CHAPTER 13: OUR TOWN, THEIR RULES

TELLER RESIDENCE, CHARMING

JT was in a deep sleep when he began hearing a loud thumping sound, then realized that someone was knocking heavily on his front door even though it was only five in the morning. He immediately grabbed his Glock pistol before silently making his way down the stairs. He made sure the safety was off and was about to yell a warning to whoever at the door when his uninvited visitors called out first.

"John Teller, this is the FBI! Open this fucking door! This is the FBI! Don't fuck with us!" JT had no intention of fleeing, but he glanced back toward the kitchen he saw the sihoulettes or a group of armed federal agents gathered on the back porch ready to greet him if he chose to exit the house that way.

JT felt the rage course through his veins as he went over to the front door. He and his fellow members of the MC knew the authorities had nothing concrete on them, only rumors. It was highly unlikely that the FBI had a warrant. So now the Bureau was here harassing him already, while they purposely looked the other way as the Weather Underground killed and intimidated veterans all over the country.

"We need a word with you, John Teller!" the voice screamed followed by more banging on the door. Then sirens blared from whatever FBI vehicles were outside "I tell you what, soldier boy. Of course you don't gotta open up, but we'll be here day and night until we get a word with you. I think you'd wear out your welcome among your neighbors rather quickly, don't you think, John Teller? So you going to open this fucking door or what? I'm waiting, soldier boy!"

JT swung the door open and glared at the group of FBI agents standing on his front porch. One of the agents, a butch woman with short hair, kicked over a rocking chair, breaking it. "Oh, I tripped, sorry," she said sarcastically.

The lead agent smirked and scoffed at JT. "I'm Special Agent Mark Tasker. And you must be John Teller, known as JT. Think you're such a big deal that your initials are enough?"

"And what the hell do you want? Cause I've heard plenty about you too, including about your keen interest in bringing the Weathermen responsible for killing my friend to justice and looking into all the threats we veterans have been receiving."

"Is that right, boy?" Agent Tasker said back then chuckled. "You people out here are used to telling tall tales, aren't you? So what have these good, God fearing Charming folk got to say about me? Watch your mouth, though, soldier boy. Cause verbal assault's still assault. Don't you dare disrespect me, boy, cause you're never going to get where I am."

"Just that you'd be better off investigating a major terrorist attack instead of wasting your time giving me a wakeup call at this ungodly hour."

"Oh but I am!" Tasker said. "What else would you call what happened over in Concord the other day? Over a dozen dead in the mall, people afraid to go shopping now."

"First of all, gas is a little too expensive for us to go all the way there to do our shopping. And why ain't you people blaming the Weathermen for their apparent falling out with their Oakland amigos? This after they massacred an even larger number of civilians in Lodi?"

"We know your new crew here was involved, Teller. The Sons of Anarchy kuttes were quite visible on that security camera from that Kay Jewelers in the mall atrium. Some of this new technology can really do wonders, I'm telling you."

JT knew that was a complete bald faced lie because they had purposely not worn their kuttes during the showdown with the Weathermen. It's possible they may have found witnesses who have seen them outside of Charming, which had been the point, but it was not evidence. Most likely, it was all just bullshit. Tasker had heard rumors and taken them to be fact given his hatred of the Sons and whatever came out of Charming. JT couldn't just flat out call him a liar though, at least not in his current situation.

"So somebody makes some motorcycle jackets. How do you know we're not just starting our own line of clothing products? Is entrepreneurship illegal too now in this new America?" If Tasker was going to be a smartass, JT had no problem dealing it right back to him.

"Let me be honest with you, Teller," Tasker said, looking around. "I hate this fucking place you call home. Every goddamn day I spend here, I feel a part of me dying. Yet the higher ups won't let me leave here until all this trouble you and your new biker buddies have stirred up is resolved. Consider this a courtesy call. We're watching you, soldier boy, and your game's going to be up soon."

Tasker ordered his agents to head back to their vehicles. As they drove off, they blared their sirens again, making sure everyone on the street was woken up.

SONS OF ANARCHY CLUBHOUSE, TELLER AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR

Otto Moran was panting as he ran up the stairs to the chapel room and took the only remaining empty seat at the table. JT breathed a visible sigh of relief from the head of the table as he slammed the gavel down and called the meeting to order. "Glad you made it, Otto," JT said. The mood had been tense following Special Agent Tasker's visit to JT, which was on the agenda, and the knowledge that the Mayans would be out for blood. The fact that no communications came from the Mayans worried them. The only assumption was that the Mayans would attack at any time with no warning.

