Once Upon a Reaper

Fe Fi Fo Fum

"Someone's gotta do it," Bobby said as he looked around the Redwood.

Chapel had been tense with the sword hanging over each of their heads. The club needed a miracle, but the chances of survival were slim with the job that was on the table. The solo job that had the chance of saving the Original, but also the risk of losing several limbs or worse.

"Are we sure it has to be a one-man show?" Jax asked, his brows furrowed. Tig nodded from across the carved wood.

"Yeah," Tig said. "Our tip-off was clear:  the only way we get in and get the stash is if it's one person. The Niners already know that the Sons are in a tight spot. They'll be looking for even a pair of brothers."

"We want to get that cash," Happy said. "Someone has to slip in and out," he noted. Several nods ticked as the officers thought about the proposal.

"I got it," Juice said, his jaw jutting as he leaned forward on the table. Clay scoffed slightly, his disdain for the younger brother rarely hidden.

"Think you can keep it together?" Clay asked, doubt clear. Juice looked at the older man steadily as he nodded once.

"I'll get the stash," Juice vowed. "And they won't even know what hit them," he continued.

While his brothers looked at him with varying levels of approval and concern, Clay evaluated him carefully. His head cocked to the side before he raised the gavel and rapped it once. Jax's lips firmed as he looked down; Juice had just as much likelihood of succeeding as any of them.

Almost none, that was.

"Alright," Clay said after a second. "We wrap up. Juice has some shit to handle and we still need to figure out a good way to move some product. Even with the lifeline, the club has to see more green crossing that doorway."

The officers all stood, slipping out of the Chapel and into the bar area. Juice was the first to leave, his steps determined and long. Clay had never given him any kind of respect - not really, anyway. And that had to fucking end. This job was Juice's chance to finally get his President to take his boots off his nuts.

Striding across the bar and toward the stairs, Juice's back was straight. Jax and Ope watched him as he went, each thinking much the same thing. Juice was doing this for the club, but he was also doing it to prove something to Clay.

"There any way we can help him?" Opie asked quietly, his eyes concerned as his brother's feet disappeared up the stairwell.

"None," Jax answered on a huff. "All our intel was basically the same, Ope. We only got a few nuggets of information as it was. It was practically a miracle, getting what we did," he stated.

"Isn't that the problem, though?" Opie asked, facing his best friend. Jax's lips twisted and Opie saw the agreement in his eyes. Neither one of them liked that the information about the cash the Niners were storing had come so cloak and dagger. It left both with an uneasy feeling.

"Quit being fucking women," Clay said, coming up to the two with his cigar lit. "A brother says he's got it; then he's got it," he said. Jax and Ope exchanged a look, but neither said anything to Clay. They just wandered to the bar, both wondering if they'd seen the last of Juice.

--

"Cameras, gear, guns, knives, ammo," Juice said softly, his eyes sweeping over all of the materials he'd brought with him. He'd taken the van, knowing that the Niners would be on the lookout for a rider.

He glanced up at the cameras he'd set, noting that there were two men covering the front door to the nondescript building. Whereas the Sons tended to put their shit in warehouses that were off the beaten path, the Niners had gone more upscale. They'd rented a property in the center of town that looked like every other grey, multi-level office building. If Juice didn't happen to know that the third floor held nearly three-quarters of a million dollars and at least half a dozen crates of weapons, he'd have passed by the building.