* * *
On Wednesday, Randal and I rode back up to Oak Falls. We stopped by the Snakes’ clubhouse first. It was deserted, but for the dogs. For all I could tell, they hadn’t stopped barking since we’d left last week.
We had no choice but to ride out to Monk’s garage in Old Forge. It was ten miles each way but we didn’t know where to find any other members of the Road Snakes.
Monk greeted us like we were old friends, grabbing our hands and pulling us into manly hugs while saying, “Good to see ya again, bro.”
He got some motorcycle grease smeared on my denim jacket. I didn’t mind. It made me look that much more authentic. Like a real motorcycle rowdy.
“Just stopped by to say, ‘Hi,’” Randal said. “See how you’re doing.”
“Fine, just fine,” Monk said. “Got an old Indian. Great bike but her engine needs a full rebuild. Bore it out. Mill the valves. Replace all the seals. She’s going to be a fine machine when I’m done with her.”
Monk and Randal talked about the bike for a while. Randal seemed to know a lot about motorcycles, which was good because I barely knew which end was the front.
Well after I was bored to distraction, Randal said, “We’ll get out of here and let you get back to work.”
“Great seeing you,” Monk said.
“Do you know where we might find Bucks?” Randal asked. “Last week he was saying how much he liked the weed I brought so I thought he’d like to have a little more.”
“Sure thing,” Monk said. “It was good shit.”
“Well, if you want a little more, I’m happy to share,” Randal said and pulled a baggie out of an inside pocket. It was smaller than the one that he’d given to the Snakes last week. That had been for everyone. This week, he’d packed personal-use-sized portions. Or maybe he habitually carried both. I never knew what he kept in his pockets. Denim jackets have big pockets.
“Appreciated,” Monk said as he took the baggie. “Bucks doesn’t hold a job. Lives with his mom and dad over in Divitston. Give me a minute and I’ll see if he’s around.”
One corner of the garage was walled off to make a little office. Monk ducked in and made a call. And then another. During the next few minutes he made several. Maybe Bucks was a hard man to find. When Monk came back, he said, “Bucks’ll meet you at the clubhouse. He’ll be there by the time you get up there.”
“Thanks, man,” Randal said and we hit the road.
Bucks wasn’t alone at the clubhouse. Jimbo was there with him.
It seemed that the Snakes didn’t like the idea of us meeting with any member one-on-one. If they thought that we were scouting their club for the Angels, they were probably afraid that someone might say the wrong thing and screw things up for everyone.
Bucks smiled. “Hi.”
Jimbo looked less happy to see us.
“Hey, man,” Randal said, “good to see you again.”
Bucks nodded.
“We didn’t get much chance to chat the other night, so I thought that we might chew the fat a little today.”
“Okay,” Bucks said.
So far, Jimbo hadn’t said a word. Probably because Randal hadn’t spoken to him. Randal was making it clear that he expected to talk only to Bucks.
Jimbo looked at us with poorly concealed suspicion as he unlocked the clubhouse door and followed us inside.
When we were seated in a loose circle in the various tattered easy chairs, Randal handed a small baggie of grass to Bucks and another one to Jimbo. “You guys said you liked the quality, so I brought a little more along.”
“Thanks,” was the first thing Jimbo said since we arrived. “You want a beer? Help yourself.” He wasn’t thawing to us– an Iron City was automatic in the clubhouse – but neither Jimbo nor Bucks moved to the fridge so Randal and I stayed put, too.
“I like your bike,” Randal told Bucks. “Suzuki 500, right?”
“What of it?” Jimbo asked before Bucks could speak.
“Just a comment. You don’t see many bikers riding Japanese. The rest of you ride Harleys.”
“My dad bought it for me,” Bucks said.
Bucks was at least thirty years old. I tried to imagine my own father buying a motorcycle for me when I was that age. I couldn’t.
“What do you think of the two-stroke engine?” Randal asked.
“It’s all right.” Bucks glanced at Jimbo for support.
“He keeps up with us,” Jimbo added. “We got no complaints.”
“No, I guess not,” Randal said. “From what I hear, it’s a fast machine.”
Bucks looked like he was going to say something but Jimbo repeated, “It keeps up,” before Bucks could form a sentence.
Randal engaged Jimbo in a conversation about Bucks’ bike for a few minutes. Bucks had little to contribute, and when he did, his comments were simple and non-technical. Jimbo talked a good game, but I could tell that Randal was losing him when he got into deeper waters, technically.
Bucks dressed like an accountant, but it was soon clear that he was not the club treasurer. He was less than a hundred percent brilliant. Much less. My esteem for the Road Snakes rose a degree. It was good of them to make a place for a guy like Bucks in their group. A lot of guys like him never find anyone who will let them hang out with them.
“I like your shirt,” I said to Bucks when there was a lull in the conversation about his motorcycle. He was wearing a plaid cotton shirt with a button-down collar. “Where did you get it?”
“Mom gave it to me,” he said.
