Post by Admin on Aug 14, 2022 2:25:15 GMT
BOM Clubhouse
Reno, Nevada
The hue of the neon lights of the Reno skyline light the night sky that falls over the clubhouse of John Nash Strader’s motorcycle club, the Brothers of Mayhem. John has been busy since his OCW debut against Mad Max, who he had made short work of, getting multiple new charters up and running to haul a South American export up out of Mexico across into Arizona and Nevada to connect with Redwood City, CA Tacoma, WA to Vancouver, BC. The club was growing and almost broken into the top ten “biker gangs,” as the Federal Governments of North America referred to them. While that wasn’t exactly false, it wasn’t exactly true either. First and foremost, it was a brotherhood, but they made money as a unit. Some of the charters have auto shops, some branched into Legal Marijuana (depending on the State and the country), and other ventures they can launder their dirty earnings.
For JNS, wrestling was one of the many ways he was washing his money. The idea is always to have a steady legitimate income while paying a fair share of taxes kept “Big Brother” back, ignoring them like they do the dangerous 1%; the millionaires/billionaires of America. John had learned a lot from his old man, and how to survive without having to spend time behind bars was always the goal.
This whole scene was new to John’s Margarita Mix partner, CJ O’Donnell. He stood outside the old pool hall-turned clubhouse and made his way to the door, where a couple of Prospects stand, one below average height and the other possibly the nephew of Bifford based purely on size and the massive turkey leg he’s chowing down on.
“Who the hell are you?”
“CJ fooking O’Donnell. Your boss knows I am coming,” he thunders through his Bostonian accent.
The big guy clicks on his little radio.
“Yeah, a small dude out here says he’s here to see Nash….”
“I’ll show you small you fat fook.”
Before the prospect can react, JNS comes out the front door, hand extended. CJ and John shake hands that get pulled into a “bro” hug. John leans back, slapping CJ on the shoulder.
“O’Donnell! Welcome, brother. Come on in. Jamesons?”
“Yeah, been a fook of a day.”
The two walk into the clubhouse; CJ smirks at the prospects who know their role and know CJ is off limits being a guest of the Brother’s National President. It’s a fairly wide open place with a big horseshoe-shaped bar coming out of the right wall, a beautiful liquor bottle display in front of big mirrors, pool tables straight ahead, and a dancing/band stage where a few BOMettes dance with some of the brothers. JNS and CJ stop at the end of the bar.
“Denisa, two-six of Jamesons and one of Gibson’s Finest Gold, doll,” he says, flashing her his trademark smirk. The 6’0 blonde Romanian bombshell slides the bottles in front of the men. “Thanks, babe. You seen Who’re anywhere?”
“Nope, I haven't seen Who’Re tonight. I could have swore when I showed up today that you were gonna be chained to a bed or something. She’s still following you around, huh?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s me following her. That woman is something else. Golf ball through a garden hose.”
The bartender shakes her head, and John shrugs. Grabbing the bottles, CJ follows JNS back into what the Club called Chapel, where a large oak table sits in the centre of the room, surrounded by BOM paraphernalia from flags to ornaments and pictures of the members along the far wall. John sits down at the head of the table, a gavel to his right, as CJ sits down on his partner's left in the VP’s seat. John pours himself a shot as CJ does the same. They lift their shot glasses and cheers one another.
“To The Mix.”
“And winning the fooking thing.”
Both men are professional whiskey drinkers and never flinch as the golden whiskeys flow down their throats. Another poured.
“Glad you could make it out, CJ. I have been setting up charters along the coast and up in Ohio. Been keeping me busy, but I want you to know I am taking the Mix seriously, and I have been training. Tamika has been sparring with me, but she’s a little beat up right after Truth or Consequences, so Cara has been helping, but that girl, man. If I could get her to put down the spliff….”
“No hard feelings about Crash taking the Craze title off her?”
“Meeks, she is a grown woman who can handle her shit. She knows what the business is about, and if I am a hundred with ya, I think she was happy to lose it. She likes Crash and adores the little one. Her beef is with that shit muncher, Lou,” a shot of whiskey follows up his reply and, once again, pours another.
“Aye, Lou is a fook. Fooker slept with my ma. I heard he is even trying to make a profit off it with t-shirts being made saying Hide Your Moms OCW Cause the Pohl is on Patrol,” his voice filled with annoyance.
“No shit. What a fuckin’ guy. Yeah, no, we are good. We all have this industry running through our veins, both Meeks and me. Our mom, Lisa, her dad, was an indy promotor. Plus, our uncles Payton and Kaleb were rockin’ the industry when the third generation Strader in us broke into it all. We used to watch our dad go toe to toe with his brothers a lot of the time. One thing we are all very good at is separating business from personal. You have to, or it will eat you alive.”
