As the crowd diminished and members either left or wandered into the shop, Toad and I were left in the office with a few other lingering members.
“You’re looking good. Look like you’ve slept since I saw you last,” I said.
Toad cleared his throat. “I tell you what, I don’t think I slept good on even one night for the two weeks before the trial. Bet I lost ten pounds. It’s all good now, and other than Jack being a little skittish just coming out of prison and all, he’s a damned good guy. I thought Corn Dog was bad when he got out, but Jack’s pretty damned nervous about people getting up close to him or walking behind him.”
“Yeah, probably the difference between being in state prison and a maximum security fed joint. I’m gonna guess him being a 1%er and all, he probably had quite a few people who tried to challenge his willingness to stand up against them,” I said.
Toad nodded his head. “So far, he hasn’t offered to talk about it much, and Sydney and I decided not to ask, so I’m not sure. He seems pretty quiet, really. Sydney’s sure happy to have him back, that’s for sure.”
I nodded my head, thinking about the day Sydney ran out to my bike at the bank. When she asked me to take her to Biscuit’s house, making the statement devil looks after his own, I knew something was up, I just didn’t know what. Later, when I found out the bank had been robbed, and Toad had single handedly apprehended the robber, I knew she was somehow involved with the robbery. Her reluctance to provide any information on the robbery, Toad, or anything to do with the person who robbed the bank caused me to immediately develop a feeling of appreciation for her and her ability to keep her mouth shut.
The explanation that followed of her brother and his involvement with Hell’s Fury explained a lot about her knowledge of clubs, club procedures, and the importance of not talking before thinking long and hard about whether or not it was necessary. Sydney, no different than Avery, was a great addition to my extended family.
“I’m glad he’s back. It’s good for her, that’s for sure. I’m sure he’ll make as good of a brother for us as he has for her,” I said.
The sound of a bike pulling into the lot echoed through the shop and into the office. I wondered as the tone of the exhaust increased if it might be Jack.
“Imagine so. Well, that sounds like my Softail, maybe we ought to walk out to the shop and greet him. He’s liable to smack the shit out of someone if they bump into him,” Toad said as he tilted his head to the side.
As we walked out into the shop, I immediately noticed Jack sitting on Toad’s Softail in the drive. In boots, jeans, and a wife beater, he sure looked the part. Roughly the size of Toad from the waist down, it was apparent he wasn’t naturally a big man, and all of his size came from hard work on the weight bench.
And size was something he did not lack. As he recognized Toad, he stood from the bike and stretched his back. His slim torso made his already massive upper body appear to be twice the size it already was. His short blonde hair and tan from all of the time he’d spent on the yard at prison made him look like the meathead Pete had joked about. If I didn’t know him, I’d certainly think twice about going one round in the ring with him, and I’d fight just about anyone.
“Well, Jackson. We voted,” Axton said as he stepped into the drive.
Jack stood stone faced and waited for Axton to finish his thought.
Axton spread his arms wide. “Welcome to the Sinners.”
Jack grinned as he embraced Axton. After a few slaps on the back, Axton and Jack separated, and Jack took a few steps in our direction, stopping a few feet from where Toad and I stood.
“Come into the office in a few and I’ll get you fitted for a cut. I make my own, so it’ll be tomorrow before it’s done. The fellas all spoke, and it looks like they want to call you Big Jack. We’ve got a few; Jack and Government Jack, but don’t have a Big Jack. Your thoughts?” Axton asked.
“Big Jack sounds good,” Jack nodded.
“Well, you’re a big fucker, that’s for sure. Now, when you get done mingling with the fellas, I’ll be in the office. One of these two can show you around,” Axton said as he turned toward the shop.
“Got a question, boss,” Jack said.
Axton turned around and crossed his arms over his chest. As he stood and studied Jack, he flexed his biceps. A small show of testosterone, and one of Axton’s signature poses, it was obvious Axton needed Jack to know regardless of his size, just who it was that was the bigger man.
“What might that be?” Axton asked flatly.
“Who put the money on my books?” Jack asked.
“The club,” Axton responded without any emotion.
