Page 23 of Brick

Thirteen

Present…

Brick watchedas the old man touched the low side of the kiln lightly with his fingertips. He had been doing this for so long, he didn’t need a thermometer to tell him the heat was reaching its threshold. Cremation of a human body was at about sixteen hundred degrees, and the kiln reached over two thousand. Walrus and his ancient kiln had protected the club back then just as it protected it now. A few men over the decades had found their way up the mountain to their final resting place. These were the worst of the worst. Evil men who had committed atrocities against club members and their families. This last one Brick brought had been a wife beater, rapist, murderer, and a traitor to his country. What bought him this final trip was that he had kidnapped and threatened the life of a member's infant daughter and his woman. The law would argue for justice in the courts and a long prison sentence, but this man had such power, he could issue a death decree from behind bars. He had signed his own death decree when he put a gun to the head of a Dragon Runner’s old lady.

Brick hated it when he had to bring the body of an enemy up the mountain. Every time he did, he prayed it was the last time. He found no pleasure in the loss of life, but his vow to protect the people under his wing was ironclad.

“Hope you brung me some coffee in them bags.”

Walrus’s rough voice cut through Brick’s reflections on the past. He took a deep breath to clear his thoughts. He closed his eyes and said a prayer, asking forgiveness for sins past and present, and that this would indeed be the last time he would carry something other than groceries to this place.

“Yeah. Canned peaches and new clothes too.”

“Let’s get up t’ the house. Be down later to check th’ fire. Got some right nice bowls cookin’.”

They made the short walk to the cabin. Brick shooed one cat from exploring the bags and picked them up to carry into the cabin.

The inside was as simple as the outside. A smooth but plain table and two chairs and a few shelves of canned goods and finished pottery pieces were on one side, a chest of tools was on another, and a single bed against the third. The only color in the room was from the brightly patterned quilt lying neatly on the wooden bed. The place was as rustic as a pioneer museum, only this was a living and working environment and so far off the grid, only three people knew of its existence: Walrus, Brick, and Taz.

Brick filled the ancient tin coffeepot with water and hung it over the smoldering fire in the stone hearth. The old man put the cans on the shelves and pulled out the large jar of instant coffee.

“Bears give you any trouble? Saw one on the way up.”

“Nah. They got plenny up ’ere. Ain’t paid no mind t’ me in years.”

Brick sighed. “Every time I come up here, I think I’m ’bout to find you laid out dead.”

“I’ll go someday, jus’ not today.”

Brick poured two mugs of the steaming water and mixed in a healthy dose of the dark brown powder. The old man smacked his lips as he took a large swallow.

“Ahh! That’s the one thing I miss ’bout being up here. I like me some coffee.”

The two men sipped in silence, sitting across from each other at the table.

“Whelp, I gots work to do. Gotta check the fire. Root cellar needs clearin'. I got some pitchers from th’ last load. Came out good. You can take ’em back.”

“Sure. You ever wanna go back down, I’ll take you too. Them potteries of yours sell for good money. Blue’s woman makes a killin’ with it in her store. She’s got more’n one potter selling there, but yours are high in demand. You’d be a rich man if you ever wanted it.”

The old man’s face looked even more gray and wrinkled. “Ain’t nothin’ down there I need. You jus’ keep takin’ care of the club and the townfolk who need it th’ most. ’S my way of makin’ up for the past.”

Brick sighed again and muttered, “Stubborn ol’ coot,” under his breath. He picked up the pieces of art the old man said were ready to be sold and carefully wrapped them in cloth travel bags set out for that purpose.

“How’s my girl?”

Brick paused. Walrus never failed to ask. “She’s good. The whole club is good. I aim to keep it that way.”

The old man grunted a response and shuffled out of the building. Brick followed, only taking a moment to regard the wall above the head of the bed. Tacked up there was a faded, misshapen piece of grayed-out leather. It was old and worn, but he could still see the Dragon Runners logo on its surface.

“You’d best be gettin’ on down. See you next month,” Walrus called back into the cabin.

“Right.”

Brick loaded the ATV as the old man shuffled back down the path to check the kiln. He hated leaving him up there in the mountains, isolated with no form of outside communication whatsoever, but that was what the Runner wanted, and he wouldn’t budge.

Brick guided the four-wheeler back to his truck. It had just enough fuel to make it up the ramps to the truck bed before it died. He had to back the cumbersome vehicle up for several miles before he came to a spot where he had enough room to maneuver. With a lot of cussing, he managed to get the truck turned and heading out of the woods facing forward. By the time he got to the Tail, the sun was on its way to the horizon.

Another biker tourist whooshed past Brick’s slow pace, his hand extended out and middle finger up.

“Stupid little shit!” Brick had the urge to throw a middle finger back at him but knew it wouldn’t make a difference. The Tail would make him pay.

His thoughts drifted to his club and the people in it. Taz and Tambre, his oldest and dearest friends. Cutter and Molly, Mute and Kat, Stud and Eva, his own son, Blue, and Psalm, Table and Lori, and his own beloved partner in life, Betsey. Yes, he had paid in blood and guts, but in the end, the bad was burned away and something beautiful had come from the ashes. Family.

Brick came off the Tail and turned onto the main highway heading to Bryson City with one thought on his mind.

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