Coyote Lee Page 8

  “I’m Manson,” the guy said, in a voice Coyote recognized. “Coyote?”

  “Yeah.” The two men shook hands and then Manson said:

  “This is Shank.” That was the older guy with the beard. “This is Pretty Boy.” Pretty Boy was obviously mixed race, maybe black or Hispanic. His hair was short and curly and he had a scar that ran across his forehead and all the way down the side of his face. His bottom lip was huge, but he had no upper lip and one of his eyes was bigger than the other. In other words, it was easy to see where he got his name. “That’s Crow.” Crow nodded. If he’d been wearing a headdress he would have looked just like one of those Indian braves on television. His hair was long, straight, black, and as shiny as a girl’s. If Wolf had to pick one of the five who was really “pretty” it would be Crow. His skin was a light tan color and perfectly smooth. He had big eyes and eyelashes any woman would be jealous of. He was obviously at least part Native American. Coyote was glad to see they weren’t all stark Caucasian. He wasn’t looking to start any Aryan brothers club. He heard there was one of those operating off the grid up in the hills. He’d met a few of those guys between his fighting days and his days on the ranch and he didn’t like them much. Diversity was a good thing as far as he was concerned. “That’s Jimmie John.” Jimmie John was a white guy, average height, build, looks. He was the kind of guy that could blend into the corner of a room and go unnoticed for hours. That might come in handy someday, Coyote thought; you never knew.

  “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for coming.” Manson sat on the side next to Crow, and Coyote took the spot that Jimmie John offered him. As soon as he sat, Shank said:

  “Doc Marshall’s not coming?” Coyote concentrated hard on keeping a neutral expression and tone of voice as he said:

  “No. This is my club. It’s a chapter of the Southside Skulls, and Doc is the national president, but that’s just going to mean financial help and allies when we need them. I’ll be the president by Doc’s appointment, and until there’s an executive board in place, I’ll be making the decisions, unless something needs to be run by Doc.” Shank raised a bushy, white eyebrow and Coyote, feeling annoyed already, said, “Did you have something else to say, or should I get started telling you what I’m looking for?”

  Manson gave Shank a dirty look with his crazy eyes and that was when it hit Coyote that Manson’s eyes looked just like the eyes of another guy named Manson, Charles Manson, the serial killer who was serving time in a California prison. Manson must be his road name. “Go ahead, Coyote,” Manson said.

  “Like I said, this club will be a chapter of the Southside Skulls. This is not a weekend warrior club. You will be expected to be fulltime members of this club. You will have bylaws to follow, and they will be strictly enforced. You will be given jobs and assignments, right now while we’re getting started, that will probably be daily. We’re still working on getting land for our clubhouse. We’ll need to get permits and once that happens, we’ll start building. We’ll hire out what we can’t do, but every member of the club, including myself, will be expected to do whatever they can. The money we’ll be using for the startup will come from Boston…and we will be expected to pay it back. Besides that, you’ll have church at least once a month and you’ll be expected and required to be there. This club, if you choose to become a prospect for me and eventually patch in…will be your life. It won’t be your hobby. It won’t be like the woman you fuck on the side when you’re bored with reality…it will be your life.”

  “And once this club is built, what will we be doing to bring in the money we’ll need to pay back the Southside and support ourselves?”

  “Right now I’m working on some business prospects…but none of that can be talked about with men outside the club…and at this moment, I’m the only one in.”

  “What about my old lady?” Pretty Boy asked. Coyote hoped that his face didn’t show it, but he couldn’t help but try to imagine what the disfigured man’s old lady might look like.

  “What about her?” Coyote asked.

  “She won’t like me being at the beck and call of the club. I mean, she’ll expect me to still spend time with her and…”

  “Then find another club, or get a new old lady,” Coyote said. “This club is going to be a legacy to the men who built it. So, now is the time you need to take stock of your lives and decide what’s more important to you…tonight’s pussy, or your future. If you’ve got a smart old lady, she’ll understand that. If you don’t, then thank you for coming today and I wish you luck.”

  He surprised himself. That didn’t even sound like him. It sounded like Doc. He had been paying even more attention than he thought he had. He was still shaking inside, and the voices in his head still wanted to tell him he couldn’t do this. He had been failing at everything since he was fifteen years old. No way could he build an empire the way that Doc Marshall had. For the first time however, Coyote shut those voices down…with the truth. Doc Marshall hadn’t come by that patch on his chest honestly, that was a fact. Sure, he’d worked his ass off for it once he did get it, and he earned everything he had accumulated since, including the respect of his men. But when Doc “stole” that patch he now wore for over a decade, it came with connections, and bank accounts. It was like having a house with a frame and a foundation whereas Coyote would be starting with less than nothing…hell, he would literally have to level the dirt upon which he would build his empire. But something inside of him was awakened suddenly…a spark that he’d never felt before. He was tired of only surviving. He wanted to thrive. He didn’t want to be Doc Marshall. He wanted to be Coyote fucking Lee…and long after he was gone, he wanted people to remember his name.

