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I struggled, not wanting the diggers to find the body. The shovels stabbed down, over and over, digging at the soil in the graveyard, determined to find the truth. Deeper they dug, destined to discover my secret.
People were always digging, always finding. Always knowing that justice would solve all crimes.
I hoped they didn't dig deep enough, but there was a back-hoe there, ready. Its metallic scoop went into action and uncovered more and more, until bones were found. Bones turned in the dirt.
Those around stood, watching, as the body of Thomas Green was at last uncovered. I felt eyes turn on me, accusing, asking, "Why? Why would you do such a thing? He was a good man."
I knew I had to run. Flee.
I jerked harshly to turn to run, and woke myself from my troubled sleep. I was sweating.
Kristy leaned over me, her touch light. "Are you okay?"
Already, much of the dream was gone. Remaining behind was the sense of unease at a grave being discovered. But that was unlikely, for certain. Who dug up graves and dug beneath them? Unless someone told...
I scrubbed a hand down over my face. My beard was getting longer and I gripped it for a second. "Yeah... I'm... okay. Bad dream."
Her eyes softened in the morning light. "You've been having quite a few recently. Ever since—"
"Don't ask." I felt it in my bones – the reluctance to say anything. She was my wife, but the Iron Crows expected secrets to remain secrets. There was no way I could tell her I killed a man. For the club. For Keystone.
I turned over, away from her. I felt her settle back down and heard her sigh. I didn't want to lock her out like this; I had to. I loved her, even if I felt she was drifting away from me. Our lives had been intersected, right after the altar, by the Iron Crows. The impact had sent us spinning in different directions, though we sought the same thing. We hungered for inclusion. Me, in my way. Kristy in her way. But they were different ways.
I don't know if her need was greater than mine, or more fragile, but her relationship with the Iron Crows turned sexual. I just didn't know any more how many cocks she'd taken. And even if I got turned on over this slutty side of her, I still recognized that something was wrong.
~ ~ ~
I pulled my Harley up to the clubhouse with Kristy clinging to me. Something normal such as this restored a sense of normalcy about our lives. Her grip reminded me she was mine and I was hers. But when she let go, the feeling evaporated. She would be going inside – going in to likely be alone with Ghost. She was always alone with him in the mornings.
In the evenings, when not working at the Lucky 7, she might be with one of the other patchers. She didn't open her legs for all of them, just a certain few. But I never knew until I saw her off with Gripper, or Viking, or Big Pizza.
Dealer, the president, kept his distance. It had been weeks since he had fucked my wife one last time at our trailer. He had walked out and kept his word. It was over. I saw the pain in his eyes, the tense set of his mouth, but he led us as if nothing was wrong. I could see it there, lingering, but also growing weaker. His lust for my wife was being put behind him. Like a junkie craving drugs, his withdrawals surged and spiked, then waned. Slowly, he was getting over her.
I hadn't even dismounted yet when Ghost came out with Flats. The treasurer pointed at me. "Stay on and follow me." He got onto his Harley and started it.
I reaffixed my helmet and started my bike back up. Flats was on his.
When Ghost saw us ready, he pulled out and accelerated towards the commercial area of town where Kristy and I rented the trailer. I followed behind Flats for a few streets, then pulled into a yard behind them. I thumbed off my Harley and got off when they did.
Ghost flipped a set of keys. We were in what looked like an old gas station from the 1960s or 70s. A separate warehouse that had probably been a different piece of property had been added within an enclosed gate sometime in the last thirty years. He said to us, "We considered this place first for the club. But the brothel won out."
I watched him unlock a dirty glass door and push it open. I went in after Flats.
The place smelled like old oil with a hint of waterless hand cleaner.
Ghost said, "It's ours, now. For a chop shop."
Flats mumbled, "We stealin' cars now?"
"No, buying them cheap and chopping them. Jimmy's idea."
Flats grunted, happy.
"You'll be doing the chopping. I'll need to see if I can lure Jacks away from his job to help."
Flats nodded thoughtfully.
Ghost waved the keys at me. "You're going to hustle the parts. Sell to mechanics, advertise in newspapers, online, wherever you can push it."
Wow, cool. I can do this. "Sure thing."
"Cable company is coming to wire you in. We'll move in a desk. Run out to the city and get the kind of computer you'll need. Can you credit card it?"
"Sure. Just need a laptop."
"Get it done by tomorrow. I have an order in at the Print Shop for business cards. When those come in, hit every garage you can find."
I was nodding. "Yep. No problem."
"I also have a run of flyers that should be done by noon. Pick them up in the meantime and start placing them wherever you can." He indicated the phone on an otherwise empty old shelf. "That's going to get turned on today." He pulled a slip of paper from his vest. "That's the number. Voice mail included. Set up a proper recording until you're here full time."
"Understood." I was smiling. It almost felt like my own business.
"Leave off the toilets. This is your new focus. It's also going to be your new job."
"No more bouncing?"
"We don't make money off of bouncers." His scowl and squint drilled into me. "The club is putting money into getting this off the ground, Jimmy. Don't disappoint us."
I stopped smiling. "I won't."
"Don't worry about the bars; we got guys who can take over. You've a lot to do here." He looked around at the dirt and dust. "If you need supplies and material, give me a list."
"Will do."
My days as a bouncer were over.