Redwood Nine: Season 04 Ch. 01

While I wait for word from the show about the story, let's get Season 4 going and hope you enjoy it.

The whine of the jet's engines grew louder, as the wheels touched down and burnt off puffs of rubber. It slowed and taxied back to the base hangar, the engines screaming out the whine. The ground crew chocked the wheels, as the pilot shut the engines down, bringing an end to the wait. The mobile stairway was rolled up and the door opened.

The club stood and watched, as soldier after soldier came out, their faces not showing the happiness they thought they'd have coming back home. The rear loading ramp was lowered and the first things to come out, were the line of caskets. The club looked over at the group of grieving parents and family members, remembering they once stood there to claim Lester. Hearses and transport vehicles collected the coffins and began the trip home to lay them to rest, while those that weren't collected, were lined up in rows in the hangar to await claiming of them.

The guys watched each uniformed man exit the plane and then saw the familiar face come out and look around. He spotted the club and a smile came across his face, as they waved and shouted at him. He made his way to the tarmac and came over, hugs given with great affection and relief. After a brief time to talk, they collected his gear from the back of the plane and tossed it in his pick up truck. He was introduced to the new prospects and before he jumped in the truck to head home, they stopped him and led him to his new bike.

The guys had picked it up the day before at Little Willy's shop and Greg rode it to the airport. He was in awe of it, admiring the paint and chrome, the detail to everything capturing his attention to it. He sat on it and held the handlebars, getting the first feel for it.

"Guys, what can I say? Thanks, it's fucking gorgeous."

"Fire it up, brother. It's time we got you riding again."

Clay flicked the kill switch and jumped down on the kick start, the engine starting easy and ran smoothly. He twisted the throttle a few times and grinned widely, sensing the power between his legs. The guys got on their bikes and Clay noticed JT was riding a chopper and not the blue Harley.

"Hey, JT, where's the Harley?"

"Back at the shop, I'm riding this while we do runs now."

Clay looked over the chopper and saw it didn't have the same flash and style as his and looked at the other bikes, noticing the damage to them. He looked at the guys and they said they'd tell him everything, once they got back and had some time to celebrate. JT motioned for the club to roll out and the line of bikes moved as one, Clay riding like he had never stopped.

The compound still held the signs of the attack, bullet holes still marking the walls and bay doors of the garage, the fresh paint unable to remove the scars, just the blemishes. Clay stopped and looked at them all, taking a quick count of the number and knew his brothers had faced as much gunfire as he had. Vietnam was half a world away, but the same violence and loss of life was happening in small town America, that he thought of as safe and quiet.

Inside the clubhouse, thoughts of violence and death were banished from minds, as Clay was treated to beers and joints, as well as a hit on the hookah and his first taste of hashish. Music was loud and upbeat, making the welcome home party one of great joy and happiness. Talk of the garage business had Clay feeling assured a part of his past was living on and said he liked the make over and new signage.

They walked outside and let Clay get a feel for everything again, letting him see what was and what the future would be. Greg, Chunk and Louie wore new work uniforms with the company logo on them and Clay felt his business interests in the garage were well expressed. Talk of the attack eventually came up and the club knew they had to share the event with him. JT could see the assault on their clubhouse had an effect on him, bringing about an inner rage at the defilement to their sanctuary.

JT knew they had to face the entire event once more, every detail exposed in blatant exposure. Clay deserved to know the whole truth of what happened, knowing it as well as if he had lived it himself. Sparing him the goriness wasn't needed, as he'd already faced enough in the last three years. It was a short stay outside, before they headed back in and laid the events before him from the time he left.

Two hours later, after a multitude of emotions expressed. Clay was up to speed with everything and shared the same feelings as the club, knowing the past was where it belonged and the future was their only focus now. A call came for another hookah of hash, but Clay said he'd rather go for a ride and be with them on the open road. JT agreed it was where he would rather be as well and the crew left the clubhouse and mounted up. They started their bikes and Piney suddenly halted anyone from moving, then ran back into the clubhouse.