As Axton turned around, Jack cleared his throat.
“Who put the money on my books?” Jack asked again, placing emphasis on the word who.
Axton turned around and shook his head.
“Semantics,” Axton said. “His name’s Biscuit. Big barrel-chested fucker with brown hair and a beard. He’ll be the one telling some bullshit story in the shop. Just listen for the loudest voice, and look for the crowd. Why?”
“Appreciate what the club’s done for me, boss, I really do. And I appreciate the money on my books, much fucking more than the Fury did for me, that’s for Goddamned sure. But someone had to take the time to send it. You know, take the risk of being on the Fed’s radar for sending money to me. Just wanted to thank him, that’s all,” Jack explained.
“Introduce him to Biscuit,” Axton said as he turned around.
“I’m Otis, we met in the courtroom,” I said as I extended my hand.
“Heard plenty about you from Syd and Toad here. They say you’re good people. If you’re good with them, you’re good with me,” he responded as he shook my hand.
“Likewise,” I nodded.
“Follow me? I’ll introduce you to Biscuit,” I said.
Jack nodded his head.
I turned around and slowly walked inside, making certain to choose my path wisely, and trying to avoid all of the large groups of men who were gathered talking. As we walked into the shop, most of the men stopped what they were doing or talking about, and took a second glance at Jack. There wasn’t much that would typically intimidate a Sinner, but if there was, Jack just might be it. As the men gawked at his sheer size and obvious attitude, I walked up to Biscuit. As Axton hinted, he was in the corner of the shop with five of the fellas who stood eagerly listening to a story he was telling.
“Biscuit,” I said as we walked up to the group.
“What’ shakin’ O?” Biscuit said as he stopped talking and turned away from the group.
I raised my chin slightly and tilted my head toward Jack. “Man wanted to talk to ya.”
Biscuit studied Jack for a second, and stepped to the side of the group. Biscuit was as full of shit as a Christmas turkey, but intimidating him would take an army of men, not one.
“What can I help ya with?” Biscuit asked as he looked up and down Jack’s frame.
“Heard you were the one who put the money on my books,” Jack said.
Biscuit shook his head and glanced down at Jack’s boots. “Money came from the club.”
“Heard you were the one who sent me the money. The money the club raised for me. You were the one who put it on my books,” Jack said flatly.
Biscuit shifted his gaze to mine, then toward Toad, and quickly shifted his eyes to meet Jack’s. “You got the right fella. Is there a problem?”
“Just wanted to personally thank ya for sending it. I appreciate ya. If you ever need anything, just let me know. Name’s Jack. Big Jack,” Jack said as he extended his hand.
Biscuit grinned and shook his hand. “Biscuit. Stick around and have a beer.”
Jack crossed his arms in front of his chest and nodded his head once. “I’ll be back. Just got to see the boss about my cut.”
“I’ll be right here,” Biscuit said as he leaned forward and immediately began talking.
“He good people?” Jack aske
d as we turned to walk away.
“One of the few I’ll run with,” I responded. “Biscuit, Slice - the President, and Toad here, that’s about it.”
Jack nodded his head in acknowledgement as the three of us walked toward the office. As we stepped through the door, Axton held a cut up in the air and studied it.
“This is an extra-large, try it,” he said as he handed the cut to Jack.
“Everything’s American made as far as the leather goes, and I sew it all myself. Sometimes the patches look shaky, but I embroider the name’s myself,” Axton explained as Jack tried on the cut.
“Fits perfect,” Jack said.
Axton nodded his head in agreement. “Looks good.”
‘Sew ‘em up yourself, huh?” Jack asked as he removed the cut.
Axton nodded his head as he reached for the cut. “Can’t think of doing it any other way.”
“Says a lot about your pride in being the boss of the club, that’s for damned sure. Can’t ever go wrong with American made, either,” Jack said.
“We’ll agree on that, and I appreciate it. I take a lot of pride in this club, my brothers, and the quality of members. No worries about some ATF wannabe fucking with you in here,” Axton bragged.
