“They consider hygiene and indoor plumbing to be products of the devil. They're still figuring out how to work a Bic lighter. Talking to a Taliban warrior about improving his quality of life is like trying to teach an ape how to hold a pen; eventually he just gets frustrated and sticks you in the eye with it.”
Crash chuckled. “No wonder you’re cranky.”
Shane, seeing it was time to lighten the mood, looked at Jake and started the joke, knowing Jake would finish it. “You may be Taliban if…”
Jake immediately fired back, “You refine heroin for a living, but you have a moral objection to beer.”
Shane grinned and countered with, “You think vests come in two styles, bullet-proof and suicide.”
Crash was shaking with laughter. “Okay, enough with the stupid jokes.”
“But, wait. You haven’t heard my best one yet,” Shane insisted. “I was so depressed last night I called the Suicide Lifeline. I got a call center in Pakistan, and when I told them I was suicidal, they got all excited and asked if I could drive a truck.”
Crash shook his head, laughing.
“Seriously, though, we happened to be in some pretty badass situations. We were in the shit a lot. Back-to-back deployments. I’m not lying or exaggerating to say it was fun. I had the time of my life being Airborne. We gave each other hell, but we had a lot of fun, and we always knew we had each other’s back,” Jake explained.
“It’s an honorable life,” Crash remarked.
“Your brother was a good man. I always knew he had my back. Even the day he died, the mission that day…he was protecting our six. Making sure we weren’t attacked from the rear,” Jake went on.
Crash nodded, not really wanting to talk about it. He took a sip of his beer. “I guess that’s what the military is about, having each other’s backs.”
Shane rolled the beer bottle between his palms. “Yeah, it is. It’s also about being a man. I grew up in a small town where people still believe in family, patriotism and looking out for each other. I had a great father, my best buddy when I was little, but there was also a good dose of discipline. There was a line, and believe me, I never fucking wanted to cross it. When I told him I was signing up, he told me, ‘Go get some fuckin’ payback, boy.’ That’s just his way.
“And you?” Crash asked Jake. “Why’d you join up?”
“I’ve always loved guns, always loved hunting. My father was good at what he did, but he hated his job. Hated being stuck in an office, wearing a suit and the fucking office politics that went with it all. He told me, ‘Don’t matter how much money you make, if you hate your job, you’ll be miserable. It’s not worth it if you’re not happy.’ Most valuable piece of advice he ever gave me. Do what you want in life.” Jake shrugged. “I wanted to carry a gun and shoot bad guys.”
“So, now that you’re back, why not law enforcement?” Crash thought it was a fair question.
“Fuck that,” Jake replied unequivocally.
“And now you think you want to join an MC?”
They both nodded.
“Ironic, huh?” Shane asked.
“Not really,” Crash shrugged.
“It’s the brotherhood thing we talked about,” Jake clarified.
“Yeah, there is brotherhood. But go into this with your eyes open. We are not the Boy Scouts. And another thing you ought to know about the club: when you’re new to an MC, you get hazed. The Evil Dead is no different. The Dead is a very tight-knit group. Prospects are treated like hell until they prove they belong. That usually doesn’t happen until well into the first year, if then. Prospects get the shit jobs. They’re constantly tested. They’re always beat on.”
“Sounds like the military. New guys are always given hell.” Shane laughed.
“Prospecting is kind of an extended hazing that takes many forms.”
“Such as?” Jake asked.
“My first experience, I heard the gavel slam down through the closed door of the meeting room. The door burst open, and the next thing I knew, I was pummeled. That summer, end of every Church, that gavel slamming down meant it was open season on the new guys. I came out of my first one with two broken ribs and a black eye, maybe two. I must have gotten my lip busted a dozen times during prospecting.”
Jake and Shane nodded.
“Bar fights, another staple of the Dead. We’re pretty notorious for getting into bar scrapes, and you’ll be no exception.”
“That happens often?” Shane asked.