Page 7 of Shame

I ride with Snapper back to the clubhouse because he has some shit to do for Coyote, but I don’t stay because I have my own stuff to worry about. I’m on my way to Harry’s to tell him he needs to clean his barns out before we do it for him, but when I pass by the town store and notice new graffiti on the side, I pull into the dirt lot and park by the door.

The dust settles as I turn off my bike. I head inside, noting the only people here are Terry and his son, Noah, who’s stocking shelves.

I jerk my head toward the door. “What happened out there?”

Terry shakes his head. “No idea. Opened up this morning, and there it was.”

“You call the sheriff?”

“Sure did. He came by a little bit ago. Took a report and said he’d look into it.”

Look into it, my ass.

“You know what that shit is?” I ask, my anger growing.

Terry hesitates before giving me a stiff nod.

“Have you seen them around?” I ask when he says nothing.

He huffs out a breath before saying, “Last week a few times.”

“And you didn’t call uswhy?”

“Thought they were just passing through.”

He’s too cocky for me to believe that’s the truth.

“Passing through to where? Fucking Canada?” I huff out a disbelieving laugh. How the fuck does he want me to keep this place safe if he isn’t telling me what’s going on? “Those Iron pricks don’t belong up this way and you know it. You see them again, you call me right away.”

He holds his hands up. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. With you or them.”

“Then you better do as I say,” I warn.

“Yeah, okay. Sure thing. I’ll call right away next time.”

“We’re just trying to help this town,” I add, looking over my shoulder to find Noah staring at me. I can’t tell if he’s pissed at me for being rude to his pops or if he’s on my side.

There are plenty of people in this town who want the club to mind their own business or get out and leave them be. Plenty who ignore us. Plenty who love us. It’s a good mix to keep us on our toes.

Terry wishes we would leave them all alone. He doesn’t want to get caught in the middle. Doesn’t want club wars ruining his business. I get it. All the people in this town rely on their businesses to survive. But that’s why the MFMC was started in the first goddamn place. Don’t these morons see this? Hiding shit the IR are doing isn’t helping anything; it’s making it worse. We can’t handle shit we don’t know about. How long have they been coming down this way with Terry looking the other way? They know they can walk all over him, they’re gonna do it. Anything to get one up on us, and if they think they got our townsfolk in their back pocket, we’re fucked.

“You have a good day,” I say as I leave.

Once I’m out the door, I walk around to the side of the small building to snap some photos of the graffiti. The anvil looks like shit, but the hammer is decent. The least they can do if they wanna tag our shit is get someone talented to do it. What a way to represent your club than using a trash artist? They are trash though, so I guess it’s fitting. All they care about is running drugs. I send the photos to Rhino and Coyote so they can handle this shit. I’ve got enough to deal withtoday.

It takes ten goddamn minutes, an uncountable number of threats, and me putting a dent in Harry’s front door for him to open the thing.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” I shout when he finally pulls it open.

“I thought you were the FBI!” he shouts back, cowering behind his door.

“You fucking kidding me, old man?” I hold my arms out. “Do I look like the fucking FBI?”

The hell is wrong with the people in this fucking town?

“You all look the same!”

Whatever the hell that means…