Content note: Mentions forced prostitution and human trafficking.
Author notes: Part of the Two Brothers series, exploring the past history of Tig and Kozik's friendship. Thanks to Tanaqui for betaing.
More Than Meets The Eye
By Scribblesinink
"Hey, dude, Mom wants to see you."
On his back under a truck, all Kozik could see of the speaker were a pair of white sneakers and jean cuffs. Lack of visuals didn't stop him from recognizing it was Jax, though. He rolled out from under the truck, squinting up at the kid in the bright sun.
"In the office." Jax gave him a brash grin. "Better not keep her waiting."
Kozik grimaced, clambering to his feet and wiping his hands on an already greasy towel. During his very first week at T-M, he'd learned Gemma wasn't merely Clay's wife; she also ran the garage office with an iron fist. And, as he'd discovered once he'd gotten his Prospect cut, that included the club house for everything not directly club related. She could allocate jobs and work details like a pro football coach, herd mechanics and croweaters alike, and took no shit from anyone. He'd found out, too, that she played favorites when assigning tasks; it'd do him no favors to ignore her and end up on her shit list.
Knocking on the door frame, he poked his head into the office. "Jax says you were lookin' for me?"
Gemma looked up from the work sheets she was sorting. "I did. Could use your help this weekend."
"Sure." Kozik walked further into the office, grateful for the brief respite it offered from the relentless late summer sun that was baking the oil-stained concrete outside. "What'cha need?"
"Someone to do some heavy lifting."
He bunched his muscles to show them off. "Got the right man for that." After he'd gotten clean from the H, time spent hiking the hills with Missy and pumping iron in the club house had quickly put him back in shape. Next, he planned on resurrecting his boxing skills. His right cross had gone weak, and his left hook was practically non-existent these days. Tig had said to ask Chibs for advice. Apparently the Scotsman had boxed back in Ireland, before some kinda drama—which Kozik was still trying to figure out the details for—had made him up sticks for California.
Gemma curled a lip. "Yeah, you're a genuine Rambo." She turned around to root through her purse. "It's charity, so you won't get paid. We do this every year to raise money for the high school." She handed him a sheet of paper. "Address is on there. Be there at eight. Grounds open at noon, and we gotta lot of prep to do to get everyone's booths up and running."
Kozik glanced down at the flyer. "Charming Dairy, Look Like Elvis, Family Egg Toss, Sam Crow Chili...?" He raised his head, unable to keep a smile from twitching his mouth, though he probably shouldn't make fun of a project Gemma seemed to care about. The way her brows drew together at his grin told him he was right, and he struggled to wipe it away.
"It's called Taste of Charming." Gemma jutted out a hip and planted a hand on it. "You got a problem with that?"
"No ma'am." Kozik shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning again. Then his eye caught something else on the flyer, and his amusement melted away for real. "Um... This says here it lasts until ten in the evening. You need me to stick around till then?"
"And afterwards," Gemma confirmed. "Who d'you think is gonna take everything down? The do-good fairies?"
"No, but—," Kozik combed his fingers through his hair, "I got this... uh, thing for the club in the evening." Clay had signed him up for the Saturday run, escorting one of Unser's trucks taking expensive electronics from Hayward to Stockton. Gemma's request placed him for a serious dilemma. He didn't want to end up on Gemma's bad side, but he also needed to stay on Clay's good side. Plus those runs paid good money, and Gemma's charity event didn't. He wasn't as strapped for cash as he had been, but cash in hand still wasn't something he'd turn down for no good reason.
"The thing for Wayne?" At Kozik's blank look, Gemma clarified, "Unser."
"Uh, yeah, it is." Kozik dipped his head to cover his surprise that she knew about it.
Gemma heaved a breath. "Dammit, Clay. Taking all my manpower. Well, okay, I'll ask him to gimme some of the regular mechanics for clean-up. Ope and Jax, too. We'll make sure you and that other kid—," She must be talking about Boots, Kozik's fellow Prospect, "—get done in time to go on this damned run. But—," Whatever sympathy had been in her face disappeared entirely, "I still expect you at 8 am sharp."
He tapped his temple with a two-fingered salute. "Yes, ma'am."
She rolled her eyes. "And don't call me ma'am."
o0o
"Dude, you and Hap and Mouse get to have all the fun." Jax let out an exaggerated sigh. "While I gotta spend the day with my mother." He and Kozik had been set to erecting the booths for Taste of Charming, and he grunted as he helped Kozik push a tent pole upright so they could connect it with the cross bar. "Only for another year, though. Then I'll be Samcro and she can find someone else to boss around."
