I shook my head. “Nope. Just needed some space and there she was. Things just kind of fell into place after that.”
“Sometimes they do that. Especially when it’s with the right person.”
“Let’s not go that far yet,” I say. “It was just one night and one conversation.”
“So, when you going back for another conversation?”
The tone in his voice is clearly mocking and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me that all we did was talk. But that’s fine. Let him think what he wants. I know the truth of it and that’s all that matters. I’d be lying though if I said I wasn’t sorely tempted to go back and take her up on her offer of a nightcap. She’s a beautiful woman and even though I’m a little fucked up in the head right now, I’m still a red-blooded man.
“I don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it,” I reply.
“You should, brother. I think right now, you could use a little mental diversion,” he says. “There’s nothing like a hot little distraction to help you get your head on straight.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. Get used to it,” he says with a smile.
I look off, giving thought to his words. I’ve been trying to decide all morning whether the connection we seemed to have was a one-off thing, or whether I should go back and see if there’s actually something more there. When we were together last night, I could have sworn she felt that same connection I did, but I admit that I’m not the best at reading signs romantically, so I could be very wrong about it. But I won’t know until I go back and talk to her to see where her head’s at with all this.
“Yeah, I think you might be right,” I say. “I may need to do that.”
“If you don’t, I will,” Adam says. “If she’s willing to sleep with a schmo like you, I know she’ll bang the hell out of me.”
I laugh softly. “You’re out of luck, man. She told me she doesn’t do virgins.”
Adam laughs and gives me a finger. “Oh, he’s got jokes.”
A moment of silence passes, and I can feel everybody around us getting restless. The conversation is a low murmur around the parking lot as we wait for them to bring Prophet out to the hearse, and I’m once again struck by the fact that I’m never going to see him again. This is it. The thought shoots a spike of pain straight through my heart. But the pain is quickly blunted as my mind turns to Fallon and the feelings she stirred within me rise up once more. Like I said, I know it’s inappropriate as hell, but I can’t stop thinking about her.
“What do you think about this whole going to war with the cartel? Again?” Adam asks.
“Doesn’t much matter what I think of it. Whatever happens is going to happen regardless of what I think about it,” I reply. “But I can say with absolute certainty that the war is coming. This Emiliano Zavala is focused. He’s singular minded. And right now, his only mission is to wipe us out. He avenged his brother, as he said he’d do. But now he’s trying to expand his own criminal empire. He wants us out of here so he can move in and take over, flooding the streets of Blue Rock with his trash. He wants to expand his operations up and down the entire West Coast and we’re one of the only things standing in his way. Well, us and the Warriors, and they had to know he would be coming for them too.”
“Stand tall, Pharaohs, here he comes,” somebody shouts—it sounds like Monk to me.
All of us stand at attention and watch as the funeral home employees load the casket bearing Prophet’s body out of the home and slip it into the back of the hearse. The driver speaks briefly with Doc and then he turns back to his ride and climb in. Doc gives us all the hand gesture to fire it up. So we do. Nearly a hundred bikes spring to life as one, the roar of them all almost deafening. And as the hearse pulls out of the lot, we all fall into formation behind it, riding in the missing man formation in honor of our fallen brothers.
Doc and Tarantula, as the respective heads of our MCs, ride at the front with the space in the center left vacant for Prophet. After that come all the ranking members from both clubs, riding side by side and the rest of us follow. The road from the funeral home to the cemetery takes us straight through the center of town, so everybody’s going to be getting quite the show as our parade winds its way toward the cemetery.
As we roll down Harrison Avenue—the main artery that bisects the town—I see Blue Rock’s entire police force out in the streets. Their cars are lined up on either side of the road with the bubble lights on top of their rides going. And as we pass the officers, they all stand at attention, saluting the hearse as it rolls by.
It’s a really touching moment and a real class move from Sheriff Singer. I never expected to see the sitting sheriff in town display that sort of respect for Prophet. It further underscores how highly Prophet was thought of by people from all walks of life. I can only hope that when my time comes, that it brings people from all over the spectrum out to see me.
As we pass all the officers saluting the hearse, I feel goosebumps running up and down my skin. It really moves me, and I blink back the tears welling in my eyes. The procession wings its way through the rest of town and into the Mt. Hope cemetery where we drive in and found our place to park. I climb off my bike and gather with Adam. We walk up the hill in silence, each of us seeming to be reflecting about our time with Prophet.
Once we reach the top of the hill, the cemetery is spread out before us and seems to stretch all the way to the horizon. But down below us, in the gulley, are a couple hundred people. I’m surprised to see such a large crowd gathered around the cemetery at all. But I’m blown away by the fact that they’re all gathered around Prophet’s plot. It looks like a significant chunk of people in town have come to pay their respects well.
“Did you expect that?” Adam asks. “I mean, did you know the people in town were coming out for this?”
I shake my head. “I had no idea.”
We walk down the hill toward Prophet’s plot, and I find myself eyeballing the people from town. I have no doubt there are some here just to rubberneck the service. They want to see the body and hope some drama breaks out. But there is a significant portion of them who seem to be here to genuinely pay their respects to the man. It does my heart good to see that so many people respected him. Knew all he’d done and all he sacrificed to protect this town.
As we take our positions around the grave, I catch sight of Sheriff Singer and some of his deputies coming down the hill to join us. It wasn’t all of them we saw out on the road—clearly, not all of Singer’s men are fans of ours. If I had to guess, it seems pretty obvious now that the entire department had been ordered to salute the hearse as it went by, but everything else was optional. And that’s fine with me. Frankly, I’m surprised any of Singer’s deputies showed up at all. It’s not like there was a lot of love lost between us and the police. But the fact that some of them did turn out means a lot. I know it would have to Prophet.
When everybody was in place, the non-denominational minister takes up his position at the head of Prophet’s casket and picks up the mic. Doc was worried about there being a large crowd at the ceremony and had the foresight to set up a speaker system so any theoretical people in the back of the crowd could hear.
“Friends,” the minister intones. “It is love and respect that brings us out here today. The love and respect of a great man. A man who served his country and when he came home, he served this community. He served all of us. I’ve known Graham Holt since he was a boy and attended my church and even back then, service to his community and to his country were his guiding principles…”
