mean we’re gonna go after the Raiders. Put ‘em all down? It’s past time.” Jed is bloodthirsty for a man who’s never had to take a life as far as I know.

“’For everything there is a season.’” Heavy answers.

“If we’re goin’ to war, it’s gonna have to wait until next week. I ain’t missin’Spank the Devil.” Cue Ball’s got his priorities.

“We’re not gonna make a move until the time is right.” Heavy says. “And Mando from Los Insurrectos is bringing me up an 81’ custom from Nogales. No one’s missingSpank the Devil.”

Thank the Lord and Spank the Devilis one of the biggest rallies on the East Coast. It’s always the weekend before Thanksgiving, and it’s always a wild ride. Sharon’s managed to time her emergencies, so I haven’t been able to go the past three years.

“So we’re gonna do nothing? It’s clear the Raiders are trying to fuck with our business.” Big George says. “There’s no innocent reason Chaos was looking at those blueprints. He either knows or suspects something.”

This spy shit with Chaos is crazy, though. “Rab Daugherty is no criminal mastermind. If he was gonna come for us, it’d be with a gun.” It ain’t like the Raiders at all.

“No, he’s not,” Heavy agrees. “But Knocker Johnson is.”

And that’s the truth. In a club like this, everybody gets one thing. I know engines. Creech does tattoos. Cue eats pussy. Knocker Johnson was the smartest man anyone knew.

Until Heavy came into his own.

But that’s what everyone knows about Knocker. He had a Willie G special, and he was fuckin’ brilliant. He was older than me, but until he went away, we worshipped the guy. He was insane.

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