“We’ll see about that,” Jack growled. “Far as I’m concerned, I’ll stick close to the three of you and that Biscuit fella. I’m not here to swap stories, make friends, or learn how to be a bad-ass. Nobody’d believe my stories, I’ll never have many friends, and I ain’t met a man yet who’s big or mean enough to whip me,” he paused and glanced toward me.
“Except maybe this big fucker here,” he said as he slapped his hand against my back.
Axton crossed his arms in front of his chest and grinned as he alternated glances between us. “Some fellas are lovers and some are fighters. Toad? He’s a little of both. Otis? He doesn’t know a damned thing about loving, but fighting? He could probably write a best-selling book on the subject.”
“Good to know,” Jack said.
“Have the cut ready tomorrow night,” Axton said.
Jack shifted his gaze to meet mine and tilted his head toward the door. “Appreciate it, feel naked without one. We’ll leave you to your business.”
After we walked through the door and into the shop, Jack turned to face me. “Any chance you two and that Biscuit fella want to get a little riding in? It’s been a bit since I spent any time on a bike, and I’m itching to get out on the road.”
I shrugged my shoulders as I glanced at Toad. “I’m game,”
“Same,” Toad responded. “Head to town and get a beer?”
“As long as we’re headed to Avery’s old joint, I’m sure Biscuit’ll agree,” I said with a laugh.
“Why’s that?” Toad asked.
“New girl in there. Tall, thin, and kind of a dirty blonde named Kat. Cute little bitch. She’s Biscuit’s new bitch,” I said.
Toad shook his head as we walked toward the group of men gathered around Biscuit.
“When you gonna find you an Ol’ Lady?” Toad asked over his shoulder.
I shrugged my shoulders. “You heard the man. I’ll leave the loving up to you and Slice. I’m not a lover, I’m a fighter.”
And, as much as I wanted to embrace the statement, and had truly come to believe it was where I’d remain, I had my reservations as to whether or not it was where I belonged.
OTIS
The forty-minute ride in the hot summer air made each of us more than ready for a cold drink by the time we rolled into the bar. The atmosphere wasn’t much different than the night Biscuit and I met Kat; with the exception of us, four patrons, a waitress, and a bartender were all that occupied the establishment. Kat not working was a minor setback as far as Biscuit was concerned, but in my eyes it allowed us to get to know Jack without any distractions.
“Otis tells me you been fucking some college girl who works here. What the hell’s wrong with you, Biscuit?” Toad asked as we sat down in the booth.
Biscuit ran his hand through his hair as he shook his head. “Shit brother, ain’t a damned thing wrong with me, wait ‘till you see her. I think you’ll agree Biscuit’s doin’ pretty damned good with this one, college girl or not. We’ve been fuckin’ like a couple of Catholic rabbits. That girl’s got the sexual drive of a three-peckered billy goat.”
“She is cute as fuck,” I agreed.
“Right now, I think I’d fuck anyone who agreed to hold still long enough for me to poke ‘em,” Jack said. “And that’d be about ten seconds worth, it’s been quite a stretch for me.”
Biscuit leaned into the table and rubbed his beard with his hand as he turned toward Jack. “I bet you’re hornier than a fourteen-year-old boy who just found daddy’s Playboy collection.”
“Pretty damned close,” Jack said.
“Kitchen closes in twenty minutes if you want food. If not, the bar’s open till two. Want to see a menu?” the waitress asked.
“What? Just get some beers?” Biscuit asked.
“Budweiser. I don’t want Toad trying to order beers. We’ll end up with some pale ale orange apple cider bullshit,” I said jokingly.
The thirty-something year old waitress was attractive, but looked like she probably had a houseful of kids and a husband at home. The diamond ring on her finger could have been a gimmick, but the depression that had developed in the skin on her finger came from wearing it for many years if it was.
“Four Bud’s?” she asked.
“Make it twelve. We’ll go through the first four in about a minute,” Biscuit responded.
She titled her head to the side playfully and turned toward Biscuit. “I’ll bring eight and as soon as you set your empties at the side of the table, I’ll bring four more. You don’t want to drink hot beers, do you?”
