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Situations like this are dangerous enough in America, but in Mexico, things are so much different.
In America, people pussyfoot around a bit more, but in Mexico, the stakes are much higher.
I need to get back to Chihuahua as soon as I can. “I’ll come back straight away.”
Amara instantly stops me. “No. You’re supposed to be meeting Python while you’re in LA. Meet him. Dante and I can handle the fuckery going on around here.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Okay, just let me know if you want me back sooner. I’ll ride like hell to get there.”
“Will do,” Amara comments, her tone softer than before. “How did things go with Zane?”
I didn’t tell her too much, just that things went the way we wanted them to.
I smirk, happy to tell her. “He’s sending a few prospects down to the Mexico charter.”
Amara seems surprised but grateful. “Amazing. I didn’t know if he’d send them down yet. Did he say who he was sending?”
I think for a moment and list them off. “Boulder, Brick, Rooster, Doom, and Lashes. They’ll be arriving maybe a week or so after I get home. They need to apply for the Visas.”
Luckily, I didn’t have to deal with any of that shit. I was born in America but lived in Mexico for a few years in my early twenties.
At that time, I applied for citizenship and got it. The U.S. doesn’t make you give up your citizenship, so I’m free to come and go as I please.
Amara lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s great news. We could use some extra bodies down here.”
She’s right. We need people, and we need them soon. “Yeah, I know. We might not have all of our officers, but prospects are something.”
Amara’s quiet for a moment before speaking up again. “Yeah, you’re right. Keep me updated on what happens with Python. If he doesn’t come through, you and I need to talk about who else we can pull into the club as an officer.”
It’s odd to have prospects before our officer positions are filled, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out.
“I’ll be as convincing as I can. Knowing him, he might accept,” I tell her.
Python and I know each other from being on the road.
We would run into each other from time to time, shooting the shit, telling each other stories about being on the road.
The last time I saw him was years ago.
I was in Maine, cruising through, and stopped at a random bar in a coastal town.
Sure enough, Python was drinking a beer.
We had a habit of losing touch, but we’d usually catch up with one another every few months.
Amara clears her throat and speaks in a rushed tone, “I have to get going, but I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bet. Talk soon,” I say as I end the call.
I slip my phone into my pocket and take in a deep breath.
As much as I want to focus on seeing Python, a part of me thinks I need to be back home helping Amara deal with whoever’s trying to stir up problems with the club.
I shake my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts and down the rest of my whiskey.
No matter what, shit’s gonna be fine.
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