"Sorry I'm late, guys," Otto said, looking at JT and placing a plastic Hoffman's Pharmacy shopping bag on the table. "I had an important meeting with Marco over at Casa Grande." He was referring to Charming's most popular Mexican restaurant, located downtown on 4th Avenue, and its owner, Marco Rodriguez.

"So what do you have for us?" Clay asked, looking at the bag with curiosity, "Allergy season's over, so I know it ain't nothing for me." He laughed at his own joke, and some others followed, though the nervous mood remained.

Otto cleared his throat. "A number of Mexicans from out of town actually went in there on Monday and were asking about this club, whether we owned any properties here, who our members are."

"And they were Mayans? What did Marco and the other guys at Casa Grande tell them?"

"They never claimed to be Mayans, and may merely be street thugs allied with them but they were talking about how the food in Casa Grande's not authentic enough compared to what they can get in Oakland, not knowing their waiter took some college level Spanish. They then insisted on speaking in Spanish to Marco himself thinking Marco's one of them. They must have assumed our local Mexican restaurant's the natural place to start, plus I'm pretty sure their taste buds aren't used to Harvey's."

"No better man than Marco," Piney said, "He's one of us, been in Charming over 10 years. Anyone who even thinks about fucking with him will answer to the club."

Otto untied the plastic bag and took out a video, walking it over to the TV and VCR player mounted on the clubhouse wall. "Marco gave us the footage from the surveillance cameras. Yeah, some of it's a bit grainy, but I can make out their faces pretty good. Unser might be able to confirm if they're patched Mayans or if they just paid a few random Mexicans to come out here from Oakland."

"We should make a copy of this and get it to Unser." Clay said in that gruff tone that he often had, looking at JT for the nod of approval. "Maybe he can use his connections in the Bay Area to shed some light on who these bastards are. Once we do, we'll teach them a lesson about coming over here to our town like a bunch of slimy cowards trying to sow discord between our club and our partners in the community."

"What did Marco tell them about us?" JT asked. He knew Marco was a friend of the club and that his loyalties lay with his adopted hometown, but was concerned that he may have placed himself in danger if he claimed to know too little. The menu at Casa Grande clearly stated it had been serving the Charming community since 1960 so Marco would have to be knowledgeable about things around here.

"He said that we were pretty secretive and didn't know where this clubhouse is, just that they see us around town a lot," Otto told them, "He did say that we're suspected of owning Charming Auto, though he's not entirely sure about that. That's everything."

"Good thinking," JT said. Charming Auto was a major competitor to the Tellers' garage and was known for its unscrupulous dealings with customers. JT didn't feel guilty at all about that place being bait. "I want us to be on alert for anything that happens there. I'm also going to talk to Wayne, see if they can have some more plainclothes cops around that area. We know they're going to strike us soon."

Head nodded around the table.

"And now our next order of business," JT said. "A few nights ago, a Special Agent Tasker paid me a visit at my home, make it quite clear to me that he suspects us of being involved in the Sunvalley Mall showdown. I don't know where he's getting that info from or if he's just bluffing, it's something I need to talk to Wayne about too."

"We do know of Tasker," Clay said darkly, "He was assigned to investigate the Lodi bombing and did everything to try to end the investigation without any arrests. With the Weathermen also one of the parties in Concord -heck I reckon they can't explain away Comrade Jimmy's body lying on top of the parking garage – he's also been assigned to this case too."

"They got nothing on us," Lenny said. "I know how those Feds work. They're full of bullshit, always fucking with people's minds so that we get paranoid, turn on one another, maybe start snitching to them. That's just their style."

"You're right, if they had anything evenly remotely concrete, they woulda dragged me out of the house in handcuffs. But we should definitely watch out for him. He could cause a lot of trouble for us, especially when things start heating up with the Mayans."

MAYANS CLUBHOUSE, PLAZA MAYA MEXICAN RESTAURANT, OAKLAND

While jubilant probably wasn't the best way to describe the mood among them, the Oakland charter's spirits were higher than they had been for almost three weeks after Frisco, Benito, and Alejandro had returned from Los Angeles with the news that the national leadership had given them the green light to go to war against the Mayans. The three of them embraced their brothers by the strip club stage then walked over into the restaurant portion of the property, going into the private dining room where they held this particular meeting.

Frisco took his place at the President's seat and poured himself a potent glass of Don Julio tequila and started passing it around the table, just as prospects brought out buckets of Negra Modelo and Dos Equis beer and large plates filled with sizzling Caribbean-style fish tacos, huevos rancheros and enchiladas verdes topped with Mexican chorizo sausage. Benito did the honors of reciting a Catholic blessing and they began eating and got down to business. "Salud, to our club, and to the deaths of John Teller and his friends."