Kozik made a non-committal noise. Four months as a Prospect wasn't long enough to figure out every single one of the club's unwritten rules, but he doubted there was a force in the universe able to keep Gemma from trying to push people around. And that included Clay, much as the president would protest if anyone said so. Kozik didn't think her son was going to be any match for her, with or without a Reaper on his back. "You gonna patch in?"
"Uh huh. Me and Ope both. Destiny, you know." Jax pointed across the field to where Piney's kid was helping Unser and a couple of deputies install the police department's grill. Kozik couldn't help let out another wry chuckle at the banner: Grilling suspects for forty years. Who the fuck came up with these crazy slogans?
"So, why in another year? You got a ride, ain't you?"
"Clay won't let us patch in until we're eighteen. No highschoolers at the table," Jax mimicked Clay's gruff voice, while rolling his eyes to let Kozik know what he thought about that. In his normal voice he added, "School sucks, anyway."
Kozik snorted a laugh. Hadn't he felt the same way at seventeen? "Stick with it, kid. You never know when you'll need that education."
"That's what everybody says." Jax puffed up his chest. "What good is trig or social science, when all I want is a cut and a Harley, huh?"
"Like I said, you never know." Kozik shook the booth frame, testing its sturdiness, and nodded with satisfaction.
"But—Oh, hey, baby."
Realizing that last bit wasn't meant for him, Kozik looked up. A slim, dark-haired girl had molded herself against Jax, offering up her face for a kiss. Kozik had seen her around the club house a few times, but he didn't think she was one of the club girls.
Jax kissed her, deeply, and then pulled back. "Tara, this is Kozik. Koz, this is Tara." He smiled down at her and added, "My old lady."
"Hi." Tara gave Kozik a reserved nod as she twined her arm through Jax's.
"Hey." Kozik returned the greeting while he bent to grab the corner of the canvas that would cover the booth frame. "Old lady, huh?" He swallowed down the Aren't you two a little young? that was forming itself on his lips. No need to let on how ancient they made him feel, even though he only had about fifteen years or so on them. It seemed like a lifetime.
"Uh huh." Jax nudged Tara toward Kozik. "Show him."
She smiled shyly and turned her back, hitching up her T-shirt far enough for Kozik to see a tattoo peeking over the edge of her jeans. The skin around it was still a little red and puffy.
"It's a crow," Jax explained, unnecessarily. Kozik could see that. "For Samcro."
"Neat."
"All the old ladies got one." Jax grimaced and lowered his voice. "But don't tell my mom. She—."
"Jackson?" Gemma's voice cut across the grounds. Tara let out a nervous chuckle and quickly stuffed her shirt back into her jeans.
Jax groaned. "Damn, I swear she's psychic sometimes." He shrugged. "Gotta go. Boss lady calls." With a jerk of his head at the half-done tent, he asked, "You okay with this?"
"Yup." Kozik waved him off. "Go. Don't keep your mother waiting."
Jax laughed. "Yeah, she might spike my chili with extra pepper or something." He kissed Tara again and then trotted off toward where Gemma was tapping her foot impatiently. Tara remained behind. Kozik glanced at her, and she gave him a half-shrug.
"Gemma doesn't like me very much."
Kozik grinned. "Not many people she likes, I think." Clay's wife was a very formidable woman, but not an easy one to deal with.
Tara hiccuped a quick laugh of her own and gestured at the canvas. "Need some help with that?"
"Nah, I'm good." He was almost done, anyway.
"Oh, okay." She hesitated another moment, before she wandered off, looking lost enough to make him feel sorry for turning her down. He watched her go, her Old Lady tattoo hidden under her shirt. He hoped she wasn't gonna regret it.
Without thinking about it, his hand touched the name etched into his own neck. He hadn't been much older than Tara and Jax when he'd hooked up with Jenn and believed what they had was true love that would last forever. Getting the tat in his neck had hurt like hell, if not nearly as much as discovering a few years later that he'd meant far less to her than she had to him.
Shaking his head, locking the thoughts of his cheating ex away in the deeper recesses of his mind, Kozik turned back to finishing the booth before Gemma called him over to set him yet another task.
o0o
Gemma kept Kozik busy and on his toes the whole day. After he'd finished putting up the stalls, she had him lug heavy boxes, roll in and connect the gas cylinder for the chili stove, set up folding chairs and rickety tables, and run and fetch anything else she needed. He barely had a spare minute to even grab himself something to eat from the food available at the fair.
At last, the time came for him to head for the club house. He didn't waste a second's thought, fleeing the charity grounds as quickly as he could. Even so, he was the last to arrive for the pre-run brief.
