GGS: Good Gaelic Souls A Biker Saga (G.G.S) (2 page)

In the back room, standing in front of the dresser that her father had made for her, Stax was shaking her head at the unrecognizable face in the mirror. She looked older, pale and weary, which matched the way she felt, hollow, empty and uncertain. Glancing down at the little round mirror on the dresser top, she spotted her 'little something'. Reflecting in the glass were two fat white lines placed there just for her. Stax picked up the straw, said a silent 'thank you' and made one of them disappear. For an asshole, Strangler could be a very thoughtful man.

Walking into the bathroom, she relieved herself of her last two drinks, washed her hands and reached into the medicine cabinet for her make-up bag. Taking out the blush brush, she went over her eyes and cheeks, added a pat of powder and a fresh coat of lipstick and called it good. "Fuck the freckles." She said to her reflection. She normally used a SPF cover base to keep her light skin from the harsh sun that was every riders bane, no matter where they were. The intense Florida sun intensified the battle for her. She had watched her father deal with skin cancer pretty much all her life.  She had a love/hate relationship with her ivory skin and light freckles, but alas, it was what is was and not everyone grew up to be a model. Hell, not even the models looked liked models without the help of a beauty crew and a damn good camera. She found comfort in reminding herself of this fact, each time the world shoved a picture of  'true beauty' in her face.

She was beginning to feel a wee bit better, thanks to Stranglers forethought, so after brushing her hair and teeth, she decided to head back to the bar to meet up with him. Heading out the door of her private room in the back, she heard laughter and Irish music. She couldn't help thinking, that if only it was any other kind of celebration, Slider would be out there making an ass of himself in his drunken attempts at the River Dance.  "Stop it!" she said aloud to no-one. "Just put one foot in front of the other and get in there now!" Annoyed with herself again, she headed to the bar and asked Samson for a whiskeypop and a shot. Slowly scanning the room for Strangler, she couldn't spot him in the crowd. "He's not the only one missing." She thought, thinking again of her missing Serenity.

So many had come to pay homage to Slider. He had been an exceptional friend, a helpful neighbor in his community, and quite a shrewd businessman.  A man with a vision, he had dedicated his life to see it come to pass. Normally, civilians  were never allowed past the Front Parlor, if they were allowed through the doors at all, but this night was a major exception. There were people everywhere, it was 'standing room only' in the Clubhouse tonight. The front parking area and the fenced back yard were also full of people who had known Slider for many years, and the Parlor was over-stuffed too. There were even people on the sidewalk across the street, holding candles to show the club that the community was there to support them in their time of grief. It was inevitable that some of the more trusted friends, and members from nearby friendly clubs, were eventually brought into the private bar of the Clubhouse to keep from turning people away. They didn't want to keep anyone from being allowed the opportunity to pay their respects, they simply needed more room.

Stax sat there looking around at the Clubhouse, it was a hard to believe that Slider wouldn't be here when they moved into the new Clubhouse they had spent so many years building on the property. The two of them had spent much of her lifetime planning and going over blue-prints for his dream of building a multi-functional Clubhouse and living compound on the outskirts of town. He was an amazing man, and when he made his mind up to accomplish something, he let nothing get in his way.

He wanted to live life and enjoy it, not work his life away for the prosperity of others. He wanted to be free to ride whenever he chose, to wherever he chose. He was a master wood worker, a skill his uncle had taught him as a boy.  Like many men who came home from war and found themselves in a different frame of mind, he felt surrounded by people who would never understand what he had witnessed and was forced to do. He yearned for the comradery of like minded souls and decided to form the club. Not so much that he was trying to live outside the law, he simply required a place to belong and needed to be surrounded by people that knew what he knew, and thought like he thought.

Pooling all of their resources together, Slider and his three military brothers, Griff, Rage and Moby, began by purchasing a four bedroom fixer-upper on a few acres within their first year of returning home. The G.G.S was formed and had been growing every since. They bought only with cash or bartered for what they needed. Slowly they began using various alternative means for utilities and started to grow the majority of their food. All four loved to hunt and would take off on hunting trips each year to fill the freezer. Not that they wouldn't go to the grocery store, but eventually they would become less reliant on store bought goods. 

They were good looking men with good hearts. As time passed each of them were involved in a few serious relationships, but none had ever married. They didn't hold much stock in the institution of marriage, but they did believe strongly in love and family. It was usually the women who eventually decided to move on and immerse themselves back into the mainstream. Everyone made their own choices, and hard feelings were rarely involved. Broken hearts however, could not be avoided, for when these men loved, they loved deep and hard.

Slider had rode out to Vegas with a few of the brothers nearly twenty years ago, and he had hit a huge slot machine jackpot on his second day on the strip. Knowing his own gambling issues, he wasn't about to fuck up an opportunity of a life-time and just give it back to the casino. There was a large piece of land that he had been keeping an eye on for several years. It wasn't up for sale, but he had talked to the owner several times trying to cut a deal.  Once he received his winnings, he left the brothers and his bike in Vegas, hopped a plane home and went straight to the property owner's house, cash in hand. Slider made an Irishmans deal and walked away with a notarized deed for ninety five acres. The next morning, he was on a plane back to Vegas. Twice a year they would go on a Vegas run, and though he had never hit another jackpot, he usually managed to come back with a nice little bankroll. As the years passed, they were able to purchase another 50 acres of pasture land directly across the road from the property. They began to raise livestock and built a small egg farm. Later, they expanded into bee-keeping. This would help keep their gardens pollinated, and provide honey in the process.

