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BLADE/JASONThe sun is rising as Axel, Ryder, Edge, and I pull up to the house. It’s almost startling how quiet and calm it is at 5:00 a.m. All the crap that is strewn around the front yard takes a back burner to the sunrise. Orange, yellow, purple, even blue grace the sky and it seems surreal that less than three hours ago, I was slicing up the fingers on Darrel’s right hand. I should have done more, but I didn’t want it to be completely obvious that Eve has become my full-blown obsession. I only sliced off the tips to remind him never to touch what belongs to me again. This is what happens when you get too big. The worst people who walk the earth start sniffing around. Unfortunately, they get power and money because they have nothing to lose. When you are raised with absolutely nothing, you learn real quick how to survive.
Since the lab is down, everyone is coming out of the woodwork. I take a drag of my cigarette and continue to watch the sunrise. The light yellow ball slowly rises over the trees. I’m ashamed that it’s been years since I actually enjoyed a sunrise.
“I’m going to bed,” Ryder grumbles as he passes, boots crunching on the gravel.
Edge looks at us, sighs, and starts toward the Tahoe. “I have something that needs my attention. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Kiss Dolly low for us.” Axel chuckles as Edge slams the Tahoe’s door and puts it in reverse to maneuver around us.
I inhale and close my eyes. The adrenaline is wearing off and I’m exhausted.
“Prez? How do you want to proceed? This shit that happened tonight is going to continue.”
Blinking, I drop my cigarette and snuff it out with my boot. “I know. I’m sick of it, Axel. All this shit that comes with drugs is getting old, man.”
Axel’s blue eyes are alert. “We need to get out of dealing. All of us have lost the passion for it.”
I sniff the cool morning air. “It’s not that simple and you know it.”
He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a joint. Lighting it, he inhales and says, “You think the Feds got to Doc?”
I take the joint from his hand and inhale deeply. “Probably. Either that or they got to Sandy.”
He sighs and takes the joint back, raising his hands as if he’s stretching. “We’re getting too rich and old to go to jail.”
I grunt and let the mellowness take over my tense muscles. “I need to talk to Dimitri. If he wants to continue getting anything from us, he needs to get his crew under control.”
As the sun spreads her morning shadows, Axel’s eyes seem almost black. He nods. “Blade… one more thing.” He takes a deep inhale, squints at me, and releases his smoke. “I don’t sugarcoat things, don’t know how to.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “What?” I say, my throat tight.
“Eve was sick tonight.” He doesn’t look at me but stares out at the horizon.
“So what?”
“She puked her guts out at the club, that’s what.” He says this so fucking mellow I almost laugh.
“How much did she drink?”
His lips twitch and he looks at me. “Not much.” He leaves it all hanging in the air. I almost can see the thought bubble on top of his head like a cartoon saying all kinds of shit that I don’t want to know. I shake my head and wonder what kind of shit we’re smoking.
“I’m going to bed for a couple of hours.” He starts to move past me then stops, looking at his boots. “I hope she’s worth it.”
Again, I see the words drift away with him with a cartoon pop. Fuck! Leave it to Axel to have some crazy shit to smoke. I rub the back of my neck. I’m filthy and won’t deal with any of Axel’s insinuations. Eve threw up, but it means nothing except that she’s a lightweight when it comes to drinking.
After that stuff I smoked, I need a shower and coffee to get my mind functioning. Although I do have a nice numb buzz of bliss all over my body. I swing open the clubhouse front door and almost gag. Christ. It smells like dirty feet. Bob is lying on the couch, feet hanging over the edge while he snores so loudly it’s amazing someone hasn’t thrown him outside. I feel sorry for him. When Amy discovers his smell, he’s going to wish someone had put him outside. It’s times like this when the clubhouse is still a place where I can feel a sense of pride. For being built in the fifties it’s held up amazingly well. The plumbing always needs work, but come on—with the amount of brothers coming in and out this door, the old farm-style house is in good shape. As I take the stairs, I almost hear my father’s laugh over by the bar and the sound of him screaming at my brother Chuck. Forcing my mind to understand that it’s the weed talking, I move my legs faster as if running away can help. Shit needs to be taken care of. At certain times, I need to be available to talk to some pushers and a couple of our arms dealers.