“She’s got good taste,” I said.
Jimbo was looking at me hard, trying to see if I was making fun of Bucks.
I wasn’t. I was simply confirming my hypothesis. But I couldn’t think of anything to say that would make it clear that I wasn’t teasing him so I said nothing. I smiled and he smiled back.
“So you guys know that I bought Billy Paul’s bike off him,” Randal said to break the awkward silence.
“Yeah,” Jimbo said. “We all heard.”
“I was wondering if you knew where Billy had got it from.”
Jimbo shook his head. “Monk might know, but he never told me or Bucks. It was never a topic of conversation.”
Randal nodded. “No big deal. I was just wondering. Do you know how long he owned it?”
“For as long as he was hanging around here. He had it when I first met him.”
“When was that?”
“A couple of years ago. Maybe three. I don’t really remember. He hung around for a while.”
“Who knew him best?”
“You got a lot of questions about Billy,” Jimbo said.
“Yeah. I do. He wanted to join the Road Snakes, right?”
“Yeah. He made that pretty clear. So what?”
“So I want to know why you didn’t let him in.”
“You think we should have?”
Randal shook his head. “It’s your business whether he was Road Snakes material or not. I’m not questioning your decision. I’m just curious about how you decide if someone gets into your club.” He smiled. “It’s an important question. I’m sure you understand.”
I understood. If Randal were scouting for the Angels, he’d have to report back on what kind of standards the Road Snakes maintained.
“It was a lot of things,” Jimbo said. “He wasn’t loyal. He wasn’t someone we’d trust to have our backs. That’s a big deal. Also, he tried to act tough, but he wasn’t badass underneath. There’s a difference between nasty and badass.”
“He was bad to the Doll,” Bucks said.
“He was bad to all of us in one way or another,” Jimbo added a little too quickly, giving Bucks a sharp warning look. “You never knew how he was trying to rip you off. You just knew that he was always trying. You don’t need to know the details. You can take my word for it. If a guy’s not loyal to his brothers, he’s not going to be a Road Snake. We got each other’s backs. Right, Bucks?”
“Yeah, Jimbo. We
got each other’s backs.” Bucks sounded like he was reciting liturgy.
“That’s key,” Randal said. “If a man doesn’t have your back, he’s not your brother. Nothing’s more basic than that.”
“Right on,” Bucks said.
I don’t think that Randal had me in mind when he said that, but the suit fit me fine. I was Randal’s door gunner, no question. I had his back. It made me feel both proud and terrified at the same time. In the clubhouse, mostly terrified. Every Road Snake looked like he was always one wrong word away from exploding. Everyone except Bucks. Bucks mostly looked content.
“Did anyone have Billy’s back? Outside the Road Snakes, I mean. He couldn’t have been all alone. He must have had someone.”
Jimbo shook his head. “He was as alone as I ever seen a man. You couldn’t be his friend because he was going to turn on you sooner or later. He thought that the way to be the baddest ass in the valley was to rip everyone off. Everyone. He was never going to figure it different. He just didn’t get it.”
“He got it in Wemsley,” Randal said.
“Yeah. We all saw that coming from a mile away. His days were numbered. A lot of people wanted a piece of him. It was only a matter of time until someone caught up with him.”
“You know who his connections were?”
“He talked a lot about knowing some big shot in Syracuse named Warts Weber. That might have been his connection. He always talked about Warts like there was going to be a big payday coming any day. We all figured that Billy was just trying to impress us – pretending that he played in the big leagues – so we stopped listening when he started on that line of bull.”
“I don’t blame you,” Randal said.
“I thought that you said that you were in business with Billy,” Jimbo said. “He must have talked to you about Warts, too.”
Randal shook his head. “Billy didn’t try to impress me with his bull. He and I had a different business in the works. Not drugs.”
“What?”
“That’s confidential. Need to know,” Randal said. “Do you know where this Warts Weber hangs out?”
“Billy mentioned a bar named The Pioneer more than once. I’d start there.”
Randal looked around. “So do the Snakes own this clubhouse jointly?”
“No,” Jimbo said. “It’s Bucks’ grandparents’ place. They left it to him when they died but they put it in a trust so he can use it but he can’t sell it.”
For a while, Randal chatted with Jimbo about the way the club was run. They were good questions. He almost had me convinced that he was scouting for the Angels.
After another quarter hour, he said, “Thanks for chatting with us. We gotta get going.”
“Keep cool,” Jimbo said.
“Yeah,” Bucks said. “Keep cool.”
“You, too.” Randal said.
Jimbo told Bucks to grab a beer. He followed us outside.
“Bucks is all right,” Jimbo said when we got to our bikes.
Randal smiled. “Bucks is cool. We got no problem with him at all. Billy we might have had a problem with, but not Bucks. He’s solid.”
Jimbo nodded. “He is solid.”
A minute later, Randal and I roared down the dirt driveway in a cloud of dust.
I was getting the hang of the bike at last. This time, I didn’t dump it.