Page 12 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

“Morning, Brother.” Wrangler’s greeting me but smirking at the prospects. Being one of their number until a few months back, he’s still getting mileage from his elevated status. Unlike me, he voices his demand and accompanies it with a rap on the table. “Get me a coffee, Prospect.”

Prospecting being not so far in my rearview, I know how much the pair will want to answer by raising a finger, but like any good recruit, Curtis, his expression remaining impassive, puts down his spatula and fills a cup.

“You’re up early,” I observe to the new brother.

“Yeah, Deuce has asked me to take stock at the bar. Thought I’d get it done early and go for a ride.”

“Part-timer,” I observe, tucking into my bacon. My comment not quite deserved as working with Deuce, Wrangler will often be there until late into the night.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t rise to my bait. “Deuce is worried some shit’s going missing. Wants me to check.”

I raise an eyebrow. If he’s right, we could have problems with the civilian staff at the bar. Though that anyone would be crazy enough to steal from the Satan’s Devils begs disbelief. “Let me know if you need help sorting it out.”

Wrangler shrugs. “It’s likely some of the stock’s just got mixed up, but I’ll let you know if I need anything. Thanks, Brother.”

When Grumbler was laid up a year back, I’d temporarily taken over as sergeant-at-arms, a role I’ve semi-continued now that Grumbler’s duties are divided between looking out for the club and caring for his pregnant old lady.

Wrangler gives me a final appreciative chin lift, then drains his coffee and walks out. Taking his lead, I swallow the last of my breakfast then down the remains of my cup. Patting my cut to ensure my keys and wallet are there, I head out to my bike.

Arriving at the shop, while I’m not late, Gibbs and Ross, a couple of our now-civilian but former-Marine mechanics are already checking through the books and assigning themselves tasks. Joining them, we divvy up the jobs, and soon have our heads down as we work.

“Grumbler not coming in?” Ross asks after a while, as the time for the man to put in an appearance has passed.

“You know that,” Gibbs replies with a roll of his eyes. “He’s gone to LA to pick up a part.”

“He set off early,” I remind them as Ross slams his hand against his forgetful head. “Mary’s got an appointment this afternoon, and he never misses those.”

“Your old brain injury playing up?” Gibbs asks, but his grin belies any concern.

“Fuck off,” Ross responds good-naturedly. “I lost an arm, not my fuckin’ mind.”

I snort, then return to what I was doing.

Time marches on, and I begin to grow surprised Grumbler hasn’t made it back. He’d planned to leave long before I’d gotten out of bed. Sure, the ride to Los Angeles takes a couple of hours, but he’d set out early enough to avoid the worst of the rush hour. As the hours tick past, I start to worry.Where are you, old man?

My phone ringing startles me, and I push myself out from under a car. The display shows me it’s the man I was just thinking about calling.

“Hey, old man. You alright?”

“I’m good. Need to ask you a favour, Brother.”

“Anything, Brother, you’ve got it.” He doesn’t even need to ask. I start making my way to the desk, thinking the store might have forgotten what part he’d ordered and gone to collect, and that Grumbler needs the serial number.

But that’s not what he needs. “Got a nail in my tyre when I was heading back. Had to get roadside assistance to take me to a tyre place, but they didn’t have the one I needed in stock. Gonna be stuck here a few more hours.” I hear a sound in his throat that shows me he’s not impressed. The reason clear as he adds, “Hate to ask this of you, but could you go with Mary to her appointment? I don’t want her going alone.”

Given the ages of Mary and Grumbler, the odds of them growing a healthy baby are stacked against them, and I hear the undertone in his voice. This isn’t just a normal ‘be there to make conversation to stop her getting bored’, this is a ‘be there in case she gets bad news’ favour to him. Neither will want to put the appointment off, and under the circumstances, I whole-heartedly agree, Mary shouldn’t be alone. While I don’t relish the task in case the visit goes sour, to be honest, I’m honoured as fuck that he’s asked me. Patsy, the prez’s woman, would have gone like a shot, and she might be better to understand anything pregnancy related. It’s a measure of his respect that he’s made the request of me.

“Of course, I’ll go, but all I can do is hold her hand.”

“Not asking you to do more, Brother. She likes and respects you. She’ll be good with you being there.”

“I’ll do it,” I agree without hesitation.

“Great. I’ll call Mary. You mind picking her up?”

That makes me smile. He hates her doing anything nowadays, even getting behind the wheel of a car. I know Mary finds it frustrating, but she tolerates his worrying because the concern comes from his heart. Grabbing a pen and paper, I jot down the details.

I decide to tease him. “Any particular kind of cotton wool I should take with me to wrap her in?”

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