“Smart girl right there,” Biscuit said as he tossed his head in her direction, “Make it eight.”
“Be right back,” she said as she turned away.
Biscuit glanced around the group and eventually shifted his gaze upward as he rubbed his beard. It appeared he was thinking of which story he wanted to grace us with. As he searched through his memory for something to reveal to the group, Jack broke the silence.
“So you fellas take any long rides? Go to Sturgis?” Jack asked.
I shook my head. “Don’t go to Sturgis, but we make some pretty good runs. Austin for the ROT Rally, and down to Phoenix for the Arizona Bike Week. Some of the fellas go down to Daytona, but it’s a long ride and still winter here when that fucker pops off.”
“No Sturgis, huh?” Jack chuckled.
“Sturgis has become a trailer-fest. Every swinging dick in the country drags his bike there on a trailer and then rides the fucker around town for a few days. Some of the fellas head up there alone, but we don’t make a club run,” Toad responded.
Jack nodded his head and grinned as the waitress dropped off the beers. After he nervously grabbed the first beer, we all reached for a bottle.
“Never cared for that Rally myself; bunch of amateurs,” Jack said as he held his beer elevated over the center of the table.
Each of us grabbed a beer, opened it, and raised them for the obvious toast Jack intended. As our bottles clanked together, Jack spoke.
“Here’s to being free, riding hard, and sleeping on a soft bed,” Jack said.
After drinking half his bottle of beer in one gulp, he raised his bottle again. We immediately followed and waited for his next bit of wisdom.
“And here’s to Slice’s Ol’ Lady Avery. Without her, I’d still be eating Star Crunch and drinking cold instant coffee in my cell,” he said as he tilted his bottle into ours.
“Damned fine woman right there,” Biscuit said as he lowered his bottle to the table.
I gazed toward the bathroom entrance blankly as Citizen Cope’s Sideways began to play over the sound system. As I mentally faded away for a moment and became engrossed in the words of the music, I realized I was seated in a position which made me sli
ghtly uncomfortable. Naturally, I always tried to position myself facing the entrance of any bar I was seated in. If not, I generally stood by the door, and felt as if I was guarding the fellas from any potential harm or threat who might choose to enter. Having my back to the door made me nervous. Toad’s PTSD made him far more skittish than I was, and he always demanded he never be seated with his back facing the door. Tonight, Jack and Toad sat facing the door with Biscuit and I facing the restrooms in the rear of the bar. Although I felt a little uneasy, I realized having Jack’s back to the door probably wasn’t an option considering his just having been released from prison. As I tried to comprehend what Jack had been through for the many years he was locked up in prison, Biscuit’s elevated tone brought me back to a conscious state of mind.
“So, we were supposed to leave to go to the ROT Rally in about a week. There was this cute little Asian bitch working at this Thai place, and at the time, I hadn’t fucked me an Asian yet. So I’d been goin’ in there and bein’ sweet on this little bitch.” Biscuit paused and took a drink of his beer.
He rested his forearms on the table, leaned almost to the center, and widened his eyes. “So she’s a little fucker ‘bout four foot nothin’ and has these little titties that look big because she’s so damned tiny. Had an ass about the size of a Jonathan apple, but on them skinny little legs and against that eighteen-inch waist it looked like Kim fucking Kardashian’s ass. So anyway, we’re a week out, and I head in there to get me some Asian pussy before the run.”
“So I get in there, and she ain’t my waitress, this other cute little chick is. But that ain’t what this is about. So I order my food and get that spicy peanut chicken shit they sell. You guys eat Thai food?” he asked with wide eyes.
“Had some,” Toad nodded.
I shook my head.
Jack shook his head and laughed. “Don’t fuck with the stuff.”
“Well, lemme tell ya, it ain’t spicy, it’s fucking hot. So anyway, I order this shit, and after a bit, a big plate of it shows up. Now I’m about half pissed this little Vietnamese princess ain’t working, so I gobble this shit down. Now I’m waitin’ on my check, and my gut starts making them noises. You know them noises when you know something’s gonna happen and it ain’t gonna be good?”