| |
I checked my watch as Slaughter rode off. I still had a few hours before having to head to the Triple Shot.
Gripper was coming out as I was coming in. He backed up and let me in, but stayed close. "How did that go?"
"He didn't cause any trouble, did he?"
The enforcer shook his head. "No, he was respectful. Almost felt like a real biker."
"Give them a chance. Give him a chance. He told me Ace went missing. The club is in his hands now."
Gripper flexed his muscles. "We gave him a chance, and he acted well."
I laughed. "Well, there were five of you."
The bouncer shook his head. "Numbers don't matter when it's about honor."
I felt the truth of it stir deep within me. I had helped Flats against the Surenos. Outnumbered, we had fought without fear or hesitation. I said, "You're right."
He winked at me. I thought that was odd, but what did I know of the Iron Crows? I was just a hang-around. He said, "You'll be at the Triple Shot at seven?"
I sighed. "Yeah, I'll be there." Stupid bash for Miguel – a diversion when so much more was occurring around us.
How wrong I was.
~ ~ ~
I finished up my shortened shift at the Daily Dollar. Celia told me the bar was closing for what was happening at the Triple Shot. She had called last call at six. A few of the patrons grumbled, but she told them they could head over to Dean's bar on C Street.
I didn't care much, it was just a function to celebrate Miguel's patching. I didn't care much for Miguel as a person; he seemed as if everything was a bother – not like the other bikers in the club. But I had been asked to go, so I intended to do just that. Maybe I could just sit and shoot the breeze with Gunner or Donna.
Wallet strolled in around six-thirty. He lifted his arms. "I'm early."
Celia rolled her eyes. "It's the Triple Shot, you goof. We're closing here in a half."
His smile didn't falter."Gah, well..." He came over to me. "Nice duds there."
I was wearing one of my new jeans and the new jacket and boots. "Eh. Started getting cold on the bike. Windbreaker wasn't cutting it."
He laughed. "Windbreaker on a Harley? Might as well wear toilet paper. In fact, that might even be warmer."
"No doubt." I sipped at my water. I always drank water when on shift.
"I hear Ace went missing."
"Supposedly. Blue bandana – Surenos, likely."
He grinned at me. "That's what Jefferson thinks."
The sheriff seemed like a no-nonsense man. "Doesn't take a genius..."
He laughed like it was a good joke. He clapped my shoulder. "See you at the Triple."
I watched him go. Free, easy, without a care in the world. I wished I could be like that.
Celia called a little later, "Closing in five."
Grumbles from the three locals did not contradict her; they just complained.
I helped one old regular out – Johnny was his name – and wondered if I would end up like him: Jimmy the drunk, drinking his life away and amounting to nothing but a temporarily warm barstool. Will I die alone? Will my Kristy even be there?
I fingered my keys as Celia closed out the register.
Would I amount to nothing? Was bouncing my career? Would Kristy be there when I got sick? I felt a wave of love for my wife. Despite her occasional fucks with Dealer, she slept in my bed, close, every night. It was me she clung to. Suddenly, I wanted to be at the Triple. I said, "You about done?"
Celia was a nice-looking woman, but lined with the beginning of age. Wife to Ralph the attorney, she worked while he played at being a hang-around. They both did, but she earned money for it. She looked pretty, despite her lines, and I wondered what she had done before this.
I didn't ask immediately.
She locked the door's two locks and I escorted her to her car, as usual. No one was a threat this night in Keystone.
She said, "Thanks." I could tell her heart wasn't in it.
I said, "What did you do before bartending?"
She paused, leaning on the door of her Dodge. "I was a realtor."
"I thought they made good money?"
She looked at me as if I was crazy. "In this economy? I sold three properties my final year."
I didn't know if that was good or not. "Not enough to live on?"
She laughed. "I think I make more in tips than I did as a realtor." She got into her car and slammed the door.
I stood for only a second, looking at her through the glass. I had protected her for months now, believing I knew her. I turned away, viewing her in a new light. Much like me, she had turned away from a career that sounded good but provided nothing. Computers? Nothing. Realty? Nothing, apparently. Was it all really so bad that the only jobs were Walmart and McDonalds? Places that catered to the welfare class?
Those thoughts slipped from my mind as I drank in the cool night air of Keystone. I sat on my Harley and gazed up at the stars in the clear skies overhead. No matter how I viewed the jobs, where I was now was far better than where I was before.
Life was about to throw me a very huge wrench.