The Alder Boys Roadhouse sat under a cluster of cottonwoods beside the Missouri river, an old cow barn with the attached sheds converted to wrap-around porches. Erlan maneuvered the cumbersome moving van around the dirt lot, wary of grazing one of the ranked motorcycles and setting them all off like dominoes.

A crow pecked at the gravel with its long dark beak. It stopped to watch Erlan and gave him an angry squawk. Several more crows roosting on the power lines took up the call, abusing Erlan for transgressions only they understood. Erlan eyed them warily as he crossed the gravel parking area, but they showed no signs of escalating hostilities.

Erlan had seen a viral video once about a dog that could do math. In the video, the dog’s owner held up a chalk board with a simple problem on it, like six divided by three. The dog would then obligingly bark two times. Amazing, right? The dog knows how to read and do math! After watching a couple of these demonstrations, it was obvious to Erlan that the dog was simply trained to bark steadily. The dog had no idea what was written on the chalk board. It simply barked when the board was held up and kept going until its master signaled it to stop by tilting the board and mugging pridefully for the camera.

As a boy, Erlan had seen crows and ravens answer to his father. Keylor said some animals had the spirits of humans inside them, and were very intelligent. When Erlan had grown older and less credulous, he figured birds were just well trained pets – another of his father’s scams. But as Erlan climbed the roadhouse steps, accompanied by the crow’s irate chorus and the sound of his boots knocking on wooden planks, it was hard to see how his father had faked all this. Teaching a raven some phrases in Morse code was plausible, but how had the bird gotten to Minnesota? Did his father have some accomplice driving birds around in the trunk? How do you teach an entire mob of crows to politely attend a funeral and then throw a fit at the end? Whatever the answers were, it was pretty clear that Keylor Moss’s birds were better informed than his children.

Erlan paused outside the screen door to let his eyes adjust, and get a look around the crowded interior. Groups of Alder Boy women had settled in booths along the wall, while the men were at the pool tables or stools along the bar. Sapphire sat at a table in the corner with the lone woman from the funeral.

Erlan pulled the screen door open and stepped inside. His gaze lingered on the pale barmaid, something familiar about her tired face and her graceful movements as she polished tumblers with a red checkered cloth. She had rings in her eyebrows, nose and lips, and one earlobe stretched around a small hoop. You’d think he’d recognize all that metal. Then she turned and he saw the tattoo on her arm, the 1950s pin-up girl running with scissors, and the years and the piercings dropped away like a veil.

She had chopped the long blonde hair he’d loved so much into a bob, dyed black, with long bangs that curled under her chin. She wore black fingernail polish, black lipstick, and a black t-shirt printed with a grinning skull wearing a crown of oak leaves. Tattoo roses peaked above the neckline of her shirt. He knew that below the roses it said ’Judge me not.’ She had new ink on her other arm, a butterfly landing on a bundle of dynamite, fuse lit. Erlan grinned and walked over, the rest of the crowd forgotten.

"Hey Powder," he said.

She put the glass down and smiled, the worn look vanishing. She was beautiful when she smiled, and Erlan’s breath caught just a bit.

"Ooh, look at you," She touched her lips with two fingers and fanned herself with the dish cloth. "All grown up, and even hotter than expected."

"Nice to see you too."

She pulled the smile back and her eyes turned grim. "Sorry about the big man."

"Yeah," said Erlan, and the conversation paused for a second as they looked at each other. Erlan thought that ten hard years had come and gone for her, but they had given as much as they took.

"You finally back for good?" Powder asked.

"Not if I can help it."

"The poontang that much better out east?"

"How would I know? I’m still pining for you."

"Oh honey, you know I’m way too much for any one man to handle."

Erlan looked at his wrist, where a watch would be if he wore one. "Less than ten seconds and she breaks my heart again."

Powder laughed. "Sorry. At least I can buy you a drink. What’ll you have?"

"Give me one of those near-beers you fed me when I was a kid. I’m feeling nostalgic."

