A few more seconds tick by, then, I do sit, folding my arms across my chest.
Hound slides a file my way, keeping his hand on top for a few seconds. When he pushes it the final inch and moves his fingers away, I wonder whether I’ll find an inventory of guns, or details of the movement of drugs inside. If I do, once I’m out of here, if I’m still alive, I’ll make sure I get the information into the right hands.
Opening the file, however, I find it doesn’t hold what I expect. Instead, the first page is press cuttings of a case that was in the news—the kidnapping of the daughter of a CEO of a major company. I remembered hearing about it on the news. She’d been returned, unharmed, extracted by the feds I’d assumed.
Why have they shown it to me? There’s only one answer that occurs to me. “You want me to kidnap her again?”
Snatcher snorts. “It was fuckin’ hard enough for us to get her back the first time.”
My brow creases. “You’re trying to get me to believe you rescued her?”
Neither man agrees nor disagrees. I start flicking through the file. One by one, kidnap and extortion cases emerge. A few where the kidnap was thwarted, some, like the first case, where the kidnappee was returned unharmed.
When I reach the end, Hound starts, “I run this MC. We ride motorcycles and live life free, just like the rest of the Satan’s Devils Chapters. We run an auto-shop and fix cars and bikes. We live outside the law, but that doesn’t mean we’re criminals. You join us? You’ll be joining a team. We can give you a place to live and a reason to stay alive.”
That hasn’t told me a lot, nor why the admiral pointed me their way. Had he thought I was already a lost cause? Perhaps I should tamp down my disquiet for now and find out more. “You want me, why?”
“Whether I want you or not is to be decided. You’ve got skills I can use, there’s no doubt about that, but we don’t take just anyone in. You don’t walk in and start working with us. First, you have to prove yourself. You’d prospect for two years.”
Fuck that. I’ve proved myself worthy of wearing the Trident which should be more than enough. I’ve done my time. “Not interested.” I close the file, pushing it back across the table.
“Afraid of hard work?” Snatcher sneers. “In that case you’re probably right. You wouldn’t be a good fit for us.”
“No harm no foul.” Hound gives a smile so lacking in warmth I’m hard pushed not to shiver. “We’re offering you a chance to fight these types of crimes, but if it doesn’t interest you, you best be on your way now.”
Fight crimes? Not commit them? It seems unbelievable, but a strange reluctance has me hesitating to get to my feet. He notices. “I presume you’ve got other options, of course you would—a SEAL like yourself.”
“I’m not a SEAL,” I spit out through gritted teeth. It’s the truth, but the truth often hurts.
The man in front of me sighs. “You would be to us. Obviously, not in name, but I can offer you work that uses the skills and training you have.”
“I can kill a man with my bare hands.” I remind them just what I’m trained for. “Blow up buildings.”
“And make computer systems jump through hoops. Clearly you’re in high demand.” I don’t know why Hound shakes his head. Is he disappointed?
The image of me washing cars for a living comes into mind. If I walked out now, that might be all I can find. If I stay here, I might have to clean the member’s bikes, but hell, is there really much difference? I’ve always counted myself as an upright member of society, doing more than most to protect America and her way of life. I loved and served my country.
What have I got to show for that? Would anyone notice if I continued to walk the right side of the line? Is that a kernel of excitement I feel inside thinking about crossing over to the wild side, just to give it a try?
“If,” I start. “If I prospected and found I didn’t like it, would I be able to walk away?”
“Of course,” Snatcher remarks from behind me. “Prospecting works both ways. Obviously you won’t know our inner workings from the start. That way if we part company, you’ve no knowledge to bring us down.”
“So I wouldn’t know where the bodies are buried?”
“Exactly.” Hound exchanges an amused grin with his VP.
Criminal activities aside, I can see the logic in that. I lean forward, resting my head in my hands. I’m homeless, and my job prospects, at least for employment I actually want, are limited to none. Once again Hound seems to read my mind.
“Board, lodging, and some dollars in your pocket. That’s what we offer. And, something to give you a purpose in life.”
In truth, the money doesn’t have to be much, just enough to prevent me having to dip into my savings. But a purpose? That’s certainly a good carrot to toss my way.
“I’ll be straight with you, Stormy. We get results that others can’t. Not saying we always toe the line, and sometimes darn stomp right over it, but it’s always for a good cause, never bad.”
If I can believe him, it’s tempting. But it doesn’t tally with what I thought I knew about the Satan’s Devils MC.
“You already ride a bike,” the VP states.
“Rode up here on my own Harley,” I confirm, not bothering to ask him about how he knows. Nothing, it would seem, is a secret. I raise my eyes to the man seated the other side of the table.
For a moment, neither he nor his VP speaks, giving me time to work it out in my head. “You have other members who are vets?”
Hound nods. “The majority.”
So my first thought about the receptionist had been right. I’ve got doubts, heaps of them, but also there’s a feeling there could be something here for me. I’m still not completely sure what I’m going to say when I at last open my mouth.
“Mr Hound,” I address him politely. “I’m willing to relocate and give it a try. But two things, first I’m not committing to anything, not until I know what goes on in your club. Second, if there are things I’m uncomfortable with, then I’ll walk away.”
“Fair enough. And no need to stand on formality. The name’s Pip, or Prez to you now.” Hound, or more rightly Pip, stands and holds out his hand. “I presume you need to return to San Diego and collect your stuff. We’ll be ready whenever you are.”
8
Four years ago
Stormy…
Stretching out my long legs, I take the offered beer out of the left hand of Bolt, one of our newer prospects. His right is a prothesis, one of the standard ones, obvious as fuck and limited as to how much it will do. Unbeknownst to him, there have been conversations around the table of sourcing one of the new experimental high-tech versions for him. Pip, who I’ve learned can achieve almost anything, of course knows a man who has a prototype he’d like to have tried out.
At a cost of course, something like that doesn’t come cheap.
I’m always cautious when anyone new is around, but Bolt seems to be okay. He’s just completed the first year of his prospecting time, and already he’s a sure bet to be brought to the table in twelve or so months. Soon, he’ll move on from proving himself as a brother in an MC and start to learn what the Utah chapter needs. I reckon he’ll sail through. I should know. I was patched in just a year back.