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I rode home with Kristy hugging me on the Harley. The comforting rumble did little to settle my thoughts. While learning some new things, I found my wife's reaction promising something other than a warm welcome.
In the trailer, she asked, "What did Tequila mean? Are you still doing things with Donna?"
I blew out a breath. I figured she wasn't going to understand now if she hadn't understood before. Donna was a prospect like me. But she was also more like us than Tequila. Ostracized by her own husband and called names for wanting to be a biker, Donna was going through the same kind of social solitude that had brought Kristy and me into the Iron Crows.
I didn't answer her question. Why should I? She hadn't said anything about Ghost. I said instead, "What's going on with you and Ghost?"
"What do you mean?"
I coughed, throwing out my hands. "Do you think I'm blind? Sitting on his lap, arms around his neck, shirt undone. Giggles and gasps behind closed doors—"
"He's just a friend." She was pouting.
"And so is Donna."
There was heat in her voice. "Why her? She's ugly. Why not Tequila? Tequila's nice."
"And so is Donna."
"Why do you keep talking about her?"
I gave her both raised eyebrows. "Stop asking about her and I will."
She crossed her arms and scowled. "I don't want you doing anything with Donna. If you have to do something, do it with Tequila."
"And what about Ghost? How come you've told me nothing?"
Her answer was to spin around and stomp to the bedroom.
I went after her. "No answer, huh? You tell me the strict rules but you get to do whatever you want?"
She was crying. "You wanted me to fit in."
Anger building, I shouted, "I wanted us to fit in. Us!"
"I feel like I'm worth something to them—"
That kind of argument hit home with me, too. But... "Does that mean you have to pull trains for whoever wants some pussy?"
Her face turned red, but not with anger. "How do I be nice? Bake them cookies?"
"That might be better than dropping naked for every guy in there."
She launched at me, pounding both fists together on my chest. "You like it. Why the sudden anger now?"
She was right, of course. Brutally, totally right. I sighed, wondering what I was bothered about.
Her voice was strangled, "What do you want, Jimmy Butcher?"
Unfortunately, that was not the best way to address me; she knew I hated being called Jimmy. I couldn't answer her; my temper was flaming. I couldn't - wouldn't - hit her, either. I spun and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
~ ~ ~
I rode at the back of the pack with Donna and the other hang arounds. Behind me were Slicer, Pulverizer, Slaughter, and Meatgrinder. Behind them came the vans and trucks. Some were for bikes that might break down. Some carried food, drinks, and others carried the event gear and prizes.
With nothing resolved from our argument, this ride back down into the city almost felt like a regression of fortune. Returning to the loneliness, the destitution, and the hopelessness of city-life – or what it had been for us. Kristy, gripping me on the Harley, radiated distance.
What might have been a very comforting growl and vibration of dozens of Harleys instead became the grind of doom. At least, that's how my thoughts were playing out. But even my morose maunderings eventually gave way to pleasure at the ride.
Tight up front, Big Pizza and Dealer rode together. Behind trailed almost twenty Iron Crows. Us prospects and hang arounds brought up the rear, except at the back where Sonar and Smiley acted as trailing road captains. When we switched lanes, the signal was passed back and Sonar and Smiley changed first. Then the front of the line changed, followed on down the line by the rest of us. I could feel the sinuous link between us all and wondered if I could ever school myself to react as fast as those up front did.
Though I felt elated at the ride and had overcome my reservations about where Kristy and I were headed as a couple, I felt a filth descend on me as we took the offramp into the city. I was back, but it was not home.
~ ~ ~
I pulled up and backed the Harley into a spot next to Firehose on the left and Donna on the right. The lot was across from a decent-looking sports bar I had never seen while living here.
Bandidos were everywhere, talking, laughing, watching. Despite being told we were welcomed, I felt a little tense. Some of these guys dealt in drugs? Most of them looked like us. I remembered my instructions on meeting etiquette and kept my mouth shut.
Kristy disappeared with the other ladies on her own mission of whatever. I stayed close to Twenty like I was told. Donna went with an Iron Crow named Jacks and so did the hang arounds.
