The Biker's Fate Chapter 360

How the fuck did he know about Dash?

"He's good. Let's talk business," I said, trying to keep the upper hand.

"Business?" He threw his head back a let out a low laugh that made my flesh crawl. "Now, who said anything about talking business tonight? No, Devon, this was designed to more of a… social call, if you will."

"A fuckin' social call? You burned down our club and put one of our guys in the hospital."

"Well, that's just the very thing I wanted to talk about with young Mr. Lloyd. Are you sure you won't join me in a drink? This is some of Kentucky's finest bourbon."

"No thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh, is it?" I replied dryly as possible.

"Yes, that's right," he replied, his smarmy grin still glued to his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your friends' names as they were putting their hands all over me."

"Oh, don't you worry about Sylvester and Tweety here. They go with me everywhere I go. Just in case I need assistance. You understand, now don't you? Well of course you do."

He fixed his gaze on me in an unsettling way. In fact, just about everything about this guy was unsettling.

He continued, smiling once again. "Now, as I'm sure you are aware, Mr. Lloyd… oh how shall I put this… inserted himself into a business matter of ours not too long ago, and I felt it prudent to set the record straight on a few things. Balance the books if you will."

"How's that?"

"Well now, Mr. Lloyd—"

"Dash," I corrected him, causing him to show yet a few more teeth.

"Yes, Dash, of course. I've always found it so peculiar that a rough and tumble group of men, such as a biker gang, would choose to refer to themselves by such juvenile nicknames. Strange behavior, don't you think?"

I thought of Poppy's research paper on alpha male pack behavior, and that he might have a valid point, but refrained from commenting.

"Motorcycle club."

"What's that now?" he asked.

"We're a motorcycle club, not a gang. We're not lookin' for trouble from you, or anyone else for that matter."

"Nevertheless," he continued, "Dash, and your little club, have managed to do just that. Cause trouble for us."

"Dash was simply trying to help some folks whose church turned into a shooting gallery."

"Such an unfortunate event indeed. All that violence. So unnecessary." His words dripped with fake sincerity. "Really, such a tragedy, and I can fully appreciate Mr. Lloyd—I'm sorry—Dash, coming to the rescue of those poor people. This was a church after all, and I'm sure the spirit must have moved him to act as the good Samaritan."

"Something like that." It was all I could do to keep from leaping across the table and choking the life out of this smug prick. "We're a small community and we take care of people in need."

"As much as I understand his need to assist those good people, what I don't understand is why he would further stick his nose into our business, and moreover, why he would feel the need to assist local law enforcement in their criminal investigation. I had always been under the impression that biker gangs… excuse me, motorcycle clubs, were typically at odds with the local PD."

"Yeah, well we tend to change our tune when people open fire on our citizens, especially when old people and children are gunned down in a place of worship."

"Now, on that I agree with you one hundred percent, and that's precisely why I wanted to talk to your friend Dash. As I know you are fully aware, our organization has recently gone through some upper management changes."

I shifted in my seat.

"It's okay, I know your associates have been asking around about us and I also understand why Mr. Lloyd felt the need to protect his town and his pretty new wife. And let me be clear, under my leadership, that senseless tragedy would have never happened. This whole thing was an error in the judgement of the previous management. Simply put, we're willing to let bygones be bygones. The ashes of your new nightclub and the blood of your member are to serve as a way of evening things up between our organization and your club."

"Is that so?"

The smile dropped from Harlan's face.

"Yes, that is so." He poured himself another drink and leaned back in his chair slightly. "I'm not sure you understand exactly what's going on here, Devon. Look at me as your newly elected governor and I'm granting you and your club a pardon."

"A pardon?"

"That's right. You see, your club disrupted our business, helped put several of our associates behind bars, and tarnished an otherwise stellar relationship with another local motorcycle club, but rather than dig a series of holes to put you all in, I've decided to take my pound of flesh and call it even." He paused and leaned forward. "Granted you agree to keep your nose out of our future business dealings here in Savannah, or anywhere else for that matter."

"And what business would that be? Just so we're clear on what to stay away from."

His smile returned and was even more unsettling than before.

"I like you, Devon. I can see why they call you Sparky. My business is just that, my business, but I'll tell you what. How about the Dogs of Fire simply make it a point to stay out of the nightclub business entirely? In fact, should you get the urge to start any kind of business venture of any kind, you just feel free to run it by me, and I'll let you know if you're stepping on any toes."

"And I suppose you're gonna want a taste of any business we already have in town?"

"See, I knew you were a smart boy the moment I laid eyes on you. Since our relationship with the Raptors has ended due to all that unfortunate church mess, let's just say we're auditioning for a new club to work with and it's time for you to dance a little for us."

"I'll have to talk to our club president about this."

"Of course, of course, talk to your president and take all the time you need to make a decision and give me an answer… as long as I hear from you within the next twenty-four hours, and the answer is yes."

"We'll be in touch." I stood to go, and Harlan extended his hand, which I left hanging in mid-air.

"Well, then," he said. "Now, don't you forget what we talked about. Booze, drugs, girls, gambling, and guns in Savannah all belong to us now, and should y'all forget that, the next one of your associates won't end up in the hospital. He'll be in the morgue."

"We shouldn't be in your way. The Dogs don't run guns or dope, and all our liquor is above board. We run clean clubs where people can come and have a good time without being hassled."

"You didn't mention girls," he replied flatly.

"What about 'em?"

"Come on, Devon, every club needs girls, and I need to be assured the Dogs of Fire won't come sniffing around our stables."

"Like I said, we run clean clubs. I'll talk to our president and let you know."

"You do that. It's been a pleasure meeting you… Sparky."

I left the meeting with questions, but also a few answers Harlan Cavanaugh probably hadn't realized he'd revealed.

After diverting down several side streets in an effort to lose anyone who might be following me, I arrived back at the motel about thirty minutes after I left the golf club and parked in the back. Walking inside, I let myself into the room and locked the door behind me.

"So?" Hatch asked, rising to his feet from the desk chair.

"They have girls for sure, and somethin's definitely goin' down tomorrow."

Doc frowned. "Tell us everything."

Doc invited the FBI guys into the room and I filled them in on the meeting and how Harlan Cavanaugh had tipped his hand.