Post by ♎Judge✝ on Jul 5, 2016 17:00:34 GMT -6
"For the better part of 9 years I've lived a simple life: I've raised three girls alone, run my own business fixing bikes and serving drinks from the bar, and calmed the world's 3rd most violent biker club The Saints. I have to do this as a cripple mind you, but f**k it is what it is man.
I also haven't had to hurt a man inside or outside the ring for years, trust me that's a feat all its own. Why? Because I like to hurt people. It's fun. Spilling blood and taking life was easy, but making it and taking care of it? Lesson learned hard so far. Trying to keep your home life separate from club life is a blurred line men find hard to push apart. So far I've managed....
Until..
G*ddamm. Uncle Lucius.
The Compound, Greenville, SC. 2016. 745am
The motorcycle cut across the black paved lot of the local born and owned bar/motorcycle repair shop called the Compound. The rider, Jesse McCoy, also proud owner pulls the bike around back backing it in line with the three other bikes. His three main guys were already here and probably hard at work, the Leman brothers were always hard at something.
The sound of his bike brought the brothers outside the oldest was tall gray haired and drinking a beer, Nolan Leman the clubs treasurer. The middle brother was fat with long black hair and a matching beard peppered with gray throughout, Toby Leman was the clubs Sargent in Arms handling all the heavy shit from enforcing rules to running their gun/pot trade. Last, Patrick 'Paddy' Leman was the youngest brother and recently patched in member.
Jesse pushed himself off his bike grabbing his cane that was rolled in with his poncho (because rain.) and hobbled over to his men. They all embraced each other in hugs and greetings. Looking back over his shoulder he nodded to the bikes, "I see Malcolm hasn't showed up? Anyone heard from him?"
"He left my place late last night with Kara," Paddy replied pulling out a pre-rolled joint, "Seemed pretty pissed too."
Nolan laughed, "Yeah because prez here pulled him off the Dellon bank heist."
"Jesus I'd say he was right pissed," Paddy shook his head lighting the joint.
"Yeah well when you can't control your fucking drinking problem and almost cost a member his life or freedom," Jesse began making a cut throat gesture, "I cut you from the jobs."
They all agreed, even if they didn't agree inside outside they had no choice but to agree with their President. Everyone I'm the club did, but these three had never doubted or questioned Jesse's thoughts. However recently Malcolm a long time friend and Vice President of the Saints had done a 360 on him and the club. Blame it on booze or the drugs, the bottom line was Malcolm was starting to fizzle in the clubs eyes. The last incident of his drunken drug rage happened three months ago in Carter county Kentucky during a club approved bank heist, two members of two charters outside Greenville were injured badly almost busting them all.
It was a costly mistake. It was the last one too, even if Malcolm put the business together and was good at it. Was.
"When everyone gets here send them to the back to discuss business for today," Jesse said and began hobble inside but Nolan grabbed his elbow, "Wait boss, heads up you got a visitor."
Jesse smiled and rolled his eyes, "This goddamn early? Better be good."
"Don't think so boss," Nolan said and left it at that.
Jesse pushed the door open, cutting across the garage, and into the bar. Through the bar he grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and limped his way to his office.
If ghosts from the past could kill someone, Jesse McCoy would have dropped dead on this day. Sitting sprawled on the couch drinking his own mixed drink, smoking a joint, and flipping through a box of old photos was his Uncle Lucius. Nine years ago Uncle Lucius lost his two older brothers at the mistake of Jesse during a transaction that would pull RICO off the club and save Jesse's budding wrestling career.
"I'd like some copies of these man," Lucius mumbled ashing his joint on the floor, "My brothers seemed like the life of the parties sometimes and I've never seen these."
Uncle Lucius was a prospect once for the club but his non-violent approach to everything in ALL of life made him drop out. However he was the best damn manager on the East Coast back in the 80's and 90's building Jesse McCoy aka Judge into a almost legend. The night Judge was beaten Lucius was never seen or heard from leading his brothers to think Lucius was involved with the attack. No proof. No guilt. No blame.
"Where the Hell have you been Lucius?" Jesse spat with all the edges coated in venom of hatred, "Nine goddamn years and here you are! At my club that paid and buried your fucking brothers while you went MIA in the fucking tall grass! Why? I want a good answer or Im going to bust your head open man."
Uncle Lucius sat up sitting his drink down, "I got reasons for that night man and in due time I'll share but I've came back to offer you something. But you got to be less on this negative vibes man cause you're draggin' me down low brother and it won't be good for either of us."
"Offer?"