"Sorry," he muttered to the men already gathered in the chapel as he trotted inside and shut the doors. "Gemma, you know."
Clay uttered a soft grunt and unfolded a map on the redwood table. "Ok, boys, this is the plan."
They gathered around: Mouse, who'd gotten his nickname after Tig'd told him to "stop trippin' about like a goddamn rodent"; Boots, ten years Kozik's junior; and Happy, in charge of their merry little band.
Mouse, Boots and Kozik leaned over the map, but Happy remained standing a bit off to the side. Probably didn't need to look. Since Kozik's knowledge of the area wasn't as extensive as Happy's, and he couldn't afford to fuck this up, he was gonna pay close attention.
"Pickup's in Hayward." Clay jabbed a finger to point out the town. "You're meeting the truck at Unser's yard, here in Charming, and you're to follow it from there." Hap grunted something and Clay shot him a smirk. "Yeah, doubt anyone would wanna mess with an empty truck, but Unser asked for it, so there you have it." He tapped the map again. "Wait for them to load the goods, then on to Stockton for delivery. Unser says to take Route 4, not the 205."
Kozik estimated the distances and travel times, and added waiting time while the truck was loaded. Run shouldn't take more than five, six hours, even if they took the smaller road the chief had suggested.
"Why?" Mouse asked, frowning at the map.
"Less mileage. Less visibility," Happy grunted.
"Highway's a lot faster." Mouse wasn't about to concede the point. "I'd say—." Both Hap and Clay fixed Mouse with a stare. Several inches shorter than either of them, he seemed to shrink even further and snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked. Kozik clenched his teeth as not to grin.
"You have any idea how many trucks get hijacked along the interstate every year?" Clay's tone was deceptively mild.
Mouse colored. "Um, no. But—."
"Then shut your fuckin' trap." Done with the argument, Clay turned to the rest of them. "Any more questions? No? Good." He folded the map and held it out to Happy. Hap sneered and walked off without taking it. Clay chuckled and shoved the map at Kozik instead. "Ya never know."
Stuffing the folded map inside his cut, Kozik scurried after the others.
Thirty minutes later, they were riding west on 580, just ahead of a truck whose driver had blinked at their appearance and grumbled he didn't need no damn escort. Happy had ignored the man, as he did anything he had no patience for, and simply told him what route he wanted the truck to take, then waited for the driver to nod resignedly and put his rig in gear. At a nod and a grunt from Hap, they'd settled into rolling in tight formation: Hap in the lead, Mouse off to Hap's right and half a bike behind, Kozik and Boots following side by side.
Miracle was rumbling contentedly under Kozik, eating up the miles as she faithfully carried him toward Hayward. She might not be as sleek as Happy's spanking-new Dyna Super Glide, but she was his and she was serving him well enough. With a few more runs like this, he could seriously start thinking about a Dyna of his own, but Kozik doubted he'd give Miracle up any time soon. He'd poured too much of his soul into her restoration to trade her in so easily for a newer model.
He glanced to the side, watching the passing landscape through his night goggles. It was a good night for riding: the sky was clear, stars glittered above them and the moon was a fat half-disk. A soft breeze coming in from the west carried the smell of something blooming in the dark. Kozik didn't even care that they had to putter along at the same pace as a lumbering truck doing the speed limit rather than going full out; he was enjoying the ride far too much to let the lack of pace get on his nerves.
They reached Hayward in just under an uneventful hour. At the town line, they shifted places, allowing the truck to lead after the driver said he knew exactly how to get to the warehouse. Pulling up to a gate in a man-high chainlink fence surrounding an industrial complex, the driver lowered his window and stuck his head out. "You guys wait out here. Don't wanna make people nervous with you lot around."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Mouse puffed himself up, ready to be offended. Happy held up a hand to silence his objections and waved an acknowledgement to the driver. Then he back-walked his bike to the curb across the street, killed the engine and waiting for Kozik and the others to follow his example.
"Why—?" Mouse began again as the noise of the engines faded.
"Don't you get it?" Kozik mentally added a you moron. Mouse was always rubbing him the wrong way, and from the murderous glare Kozik got in return, the feeling was mutual. "They don't want us to see what they're loading."
Made sense, too. A late load on a Saturday evening wouldn't be entirely legit. Kozik had been around long enough to work out the club's income came from an odd mixture of legal and not-so-legal activities. And Chief Unser wasn't a by-the-book kinda cop, either. Best for everyone if the club knew as little as possible about what they were escorting.
