Page 51 of Cannon

“You can sit the fuck still. Your president disrespected me in front of you and Fury. If he can do that, he can apologize in front of people, just as easily.” Jamie is not backing down, and she sure as hell is taking no prisoners.

Pres sits and lets one minute roll into two. I can see he is angry, but I don’t know whether it’s with Jamie or himself. Honestly, Jamie is right and I hope he sees that. Admitting he’s wrong isn’t always one of his strong points, and I’m holding my breath to see which way he’s going to jump.

“I apologize. You're right. I disrespected you and should have known better. No excuses. I apologize unreservedly.”

Taking a breath, it sounds uncommonly loud in the quiet room, and I look at Jamie.

“Apology accepted. I’m not sorry for calling you a prick at that moment.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” Pres tells her.

“Likewise,” she responds.

“Okay. Let’s call a truce on that chapter in our lives, shall we? What did you want Jamie for today?” Hopefully, now we can move on and find out what Pres wants.

“Tanner called me first thing and said they will release Bandit’s body to us. Like most of us, he left instructions as to how and what to do with him in the event of his death. He wants a cremation and his ashes scattered in the compound.”

“You’re not thinking of…” I don’t get to finish my sentence.

“Stop thinking with your dick, Cannon. I’m not suggesting we use the pet crem. I spoke to Mr. Bentley at the funeral home and already made the arrangements with him.” Pres shakes his head as though he’s explaining something to a child. “I want to ask Jamie to say a few words at the service. I’ll be saying something, but most of what any of the brothers can say will be from their service days, and as much as I’m proud of you all for that, I’d like him to be remembered for more than his service to his country.”

“I’m sure I can put a small eulogy together to honor a man who saved my life and was like a brother to me. When do you want to do it?” Jamie asks Pres.

“Tomorrow. I’ll be asking the prospects to watch the clubhouse while we’re at the funeral home. We’ll have Bandit taken straight to the home today, and we’ll use an empty casket for the procession from here to there.” Pres looks to have it all figured out.

“Jamie. On the subject of how Stephan got his hands on Bandit. It was a doctor at the rehab center who sold him out. They knew where he was, but Stephan paid a doctor to sign the papers to release him to them. They had him drugged and just walked him out in a wheelchair.” Pres nods as though this is the end of it.

“Which doctor? I’ll have them…” Jamie starts to say.

“No need. When Grazer came for Stephan's men, I personally made sure he took the good doctor with him. Bandit wasn’t his first ill treatment of a patient, but he was his last.” Pres has that look of finality about him that says it was the doctor’s last anything, including breath.

“I didn’t know Grazer had been for the men in the shed,” I say out loud.

“No surprise there, Cannon. You’ve had other things on your mind recently. I wasn’t going to risk distracting you with run-of-the-mill club shit. Maybe now you’ve knocked your old lady up, we can all get some peace around here?” He laughs out loud at his comment.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up if I were you. He doesn’t have a lot of choice when it comes to our conjugal rights, and now I’m going to be hormonal, it can only go downhill for the rest of you.” Barbara gives Pres an outrageous wink that makes him groan and Jamie nod in agreement.

Chapter 32

*~* Cannon *~*

We’ve all been up since before dawn ensuring everything that should have been done has been done, and in spectacular fashion. The prospects took it upon themselves to give every bike, SUV, and my truck a final wash and polish. They must have been at it most of the night. There isn’t a paint surface or chrome part that isn’t gleaming. Every brother had prepared their own vehicle, but the extra attention from the prospects is greatly appreciated.

Mr. Bentley needed Bandit’s body to prepare it for cremation, so we have an empty coffin for the funeral procession itself. Pres figured that Bandit had been in limbo long enough, with the investigation, autopsy, and suchlike, without dragging it out while the funeral home did its thing, too. It’s unusual, I suppose, but only we in the procession know this is an empty casket, so it’s all good.

We all have black polished boots, a black shirt, and jeans. Naturally, everyone has their cut and we wear it with pride as we prepare to leave the compound. I lead off with the casket, and the sight and sound of the procession are fantastic. Bandit would be embarrassed by all this fuss, but it’s the least we can do for a brother.

As we head through town, the streets are surprisingly busy, but everyone stops and pays their respects at the roadside. Well, virtually everyone. There is always one who sees this as their chance to jump a queue or get ahead by a few seconds.

As we approach our first junction, I don’t get time to slow as a police cruiser and two police bikes appear in front of me, lights flashing. Tanner waves me to follow from the cruiser, and we get a clear run right to the crematorium. It is quite an emotional sight, seeing so many of the townspeople stop, remove their hats, and dip their heads in respect.

Everyone waits outside as we carry the casket inside and place it out of sight. Once that’s done, everyone is allowed to pay their last respects to our brother, comrade-in-arms, and our friend. The service is brief, the eulogies are read, and then we all watch as our friend takes his final journey.

Once we’re all back at the clubhouse, the mood is somber. The women got together and arranged food for everyone, and it’s all laid out looking delicious, but no one appears to be hungry. A few have drinks, but all-in-all it’s a pretty dismal gathering. I’m just wondering what to do to get everyone back on track when music blares out from the back of the room.

Another one bites the dust by Queen is thundering out from somewhere, and then Jamie walks onto the floor in the middle of us. “Bandit left a playlist of songs with his last wishes that he wanted for his ‘afterlife party’. In his letter he said you’d all be miserable fuckers and wouldn’t know what to do with yourselves. His actual words were, ‘Tell them to get their heads out of their asses and have a fuckin’ good time.’ I suggest you honor your brother's wishes, because I for one know that he will make your lives a misery, one way or another, if you don’t.”

Everyone looks at each other and then makes a dash for the bar. I just keep hold of my bottle of water and watch the crush. The song ends, and the next begins, Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t worry, be happy. This sets the tone for the day as more and more outrageous songs keep flowing.