He came out with Clay's cut, bearing the club logo and all the badges to mark his location and status. Piney called for everyone to shut down for a second so he could speak. Once the quiet came, Piney stood by Clay and talked loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Clay Morrow, I'd like you to wear this cut and be called brother by us. As your V.P., I welcome you to the Sons of Anarchy, so say us all."

Clay took the cut in his hands and looked at the front and back, seeing he had been recognized as one of the first nine members, just as JT had promised he would be. He folded the cut and hugged Piney tightly, thanking him for his sponsorship and honour of acceptance. He went to each member and hugged them with pride, then slipped his arms in the cut and zipped it up. The guys cheered him, as he turned around and showed it off, then got on his bike and waited for his president to call out to ride.

JT gave the command to ride and the bikes were fired up, one by one following JT to the gate and heading to 88 and the highway. JT ran the middle of the road, while Lenny and Clay rode behind him. Far at the back, Piney rode as Road Captain and watched the club, the prospects in front of him and his best friend and leader taking the road and guiding them forward in pride and confidence. He could see how he rode and knew JT was at peace with himself when he was riding, the past unable to catch up and haunt his mind. It was a single focus, one that distractions of any kind led to trouble. The road was theirs when they were on it, but it was fraught with traps of all kinds waiting to snag them and diminish that control.

The ride to the hills held twists and turns, blind spots and hidden obstacles, much the same as life did. Despite all of that, the road was where they lived and breathed freely. There was no one place that life could be lived in peace and relative comfort, everywhere held its own troubles, but the road held ones they could handle and find a sense of control.

Ten miles of no where passed, before they headed back and parked again. Clay was thrilled with his new bike and thanked everyone for what they had created. JT told him about Little Willy and Mutt and everything they did to make his bike as special as it was. Little by little, the present and future helped put away the hurt of the past and gave hope for a life, one as a brother and a Son.

The welcome back lasted all of two days, before the need to take care of business took over again. There was never a time to sit back on their laurels and feel at ease. With so many new charters, the need to stay on top of everything, demanded most of their time. As much as they were independent of the mother charter, it was still JT's responsibility to help each charter make a start and keep them moving forward.

He was once the president of a local motorcycle club, but now, after a few years of promoting and signing up, a dozen charters were established along the west coast and neighbouring states and he was a national president now, one with over a hundred members and more willing to become one.

Bobby showed up two days later, a U-haul trailer carrying his bike and other belongings. He drove down and unloaded his bike and parked it in his designated spot, then unhooked the trailer and the guys helped him push it into the clubhouse. It was unloaded and stacked in a corner out of the way, then the trailer hooked back up to the '60 Chev Impala, Bobby had used to get there.

Clay and Bobby were happy to see each other and shared the memory of his last days before 'Nam. Bobby brought him up to speed on his life and it wasn't hard to find a reason to enjoy a beer and a joint. Wally and him drove back to Reno and dropped the car and trailer off, then Wally and Bobby had a moment to get to know each other better and share some past and a few joints of the latest import from Wally's long time friend who travelled.

Bobby had already found an apartment suitable for his needs, but he stayed at the clubhouse for another week, until the previous tenant left at the end of the month. The house warming party Bobby threw was a precursor to how good Bobby was in the kitchen. He made a sumptuous dinner and dessert, everything cooked from scratch. The guys were amazed by how delicious it was and had to ask how he knew how to cook so well. Bobby said that when you have a Jewish mother like his, one that always worried about him and if he was eating right, you had some peace and quiet when you cooked for her and she approved of how good it was.

Cooked homemade food and baked goods became a staple at the clubhouse and the guys were happy being well fed again. The biggest reason they had to thank Bobby for, was the serious decline in eruptions from Keith's ass. The food Bobby made, seemed to agree with Keith's digestive system well and that was thanks enough for them. Bobby spent the day going through the books in the morning, singing in the afternoon and then cooking up something interesting for everyone. No one questioned whether he contributed enough, as he kept everything square with the house and its money, entertained them daily with music and fed them better than they had since leaving the commune.