Uncle Lucius gave a big smile taking the bottle from Jesse and pouring them both a drink.
Raising his glass to Jesse, "You ever feel like you could be Judge again?"
I also haven't had to hurt a man inside or outside the ring for years, trust me that's a feat all its own. Why? Because I like to hurt people. It's fun. Spilling blood and taking life was easy, but making it and taking care of it? Lesson learned hard so far. Trying to keep your home life separate from club life is a blurred line men find hard to push apart. So far I've managed....
Until..
G*ddamm. Uncle Lucius.
The Compound, Greenville, SC. 2016. 745am
The motorcycle cut across the black paved lot of the local born and owned bar/motorcycle repair shop called the Compound. The rider, Jesse McCoy, also proud owner pulls the bike around back backing it in line with the three other bikes. His three main guys were already here and probably hard at work, the Leman brothers were always hard at something.
The sound of his bike brought the brothers outside the oldest was tall gray haired and drinking a beer, Nolan Leman the clubs treasurer. The middle brother was fat with long black hair and a matching beard peppered with gray throughout, Toby Leman was the clubs Sargent in Arms handling all the heavy shit from enforcing rules to running their gun/pot trade. Last, Patrick 'Paddy' Leman was the youngest brother and recently patched in member.
Jesse pushed himself off his bike grabbing his cane that was rolled in with his poncho (because rain.) and hobbled over to his men. They all embraced each other in hugs and greetings. Looking back over his shoulder he nodded to the bikes, "I see Malcolm hasn't showed up? Anyone heard from him?"
"He left my place late last night with Kara," Paddy replied pulling out a pre-rolled joint, "Seemed pretty pissed too."
Nolan laughed, "Yeah because prez here pulled him off the Dellon bank heist."
"Jesus I'd say he was right pissed," Paddy shook his head lighting the joint.
"Yeah well when you can't control your fucking drinking problem and almost cost a member his life or freedom," Jesse began making a cut throat gesture, "I cut you from the jobs."
They all agreed, even if they didn't agree inside outside they had no choice but to agree with their President. Everyone I'm the club did, but these three had never doubted or questioned Jesse's thoughts. However recently Malcolm a long time friend and Vice President of the Saints had done a 360 on him and the club. Blame it on booze or the drugs, the bottom line was Malcolm was starting to fizzle in the clubs eyes. The last incident of his drunken drug rage happened three months ago in Carter county Kentucky during a club approved bank heist, two members of two charters outside Greenville were injured badly almost busting them all.
It was a costly mistake. It was the last one too, even if Malcolm put the business together and was good at it. Was.
"When everyone gets here send them to the back to discuss business for today," Jesse said and began hobble inside but Nolan grabbed his elbow, "Wait boss, heads up you got a visitor."
Jesse smiled and rolled his eyes, "This goddamn early? Better be good."
"Don't think so boss," Nolan said and left it at that.
Jesse pushed the door open, cutting across the garage, and into the bar. Through the bar he grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and limped his way to his office.
If ghosts from the past could kill someone, Jesse McCoy would have dropped dead on this day. Sitting sprawled on the couch drinking his own mixed drink, smoking a joint, and flipping through a box of old photos was his Uncle Lucius. Nine years ago Uncle Lucius lost his two older brothers at the mistake of Jesse during a transaction that would pull RICO off the club and save Jesse's budding wrestling career.
"I'd like some copies of these man," Lucius mumbled ashing his joint on the floor, "My brothers seemed like the life of the parties sometimes and I've never seen these."
Uncle Lucius was a prospect once for the club but his non-violent approach to everything in ALL of life made him drop out. However he was the best damn manager on the East Coast back in the 80's and 90's building Jesse McCoy aka Judge into a almost legend. The night Judge was beaten Lucius was never seen or heard from leading his brothers to think Lucius was involved with the attack. No proof. No guilt. No blame.
"Where the Hell have you been Lucius?" Jesse spat with all the edges coated in venom of hatred, "Nine goddamn years and here you are! At my club that paid and buried your fucking brothers while you went MIA in the fucking tall grass! Why? I want a good answer or Im going to bust your head open man."
Uncle Lucius sat up sitting his drink down, "I got reasons for that night man and in due time I'll share but I've came back to offer you something. But you got to be less on this negative vibes man cause you're draggin' me down low brother and it won't be good for either of us."
"Offer?"
Uncle Lucius gave a big smile taking the bottle from Jesse and pouring them both a drink.
Raising his glass to Jesse, "You ever feel like you could be Judge again?"