She made a bottle appear on the bar, the top already popped and foaming. Erlan tipped it at her and took a swig. "Another round for my mother and her friend."

Powder poured something complicated and colorful into a highball glass. Erlan pulled his wallet out, but she shook her head.

"Sapphire drinks on the house too."

Erlan waited a bit, slightly puzzled, before asking, "And the other one?"

"She doesn’t get served here."

"I knew she was catching stink-eye at the funeral. What’s the deal?"

"She’s trouble. You should keep away from her, the both of you."

"How did she get to be such a pariah?"

Powder shrugged. "What do I know? I just pour beer and suck cock around here." The smile was gone and a tight look had settled into well-worn lines around her mouth. She picked up her rag and jammed it inside a glass.

"Okay," said Erlan, backing up. "Thanks for the advice." He picked up Sapphire’s drink at arms length, as if it might explode in his hand. Powder had earned her nickname years ago, and not because of her Nordic skin color.

He went to Sapphire’s table and put her drink next to her. The lone woman had her hands clasped in front of her and there were black Xs tattooed on her fingers below the knuckles. He lifted an eyebrow at his mother. "Are you going to introduce us?"

"This is Maggie Baker,” said Sapphire. “She works...used to work for your father. She’s staying in the spare room over at the Garage. Now that he’s gone, it looks like she’s going to have to move out."

"The punk room? What happened to this year’s prospect?"

Maggie shrugged. “I was this year’s prospect."

"What?" said Erlan.

"They all think there was something going on between her and your father,” Sapphire said. “Nonsense, of course. Maggie wouldn’t do such a thing."

"Doesn’t matter what I would do," said Maggie. "Keylor wouldn’t, and all these idiots should know it."

Erlan looked at her. "He didn’t take wife number four though, did he?"

Maggie shrugged. "I’m not Decimi. Not wife material."

Erlan wondered if the undertone of bitterness in her voice was because she didn’t like being falsely accused, or because she didn’t like that the accusations were false.

"I’ve never heard of a female prospect,” he said. “How did you manage that?"

"I’m a damn good mechanic. Your father respected that. Unlike the rest of the crew, who can’t see past these.” She waved at her chest, which, Erlan had to admit, was eye-catching. He dragged his gaze back up above the neck.

“I only made the trial membership with Key’s tie-breaker vote. There’s no way I’m going to get full membership now.” She paused, and smiled for the first time, a hesitant quirk of her lips. “Unless you’d be inclined to back me.”

She had big brown eyes with flecks of gold in the iris. Hard to say no to eyes like that.

Her smile faltered, and she leaned back. “I didn’t mean now, or anything. I wouldn’t expect that without you knowing a thing about me. I was just laying out my situation. Anyway, I figure I should get my stuff before some asshole tosses it out the window.”

"Erlan’s got this big old van going to waste,” said Sapphire. “He’ll help you out.” She patted her arm, then turned to her son. “While you’re there, I want to you to get your father’s footlocker from his apartment.”

Erlan turned to his mother. "How do you know he’d want us to have it? The old man probably wanted it all to go to the twins, or Neralee, if there was any justice."

"I talked to him no more than a week ago. He still expected to mend things between you two."

Erlan shook his head. "I don’t want his stuff, and I don’t need the hassle."

Sapphire voice got a bit sharp. “Well, even if you don’t care what your father wanted, it’s what I want. You’re gone off east, you hardly call, you never visit. The least you could do is break down a little door and get me a few small mementos of your father.”

"I have to break in? With my record?” Erlan looked between the two women. "Let me get this straight. Keylor didn’t leave a will, right? So, what you really want is for me to steal Dad’s things before the other widows get their hands on them?”

Sapphire shrugged innocently. "Possession is nine tenths of the law."

Maggie cleared her throat. "Turns out, when I made prospect, Keylor gave me the master key by mistake. Opens every door in the place."

Erlan looked at her. "A good prospect would take that back to the quartermaster."

"I’m taking it to you."

