“That’s all yours, brother,” I confirmed with a chuckle.
We sat there silently smoking when a loud eruption of ruckus laughter from inside the clubhouse got our attention. I flicked the half smoked cigarette onto the ground and got to my feet. I scratched my beard and waited for Dallas to finish his smoke.
“Ever plan on shaving that?” he asked with a laugh.
“No shave November.”
“Swing, it’s April,” he replied.
“So it is,” I said with a grin.
Dallas flicked his cigarette and shook his head as we both started toward the clubhouse.
I went in behind him and glanced over his head to see what had caused the eruption of laughter. Dallas wasn’t short by any means, but neither was I and he came up to my shoulder. Sometimes I liked to remind him that even though he was a year older than me, that I was still bigger.
Whatever they had been laughing about, the joke seemed to be over once we walked in. I glanced over at Pardon, Dallas’ father, who was sitting at a table with the current VP, a somber look on his face.
Tidals & Anchors wasn’t a normal MC. We had age out rules and once you got there, you had to step down from the chair or leave altogether. It was my grandfather who set the rules forth and everyone had agreed to them.
I think everyone secretly liked it, to be honest. No one ever complained about it when it was time to vote someone out of a position, but the chair was always the hardest vote, because no one ever really wanted it. But something told me that Dallas did and I wasn’t sure why.
Pardon must have felt my eyes on him because he looked up at me and waved me over.
“Not you; just him,” he said to Dallas who had fallen into step beside me.
We exchanged a glance, to which Dallas shrugged his shoulders and went into the meeting room.
“Sit down, son,” he said, pulling out the chair next to him.
I obediently sat down where he had indicated. He waved the vice president away and sighed. I watched him run a hand back through his short graying hair before he looked at me again.
“This vote isn’t going to go the way anyone wants it too. I don’t plan on stepping down; I’ve got too much shit left to do here. There will be a havoc vote and if it’s unanimous, I want it to be you that does it.”
“It won’t come down to that,” I assured him, giving his back a friendly pat. “I won’t vote that way and neither will Dallas.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Swing. If I can’t keep the chair, then I want the havoc vote to go through. And I want you to take care seeing it done,” he replied quietly.
I stared at him. I didn’t know how else to make him understand that we wouldn’t vote that way no matter how much he wanted it. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing that I had killed Pardon.
Wait a minute.
“Dallas is going to be the new club president. He wants it, I can tell. Only the new president can put the last one down if a havoc vote goes through,” I reminded him.
“We’ll see about that,” he said as he got to his feet and walked purposefully into the meeting room.
Three
Twenty minutes later, everyone that was supposed to be in the room, finally was. I was sitting next to Dallas, and Pardon was at the head of the table gripping the gavel tightly in his hand. He was looking around the room waiting for silence, which he knew he would get without having to ask for it. Pardon was definitely the most respected president we had so far.
“You all know why we’re here today,” he started, setting the gavel down. “I’ve got a few things to say about that before we get started with the vote.”
Dallas cleared his throat and sat back in his chair expectantly. I leaned forward and clasped my hands on the table. I don’t know why, but I had a bad feeling about what Pardon would have to say.
“I know that we’re here because I have to step down; I’ve ‘aged out.’ Well, I think that’s bullshit. I’ve never felt better or stronger about leading thi
s charter. I think that even though the rules are there for a reason, they’re more like a byline, and this one needs to be done away with. I’m not giving up the chair.”
“Pop—”