Page 21 of Flyboy's Nightingale
“Prez called church for all officers. No exceptions,” he says.
“Fucking hell. I have physical therapy in an hour.” I sigh.
“Well, here's hoping that they can reschedule it then.” Coin shrugs before walking behind me and shoving the prospect away from the handlebars of the wheelchair as he takes his place, turning me back toward the mouth of the hallway, then pushing me down toward our meeting room.
I glance at the prospect as Coin pushes me past him, noticing, not for the first time, that he looks absolutely defeated. I make a mental note to talk with him and see what’s going on. I know he’s our longest running prospect and several fucking times wethought he would’ve quit, only he always seems to dig his heels in and stick around. Coin doesn’t say a word as he rolls me through the main room and into church. I look around and see all the officers sitting there around the table, none of them looking happy. What the fuck could I have missed while I’ve been wallowing?
Prez storms through the double doors, slamming them shut behind him as he does, asking, “Do one of you mother fuckers want to tell me how and also how fuckin’ long there has been a man wearing colors that aren’t ours in our territory?”
I watch in fascination as ire and other hostile emotions fall over every man’s face across the room. Sitting up taller in my wheelchair, I let the same feelings that smolder just under the surface of my being all hours of every day rise since they reflect how my brothers are feeling at this unexpected news.
Then a plethora of shouts and questions reverberate through the air.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“There is no fucking way!”
“You’ve got to be fucking joking me!”
All of this is said in unison, voices rising louder in volume as frustration mounts and the room becomes tense. Razor pulls his laptop open and starts typing at the speed of lightning as he pulls up the town’s feed and begins investigating. Pretty Boy, Smith, and Wesson have their heads together, talking furiously as they go over everything that they know and discover. I know I’ve been preoccupied and out of the loop trying to get back on my feet, but even this should’ve caught my attention. I still don’t fucking understand how someone rolls into our territory without so much as a kiss my fucking ass. It’s disrespectful and has been known to cause wars.
“Turn the T.V. on,” Razor snarls, never stopping his typing.
Coin stands, walks over to the T.V. flipping it on before coming back to his seat next to me. Within a moment, there are several images of a man on his Fat Boy, flying colors of a club that none of us are familiar with covering his back. The room goes silent as we watch the images flash across the screen. My left hand balls into a fist as I watch this man hang around our town like he owns the place. One image shows him sitting outside of a house. Each day, the same street where he idles on different sides, different distances away in the subdivision but always staring at the same house.
“Do we know whose house that is?” Torch probes, slamming his clenched hand on the table.
“It's rented through a management corporation,” Razor states, never looking up at us from his laptop. “Give me just a second to make my way into their records.”
“Seriously, Razor? What can be taking you so fucking long to get into some little management office system?” I snap, not liking the fact I'msoout of the loop.
Razor never stops his typing, then shouts, “Fuck you, Flyboy! I sure haven’t missed your shitty attitude.”
“I’m so glad to be gracing you with my presence again,” I quip back, smirking, feeling like myself again for the first time since I woke up in the hospital bed.
Chuckles resound around the room, easing the tension of the tenuous situation. Turning back to the T.V., I continue to watch as this guy is all over fucking town like he was personally invited to be here. Prez slams the gavel on the table to shut everyone the hell up.
“I’m glad you gentleman are finding this fucking funny. What I want to know, is why you boys are so wrapped up in your own shit that for the second time in less than a mother fucking year, there is an outsider hanging around our town? Fucking find him and figure out what the fuck is going on.” Prez glares over atRazor, asking, “Do you have the fucking information, or do I need to find a new damn IT man?”
Razor stops typing for a microsecond, before answering, “It appears that Megan Merritt rents the house, she is originally from Texas. It looks like she’s thirty-six years old. Unfortunately, they don’t have a copy of her photo ID on file, so I’m still digging for that.”
“Wait! Wait what did you say her last name was?” Prez stops him.
“Merritt,” Razor repeats the last name, looking contemplative.
“Why does that sound familiar? Have you found a clear image of the colors on his back?” Prez wonders while watching the T.V. closely.
“What is it, Pops?” Torch asks him.
“I need to talk some things over with the old timers. Something about that name and the colors on his back are pulling at a memory that I just can’t pluck out from its place within my mind’s vault.” Prez turns back to everyone, stating, “Let’s get on the roads and find this guy. Let’s figure out who this woman is and what needs to happen to get this shit fixed.” Prez growls before slamming the gavel on the table and leaving us there.
Torch, Duck, Razor, Coin, Pretty Boy and I just sit there not saying anything.
“Fuck,” Pretty Boy hisses while running his hands through his hair.
“How the fuck does this keep happening? How do we keep letting shit slide through?” Coin shakes his head.
“I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that we’re failing our club, our town and our families every time this fucking happens. We need to get our shit together and get our heads outof our own asses.” Torch slams his hands on the table glaring at all of us in turn.