That subject had to come up one last time and everyone knew they had to join Clay and let him say goodbye to the farm. Gianni's explanation of why made sense and they rode out, hearts hardened against the hurt of memories ready to take them again to the past. They started at the cemetery and made their way out of town and out to Calaveras. The day was warm and friendly feeling, a calm and peace in the air. The turmoil in their spirits didn't roil up as bad this time, knowing it was the last time.

Clay stood after getting off his bike and saw the carnage of the attack. He was only interested in seeing where Poppy's last moments were and stood looking at the spot in the bathroom by himself. The guys could hear him moving throughout the house, saying goodbye to the moments he made there and letting them become memories like the others had done. He walked back out and JT saw the same look on his face, as he had at his grandfather's funeral. He never questioned it, nor brought attention to it, knowing the fragility of strength and emotion were in conflict. He wanted to do one more thing and everyone agreed they wanted to as well.

The ride along 12th line was met with looks and waves by farmers along the way, watching the club head to Walter's. They pulled down the lane and stopped by the house, getting off and looking around. A familiar mooing was heard, then Tinkerbell made her way around the barn and up to the fence. They went up and jumped the fence and stood with her, getting bumped by her head and nudged to have her neck patted by them. The happiness in her big, brown eyes had their eyes fill with tears for her, seeing and feeling the affection she had for them.

Hank walked up the lane way and came over to them and stood by the fence. The guys said hello and to come join them, but Hank declined and said they were just what she needed to be with. Since coming back, her milk had dropped off and was soured by her return to the farm there and nothing he did could help her get past it. He hoped their visit would help her and get her spirits back up. They looked at Tinkerbell and she was nodding with Hank and they had to laugh, feeling she was agreeing with everything he said.

They spent an hour with Hank, walking around the place with Tinkerbell close behind, seeing where Walter had taken his life, then went in and saw the pictures of Jessie and Golden, then surprisingly, a few of them that they didn't know he had taken. It touched them to think they had become that important to him to join the ranks of loved ones to him. Hank told them Walter was laid to rest with Jessie, farther down 12th line, where the community cemetery was. They all took a moment of silence and prayed that the poor man had found a peace, knowing the guilt he felt that he had caused it to happen.

The time came to say goodbye and Tinkerbell stood with Hank, as they watched the club ride down the lane and down the road. Waves were given until they lost sight, but each heart felt the gentle tug of Tinkerbell, well out of Calaveras.

Coming home was bittersweet to say the least. Clay felt at odds with himself and all about him. So many goodbyes, yet few hellos. The innocence of youth was laid to rest along with everything else, as his heart hardened against the tender heartstrings of youthfulness that were cut. They were all men now, ones who had grown up with hardship and now there was no place for youthful games and thoughts. It was replaced with daily toil and gain and a means to stay alive at any cost.

Clay slid his gun into his cut and packed two extra clips in the slots designed for them. The weight felt good, knowing he was back in control of firepower and a chance to put bullets in people who needed them. His time served, had steeled his soul and made it impenetrable to softer feelings of compassion and caring, his only goal to kill at will. The long months of confinement on base had been hard to endure, the constant need to see death by his hand denied and left him aching to be the Reaper of Death. His cut was that cloak and the gun in his cut was his scythe. He was ready to lay waste to any and all who defied him and his club to live. One envy had never left him though and brewed continually since he left.

Clay had wanted the power of control and had a taste of it in Vietnam. Now that he was back, his ranking had dropped again and he was a follower, not a leader. That tore at the fabric of his being, knowing his place was to lead and he would never be able to have that power. He knew there would never come a time for him to lead, unless he made a time and took the reins of leadership himself. For now, he was content to follow and build himself up in his brother's eyes, so if that day came, they would look to him to be their president. He looked at the one man who had befriended him more than any, knowing the love he felt from him. Despite any deep feelings he might have for JT, they wouldn't stand in his way, if he felt he had a chance to lead.