“Keep an eye out for that pendant of his,” Sapphire said, “The one that sparkled a bit, with the silver vines.” Sapphire leaned back, smiling softly, her eyes welling a bit. “I remember the first time I saw it. Keylor took me on a picnic in a meadow full of wild flowers over in the Wineglass mountains. We had a blanket, but he pushed us right off. I got grass stains on my backside, not that I noticed at the time. That was some of the hottest…”

Erlan choked on his beer.

“Look at him blush!” Sapphire smiled conspiratorially at Maggie, who had the good grace to look embarrassed. Sapphire’s laugh wound down and her face fell. She turned away and grabbed a wad of tissue from her bag. “Oh, hell,” she said, “I promised myself I wouldn’t make a fuss over the man.”

Erlan put an arm around her shoulders, feeling awkward and uncertain how to comfort her. Reminisce about all the bad times courtesy of Keylor Moss, or cherry pick the good? He was rescued as the Alder Boys council filed out of the back room known as the temple, where they held council meetings.

Sapphire sniffled and put the tissues away as the crowd settled down She pulled Erlan and Maggie close and whispered, "You two get this done tonight while they’re having their party. Maggie, hon, wait until they’ve had a few rounds first. Erlan will sneak out the back a bit later so nobody figures out what you are up to." Sapphire grinned. "I can’t wait to see the look on those Chubbie bitches’ faces!"

Erlan groaned as he settled back in his chair.

Boxer, Luscious, Porter, Able, and Mani took their seats at the long table in front of the big stone fireplace. They left a sixth chair prominently empty. A bartender Erlan didn’t know circulated around the hall, putting bottles of Jack Daniels on each of the tables. The barmaid appeared beside Erlan and slammed a bottle down between him and Sapphire. She glared at Maggie and stalked over to the next table.

Boxer raised his hand for silence.

"Been a bad week. The Founder is dead. The Ghost Mother’s children are...not pleased with us. It’s right to be concerned about the future. But all that is for tomorrow. Tonight is for us. Tonight we say goodbye to Keylor Moss, our Father, Founder of our faith and prosperity, in the way we have for all our fallen brothers - the Alder Boy way!

Boxer lifted a whiskey bottle and twisted off the cap.

"To our fallen comrade, Keylor Moss. First Alderman!" He took a long pull from the bottle and passed it to Luscious. Alder Boys shouted Keylor’s name and turned up their bottles. The men pounded the tables while they waited their turn.

Luscious pushed his chair back and raised the bottle, his height bringing it nearly to the rafters.

"To Keylor Moss. Only man here better looking than me!"

The room cheered, a mixture of laughter and scoffing, and drank again. Erlan lifted the bottle, let the liquor wash across his closed lips, and passed it to Sapphire.

Luscious settled his bulk back in his chair and Able took the bottle. In the silence that fell, a quiet tapping came from the walls. The windows had filled with dark silhouettes - birds roosting on the sills. Shadow beaks pecked at the glass. Able quickly lifted the bottle and called out "To the Alderman!" A broken cheer went around the tables, most of the crowd sending nervous glances out into the dusk.

Porter kicked back his chair and stood, glaring around the room. "What is this?" He grabbed the bottle, waved it at the windows, "Did I stumble into granny’s knitting circle, afraid of some fucking feathers? When I die, you shits better do better by me." He shook the bottle, spraying booze, and shouted, "To strong drink!" The crowed cheered, louder this time. "The tears of beautiful women!" The men shouted back in response. "Keylor fucking Moss!" Porter screamed, and the room erupted, everyone shouting and drinking.

When they finally quieted, Mani stood.

"Damn birds," he said, shrugging. He turned to face Erlan and pointed the bottle at him. "To the next Alderman. Erlan Moss!" He waved at Erlan to stand.

There was a round of cheers that seemed a bit rehearsed to Erlan. He stood slowly. Time for the prodigal son to abdicate his claim. He scanned the council’s expectant faces. Boxer gave him a stare. This was going to make some enemies.

Hell with it. Get it done quick, like yanking off a scab. He reached for the whiskey bottle, but before he could raise it, a man stood up in the middle of the crowd, waving a bottle.