Frisco gulped down his tequila. "Jorge, Oscar, any problems from la policia?" Oscar, one of the prospects, was Alejandro's younger step-brother.

"Our connections in the Oakland PD took care of things," Jorge replied, "They had more cops than the ones who usually check on us, but we were given the heads up and they didn't find anything."

"They were more nervous than us," Oscar said with an arrogant smirk on his face as he took a long swig of his Modelo beer. "Our people in the neighborhood kept an eye on them." The Oakland police knew the Mayans would never surrender without a deadly fight, and that the surrounding neighborhoods were very hostile to them. Many also knew that if a barrio resident accused them of wrongdoing, chances are an Oakland jury would side against the police regardless of the facts.

"And the FBI, the state troopers, the highway patrol weren't there?"

"No, jefe," Jorge said, "Only Oakland PD. But how did they even suspect us? We didn't wear our kuttes to Concord."

"The Sons have their own police friends. Wayne Unser was the man who caused the accident, Jorge. He's a Charming cop. He'll certainly be on our list of targets," Frisco said, "Even though I haven't decided if we should just kill him or use him as a source for information."

"We have enough information, I believe," Alejandro said, with Benito nodding in agreement.

"I want to kill him for what he did to me," Jorge said, his eyes filled with hatred. "I want him to look into my eyes as I pull the trigger. I can't remember the last time somebody fucked with me the way Wayne Unser did!"

"I've also found some additional stuff about the Sons of Anarchy," Benito added. "Keeping that fucking pig alive isn't necessary."

"What have you and the men you sent to Charming found?" Frisco inquired the men gathered in front of him.

"Our friends from MH-11 went to Charming like we discussed. The Mexicans there were more than happy to help them. Brown pride, you know," Jorge said. MH-11, officially Mara Hondurana, was a street gang formed by illegal Honduran immigrants in a Section 8 housing project on Oakland's 11th Street, hence its name. "We know that Charming Auto, one of the biggest dealerships there, which also sells motorcycles, is owned by the Sons of Anarchy. Now that we know about Wayne Unser, we can easily go back and find out information about him too."

"I've also obtained additional information about the other members," Benito said, "Remember the calls Alejandro and I made when we stopped in Lost Hills? We hit the jackpot on that, like the Americans would say."

"Tell me about it." Frisco motioned for a prospect to bring him another bottle of tequila from the bar.

"We have detailed information on one of the Sons. I and them actually have some mutual acquaintances from prison," Benito explained. "Some of them hate these Sons already, others just need some money and drugs to be convinced to help us. The Son we know is Lenny Janowitz, who served time in Coalinga before being transferred to Stockton. We even have his address. He lives with another Sons member named Otto Moran."

"Excellente, hermanos," Frisco said with excitement. "We will attack all of these places at once. We will force their president to surrender, and then we will kill him."

"But Frisco, how will this look for us to not hold a meet with John Teller and his men, even if our intentions are already set and its just for show? The unspoken rules among MCs…"

"I stopped caring about the rules the moment they killed Juan! Did they announce they were even going to war with us before they shot my brother?" Frisco almost yelled. "And besides," he said with a sly smile, "Nobody needs to know. The national office and our friends will believe what we tell them."

Jorge gave his suggestions to his fellow Mayans. "Maybe attacking them all at once isn't the smartest move. Within the same day or two days, si, but it is best to keep them guessing. It will keep the club distracted, and more likely for Lenny and Otto to be at home. When they realize they are at war, they will try to spread out instead of being in one place that they think we will attack."

"I agree, Frisco," Benito said, "We don't know where their clubhouse is, but they don't know that. Once their friends come under attack, they will grow even more paranoid."

"Okay, get yourselves ready and alert our friends in MH-11. We are going to Charming."

CHARMING POLICE DEPARTMENT

Unser left JT sitting by the fountain in the city park in between city hall and the police department and went into the building, going straight into Chief Hancock's office.

"Anything from the club?" Hancock asked.

"The Mayans have been snooping around town, asking about them. They were in Casa Grande the other day. I do think some shit's gonna go down here pretty soon."

"Do they know about you?" the chief asked pointedly.

"I really don't know," Unser replied, "Guess we'll have to find out."

"Look, this mess is getting out of control. I know Tasker's a dickhead with how he handled the Lodi bombing, but what the Sons did was a complete overreaction, and God knows how many people in this town are gonna have to pay the price. I came out here precisely to get away from all that bullshit."

"Look, I know how you feel, Chief. None of us saw it coming, I know, but that ship has sailed. Blaming me or the club won't get us anywhere. Right now, we need to focus on the situation we have on our hands and think about how to best handle it."

