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Dog looked back at Cole.
Cole looked down at Crash, and then back up to Dog. He cleared his throat. “It’s his sister and grandmother. They’re both dead.”
“What?” Wolf asked in a stunned whisper.
“How?” Red Dog asked.
“House fire. His grandmother’s place.”
“Jesus Christ,” Red Dog murmured, looking down at Crash.
*****
The next day, Crash, Cole, Angel and Mack boarded a plane for Birmingham, Alabama. The brothers had quickly taken up a collection at several chapters and support clubs to get enough money together to buy the four plane tickets so that Crash could go home and bury his sister and grandmother, the only living immediate family he’d had left.
Mack had quickly made arrangements with the Birmingham chapter of the club to pick them up at the airport. They were also arranging a car for Angel and some loaner bikes for the men, who were going to lead the processional with the club members at their back.
As they sat on the plane, soaring across the country, Crash couldn’t help but remember the last time he and Cole had been back to their hometown. He looked over at Cole, who sat next to him. “Seems like just yesterday we were back, huh?”
Cole looked over at him, sadness in his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, brother. What was it, three, four months ago?”
Crash nodded. “Bulldog’s funeral.” Mack had told them at church that he’d gotten word that Bulldog had finally succumbed to the lung cancer he’d fought for the better part of the year. Bulldog had been the Birmingham chapter’s VP back when Cole and Crash had first prospected the Birmingham chapter as young punks just out of high school. It wasn’t until they were five years in the club that they’d moved out to join the San Jose chapter. Mack only needed to send one guy to the funeral to represent the chapter, but he knew since both Cole and Crash knew Bulldog, they’d both want to attend.
Crash leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and remembered the last time he’d been home. The last time he’d seen his sister and grandmother.
Four months earlier…
Crash and Cole rolled through downtown Birmingham. It had been years since they’d been back home. They got off on 20th Street and rolled through Five Points South. Stopping at the light, Crash looked around his hometown. The place was the same, but the businesses had all changed. The fountain was still standing center stage on one corner—still attracting the hippie-homeless types. A couple of musicians were set up, playing—a guitar case taking tips. The restaurant on the corner with the outdoor courtyard had now become a microbrewery. The music hall where he’d first found his love of blues was now a pool hall. He wondered if the place around the corner still had those awesome Bloody Marys on Sunday mornings.
They turned left onto a side street, and the two bikes pulled into a parking spot about half a block down. They both climbed off their bikes, stretching. It was a long fucking ride from California to Birmingham. Even broken up, twenty-three hundred miles was a strain.
Crash looked up at the storefront window. Lily Pad was painted across in block letters. The trademark statue of a frog sat center-stage in the window. He moved up onto the sidewalk, and Cole followed him inside.
A bell tinkled over the door as they entered the shop. Crash glanced around. She may have moved locations, but this place suited her. The floors were wood, the walls brick. Pottery, sculptures and assorted art pieces filled the place. Pot lighting from the ceiling spotlighted different pieces haphazardly arranged on upturned wooden crates. Brightly colored scatter rugs lay throughout.
There were several huge metal sculptures. One in particular caught his eye, and he stepped closer studying it. Damn, he’d love to be able to do something like that.
“She does work like that?” Cole asked from behind him.
Crash looked back at him and shrugged. “Not that I know of, but hell, we’ve been gone awhile.”
The smell of incens
e permeated the place. God, he hated that smell. He had to grin though, knowing what it probably was an attempt to cover up.
They strolled toward the back, the floors creaking with their every step. They were half way to the back, when Crash spotted her. Her back was to him, but he’d know the shape of her body anywhere—her thin shoulders and arms sticking out of the faded denim overalls she wore. A tube top, all she had on underneath. Her feet—as usual—were bare.
Her hair—now that was new. Her beautiful long golden brown hair now hung in long dreadlocks to her waist. The top of her head was covered in a blue bandana tied atop her head—the little triangle points falling in the back.
Crash took another step, and she turned at the creaking of the floor. When her beautiful blue eyes landed on him, her face transformed into a beaming smile.
“Ty!” she yelled and launched into a full out run, jumping into his arms, her legs wrapping around his hips. She was the only person that called him by his given name, other than the grandmother who’d raised him.
She hugged him tight, and he hugged her back. She noticed Cole standing back and held her hand out to him, pulling him in for a kiss on his cheek.
“Hey, get your hands off my woman.”
Crash looked over her shoulder to see a big man standing in the doorway to the backroom.