The bar across the street was the initial starting point of the poker run. There was an area at the end of the run where we were all to gather: the Veterans of Foreign Wars post. I hadn't seen it yet, but it apparently held what we needed: a nice conference hall, a large parking lot and grounds on which we would be holding our event.
I followed Twenty as he joined Dealer, Sonar and Gripper. Big Pizza blazed a way into the bar with several Iron Crows following. I stayed in the background as Dealer met with several Bandidos well away from the others.
I had expected shifty-looking guys with that prison look, but was met by hard-eyed men in patched vests. They looked comfortable in them and four of the five wore smiles.
The one with the president patch shook hands with Dealer. "Dealer, how ya doin, man?" His gravelly voice, gray beard brushed to perfection, and his long ponytail spoke of a man who had definitely been around. His name patch said Sixgun.
Dealer gripped his hand and shook.
Sixgun's sergeant at arms was named Ditch and he was glaring at me.
Dealer said, "Doing good."
The Bandidos as one swiveled their eyes to me. Muscles tensed.
I swallowed.
Dealer said, "He's all right. He's the one who picked our snitch."
Sixgun's eyes glittered as he looked me up and down, still tense. After a few seconds of silence, he looked back to Dealer. "I know what you're doing. Slick move, but dangerous."
"We'll see."
"The man is a contract hire." He shook his head. "I swear to shit between the DEA, the FBI, the ATF, and the CIA they'd all go to war with themselves with their conflicting missions. The DEA, FBI, and ATF remove the competition and the CIA has a clean playground to move drugs." He spat.
Dealer nodded. "We know it."
The Bandidos chapter president glanced once more at me and then dismissed me. He said, "It's the same contract outfit that tried several months ago with that ridiculous wedding chapel up your way. I guess they really want your little airport to move drugs into the city. Too many eyes at our airport."
I felt cold and hot at the same time. My black Suburban and my only suit – black – had raised all the wrong flags, and my wife and I had been abducted in broad daylight. But it had all led to this. Funny how life works out.
Sixgun said, "Clean it out, again." He dipped fingers into his vest pocket and withdrew a tiny slip of paper. He extended his hand and Dealer took it. "Standard pay."
"We'll get it done."
The Bandidos president hitched his jeans up and grinned. "We have a poker run, don't we?"
All of them turned and headed across the street. I followed, trying to decipher everything I had heard. The anti-drug agencies were trying to clean out the drugs, but another arm of the government wanted to deal them. Drugs for cash. Cash for operations. Apparently nothing is illegal for the CIA?
The bar was packed.
Bikers and citizens held punchcards, and some of the bearded Bandidos and a few Iron Crows held several, all waving them around and laughing. Vests and patches were everywhere, though I did see a prospect I didn't recognize. So a Bandidos prospect was here.
I approached the younger-looking one. We caught each other's eye and I said, "So what were you before becoming a prospect?"
"A rice jockey."
I chuckled. "I was just a citizen."
He gave me an eyebrow. "You're Iron Crows?"
"Yep."
"Ah, I understand we have some Hells Angels participating. I wasn't sure."
"They're here, too?"
The man shrugged. "Bikers like the rest of us out for a fun ride. There's a couple Soldiers for Jesus here, too."
I nodded. I had wanted to ask about drugs, but realized anything I said might make its way back to any of the other clubs. I changed my mind and asked, "Still got your crotch rocket?"
He laughed heartily. "Fuck no. Though I thought it was a sweet ride. Then a couple of the Bandidos started talking to me. Convinced me I should ride with them. Eventually, I figured out my Kawasaki was a bit of a joke. One of them would even throw some rice under my bike and tell me it was leaking."
I laughed. "That's a riot."
"They were nice as all hell and I started hanging around. Sold my rice rocket and got a Harley."
"I drove a Suburban." I rolled my eyes.
The man leaned his head towards me. "I'm sorry."
"I said I drove a Suburban."
He snickered. "Yeah, I heard you the first time."
We both laughed.
Big Pizza waved me down. "Over here, Jimmy."
I gave an upward nod to the other prospect and headed over to the captain. How I hate that name...