"Wayne, I know I'm still considered new here, and all the Sons are from here their entire lives except for that one Irish fellow but I will not tolerate Charming turning into Oakland. If the club causes any trouble, I will hold you personally responsible."

"The club didn't bring this trouble on themselves, we both know that!" Unser said back, "They were the ones under attack to begin with! The Weathermen attacked us right here in Charming at the VFW post. They did what they had to do to protect themselves."

"So what did John Teller tell you when the two of you met just now?"

"The Mayans are coming for sure. The only reason they even know this is through undisclosed sources."

"Jesus Christ!"

"These random Mexicans from out of town have been at Casa Grande asking around about the Sons, and Marco gave them some disinformation. But some of the other intel the Mayans have, the ones they got from elsewhere, are quite accurate. I definitely think we should step up the police presence around Teller's garage, but also around the neighborhood Otto Moran lives in and Charming Auto. A couple eyes and ears in Casa Grande wouldn't hurt too. Too bad we don't got nobody on the force who speaks Spanish."

"I thought you all trust Marco, and he obviously knows Spanish and can translate."

"Yes, chief, but he can't be everywhere at once. He has an entire restaurant to run, and any Mayans might grow suspicious if he's constantly around. These people are lifelong criminals, even back when they lived in Mexico. it would be a good idea for you to use your connections in Oakland and their police files on the known major players in the Mayans MC."

"Don't they have dozens upon dozens of associates they can call upon to avoid suspicions. I'm sure they're mindful of their own members' criminal records."

"Yes, that's true," replied Unser, "The Mayans are allied with several illegal alien gangs, but they'll at least do part of this themselves. Remember their charter president's brother was killed. This payback's going to be personal."

SWAMP FOX TAVERN, DOWNTOWN CHARMING

Clay paid for the latest round of drinks and took advantage of the $6 domestic beer buckets, taking it back toward the end of the long bar where JT and Piney sat eating the typical pub grub of burgers and seasoned fries. Otto and Wally were shooting a game of pool with some other bar patrons while Keith and Thomas played darts. It was a typical weekend night out in Charming for the Sons, no indication that war was brewing on the horizon.

"Clay, you think it's really smart for us to be out like this, like nothing's out of the ordinary?" JT asked his friend as the final song in the jukebox stretch, a newer one by Charlie Daniels, finished playing.

"Of course," Clay said, "This is our home, JT. I ain't letting some fucking wetbacks push me around in my own fucking town. They don't even know where our clubhouse is. I'm sure Lenny's just real excited staying behind." JT had ordered that at least one member and two prospects be on the premises of the clubhouse at all times until the matter with the Mayans was resolved.

"We don't know how much they know about us."

"Look, we have a source in that club. They can't say the same about us, because you know why? We're a brotherhood. This club's like family. Something tells me those Mayan sons of bitches are really about the money and power. That's why we're better than them."

"That may be the case," JT said, "But they have other sources they can rely on. The thing about a small town like ours and most people knowing us is this. Most of the time it's a good thing, like with Marco for instance. We stick up for our own. But it also means that people who hate us also know where we live, where we work, who's in our family.

"Plus Lenny, Thomas, Wally, all the time they've spent in prison and knowing all those shady characters, we really don't know," Piney added. "Remember what happened in Vietnam with the Tet Offensive. I learned to never assume anything about the enemy."

"You know, guys, with all this talk of war, have any of you considered reaching out to the Mayans?"

"Reaching out? We all know they're already planning to come after us. Even some of the details regarding that!" Clay exclaimed with a perplexed expression on his face.

"But they think we're totally in the dark," JT pointed out. "Maybe explain our situation, maybe come to an understanding with them."

"And what kind of understanding might that be? Intentional or not, we killed Frisco Martinez's brother. Truth is, we probably killed more Mayans than there are members of our entire club. To them, proportional payback really would be killing every member of this club."

"I agree with Clay here, JT," said Piney, "Even if they're more reasonable, they would still demand that you surrender yourself to be killed. It'll most likely be a much slower death than what Derek Lawson suffered when the commies used that poisonous snake on him."

"What? Are you sure?" they suddenly heard the bartender exclaim. She was talking to several of her friends who went there regularly. There was more commotion.

"You heard about that too?" another man asked, putting down his Pabst Blue Ribbon can.

"What, did something happen?" JT asked.

"They're saying there's been a shooting in Eastborough somewhere on Falcon Drive! And someone set fire to Charming Auto and gunshots were also reported there too. The entire block's in flames according to what they're saying. Looks like Chicago two years ago."

Piney looked at JT with a look of resignation, while Clay's expression was one of steely resolve.

Clay spoke first. "So much for our little discussion there. It's already started."