Doc nods. “Yeah, yeah. I got you.”
A roar sounds at the back of the room, and I turn around just in time to see Monk stand up and hurl a chair against the wall. It shatters on impact, sending splinters and shards of wood spraying in a thousand different directions. Though most of the other guys look like they want to do the same, they instead turn inward and study their beer bottles or anything else that catches their eye. The room is wound tight as a drum and the promise of violence is thick in the air. The anger in the air is palpable.
“We’re not going to let this pass, are we?” Monk growled. “We’re going to do something about this shit, right?”
His comments are met with a chorus of angry cheers from the crowd. Doc, Cosmo, and the rest of Leadership exchange looks with one another, all of them with uneasy expressions on their faces. I know they want revenge as much as anybody in this clubhouse right now, but they also have a responsibility to not put the MC in a bad position where people are going to get hurt. Or worse.
“All right, settle down,” Doc hollers over the crowd.
Everybody is so busy trying to rally each other, whipping the club into a revenge-fueled frenzy that apparently nobody even heard what Doc said. It doesn’t help that Doc is naturally a little soft-spoken anyway. Cosmo stands up and slams his beer bottle down on the table, the crack of it as loud as a gunshot.
“Shut the fuck up! Everybody!” he shouts.
The clubhouse falls silent, and all eyes turn to Cosmo. Doc gives him an appreciative nod then turns back to the guys.
“All right, we obviously have a lot to talk about and a lot to do—”
“Fuck talking,” one of the guys in the back near the bar shouts. “Let’s just do something about this. Let’s take this fight to that prick.”
Some of the guys bang their bottles on the table to show their agreement. Doc frowns and looks down at the table for a moment then looks over at Cosmo who gets to his feet. And when he does, the crowd falls silent once more.
“Y’all need to shut the fuck up and give Doc your attention,” Cosmo growls. “He’s still the club Veep.”
Emotions are running high, but I don’t like seeing Doc disrespected like that. Having only gotten my patch recently, it’s not my place to speak up just yet. I don’t have the time invested in the club as some of the other guys and even though I’m a full patch, I’m still near the bottom rung of the totem pole and me popping off probably wouldn’t be looked upon too fondly.
But I think Doc is a good man. He’s a good leader. He’s a lot mellower than Prophet. He’s definitely not as intense, and I think it’s because of that that some of the guys think he’s a bit of a pushover. If he’s going to be the next club president—assuming the club survives—he’s going to have to be more assertive. Personally, I think he’d make a good one. Like Prophet, everything he does, he does for the betterment of the club. He’s selfless to a fault.
“All right, let’s figure this out,” Cosmo says. “The first thing we need to do is pick a new president. I’m putting this out for an open vote, and I nominate Doc for the big chair. Is there a second to my nomination?”
“We really doin’ this right now? Prophet ain’t even cold yet,” grumbles one of the old-timers, a guy named Jinx.
I bite my tongue, trying to keep my mouth shut. I know I shouldn’t say anything. I should just sit back and let the old-timers play this out. This is something that’s entirely above my pay grade, and I need to be smart enough to let it go.
“Yeah, no disrespect to you, Doc, but this don’t feel right, man. Prophet—”
“Prophet is dead,” I say, shooting to my feet.
My heart lurches in my chest, and my mouth suddenly grows dry as all eyes turn to me. I hadn’t meant to say a word, but my body totally betrayed me, and they were out of my mouth before I could stop them. But I know if I back down now, I’m going to look weak. And I can’t have that. So I grit my teeth and press on.
“Prophet’s dead,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “And I know we’re all hurting because of it. But if we’re going to retaliate, we need to get our house in order and we need to do it now. We need to get our shit straight and that starts with reorganizing the club. If this is an open vote, then I second Cosmo’s nomination of Doc.”
I remain standing, looking around the room, daring anybody to challenge me. But nobody does. I see a few heads nodding in agreement. Nitro gets to his feet and gives me a nod.
“He’s right. If we’re gonna fight back—and we are—we need to have our shit tight,” Nitro says. “I third Doc’s nomination.”
I nod at him in appreciation then look around the room. There are a few more heads nodding along, and the tension in the room is slowly dissipating. It’s as if putting things in motion and trying to bring a little order to the situation is calming everybody down—which is good. We have got to be on our toes, and we’ve got to be smart before we go after Emiliano. He’s smart. Methodical. And I think he’s ten times more ruthless than his brother.
“All right. Any other nominations?” Cosmo calls out.
The room remains silent, and I look around. Everybody else is looking around as well, but nobody raises a hand, and no other nominations are called out.
“Good,” Cosmo says. “Then let’s move to a vote. All in favor of Doc becoming the new club president, raise your hand.”
To a man, everybody raises their hand instantly. It’s then that I feel the respect everybody has for him. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“It’s unanimous,” Cosmo says, rapping his bottle against the table. “Doc is our new club president. Congratulations, Doc.”
The room bursts into a scattered applause, muted and less enthusiastic than it normally would be. I imagine everybody is thinking about Prophet in that moment and the fact that he’s not going to be walking through the clubhouse door again is becoming even more real. I’m sure it’s hitting everybody hard right then. It’s as plain as day on everybody’s faces.
