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I looked at Grannie with loss.
She looked at me sadly. "Well, what's your last drink going to be, Prospect?"
I felt a lump in my throat that I choked back. "Scotch."
She set the tumbler down hard and began pouring. Amber liquid gurgled out of the bottle, splashing deeply into the glass. Her expression never changed. She scooted the glass towards me. "I'm sorry, Jimmy."
I grabbed up the glass and took a huge gulp. What the fuck had happened? What did I do? Where did I go wrong? Did Tequila rat me out that I wasn't busting my balls on only the second day of getting the chop shop going? Had Donna? What am I going to do? I stalked back into the left hall and into the first room – the same room I had been chained down. I slammed the door. I felt the wet in my eyes that threatened.
I squeezed my hand on the heavy chain bolted to the wall by the bathroom. The chain had bound me firmly as captive months ago. Its weight was an accusation to me now as it was then. Worth nothing as a captive, I had embraced my captors when it was found I wasn't some secret government agent. Their bond was something I so desperately desired in my life – much like my bond to my wife.
I had left Keystone, glad to be freed from captivity, but knowing something here had temporarily filled a hole in my soul. I needed that and I came back asking for a job. Their welcome had been a salve on the oozing wound of my sanity. They had given me like a gift the very thing I needed: inclusion.
Always the odd one out, never having friends, never part of a clique or group, I had been a loner until I met Kristy. And she had been a loner, too. Immediately we knew we were meant for each other. That was how drastic the depth of need was to be something, someone.
I squeezed harder on the chain. Jesus? Any insight? Any... thing? I listened for a voice but heard nothing. I felt Him there, though, hidden somewhere in my heart or mind – I couldn't tell. I felt like I was being watched. Watched over, even.
Whatever happens to me, I will move on and be a stronger person. And I felt better for feeling it. But at the same time, the weight of disappointment at the sudden change in the club towards me made me angry.
I went into the bathroom and slammed the door. I peed into the ultra-clean toilet. All this work, for nothing? Was I out of a job? Being kicked out of the trailer?
I opened the door to the bathroom and picked up my Scotch. I sat on the damned table they had tied me to and considered the wrist bindings. They were lying precisely where they had rested after they had been removed. I fingered one, wondering if I could go back what I might have done differently.
But I could come up with nothing. I was who I was. I squeezed the glass and finished off half of it. Fire burned down my throat. I sighed. "Fuck it." I slid off the table and went out.
~ ~ ~
I was sitting sullenly, unresponsive and on my second Scotch. I was sitting on the damned loveseat sitting right over the spot I had fought Gripper in view of the whole club. I might have landed a few hits, but I had been beat down.
The clubhouse was filling.
Sonar poked his head out a few times. The mood looked somber.
The room quieted and I saw boots in front of me. Dealer's voice was loud. "You've drank enough. Get that fucking vest off."
I was a prospect in these last seconds. I'd leave knowing I had been one. At least I could claim that. At least outside of this club, I could think back to when I had worn it and... almost been. I set my tumbler down and stood. I removed the vest with leaden arms.
Sonar ripped it from my hand in the silence.
Dealer hit me square in the chest and I sat down hard on the loveseat - so hard it rocked backward. "Wear that, Stiff."
Voices erupted around me, laughing.
I was confused. My hand clutched my chest where he had hit me and something else. Why did he call me stiff?
The laughter prodded at me.
I looked at what was in my hand, and unfolded it. It was a vest. Emblazoned on a nametag was the name "Stiff." I looked up at Dealer, slow to comprehend.
The bastard was grinning. So was Sonar. So was everyone else.
I turned the vest around and gawked stupidly at the three patches. The top one said Iron Crows. Beneath that was the black crow detailed in silver. Beneath that was the bottom rocker that said Keystone. I blinked.
Dealer boomed out, "Stand up, Stiff."
Everyone in the room laughed.
"Put it on and greet your brothers."
I sat there, stupefied, maybe even a little drunk. That's when I felt two things. Fuck it all. I felt the wet on my cheeks and the smile threatening to split my face in two.
Dealer growled, "Let's help him up..."
I was lifted to my feet and felt several backslaps. I gasped, "Me?"
Sonar said, "You earned it."
I half sobbed and half giggled. Chills were all up and down the skin on my body as I slipped the vest on.
Gunner stabbed his cigar at me. "You did a bang-up job of cleaning toilets, but you never want to wash your colors."
Dealer stuck his hand out. "Welcome to the Iron Crows, Stiff."
I started laughing, turning red. "Stiff?" I shook his hand.
He laughed with me, but it was subdued. "Yeah, you earned that, too. Wear it with pride."
Sonar called out. "We have some business to attend. Congratulations to our new member can wait. Firehose has gone missing. The sheriff talked to his wife and she hasn't seen him either. His Harley was found on its side in the street."
Mutters sped through the people in the room.
I felt like I was going to bust open and gush tears, blood and pride. But I kept it in check and listened.
Kristy came up to my side, beaming. She kissed my lips. "Congratulations. They look great on you."
Sonar called off names, separating us into groups. I was to ride with Twenty, Ghost, and Flats. Our group was to go first. Others would follow and also be on call if we found anything.
Dealer said, "Find the Surenos. Beat the living shit out of them. They need to know we won't just let them roll in without a fight."
I picked up my tumbler of Scotch and handed it to Grannie. "I'll be back for that."
She winked at me.
Kristy tugged at me at the door. "Be careful."
I kissed her quickly. "Don't worry about me. I'll be back." I was the first of the group out the door, but I knew I'd be riding in back. No big deal; the fact I was wearing colors had me lit up like a Christmas tree inside.
I thumbed the starter and waited.
The other three were out just seconds after me and they mounted. Twenty twirled his finger up in the air as the other two started their bikes. He made a forward motion and we took off.
I swear, the wind felt alive in my beard. Even dulled by a little too much Scotch, I felt alive as never before.
Twenty took us along the main streets at the outskirts. Our heads swiveled this way and that, checking side streets. It wasn't until we started checking the center streets that our search paid off. I snatched my phone and thumbed, then held it to my ear. "Surenos, Keystone Café."
Two low-rider cars were parked a couple of doors down, but the gang members were leaning against the wall outside the café. They heard the rumble of engines. They straightened, looking. There were eight of them. Seeing only four Harleys, they began strutting.
Twenty twisted his throttle and shot forward.