I had to be the muscle. Once Burns knew Gramps was gone, he started having me do these runs. Someone from St. Louis came with the product, and I took it to Kansas City. I didn’t ask what it was, or what was going on. I was gonna ride the wave ‘til Burns called me back to St. Louis. What I didn’t know, was that I was the middle man in Burns taking over the drug trade in KC. He couldn’t have done it without me. I was his unknowing pawn.
It was after Gramps was gone that I learned about the land around our house. Gramps’ body was barely cold before the developers were on me. They were pushing me to sell the house Gramps left me and the land it sat on. Gramps made me promise not to sell. It was one of the last things he said to me before his spirit was set free. He told me to let go of the hate for my father, hold on to the land, and to never forget that I was a Bear, and he was the Eagle. He would always be perched on my shoulder, ready to guide me. When I couldn’t keep the developers off my back, I went to Burns. I knew it was a bad move, but I didn’t have many options. I made a deal with Burns. A fucking deal that was worse than the one I’d already made when I decided to not get dead. When I stayed alive and with MM. I think if I could go back, Gramps would’ve told me the land wasn’t worth the deal, even if it had been in our family since before the white men came. Hindsight and 20/20, you know.
Whatever. I made the fucking deal.
My part of the deal: keep doing my thing at Eight Oh Eight, but with more responsibilities, mostly in the form of dealing out punishment for those who didn’t pay. Skinny dealt with the lesser offenses. I handled the big ones. The ones where my size was needed to scare the fuck outta those stupid enough not to pay the taxman. If they were late paying taxes, I’d give them the standard two weeks to square up with me. If they didn’t, they disappeared. I also handled Checks, but that was easy. Checks was a real bar. It was legit and all on paper. We employed staff and everything. I just had to make appearances to remind employees who paid them. It wasn’t Checks or the folks buying drinks, because Checks didn’t really make enough money to employ the amount of staff that we kept on payroll. It was MM who kept them in jobs. I made sure they didn’t forget that, and that their mouths stayed shut about anything they saw at Checks. Lastly, Burns kept me as the middle man. Product came to me, and I moved it the rest of the way to Kansas City. Occasionally, I’d go the other way, and take shit to St. Louis, but mostly the drop off was in KC. I didn’t realize at the time the magnitude of what I was doing. Like I said, I was just a pawn to Burns’ king.
Burns’ part of the deal: I kept my land. The developers never came back. Burns used his army to save my Gramps’ land. My land. End of story.
One might think my situation was better because I was in my family home, my hometown, away from Burns and St. Louis. And I guess that part was good. Missouri Mayhem wasn’t an MC. There was no brotherhood, no old ladies, no festive gatherings. There weren’t even girls, really. The clubhouse became a business. Burns’ business. Key members had rooms on site, but the rest had houses and pretended to have real lives. Some still went to the shop and worked on a bike or a car here and there, but that was just another money funneling system. Most of the places MM members “worked” were fronts. Nick had it all set up. It looked like the club was managing legit businesses with real employees. If anyone looked close enough, they’d see these businesses were making more money than they could account for. No one was going to point that out to the IRS though, so Burns continued doing his thing. He paid us well, and no one complained. End of story.
So why was I a hot mess when Elle came aro und? It was the “disappearing.” I don’t know how many men I’ve killed. The first few were
It was after Gramps was gone that I learned about the land around our house. Gramps’ body was barely cold before the developers were on me. They were pushing me to sell the house Gramps left me and the land it sat on. Gramps made me promise not to sell. It was one of the last things he said to me before his spirit was set free. He told me to let go of the hate for my father, hold on to the land, and to never forget that I was a Bear, and he was the Eagle. He would always be perched on my shoulder, ready to guide me. When I couldn’t keep the developers off my back, I went to Burns. I knew it was a bad move, but I didn’t have many options. I made a deal with Burns. A fucking deal that was worse than the one I’d already made when I decided to not get dead. When I stayed alive and with MM. I think if I could go back, Gramps would’ve told me the land wasn’t worth the deal, even if it had been in our family since before the white men came. Hindsight and 20/20, you know.
Whatever. I made the fucking deal.
My part of the deal: keep doing my thing at Eight Oh Eight, but with more responsibilities, mostly in the form of dealing out punishment for those who didn’t pay. Skinny dealt with the lesser offenses. I handled the big ones. The ones where my size was needed to scare the fuck outta those stupid enough not to pay the taxman. If they were late paying taxes, I’d give them the standard two weeks to square up with me. If they didn’t, they disappeared. I also handled Checks, but that was easy. Checks was a real bar. It was legit and all on paper. We employed staff and everything. I just had to make appearances to remind employees who paid them. It wasn’t Checks or the folks buying drinks, because Checks didn’t really make enough money to employ the amount of staff that we kept on payroll. It was MM who kept them in jobs. I made sure they didn’t forget that, and that their mouths stayed shut about anything they saw at Checks. Lastly, Burns kept me as the middle man. Product came to me, and I moved it the rest of the way to Kansas City. Occasionally, I’d go the other way, and take shit to St. Louis, but mostly the drop off was in KC. I didn’t realize at the time the magnitude of what I was doing. Like I said, I was just a pawn to Burns’ king.
Burns’ part of the deal: I kept my land. The developers never came back. Burns used his army to save my Gramps’ land. My land. End of story.
One might think my situation was better because I was in my family home, my hometown, away from Burns and St. Louis. And I guess that part was good. Missouri Mayhem wasn’t an MC. There was no brotherhood, no old ladies, no festive gatherings. There weren’t even girls, really. The clubhouse became a business. Burns’ business. Key members had rooms on site, but the rest had houses and pretended to have real lives. Some still went to the shop and worked on a bike or a car here and there, but that was just another money funneling system. Most of the places MM members “worked” were fronts. Nick had it all set up. It looked like the club was managing legit businesses with real employees. If anyone looked close enough, they’d see these businesses were making more money than they could account for. No one was going to point that out to the IRS though, so Burns continued doing his thing. He paid us well, and no one complained. End of story.
So why was I a hot mess when Elle came aro und? It was the “disappearing.” I don’t know how many men I’ve killed. The first few were
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