Page 9 of Brick

Four

Three years later…

“Fuckin’asshole! I’m gonna rip his goddamn head off and shit down his neck!”

“You touch my boy, I’ll kill you!”

“Your boy done smoked up half the fuckin’ grass he was supposed to take to Pennsylvania last week. I got the Iron City Knights MC breathin’ down my neck sayin’ we got till Friday to come up with the shipment or the money, plus interest. Ain’t no way I want a war with them. You got that kinda money, Blackjack? You been savin’ it for when your asswipe son fucks up?”

Brick tipped back his beer and took a long swallow while Jesse and Blackjack yelled at each other. Deuce was nowhere to be found, which at least saved his face from the pounding Jesse was ready to give him. Brick couldn’t quite comprehend the stupidity of his club brother. Did he really think he wouldn’t get caught?

The past few years had flown by fast and had seen a lot of changes, both good and bad. Brick was now a full-fledged member of the Dragon Runners MC and proudly wore his patch as he cruised the mountain roads. Taz had also received his patch. On the night of his induction, he got down on one knee and proposed to Tambre. She now wore Taz’s patch and his ring, a baby on her hip, and had another one on the way. Taz had bought a house just outside the town limits for his budding family. Brick still lived in the same house with his father and Isaac, not really seeing any point in moving out since he spent very little time there.

Tonight, he definitely would go home as soon as he could leave.

Brick caught Walrus’s eye, and the two men shared a look. Walrus had become more and more disgusted with the direction the club was going and had no problem talking to Brick about it when they made their runs. They partnered exclusively with each other now, and Brick appreciated that Walrus trusted him to keep his words safe.

“Deuce didn’t take half the shit, and he didn’t smoke it all either. He sold it. He got a girl knocked up and needed money.” Blackjack’s begrudging admission brought another level of anger from Jesse.

“He sold it? Motherfucker! I’m takin’ his goddamn patch.”

“You can’t take shit! I’m one of the original club founders too.”

Jesse pitched a beer bottle at the wall in his rage. Scottie ducked as it came close to his head. The glass shattered, and the dregs of the beer inside spewed out to foam on the floor.

“What the fuck, man?” Scottie loved all things sci-fi and was a major fan of Star Trek. His son, Mothman, and daughter, Uhura, were named after his favorite characters. “Y’all need to calm down. This shit’s gettin’ way outta hand.”

“Fuck!” Jesse grabbed a half-full bottle of tequila and stomped to the club’s entrance. “Figure this out, Blackjack. Your son. Your fuckup.” He tipped the bottle back and took a healthy swallow before mounting his bike just outside the clubhouse and driving away.

Brick frowned. The bottle was still in Jesse’s hand, and he’d be lucky to not get stopped for drinking while riding. Not to mention hurting himself or someone else. Getting shitfaced didn’t bother Brick; he’d been knocked for a loop or two himself. It was taking chances with riding drunk, getting caught, and exposing the club’s business that was a concern. He caught Walrus’s eye again, and the mustached man shook his head in disgust. Brick wondered again for the seven hundredth time, was sticking with the Dragon Runners MC worth the risks its members flaunted?

The roar of a bike pulling up way too fast caught Brick’s attention. Everyone jumped up, going to red alert and drawing guns if they had them handy.

“Goddamn, motherfuckin’ shit!” The yell came out of Moth, who burst into the room, oblivious of the firepower aimed at his head. “Isaac… Isaac…. Fuckin’ hell!”

Cold fingers raced down Brick’s back. “Moth, calm the fuck down and spit it out. What happened to Isaac?”

“He’s… fuck, man, he’s gone. The fuckin’ cops were waitin’ for us at Parson’s Curve. We made a fuckin’ run for it, but Isaac wiped at the Whip. I think he lost control on the dip down and flipped. I saw his bike fly into pieces when it hit the mountainside, and Isaac… fuck me… Isaac’s head fucking exploded. Helmet an’ all. The cops stopped to check him, an’ I didn’t know what to do, so I kept runnin’. Circled back and came through town on the other side.”

