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“The ring,” Scott bit out.
Yeah, Scott wanted a piece of him. But he had a good head on his shoulders. Hopefully he was using his head right now, knowing that choosing this road, he’d have to try and be good with living alongside Nico after tonight.
“Brontosaurus?” Deke called over.
Bront shook his head. “I’m good with Scoot handing out the beating on behalf of us both.”
“Brothers?” Deke called out. “Anyone have a problem with this gettin’ solved in the ring between Scoot and Nico?”
Nobody said a word. You’d be able to hear a mouse fart.
“Right-o,” Deke said. “Gonna call proxy assuming Pudge and Skipper are cool with this too since they’re not here.”
Nico stepped forward and reached for Bront’s hand.
Bront shook his hand and slapped his shoulder. Nico slapped his back.
“Respect,” Nico offered.
Bront said nothing in reply; he looked to Scott.
Respect would take time even with Mantis being hand-delivered. Even with Gordino bound and gagged and en route to his doom.
So, no need for direct atonement for Bront’s ass. But Scott wanted some for his. And I did not blame him. Even if Nico’s part was without Nico’s choice, it’d be a cloud hanging over them unless they made efforts to work it out in a way that’d let Scott close that book.
“Gonna grab the ring supplies. Can I get a hand?” Bront looked at Bick.
“Absolutely,” Bick moved forward and followed him out of the room.
I lit a cigarette.
“Bum one?” Little John requested.
I tossed my pack to the table, inviting, “Anybody else? Have at ‘em.”
A few brothers grabbed smokes. A few others lit up from their own packs.
“I’m grabbin’ a bottle from the Roadhouse,” Rider put in. “Anyone want anything?”
“Comin’ with,” Deacon said. “Grabbing a coffee, callin’ Ella quick.”
“She a nighthawk?” Bront asked.
“Nah, but she’s burnin’ the midnight oil workin’ on a website for Ride and Spency. Gonna have some great exposure for their custom rides at tomorrow’s charity event.”
“Right, brothers,” Deke called out, “Ten minutes: if anyone needs to take a leak, check in with your woman, your momma, or your dog, whatever.” Deke pulled his phone from the metal pail on the table outside the chapel where everyone’s phones went during church. He handed Deacon his.
A few of the other guys reached for their phones.
It’d been a long night and it wasn’t over.
I’d need to take Arch up on his offer to run Gigi to me, so I grabbed my phone to make a quick call.
***
Nico waited in the center of the roped off square in the loading dock area of our new and largest storage building. The door was up and Nico’s, Justice’s, Fork’s and Bick’s Jackals cuts were melting in the oil drum outside with some kindling. Sioux Falls got their new ring setup a while back, a boxing gym grade one, and now I wasn’t surprised we unloaded the old setup when we unloaded a whack of supplies the other night.
This getup was a series of red cords that were attached to silver posts and though the whole getup looked like it came from a bank branch, it served the purpose for the falls for years and it’d serve the purpose here.
There wasn’t padding or a special floor to absorb a fall. There wouldn’t be gloves to absorb the force of the blows. But it was where the beef would get settled and hopefully it’d help Scott move forward.
It was set up on a concrete floor, so it’d hurt to hit it. But that was the point. Two brothers with a beef could settle the score inside those ropes with their fists and their feet. No weapons were allowed, but that was it as far as the rules went. You wouldn’t call someone into it for a stupid reason either; it was reserved for the extreme. And this was extreme.
When it was over and they left the roped off area, hopefully life’d move forward. If they still had beef, if one or both couldn’t move on, there was protocol for that too where arbitration could happen with Prez and a kangaroo court set-up with a mini jury that’d be made up of six club members, each party picking three, with Prez serving as judge as well as a swing vote if there was a deadlock. If a beef wasn’t solvable within the ring and went to that though, everyone knew one member would typically be ousted from the club. It was impressed upon us as prospects that members didn’t take a beef there unless ready to throw down with the possibility you’d lose your patch, lose your brothers, and need to black out your brotherhood ink.
I hadn’t seen anyone call someone into the ring yet, though new recruits were told the lore behind it, and I’d seen the new boxing ring at the mother charter. Word was it was rarely used. And that was a good thing, a sign members of the club got along for the most part.