  12

  January, 1984

  Coyote was nervous, and excited. He had worked his ass off for the past year. He’d had to beg, borrow, and steal to get where he was, but he was damned proud of what he had ultimately accomplished. Doc and Rat had finally come out and run the numbers on the property he wanted to buy. Once they decided it was a good deal, Doc started talking about building and zoning permits. When Coyote told him he had that covered already, Doc had been surprised.

  “How did you manage that?”

  The property was outside the city and zoned for agriculture. The club planned on putting up a shop and private residences on the fifteen-acre plot. While Coyote was searching for real estate, he had come across a familiar face…in an article in the local newspaper…just by chance. It was an election year and the paper was full of political campaign ads. One in particular had caught Coyote’s eye. The ad was for a female politician, running for congress. Her name was Linda Beaman, but she wasn’t the person Coyote was interested in. The man standing next to her in the obligatory family photo was the familiar face. Coyote didn’t even know his name until the moment he read the article. It was Paul Beaman. Paul was a high-powered attorney with offices from coast to coast. He was also one of Slinko’s best customers. Doc had made a few of his best “business” deals thanks to Coyote’s photographic memory, so he looked amused, but not surprised when Coyote said:

  “Beaman was in the front row of every one of my fights…with a different girl draped over his arm. The girls were young, and not his wife, whose platform is all about family values by the way. The guys and I paid a visit to Beaman at his office here in Stockton. He wasn’t happy to see us, and I have no idea how he finagled it…but he has guaranteed me that within a week of closing escrow on the property, we’ll have whatever permits we need.”

  “Connections,” Doc said with a laugh. “There’s no better asset.” Doc seemed proud of him, which was nice, but Coyote would have appreciated his saying so. Once again he had to remind himself that Doc Marshall was who he was in part thanks to his ability to take credit for other people’s strengths. In his mind, since he was the one that had carefully picked his crew and executives it became all about him. It was one of the things about Doc that annoyed Coyote, but thanks to the three thousand miles in betwe
en them, he didn’t have to tolerate it nearly as often as he had before.

  That visit was the last time Coyote had seen Doc. He was actually excited that he was coming for the Westside Skulls inaugural barbecue that weekend. He was even more excited when he found out that Dallas would be there as well.

  Coyote felt guilty about that, and it wasn’t because of Doc. He and Colleen had just recently celebrated a year of being together. They hadn’t done anything official…he hadn’t even asked her to be his old lady yet, but it was implied. She had almost given up everything to be with him. Her parents were appalled at first when they found out that she’d dumped Preston to be with a biker, of all things. Lucky for her, and for Coyote, they loved their daughter enough that they weren’t willing to lose her. Coyote was still not their favorite person, but they tolerated him, and most importantly, they didn’t cut their daughter off—her family was important to her. Coyote loved Colleen, but he wanted to have his ducks in a row before he made anything official. The shop was almost finished and the clubhouse was coming along nicely. As soon as he had a real home, he planned on making her his old lady and asking her to move in. But none of that had changed the way he felt about Dallas. Coyote rationalized his feelings for Dallas by telling himself that as long as he kept them to himself, they weren’t hurting anyone. Sometimes he wondered if he was cheating Colleen out of the part of his heart that still belonged to Dallas, but he had no idea what to do about it.

  “Hey.” Colleen found him in the kitchen when she made it to the clubhouse. He was “taste-testing” the food. When he saw Colleen, he was suddenly no longer hungry for food, but starving for something else. She was wearing a pair of designer jeans, black knee-high boots, and a black blouse with puffy sleeves. Her dark hair was straight and shiny, and her long neck made his mouth water. His thoughts of Dallas were gone just like that.

  “Hey, baby. You look hot.”

  She giggled. “Thanks, so do you. Let me see the vest.” Coyote’s proudest moment since he came to California was when the seamstress that Manson recommended had finished embroidering their new patches. The skull was the same as the one the Southside Skulls wore, but the “Westside Chapter, California” was new…and Coyote’s kutte also bore a patch that he hadn’t even known he coveted…until he saw his own. It said, “Prez.” He was the president of his own club. It was surreal to a man that had come from absolutely nothing; less than a decade after being pulled out of the Hudson River, he was running his own club. No matter how that came about, he had made it the reality it was. Coyote turned around so Colleen could see the back of the kutte and when he turned back toward her, she ran her fingers over the stitching on the front. “Nice. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you, baby.” He pulled her into him and kissed her like the kitchen wasn’t bustling with activity. The club girls, and the few old ladies the club had, were getting things ready for the barbecue. Coyote wasn’t sure what to think of the fact that jealousy was almost a nonexistent part of Colleen’s personality, but it turned out to be a good thing. Most of the club girls and the old ladies had come about thanks to the little porn business that Coyote had invested in about six months earlier. He’d fallen into it, actually. Once Crow and the other guys from Yosemite patched in, Coyote found out that Crow and a few of his brothers had their own little porn business. Their movies were amateur at best and they only had one little adult bookstore in Merced that they sold them to. Most of them were “fetish” themes, things like BDSM, feet, and girl-on-girl. Crow and his brothers made a little money from them, but not enough to invest in the kind of professional equipment or facilities they needed to be able to broaden their market.

