Page 4 of Brick

“Keep your voice down, moron.” Brick glowered at the loud man. “In fact, don’t talk club business at all.”

Deuce’s manner changed from jovial to menacing. “Careful, prospect. Don’t forget, you’re talking to a full-fledged member.”

Brick didn’t back down. “As a full-fledged member, you ought to know better than to come into a public diner spoutin’ shit about the club that anyone can hear. It’s a good way to put our brothers in danger, an’ that ain’t what it’s about.”

“Like you’re some fuckin’ expert. You ain’t nothin’ special just because your daddy is in charge for now.”

The sneer on Deuce’s face sparked something in Brick’s thoughts. “What do you mean ‘for now’? Jesse was voted in as president, and Blackjack agreed to it. Ain’t no one said nothing ’bout voting him out.”

Deuce leaned back and grinned. “No one’s sayin’ nothing. Old Jesse is a fine president.” He drew fine out in a long drawl.

Taz spoke up. “I ain’t heard nothin ’cept what my job is, an’ Brick’s right. Not the place to be talkin’ club business.”

Deuce curled his lip again but wisely let it go. “Hey, waitress! Where’s my fuckin’ food?”

Brick glanced around the diner. Betsey was nowhere to be seen. He assumed she was back in the kitchen tossing the broken plates and trying to make Deuce’s cheeseburger cook faster so he would leave sooner. “I’m going out for a smoke.”

He slid out of the booth, ignoring the pleading look from Taz not to leave him alone with Deuce. His bulky frame made the red plastic squeak. There was only so much he could take of the obnoxious man. He walked outside and breathed deeply of still cool night air, its bite stinging his nostrils. He let out the breath on a stream of vapor and saw no one at the picnic tables in the lot next to the diner. Brick climbed up and sat on one while he pulled out his pack of Winstons and lit up. The orange tip glowed as he drew in a lungful and blew a cloud of smoke over his head. Taz’s run next week was on his mind. Dangerous stuff. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he worried for his friend. He realized Taz needed the money almost as much as he needed Bear’s approval, but if something happened to Taz, what would Tambre’s future look like? Would the Dragon Runners step in and help, or would she end up as a single mom struggling to put food on the table? What options did an eighteen-year-old girl have with no money, no real job skills, and a baby on the way? The club bunnies sometimes got money from the members, but that would put Tambre on a downhill slide with no net. Besides, Bear would never let that happen. Nor would he. There had to be something more. He had no vote as a prospect, but once he was a full member….

The sounds of yelling caught his ear. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could hear anger in the male voice. He climbed off the picnic table carefully as to not get splinters in his ass and walked quietly toward the ruckus. The dim light at the back of the diner showed Betsey standing with her parents. Her father was shouting and gesturing wildly and pointing at her. Betsey’s mom was standing meekly beside him, wearing a shapeless dress with her hands folded in front of her body. Betsey stood tall, her arms rigid at her sides and her fists clenched in tight knots. Brick watched as she handed a wad of cash to him and said something. The man’s arm lashed out and cracked across her face, making the girl stagger, but she didn’t fall. She straightened back up and reassumed her stiff stance.

Brick’s gut flared with anger, and he ran at them. “Hey! What the fuck?”

Betsey’s father had reared back to take another swing at the defiant girl but changed his mind after Brick’s yell. He straightened his Sunday jacket and pushed his glasses up his nose as Brick came up to the trio.

“You okay?” he addressed Betsey, ignoring the other two for the moment. Her cheek was bright red with a clear handprint. She stayed silent but nodded and bit her lip. Brick could see her eyes were watering; she was fighting to hold back the tears. He admired the girl’s strength.

He turned to the reverend. “I repeat. What. The. Fuck?”

The man squirmed in his suit. “This is none of your concern, boy. This is family business between me and my… my daughter.”

Brick’s eyes narrowed. He tapped the insignia on the front of his leather cut. “You know who I am an’ what this means?”

“I know all about your gang.” The tang of alcohol wafted to Brick’s nose. Fuck, the good reverend was drunk.

“The Dragon Runners ain’t a gang. We’re a club. We ride free an’ easy, watchin’ out for each other no matter what. They got my back, and I got theirs. I can call out and have a band of brothers here in two seconds flat. You wanna see? Lay your hand on this girl again an’ I’ll give you a bird's-eye view.”

The man shrank into himself, and the woman at his side disappeared entirely. Brick heard Betsey’s indrawn breath, but his eyes locked on the weaving man in front of him.

The reverend dropped his head and muttered, “Family business,” again. He stumbled as he moved off. His wife glanced fearfully at the retreating back and quickly handed an envelope to Betsey. She nodded once before scurrying after her husband.

Brick turned to the waitress he’d had a crush on for years. “You sure you’re okay? That was a pretty hard blow to take. You’ll be sore tomorrow.”

She sniffed and looked at the white square in her hand. “I’m okay. Ain’t nothing new ’cept he wanted my tips bad enough to come get ’em instead of waitin’ till I got home. Says I hafta pay rent now to live there since I graduated. I guess he's outta ’shine an' broke again. I hope he lets Mama drive him home. He ain't in no condition to be at the wheel.”

She opened the card and read the Happy Graduation printed under a picture of bright balloons. The inside said The sky is the limit.

Betsey chuffed at the words. “Wish I had a bottle o’ wine to go with this cheese.”

Brick laughed and leaned against the wall of the building. He had the urge to pull out another cigarette but thought better of it in front of the girl. “It’s the thought that counts, right? You graduated, an’ that’s something. There’s plenty who didn’t.”

She sniffed, folded the card, and put it in the wide front pocket of her uniform. “I guess so. Deuce didn’t even get to senior year.”

“Deuce is a moron. He’s lucky he knows how to tie his shoes.”

“He’s wearing motorcycle boots now.”

“Still a moron.”

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