"Erlandir Moss, son of Keylor Moss, the Alderman!" The man swept the bottle in an arc to encompass the rest of the room. "Alder Boys! I am Alphonse Ramirez. You may know me as El Ojo, president of the Ex-Khans. I would like the honor of recounting for you the story of the patch-over of my club.”

El Ojo was tall, lean and slightly stooped. He had lank black hair receding from a high forehead. One eye was piercing blue, the other shit-brown with a tendency to wander off in odd directions, as if looking for ways to sneak around behind you. The torn-off sleeves of his worn denim jacket revealed whip-cord arms tattooed with Mexican cemetery scenes - crosses, skulls and tombstones.

"In those days, my older brother Hector led the Kahns. There was this crazy gringo going around offering three choices to the leaders of 1 percent motorcycle clubs.

"One, they could disband and join the Alder Boys, as long as they burned the rules and patches of their old club and never said its name again.

"Two, they could pick a champion and fight this gringo in a contest of their own choice. If their champion won, they keep their name and insignia and ride away without interference. If the gringo won, they’d ride for him under the alder branch, but they’d get to keep their club name and identity. A patch-over.

"Three, they laugh and waste this gringo’s time, and he takes their leader’s head and gives the same three choices to the next in command.”

Alphonse cast his wandering gaze around the room.

"We knew of two other clubs, hard men, who rode for the Alder Boys now. We knew this crazy gringo was serious shit. But my brother, he was a strong man, very big, very brutal. He told this gringo to shove his three choices up his ass.

"The gringo tapped the table top and a wasp crawled from his sleeve onto the top of his hand. This wasp, it flew at Hector, right between his eyes. There was a puff, like the sound of a roman candle, and only corpse dust where my brother’s head used to be.

"The Ex-Kahns, we are not cowards. Many of us reached for weapons, but in our ears was the buzzing of wasps, and on our foreheads was the prickle of insect legs.

"Stand very still," said this gringo. "Who is second in command?"

"I came forward and said I would like to fight him with knives. The Dustman gave me this scar that day, and this one too." El Ojo pointed at a jagged whorl of scar tissue down one forearm and another across a bicep. "I was not able to mark him."

"The Ex-Kahns rode for the Alder Boys from that day." He turned to Erlan. "You are his son, but I don’t know you. Your padre showed his power the day he took my brother’s head. Now show me yours."

Boxer tried to interject, but Erlan stopped him. This could be the answer to his prayers.

"Is that a challenge? If so, I choose the contest."

"Well?" said El-Ojo.

"Chess." He’d let Alphonse beat him, and the XK’s could go their own way. Then the state would take the rest of the club property and Keylor’s whole crazy empire would dry up and blow away.

"Chess? Fuck that," said El Ojo. He pulled a large pistol and pointed it at Erlan’s face.

The air of celebration evaporated as the room bristled with gun metal and sharp edges. Alder Boys faced Khans and Road Dogs, drop-point versus icepick, Colt versus Glock.

Erlan stared down the barrel of El Ojo’s gun. Part of him noted that the gun was a chrome-plated .44 Magnum revolver, once upon a time the most powerful handgun in the world. I wonder if he’s going to ask me if I feel lucky.

"How about arm wrestling?" Erlan’s throat was dry, but his voice came out steady enough. He was proud of that. "Horse shoes, maybe?"

El Ojo smiled slightly. "I don’t think so." He turned back to his men. "What did I tell you, Kahns? This kid ain’t no Dustman."

With an effort, Erlan removed his eyes from the hypnotic bore of the Magnum and glanced at Boxer. The compact man had produced a WWII era Luger. "Nice antique," Erlan said. "Maybe now would be a good time to shoot someone with it."

Boxer shrugged. "I only bring this to ceremonial occasions. More of a good luck charm. Besides, I’m curious to see what you brought."

El Ojo pulled back the Magnum’s hammer. "A son for a brother," he said. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Erlan really had found a way out this mess. The solution was just a lot more final than he’d expected.

Next Chapter: El Ojo