“Did he now?”
“Ayeap. He and Blackie have a couple of ideas, but he wanted me to feel you out just a hair on where you saw this goin’ with Myrt. I know what Gunny passed along, but I’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth myself.”
Tipping his chin up, he studied the fading contrails of jets passed overhead long ago, these faint traces evidence that something, someone, had been this way. They crisscrossed in ways he knew weren’t representative of the true paths of the planes. More passing glances at a distance than a true joining of forces.
Much like the posturing of the two men who waxed powerful in his world. Blackie, not wanting to lose a lieutenant after putting the time into training Bane the right way of doing things; and Mason, the acquisitive eyeing of his friends’ and neighbors’ patches passing into a fact of life as he angled to make his own family even more formidable.
“Do I want to patch over from the Freed Riders to the Rebels? That’s the crux of it all, ain’t it, Truck? Not if me and Myrt are gonna stick around, but if I’d be willing to drop my colors and pick up a different cover? Those are the questions you won’t ask but need to.” Huffing out a laugh, he caught himself scowling at the sky, those contrails still overlapping each other. “Let me guess. Mason wants a straight patchover. With me moving out of region, that one makes the most sense. But I bet Blackie is digging deep, because Mason done dropped the note about lookin’ at the Iron Riggers, and him plannin’ on catching them in one cast of the wide Rebel net. Am I close? Do I win a prize?”
“Not even in consolation prize territory.” The light tone Truck adopted said whatever Bane had gotten wrong, it wasn’t offensive. “Nice fiction write-up, though. You might have a career in Hollywood if this biker thing don’t pan out for you.” He laughed, a soft guffaw that held no heat. “Mason’s here tonight, you’re here tomorrow; I should just let him lay it out for you.”
“Don’t do that shit to me, old man. You know my tender sensibilities. I won’t be able to stand the strain of wondering and worrying.”
Bane liked the easy comfort he’d found with Gunny and Truck, a different kind of relationship than he had with Blackie or even Horse. The latter were men he needed to keep impressing, keep making happy with his performance, keep on his side in the club squabbles that happened. The RWMC guys so far had been men he could see letting loose with, having a few beers without worrying about how his mouth could get him in trouble.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want you distracted and shit. You’re carrying precious cargo.”
“That I am, so give it over. Tell me the grand master plan.” He sat forwards, resettling both feet to the ground. “Give it to me straight, yeah?”
“As the crow flies.” Now Truck was laughing at his play on words and Bane groaned. “Seriously, nobody wants you to patch over, least of all Blackie. He’s nearly foamin’ at the mouth at the idea of losin’ you to another club, even one as formidable as the RWMC.” Well hell, that felt good to hear, pushing Bane’s chest out proudly. “Mason wants you in the area, and not only because Vanna wants to keep her hands on the girl—which my old lady does, she’s following Blackie’s lead with the frothing, hers at the idea of havin’ a baby in the house. Sharon’s kids come to visit often, but for short stretches, which means she missed out on a lot of the baby stuff.” Truck cleared his throat, and Bane wished for a video call so he could watch the man try to get back on track. “Anyway, Blackie’s against the idea of a patchover, Mason’s in favor of it but has offered an alternative everyone’s expressed interest in. Now we just need to know if you’re gonna hang around here, or if Texas has a bigger draw for you.”
“I’m with Myrt, wherever that leads us. We’ve got her brothers and sister to watch over, too, so wherever we land, we’re going to need lots of support for a while.” He knew it wasn’t an answer, per se, so he pushed ahead. “She’s fond of Vanna. Fond and then some, honestly. I think Vanna Mom’s her touchstone, that person in her life who’ll keep her grounded