Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(67)

Everybody around the table agreed with that. Even those who liked the quiet wanted a place to let loose.

Show certainly did. Fighting each other in the ring was not anything like going at it in a brawl.

Len said, “Agreed. But I don’t think anybody’s stepped up asking to open one.” He looked at Isaac for confirmation, and Isaac shook his head. Len continued, “Ain’t any of us gonna want to run a place like that, so I think we’re screwed until somebody comes along.”

Following a new thought running through his head, Show asked, “We got the funds to get one started, though, right? Since we approved the script—that brought in more from Hollywood?”

C.J., the club Secretary, nodded. “Yeah. It’d put a decent dent in the bank, but manageable. Don’t change the fact we got nobody to run a place like that.”

“I could talk to Shannon. She has contacts in the industry. See if she can put a feeler out for a manager.”

C.J. slammed his fists down on the table, and the gavel rattled. “I am so goddamn tired of members bringing their old ladies into club business! Chicks got no place in this goddamn room! This is not the club I patched into! Damn!” He threw himself back in his chair and crossed his arms.

Show looked over and saw the hot, black look on Isaac’s face. He himself wasn’t pissed; C.J. was C.J.

—a cantankerous old blowhard. But Isaac was clearly furious, and Show went on alert. He was not yet strong enough again to take Isaac down if he really lost it, but he could get in the way of that happening.

But when he spoke, Isaac’s voice was calm. “You’re right, Ceej. It’s not the club you patched into. That was my old man’s Horde. This is mine. I do things differently. Always have, always will. In this club, we take help from the best source. You don’t like it, challenge me or offer your patch up for a vote.”

It wasn’t the first time that Isaac had drawn that line in a disagreement. Show knew he had no patience for his leadership being questioned, but he didn’t throw down like that unless there was another stressor in the situation. The extra stressor here was C.J. himself, who’d been a malcontent for almost two years. C.J.’s eyes narrowed threateningly, and Show thought, Shit—he’s going to do it. Must have been clear to everybody else, too, because Vic sat forward at that. Since his shame during the Ellis affair, when he’d almost lost his patch and his life for drunkenly offering up the information that had gotten Daisy killed, Vic tended to be quiet at the table. But now he said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, boys. Let’s take a breath here.”

Show didn’t know if he’d ever forgive Vic. That year of numbness had gone a long way toward helping him accept him at the table, but he still remembered the day he’d learned that Vic had given up the details that put raping murderers in his home, with his wife and daughters. He’d drunkenly told the whore he was boning, and that whore had been a plant for Ellis. When Show looked at Vic, he saw that betrayal. But he also knew that Vic had been shaken by his mistake and his reprieve, and he’d become a better brother than he’d been before. Still a freak, but a more thoughtful one. And it was Vic’s interjection in this moment that backed both C.J. and Isaac off.

When the tension had eased, Badger raised his hand. Show held back a laugh—the kid was like a schoolboy, raising his hand before he spoke. But he was impressed, too. The only words out of Badge’s mouth so far in the Keep had been “aye” and “nay.” Even the quietest patches were talking today.

Grinning, Isaac said, “Go ahead, Badge. You don’t need to raise your hand, brother. You’re an equal.

One of us.”

Badge blushed. “I—I just, um, want to say that, um, Shannon’s really smart, and she knows her business, and I think she could help with the bar thing—if that’s what we want to do.” He looked at Show, meeting his eyes, and blushed a dark, alarming red. He looked away. Poor kid had a debilitating crush on Show’s old lady.

Show didn’t move, and when Badge glanced back up, they met eyes again. Show stared, and Badger broke out in a sweat. Taking pity on the kid, Show looked away.

“Okay. Let’s put it to a vote then. All those in favor of asking Shannon to help us look for a bar manager. Aye.” Isaac looked at Len, who said, “Aye,” and continued on around the table. The vote was seven to one. C.J. was, yet again, the outlier. He was putting up stakes on the other side of the line. Show thought that could turn out to be a problem someday. He met Isaac’s eyes and knew that he agreed.

oOo

Show pulled his bike into the B&B lot a week or so later and parked next to a bright yellow, old school convertible Beetle—70s version. New York plates. It was midweek, and not yet vacation season, so unusual for there to be a guest. He was disappointed. He’d planned to see if he could whisk Shannon off for a ride.

The day was warm and sunny, and he had something he wanted to talk to her about. With guests around, prying her out of the building would take serious effort. He was going to have to nag at her again about getting more help.

He went in, and the guest was at the desk with Shannon, apparently checking in just then. A single woman. Pretty profile—real pretty. Slight, and wearing a long, crazily patterned skirt and a loose, dark green sweater that made a style Show thought of as “hippie.”

Something about her, even just looking mostly at her back, gave Show pause, and he stopped near the door. Long masses of bright red curls down her back—more ginger than Shannon’s ruddy shade—but then Shannon changed her red pretty often. She was a natural redhead, as Show knew well, but she liked to change from auburn to ginger, and everything in between, every couple of months or so.