It had taken much time and effort to clear the land, dig wells, and set up alternative power. The original four went to every auction and business closing, among other venues, buying up all of the heavy equipment, vehicles and building supplies that they could find at rock bottom prices. The first buildings to go up were a sawmill and a cement plant, followed by a mechanic's garage and huge storage facility. Once these building were functional and producing, they began building the new Clubhouse. It was a life size Castle, a near replica of Slider's ancestrial Castle back in Ireland, an impressive fortress to say the least.

The top floor was mostly bedrooms, each with it's own bath. But there was also a Ballroom on the top floor, with a bar, dance floor, stage and a staging kitchen. This is where they would hold private parties and full club Cruinniú's. (the Irish word for meeting) Although there was a magnificent staircase, Slider had added a service elevator in the first floor kitchen that went straight up to the second floor kitchen. It would be near impossible for a drunken Gael to climb the Castle stairs, so he figured he could kill two birds with one stone by eliminating the problem with a little modern technology. When they would have their benefits and events, the great Bar Room downstairs would be open only to those in the biker community. However, the staircase would be roped off and guarded, as only club members would know of the location and have use of the hidden elevator.

The land was not only to be the family's safe-haven of self sufficiency, it was also going to be a business that would keep the club alive and prosperous for generations to come. Having had been in the military, he had seen war upfront and personal. Like many who have served, he came home to a less than friendly welcome and a much different view on life. He wanted no part of government, organized religion or big business. He understood that the general population had no clue as to what went on in the real world, and in general, they simply allowed themselves to be led around and used, like little cash cows for the powerful few. Once he had decided to become self-sufficient, he made every effort to stay off the grid as much as possible. As the years passed, other buildings were put in place, such as a slaughterhouse, a smokehouse, a barn for the farm equipment, and another huge storage warehouse. Eventually, it started to take shape and look more like a small town. There was even a row of trailers for the club members who's only career was working on the compound.  They used a variety of different means for power, including solar panels and several homemade inventions. Once the new Clubhouse was completed, they would begin building homes for the club members.

Stax came back to the present and realized that they had to get the Clubhouse cleared of all non-members so that the ceremony could get under way. Waving across the room she caught the attention of Griff, Moby and Rage, the three remaining originals and Slider's closest brothers. Each one nodded slowly and began the task of politely ushering people to the door. Samson understood immediately and walked over to the juke box, lowering the volume a tad, he selected an old western song, that basically advised that it was time to part company. "That ought to give 'em their first clue." He said, winking at Stax as he passed by. Walking over and picking up the microphone on stage, he politely thanked them all for coming and respectfully requested for all non-family members to please make their way to the front door. Stax smiled to herself, 'non-family' referred to anyone who did not sport a G.G.S  patch on their Cut.

The following ceremony was for club members only, in other words, Slider's family. Not aunts and uncles who didn't understand him, not siblings and ex's who were more rivals than loved ones. True family. Those that lived like he lived, thought like he thought, and fought like he fought. He surrounded himself with souls who won't turn their back on you when you don't agree, and who love you for who you are, doing for you the same as you would do for them.  Family. It's not about blood or certificates, it's about Love, Loyalty and Trust. It's about Forever.

Everyone knew that those who considered themselves family would attempt to take advantage of their blood line or their past life with Slider and try to linger on. They also knew that it would be more out of curiosity, than love or respect. Stax left it up to the guys to sort them out and usher them through the door with as little bullshit as possible. There were a few, no doubt, that would try to wrangle an invitation to stay and be part of the proceedings. That simply wasn't going to happen, no matter what they said or did. She knew it could get ugly, and she also knew it could take a minute to get them all cleared out, so she grabbed another drink at the bar and headed back to her private sanctuary. As she opened the door, she solved the little mystery as to where Strangler had got off to. He was there in her room, bent over the little round mirror, chopping and lining up several more reasons to go on. He motioned for her to join him as he took the first line.

Standing up straight, he handed her the straw and she followed his example. Picking up his glass, he held it out for a toast. Clinking her's to his, together they said, "This ones for Slider" and downed their drinks. "He would be pleased to see who all came tonight." She said. "He would rather be here with us." Said Strangler, glancing down at her, wondering just how much more she was gonna be able to take today. "If you want, I can make this go very quickly." he said softly, "We don't have to go by the book, Angel." Stax looked up, eyes misty but determined. "Da wrote that book," she said quietly "We will do it right, he will get no less than he gave his brothers before him."

Strangler was visibly relieved, and secretly impressed with her perseverance and determination. "So be it Angel, do you need anything before we go back out there?" He questioned.  She forced a smile, "Nope, all good now." She said, in a higher pitch then normal. Knowing exactly what she had to do, she solemnly walked over to the closet. For the last time ever, she lovingly reached in and pulled out her father's Cut.

Strangler walked up the hallway behind Stax as she made her way to the bar, tightly hugging her father's leather to her heart. As he took the stage and turned on the microphone, she slid onto a stool at the end of the bar. Strangler began by telling the story of Slider's vision and founding of the club. The room remained silent except for his voice, all eyes and ears on him. Slider was an true Irishman to the core, strong willed and family oriented. He had accomplished much in his life, and was the cornerstone of all that they were. Stax was pleased with his words and the respectful, light hearted way he spoke of her father. About three quarters of the way through, a light Irish tune began playing softly in the background. As he reached the end, speaking briefly of the last morning that they had spoken, the old Irish tune for such a loss, began playing softly in the background.  Stax knew that this was her cue, and she stood up to prepare herself for her part, which would begin at the end of the song.

"Bartender!" She cried loudly, as the last note was heard, "Hand me Slider's glass please, full and ready if you will." Choking back his emotions as best as humanly possible, Samson reached up on the shelf and pulled down Slider's personally embossed whiskey glass. "One whiskeypop for Slider, coming up!" He said loudly, his voice wavering. Everyone in the room remained quiet and attentive as Samson prepared Slider's last drink.