  That was where Coyote had come in. He invested his own money and they started their own production company. They called it “Westside Films” and in the six months they’d been up and running, they had hired ten new actors and they were not only distributing to adult bookstores, but they actually had some of their videos in every video store in the valley that carried adult movies. Once the club was finished and Coyote had more time, he planned on branching out as far as Bakersfield and eventually down south toward Los Angeles. The porn industry was one of the fastest growing enterprises that they could make a ton of quick money in…legally. He had tasted enough small successes since coming to California to make him hungry for bigger ones, and although he wasn’t completely averse to walking that fine line between what was legal and what could put them on the radar of the local PD or the Feds, he was smart enough to know that he would need legitimate sources of income…and if things went as well as he hoped, more than one. The mechanic’s shop would be another place where they could bring in some legitimate cash. He had hired two mechanics, formerly employed by one of the Harley Davidson shops in the valley. They did fantastic custom work and once the shop was fully functional, they would bring in a fortune.

  Things were finally coming together, but Coyote had lived life on the edge for so long that he still found himself waiting around for the other shoe to drop. He had braced himself for Colleen to melt down when she discovered that he allowed club girls to move in. Instead, what he discovered about his soon to be old lady was that she was self-confident and well-adjusted and she didn’t find the girls threatening in the least.

  She had also been his great stabilizer over the past year. She was the only person on earth that could get him to let go of all the anxiety he kept bottled up in his gut. Because of his inability to let loose and have a good time, he had earned a reputation among his crew and his business associates as being somewhat of an asshole. But Colleen cut through all of that, deftly. She could make him smile and even laugh when nothing else could…and he knew deep down that despite the way he felt about Dallas, that she was his person…the one the universe had sent him to balance him out.

  Colleen broke their kiss and whispered, “Do we have time for a quickie?”

  He chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to mess up your pretty hair and makeup.”

  She winked and said, “We can christen the new bathroom and you can do me from behind.”

  Coyote laughed, but Colleen was already headed for the door. Before he decided if she was serious or not, Crystal, Crow’s old lady, appeared suddenly and said, “You shouldn’t keep a lady waiting.”

  Coyote chuckled. “Don’t you have some potato salad to make, or something?”

  “Mm-hmm, but you know what’s always first on my mind.” She winked at him again. Crystal was their porn business’s most popular actress and she was also the biggest flirt around the club. But that was just who she was and Crow wasn’t bothered by it. He could watch her fuck strangers all day in front of a camera and not even bat an eyelash. If any of the guys asked him about it he’d say it was “just work.” Crow bragged all the time about how faithful she was. Coyote knew he would never be okay with it if it was his woman, but being in the club had taught him a lot about not passing judgment. It took something different to make everybody happy…so, to each their own. He grinned at Crystal before following Colleen out the door. He didn’t see her in the great room. The guys had set up a bunch of tables and chairs and the girls were putting tablecloths on them. He looked at the clock over the bar. Badger had called from the road about three hours earlier and said they were about four hours out. That meant he had about an hour, which was good because he didn’t want to get caught with his pants down.

  He walked over to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

  “Coyote?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, baby.” He heard the lock disengage and then there was a short pause before she said:

  “Come in, but don’t open the door too wide.”

  He chuckled again as he pulled it open and slipped inside. The light was off, but he could see why Colleen had warned him about how wide he opened the door. She was holding onto the sink and all he could see was the sexy curve of her back, and her gorgeous backside. She still had on her boots, but without her jeans he could see that she was wearing a pair
of sexy silk stockings and a lacy black garter. She looked so hot that his cock was instantly hard. He unbuckled his belt and she wiggled her ass at him. He gave it a light smack as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and pushed them and his shorts down to his knees. Stepping up close behind her, he ran his hands over her hips, and underneath her shirt, up her sides. He moved her bra out of his way and placed a hand over each one of her breasts. She moaned as he caressed and massaged them. He loved the feeling of her nipples getting hard against his palms. He moved his hips against her, letting his hard cock rub against the firm but soft flesh of her cheeks. She moaned again. “We don’t have a lot of time, baby. Do me.”

  He smiled. There was something so hot to him about a society woman who was practically perfect in public but knew how to get down and dirty in the sheets. Coyote leaned down and kissed her neck. She turned her head to the side slightly to give him better access and he let his mouth slide around until he found the sensitive flesh under her ear. He sucked on it and ran his tongue up and down, causing her to shudder. The whole time she was pressing into him, wiggling her hips and making his cock ache for more. Finally, he reached down and took his cock in his right hand, still holding onto her breast with his left one. He pressed the tip into her opening.

  “Oh yes, baby…”