The monthly run with every charter, introduced Clay to everyone and he wasted no time in trying to establish some authority over them. He was last in line of the original charter, barely above the prospects, a couple of which were coming up to their probation time and a vote to accept them, would put him at the same status as him. Clay wasn't going to accept that rank and the others felt his push. They gave him leeway to adapt into club life again, knowing the Army was still in him and it would take a long time before that left him. Those who had served, remembered what the transition was like, returning to civilian life after serving and the time it took to adapt to being who they were before.

Clay was enjoying the benefits of the outlaw life and all the perks. The loss of Poppy had faded enough, that sexual urges took over again and he began bedding every girl in Lenny's stable. He had three he regularly sought sexual favours from and every time he did, Lenny would hear of the rough abuse he gave them and show the bruises to him. Lenny cautioned him on how he treated them and he complied, but there was nothing in the way of affection from him, it was purely sexual and a sense of control.

The charters were coming along well and holding their own, with little outside interference and the discreet movement of goods and product, gave everyone a good income. Locations were coming in from the mid-west and east of the Mississippi. Bike clubs were a dominant drive for returning vets and radicals who rebelled against authority. More local clubs became swallowed up and patched over to a larger club, in the expansion of power among MC's.

Clay and Lenny were driving into town on the food and booze run, when they saw a fight taking place outside the Hairy Dog. Two men were beating upon a man, but despite the uneven odds, the lone man was holding his own. At first, they were going to drive by and let it play out, until Clay recognized the man and yelled at Lenny to go back. Lenny swung a U turn and stopped in front of the fight.

"I know that guy, Lenny, he just got back from 'Nam."

That was enough for Lenny to jump out with Clay and began breaking up the fight. The two locals saw who was holding them back and calmed down, knowing a harsh beating would result if they challenged them.

Clay helped the guy up to sit and checked him over and saw the wounds to his face were superficial and easily healed.

"What's going on, brother? What's all the fun and games about?"

The man finished spitting blood out of his mouth and looked up. He recognized Clay and smiled, his bloodstained teeth making for a gruesome look.

"Hey, how's it going? Didn't expect to see you again, brother."

"This is my town, the one I said I was coming back to, to be with friends."

"Can't say it's all that fucking friendly, at least from the welcome these two assholes gave me."

"What's the gripe over?"

"Just trying to find a job, you know? Stopped in for a drink and then these two started in on me, because I'm wearing this."

The guy tugged at his army jacket and Clay looked over at Lenny holding the two back. He got up and walked over and without saying a word, drove his fist into the first local's face and then again, into the stunned look of the other one. Lenny held Clay back, surprised with his sudden attack. Clay looked at the two young men, now nursing bloodied mouths themselves.

"Show some respect for guys who serve. They put their lives on the line for this country and deserve to be treated better than that."

The two guys looked at Clay and Lenny and knew both had served tours in Vietnam. Their status in town and the history of violence, had fear struck in them and they stood and listened.

"I see either of you two disrespecting anyone who served, I'm going to personally make you serve so you understand, got it? Now, get the fuck out of here, before I decide I didn't warn you enough."

The two took off running down the street and Clay helped the guy up.

"You alright brother?"

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, thanks for stepping in. I got cold cocked by one of them and then they were all over me. Saved me some unnecessary hurts I didn't need, thanks."

"I remember you from the trip back, Marines, right?"

"Yeah, you were Army, parachuting shit, right?"

"Yeah. Hey, Clay Morrow, this is my buddy Lenny."

"Alex Trager, everyone calls me Tig."

"Nice to meet you Tig. What brings you to Charming?"

"Looking for work, brother. Not finding too many friendly faces willing to hire me."

"Yeah, know how that feels. Say, any good with a wrench and know cars?"

"Yeah, I know a bit about them. Fixed my dad's car all the time, fucker doesn't take care of shit."