Three Tequila's POV
Orlando Steel Brotherhood Clubhouse
Tax time was my least favorite time of the year.
The Orlando Steel Brotherhood Chapter is a 501(c)7 social club for tax purposes. As a non-profit, we didn't have to pay Federal or State taxes as long as we stayed within the lines of our tax classification. Most of the requirements were straightforward; the Club had to be a social club, organized "for pleasure, recreation, and other nonprofitable purchases." Also, "substantially all of the activities" of the club must be for these social purposes. No problem there, since we organized around our love of motorcycles. We organized Club rides, supported local charities, maintained a fully-equipped garage for member's use, and operated a private Club bar. Finally, "no part of the net earnings of the Club may be for the benefit of any private shareholder." Unless the Chapter folded, no individual saw any money in return.
And just because we didn't have to PAY taxes, didn't mean we got out of filing them.
As an incorporated Club, we also were required to have officers and maintain incorporation paperwork with the Florida Secretary of State. Locally, the Club had to transfer its liquor license to the new location, along with the business license that allowed us to operate a kitchen and rent rooms in the Clubhouse to guests from out of town. It had taken us months to work through the system to get everything up and running again, and it wasn't easy.
That didn't mean we didn't have employees. Bartenders, kitchen staff, cleaners, maintenance people, they all had to be paid like any other business. Even our Prospects were paid a salary for the jobs they did. The difference between us and another bar/restaurant was that we were not open to the public. We had to maintain careful records of guests to show we weren't making too much off of them.
This year was more complicated than previous years for two big reasons. The first was that the attack on the Clubhouse last year had cost the club dearly in lost revenue and uninsured losses. Eighty percent of our revenues came from the Club kitchen and bar; remodeling and food trucks had cut into the earnings significantly. The Club stayed afloat with the cash donations that had come from other Chapters and members of the public, plus the cash given by Rori and Chase Nygaard. With the fire losses, funeral expenses, sale of the old Clubhouse property, and purchase of our new Clubhouse, it was a tangled mess for our accountant and lawyer.
The second reason was the Chief of Police in Orlando wanted us gone. He was using every means, legal and political, to try and shut our Club down or force us out of town. We'd had to hire lawyers to keep our licensing after the City Council held public hearings. Health inspectors, compliance checks for liquor laws, OSHA inspectors, fire inspectors... it was constant until we got our lawyers involved and worked the local press. We'd been in the city for decades, and had never been in trouble. Our decision to require prospects to obtain Concealed Weapons Permits had proven wise, as felons and drug users were never welcome. Our charitable work and the publicity from the funeral carried the day, and things were back to normal.
"Done yet," Mongo asked as he came into the office.
"I wish," I said as I looked up from the printouts. "Remind me again why I volunteered to be Club Business Secretary?"
"I think it was the big paycheck," he said as he pulled me up and into a scorching kiss. "That ten dollars an hour will be important when I'm on Social Security."
"Oh, hush. You're not even fifty yet."
He grabbed my ass and pulled me against him just as his cell phone rang. Groaning, he pulled it out and didn't recognize the number. "Mongo," he said.
His face got serious, and he listened for a minute before saying, "All right, we'll be there in an hour," and hanging up.
"What was that?"
"Pack, now, for a couple of days in cool weather," he said as he opened the door for me. "I'll let everyone know something came up."
"What's going on?"
"Not here," he said. "I'll be up in a minute."
We always kept extra clothes in our room at the Clubhouse, since we might spend a few nights a week here. I went up there, packing a suitcase with what I would need. Ten minutes later, a prospect was driving us out of the clubhouse in the back of a cargo van. He made some random turns to ensure no one was following us before he drove us to the airfield.
A small business jet waited for us outside hangar number seven. The pilots pulled the door closed as soon as we got in. The interior had four leather seats surrounding a table; a man sat facing the rear in one of them. The pilot got us settled in, then returned to the cockpit and closed the door. "Good to see you again, Mongo, Three Tequila," he said.
It took a second for me to put it together. "Tom?" He was one of the security guys who had come down with a patrol dog when the Clubhouse got attacked. "What is going on?"
"It's Heather," he said. He must have seen the look of panic because he quickly brought his hands up. "She's safe, for now, but there have been some developments." As the plane took off and climbed to altitude, he filled us in on the past three months. "Heather was staying with Aces and Bunny near Vegas, along with Roadkill, Possum, and Rori's twins. You know she was in a relationship with Greg Barks last year when she was in hiding in Minnesota?"
I nodded and gritted my teeth; he'd had sex with her, something I'd kept hidden from Mongo. Rori had promised she would take care of it, and he was heading out of the country for three months. "Yes, and I didn't like it."
"It's worse than you thought." He told the story of her showing up at the Arrowhead Pack to surprise him; her not knowing he'd moved on to someone else, and him not knowing she was pregnant with twins.
"PREGNANT? I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM," Mongo said as he fisted his hands. I put my hands on his arm, calming him down.
Tom must have known what I was thinking. "We're not going to Minnesota. Chase had her moved, and she is well-protected by people we trust."
"Is it the Sons," I asked. "I thought the Feds wiped them out."
"I wish," he said. He explained what had happened after Heather told Greg she was pregnant, and how Chase's brother Carson was fighting to keep the Council from killing her to keep their secret safe. "You're our backup plan. If Carson loses, the Council will take her and execute her."
I started shaking, and it was Mongo's turn to calm ME down. "That won't happen," he said. "What's the plan?"
"When we land, I will drive you to a rendezvous point in the mountains. If the Enforcers enter Carson's land, Frank and Colletta will escape with her and meet up. We will return to the plane, where you will take her somewhere she can be safe, with someone you trust." I started to say something, and he raised his hand to stop me. "Don't tell me; I don't want to know. When this all comes out, any Werewolf can be commanded to talk. I can't tell them what I don't know."
I was already running through ideas in my head, and I'm sure Mongo was doing the same. "And if Carson wins?"
"Then Heather will be staying with his Pack. They will come out to retrieve you, and I'll meet you in two days to take you back to the plane so you can get home."