Straddling his bike, Kozik lit up a cigarette and tilted his head back. The night was cool, but not unpleasantly so, and he didn't mind being outside. From where they sat, they could hear male voices shouting commands and the whine of machinery. Otherwise, everything was quiet, except for the occasional car passing by, most of the drivers speeding up a fraction as they caught sight of the four men sitting on their bikes.
"Hey, Hap? How's Mrs L?" Kozik hadn't seen Hap's mom since she'd looked after him ten months before, but he made a point of asking Happy about her once in a while.
Happy glanced over at him. "Good."
"And her car?" Kozik fixed a rattle for her she hadn't wanted to ask her son about, and her recommendation, through Happy, had been partly why Kozik had gotten a job as a mechanic at T-M.
Another glance, markedly less patient this time. "Still runnin'. Now shut up."
Kozik chuckled. Making idle talk wasn't among Happy's strong points.
He took another drag from his cigarette and glanced sideways. Boots had brought a pack of cards and was playing solitaire on the saddle. Kid hadn't said a word all night. At least, not that Kozik had noticed. Then again, one of the nice things about riding was that it offered very little opportunity for chitchat.
Beyond him, Mouse, living up to his nickname, was fidgeting restlessly on his bike, his jitteriness getting on Kozik's nerves and making him anxious in return. He warned himself stay quiet, to not let Mouse get to him, and tried to let the night breeze soothe him.
"Yo! Kozik, go see what's the hold-up." Mouse jerked his head toward the lot as he snapped out the order. "Tell 'em to step it up. We ain't got all night, and I got my eye on one of them new sweetbutts." He rubbed his hands together as if in anticipation.
Kozik tightened his jaw: though the order was reasonable, something in Mouse's tone put his back up. He barely managed to bite back the retort that sprung to his lips, aware Happy was watching them with those dark, unreadable eyes. Something in Happy's expression told Kozik he was very aware Kozik was thinking about smacking Mouse over the head and telling him to go fuck himself, and was waiting to see what Kozik would do.
Taking a deep breath, Kozik swallowed his annoyance and forced himself to calm down. The guys all took turns trying to rile him or Boots up, ordering them around and giving them the shittiest jobs they could think of. Sucked being a Prospect. Not quite as bad as boot camp, but a close second. And dammit, he'd paid his dues.
Mouse was the worst, though, carrying a genuine mean streak a mile wide. He seemed to take particular pleasure in lording his full-patch over the Prospects and letting them know they were considered the lowest of the low on the totem pole. Rationally, Kozik understood the bastard was compensating for his own miserable time, but that didn't mean he liked it any better. Yet he had to suck it up if he ever wanted to get his own top rocker, so he shrugged off his frustration, dropped his cigarette into the pavement and ground it out, and then jogged off, making his way through the still-open gate fencing off the warehouse lot.
He rounded the corner of the building. The truck was parked about thirty yards further on and the driver just climbing back into his cab. He froze for a moment as he saw Kozik. Then he gave a small wave in acknowledgement—on my way—and slammed the door. Reassured, Kozik turned back to warn the others to get ready.
Abruptly, he stopped in his tracks. The truck was facing the wrong way, pointed toward another exit at the far end of the lot. What the hell was guy thinking? If Kozik hadn't come take a peek, they might never have known the truck had left the compound. Was the idiot trying to lose them?
Sprinting back through the gate toward where the bikes were, he waved frantically. "He's going out the other side!"
Mouse looked confused. "What?"
Boots reacted faster. He scooped up his cards and stuffed them into an inner pocket. Happy, of course, had already fired up his engine at the first sign of trouble and was clipping on his goggles. An instant later they rolled off, Kozik catching up as they turned the corner. The truck's tail lights, far, far ahead of them, were barely visible. They opened up their throttles, quickly closing the distance.
As they pulled up behind the truck, Happy waved for Kozik and Boots to hang back while he and Mouse swerved out to pass. Kozik steered to his left, riding as close as he dared to the middle of the road, until he could peer past the truck. Mouse was already out of sight, but Happy was riding in the wrong lane, using hand gestures to ask the driver a wordless "What the fuck?".
In the reflection of the side mirror, Kozik saw the driver shrug and wave an apology. Happy glanced back and, catching sight of Kozik, pointed back at him, indicating he and Boots should stay behind the truck, before speeding up and disappearing from sight.
Even as he did so, the driver shifted gear and the truck's exhaust vomited a cloud of black smoke. Kozik groused under his breath: thanks to that dickhead in front, he and Boots were gonna be inhaling half-processed diesel fumes for the next hour and a half, instead of freely rolling through the clean night.
o0o