CJ nods in agreement.
“I couldn’t agree more. It's sad watching all these newcomers coming into this business thinking everything should just be given to them. They don't want to put in the time, the effort, the energy to earn it. They don’t know about the history of this business. All they want to do is have a big payday … disappear for a few months … come back when they have no more cash and continue the cycle.”
“Yeah, is what it is. Hard to trust people in this game, even more so than this,” he says, holding his hands out, referring to the MC, “normally, anyone in my family, we don’t team up with outsiders because there is no trust. Or you also do everything you can for your partner, but it’s never good enough; it’s always that old adage ‘what have you done for me lately?’ ya know?”
“Why approach me, then? To be your Mix partner?”
John shrugs, taking a sip of whiskey.
“I may not be involved with this business like my nieces and sisters, but I am still very much dialled in. Hard not to be when you carry my last name. I have watched you since you came back to OCW. I watched you form Paramount. I watched you kick some ass, but most importantly, I have seen you be loyal. Plus, consistently chasing my sisters to join your group, which tells me you respect this family, and what we have accomplished. Well, what my father, sisters and nieces have accomplished.”
CJ raises his shot glass, as does John. They throw another shot back. John’s phone starts to vibrate, and a contact photo of a young blonde girl with icy blue eyes is on the screen. John casually mutes the ring (not sending it to voicemail cause that is rude).
“That your kid?”
“Yeah… Makenzie. She’s twelve,” the sadness in his tone is picked up by CJ, piquing his curiosity.
“Close?”
John shakes his head.
“Not really, CJ. I didn’t know she existed until last year, shortly after my old man ate a bullet. He, uhh, had a bad habit of interfering in his children's lives. You know the story of Victoria and Cara; separated at birth because the old man didn’t want to have to help Megz raise the girls. He knew she would keep both if she had known she was having twins, so he sold Cara and let Victoria go into the system. Luckily Ray and Susan were good people, and Victoria had a happy life until she discovered she was one of us. Cara? Roy and Karen aren’t bad people but probably shouldn’t have been parents.”
“So what, your old man sold off your little girl too?”
John shakes his head no with a laugh.
“Naw, he paid off Natalia, her mother. Got her to leave Winnipeg. Set her up down in Nevada. I only found out after he died when Natalia reached out to tell me ‘bout Kenzie. She’s a sweet girl; the kid reminds me of Meeks at that age.”
“So why the distance, man?”
“If I am being razor straight with you… it’s all of this—my life choices. I never planned on having kids. By accident or planned, I never thought being a father while being the president of a 1%er motorcycle club was a good idea. Look at Meghan. What it did to her, I don’t wanna do that to my own kid too, ya know?”
“John, you got to be a father, man….” CJ's face completely changes, and his voice becomes a little shaky. “Every single day, not a moment goes by that I don’t miss my son Hunter. For me to get just one more moment with him. I would do anything to hug him. To tell him how much I love him. Just to see his smile. John, you are not your father. You brought Makenzie into the world. She needs her father growing up. Who else is going to keep away all those dirtbags?”
John nods in agreement, and before he can answer, CJ cuts him off.
“I know how scary it can be to be a father, but you need to try. You need to be in her life. She probably misses you a lot more than you can imagine. She probably has a shitload of questions for you also. John, you need to make me a promise?”
John doesn’t say anything, just motions with his hand to continue.
“Make a connection with Makenzie. Whatever it takes. She may hate you at first but show her the Strader way. Show her what you built everything on. Be a listening ear. Gain her trust. Build a connection and watch it blossom. You will be a better man because of it. And you won’t have any regrets in life.”
“Eh, maybe you are right. It’s just… I am not a good man, and truthfully… that shit doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is thinking I’ll be like Scott,” he replies with a raise of his brow followed by a sigh. He stares at his phone, spinning the shot glass before filling it back up. "Just... fearful."
“Stop being a negative fooking Nancy John. You are not your father. You are a good man. Now be a father to Makenzie before it is too late. You don’t want to wonder what if….”
John scoffs, then laughs.
“Fuck, you are a stubborn fucker. I’m surprised you couldn’t get Tamika into Paramount. I can see you are gonna be a big pain in the ass like she is,” the whiskey bites; he speaks through it, “once the Mix has passed, I will go see her. Hell, just to keep ya the fuck off my ass, I’ll call her tomorrow, not influenced by the whiskey.”
“Your sister has nothing on me. I’ll be on your ass to call.”
John sits forward and gets a grin.
“We got a ring out back, and the boys are gonna start throwing a few fists; wanna get in on the action?”
“Fooking right, let’s go.”
The Fooking Fooks throw back one more shot. The men have bonded now, just like any good team.
