Page 74 of Joker's Ghost
As usual, the women went all out with the attention to detail, bringing the 1920s to life. I’d been in and out of this room hundreds of times, but the vision of Daisy bleeding out on the exact same floor still hit me. Maybe not as sharp after a year, but still there. I’ve also convinced myself that whatever happened that night was a delusion brought on by my concussion, and nothing more.
I calm myself, focusing on my wife in another dress accentuating her figure. Along with the pride of having my son join a group of brothers who always have my back.
Life is good.
Samson and Nick came from Club Wicked, and after some jokes about my mishap last year, they congratulate us on our new venture. Nothing compared to the mega-club they own right off the Strip, but we’re going for a more intimate feel, an observation made by one of the reporters.
Python lets loose with a shrill whistle as Cobra gets up ona chair. “All right, fuckers, settle down. We got a few things to cover before we get our drink on.”
“First, I wanna congratulate all of us for getting this shit together. After almost one hundred years, we managed to renovate and bring this room back to its original glory.”
“Fuck yeahs” and fist bumps filter through the room.
“Next, I wanna call Joker’s son, Derek, over.”
Derek shoots a look to me, and I shrug.
“You’ve prospected for a year, and most of the brothers think you’ve done good—except me.” Cobra pauses, doing what he does best. Adding tension and amping everybody up. “And since I run this club, my word is the last word.”
Cobra looks at Python. “Isn’t that right, Sergeant-at-Arms?”
“Fuck yeah, your word is law, Boss.”
“I believe in delivering bad news without fuckin’ around.” Cobra glances at me. “We all took a vote last night.”
Derek’s gaze bounces between me and Cobra.
“And I’m afraid we got some bad news for you.” Cobra leans over the bar and retrieves a brown shopping bag. “‘Cause we don’t want you as a prospect anymore.” Cobra hops off the chair, pulls out Derek’s cut and shoves it to him. “We want you as a full-patched member.”
Derek holds it up, eyes wide as he examines the patches.
“From this day forward, you are a member of the Serpents MC Las Vegas.”
Derek’s mouth falls open. I take the leather cut and help him slip it on, then I grip his shoulders. “Congrats, brother.”
Derek huffs out a breath. “Shit, I thought for sure you were voting me out.”
“Are you kidding me? After the way you saved your mother and baby sister?” Python laughs.
Cobra shoulder-butts Python. “Looks like from now on you’ll be getting your own late-night snacks.”
Rattler slings his arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Andkeep up with that karate shit, brother. Might come in handy again someday.”
Daisy gives Derek a hug, then insists on a picture of the three of us.
I circle my arms around Daisy and Derek. “All that’s missing are my baby girls.”
Cobra claps me on the back and nods to Derek. “He’s the first of the second generation.”
“Crazy, right?” I hadn’t thought about it, but Cobra’s words hit me deep. Time is going by—a little too quick.
“Let’s toast our newest member.”
We head to the bar, and Rattler sets us up with shot glasses filled with Jack.
Cobra raises his glass. “Here’s to the newest Serpent. Club First, Brothers Always.”
We all raise our glasses, and Derek shoots the smoky liquor in one swallow.