Brick’s mouth thinned as he pressed his lips together. He’d handle the pain of his brother’s death later when he was alone and could let it go. Too many details in Moth’s story didn’t quite sound right. How did the cops learn about where the Runners were on this day at the exact right place and time? Isaac wouldn’t have run stupid on the Tail. He would have dumped the load like Deuce and waited to deal with the club’s wrath. His head exploded? No way that happened in a bike accident unless….

A cold chill ran down Brick’s spine. “Someone shot my brother.”

* * *

Betsey letthe loose screen door slam behind her as she strode across the muddy yard and threw the two full bags into the metal trash cans near the car cover. The rectory house was located behind the church. It was a free roof for her family but had the bare minimum of amenities and barely enough space for them. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, and a living room crowded everyone together, and with no air conditioning in the blazing summer heat, tempers flared often. Well, not everyone’s tempers. Her father’s mainly. When the moonshine flowed freely, he spent hours ranting on the state of the country, morality, sin, and whatever else he could find fault with in the world.

Often, his favorite target was her. Last night, she had worked until closing at the diner and Brick could not come see her, so she had to trudge the four miles home in the dark. Brick didn’t like it, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Her father had been waiting for her when she arrived home, his eyes red and unfocused from the potent brew he bought under the table from a local still owner. He mumbled something incoherent at her as he weaved on his feet and held out his hand. Betsey had sighed and handed over her tips. He pocketed them and stumbled up the steps, still mumbling and spitting. Betsey was left to sleep on the scratchy sofa that served as her bed.

She wondered what his reaction would be if he ever found out about her secret boyfriend. Could she call Brick that? They had spent as many stolen moments together as they could, talking about the future, the club, and what they wanted in life. Betsey knew Brick was conflicted about the club and his role in it. She talked to him about her home life and how much she wanted out. She believed they were close, but she wasn’t sure if they were a real couple. He had never touched her other than his wonderful kisses. His claim was he had too much respect for her and wanted to put his patch on her first. Betsey loved that about him, but she still craved more than his kisses and evening rides.

Betsey slammed the lid on the can with a crash and looked around to make sure she was alone. The car cover was old and rusted and had a worn wall of stones on one side. Her hand slipped down to her sock and pulled out the few dollar bills she’d held back from her tips. She pulled up one of the stones to reveal a tin box. The money joined the small pile of paper bills and coins she hoarded away. Enough dimes make dollars, and enough dollars make freedom. This had become her mantra as the box’s contents increased. Freedom meant she could leave the abuse and suppression behind. Betsey didn’t try to count what was in the box. It was nowhere near what she needed to leave, but the more she could squirrel away, the closer she would get to her goal. The coins glinted in the morning sun, and for the thousandth time, she thought about what that money would buy her. New clothes that were hers and not ones from the donation bin, a trip to the hairstylist instead of her mother’s home trims. Shoes—Lord, how she wanted new shoes! Her father lectured long and hard about vanity and pride, but Betsey just didn’t get why wanting to wear makeup and enjoy being pretty was a sin. She’s already learned not to argue with him, as his lessons in women’s deportment were often followed up with a heavy hand.

Her two younger brothers were exempt from her father’s rages for the most part. One was in high school and the other in middle school. Neither of them helped much around the house, as this was solidly categorized as women’s work. Housework, cooking, laundry, dishes, all of it landed on her and her mother’s backs, and God forbid something be out of place.

“Betsey, I need you.” Her mother’s weak call reached her ears, and Betsey glanced up to see her standing in the doorway, drying her hands on her apron. Breakfast was ready and needed to be served. Betsey closed the box and tucked it back in its hiding place. At this rate, she’d be an old woman before she was free, but at least she would be free.

* * *

She never saw him.He sat watching on his bike, hidden from her view by the thick bushes that separated the church from the rectory house. His eyes followed her movements as she stood from her money stash and brushed a few flecks of dirt from her skirt. He kept still as he saw Betsey approach her beckoning mother, holding his breath against making the slightest noise. He waited a few minutes after the two women disappeared in the house before wheeling his silent bike away from the parking lot. At the main road, he started the engine and drove away without looking back.

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