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I spent the night there in a proper whore's room with Kristy. We had a bed, a table and chairs, and a fully stocked bathroom. I showered in the morning after she did and came out to an empty room. This was our day to go: to be free.
I wandered out, looking around and hearing voices from various places along the halls. The club apparently used the old whore house for living quarters. I felt at once at home and also alien to a place where I shouldn't be. Aromas of bacon drifted to me and I followed my nose to the kitchen.
Kristy was there and waved brightly to me. Two bikers were in there eating and so were a good half a dozen women eating and sipping coffee.
Grannie said, "Good morning, slugger." She pointed to the coffee machine. "You want some eggs and bacon?"
I hadn't felt hungry until she mentioned it. My stomach growled so loud I thought the building would tumble around me. "Sure, please."
Grannie winked at me and moved to shift things around in pans.
I poured myself a coffee and sat next to my wife. The coffee cup captured my attention. It was simple, solid, and appeared indestructible. It was a thick porcelain thing buff in color that radiated strength. Just like these bikers.
Kristy put her hand on my forearm, but was talking to a lady named Dragon. I slowly discovered that she was something different from the other ladies. She was wearing a vest with labels and patches – just like the men.
Dragon was saying, "It's not hard, really. Sort of the same process any woman would find: you first make friends with the women. Then you prove yourself to the men. It takes twice as long."
I was lost. "Prove?" I butted in.
Dragon was not a pretty woman. She had features that would merely put her above just plain. She was tall with long, light brown hair in a ponytail. Her vest held several event patches, plus her name. She looked to me with hard eyes. "A woman prospect not only has to prove herself to the men, but first and foremost to the women."
I was ignorant. "Why?"
Her expression didn't change. Whatever sensitivity in the woman she might have had was probably burned out long ago. "The old ladies control more than you think. They get jealous, sometimes, and they can stop a club in its tracks over accepting a new woman into its ranks."
I didn't know what to say, so I tried sipping my coffee.
Dragon muttered, "Some women are threats. They can bring drama. But I've seen as much drama from men as women."
I shrugged, then nodded.
She added, "Drama queens are found in both genders."
I couldn't relate. I said, "You didn't see my epic fight yesterday?"
She bit into some bacon. "I was at work, but I got the text message."
Kristy was like a little girl talking to a friend. "Where do you work?"
"I'm a cashier at Dillard's Hardware."
I fought the urge to laugh. She certainly didn't look like any cashier I had ever seen. She wore her denim and had an odd, thin chain wrapped around her wrist. Very goth-like. But her eyes said she didn't accept bullshit, so I kept my mouth shut.
She leaned over towards me across Kristy. "Do you ride?"
I wanted so much at that moment to say I did. Ride my Suburban. Ride my mountain bike I hadn't touched in years. Ride my Big Wheel from when I was a little kid. Ride something; anything. I lowered my head. "Nah, I'm a bit out of shape for that."
She snorted. "That's an excuse."
The tall blonde biker named Viking swarmed close, carrying a plate. He clapped a hand down on my shoulder. "You should ride; there's nothing like it. Ride free with the wind in your hair..." He looked down at my bald pate. "Er, well..."
Dragon laughed. I found the sound uncharacteristic and I had just met her. But whatever her demeanor, she found the comment hilarious. Her teeth had an odd shape, but it was pleasant altogether.
Viking settled next to me. "Well, he could grow out his beard, anyway."
Kristy stroked my goatee. "I think it would look good on him."
I jerked my head back, suddenly self-conscious.
Grannie called out. "Your plate's ready, Jimmy."
I really hated that name. I was Jim, not Jimmy. And I wasn't young – not at thirty. But I rose and retrieved my plate with gratitude that left Grannie smiling. I learned through Kristy that Grannie was Gunner's wife and her real name was Carla. Gunner's name was Tom Roth, though I had never heard that anywhere in the three days of my captivity.
I still wondered in the back of my mind if they were going to let us go. But my sense was that they were. I felt something of honor in the promise and I just didn't foresee any issue with us actually leaving.
Grannie's man came in, Gunner, the chaplain. He sat across from me with a plate and looked at me with a morning-after appraising eye. "How you feel?"
I rubbed my split lip. "Good, considering."
"No, I mean inside."
Ah, so this is spiritual. I grunted happily. "Like I'm floating." It was true.
He winked and said nothing. He ate the eggs on his plate.
Viking said, "You ever ridden?"
I didn't have to glance at Dragon to know she was watching. I said, "No."
"What a shame."
I briefly considered in my mind the efficacy of riding in the rain. "How do you ride in bad weather?"
Viking laughed heartily. "Very carefully."
I shook my head. "So you all ride out on your motorcycles on the ice in one mass of riders and it's all great?"
He laughed, lower. "No. Most of us have cars. We don't necessarily ride on ice. That would be stupid."
I nodded, feeling better that bikers at least had some sense in them. They're all still here, aren't they? Riding can't be that hazardous.
Viking flicked his fork. "Sometimes we ride in bad weather. Just to ride. Depends."
I offered, "To prove something?"
Viking's gaze turned purposely towards me. "Not to prove shit. We know we can. We do it because we can."
That sounded sensible and I nodded.
Gunner reached behind him and then placed his hand forward. My Beretta Nano was under his hand. "This is yours."
I was shocked. Here, in the middle of the clubhouse, I was being given a gun – my gun. I reached out and lifted it. I could tell it was still fully loaded by its weight. "Thanks." I stuffed it into my empty belt holster. I did note that Gunner had a very sharp eye on me. I said, "You trust me?"
"Not really."
"Then why give me my gun back?"
Gunner fetched a cigar from his pocket and twirled it before sticking it in his mouth. His gravelly voice sounded rough. "Because it's yours. And I'm faster than you."
I smirked.
Before I could drop my smirk, a large hole was up in my face – the business end of a .45acp. The old man had moved so fast I couldn't have blinked before he had the gun on me.
I whispered, "Uhh..."
He slowly put the gun away, shifting it back into whatever holster he had at his belt. "Don't make me regret giving you back your piece."
I desperately didn't want to disappoint him. I held up my hands. "I'm easy."
Kristy butted in. "Do your women carry guns?"
Gunner snickered. "Uh...yep."
"I wish I could carry one."
The chaplain frowned. "Who says you can't? You committed a crime or something?"
My wife shook her head emphatically. "No."
"Then why don't you?"
Kristy shrugged, her voice small. "I never thought about it."
Gunner wheezed. "Well, now you have."
I looked around at the cold green walls around me. A throwback from two generations ago, the color reminded me of early kindergarten. Something nostalgic triggered in me and I felt the distinct feeling I was going to miss this simplicity. I wanted to leave an impression. I said to Gunner, "I want you to know, I appreciate what you said to me yesterday."
The old silverback actually blushed. He said, "Sheeeeit...."
"I'm serious. I feel a connection—"
"To God. Never lose it. I didn't do shit for you. You made the connection."
That made no sense. "But—"
"I don't need scalps on my belt. You just go forward and look to God. Pray always."
It sounded so practical that I couldn't argue. "I will."
He winked.
~ ~ ~
My time with the Iron Crows was at an end. I accepted the keys of my Suburban from a silent Sonar.
Dealer said, "We went through your things, but it's all there."
I said the first thing that came to mind, and probably the most inappropriate, considering, "Thank you."
He glanced at my wife and then back to me. He addressed me and only me. "Be safe." He indicated the door.
I walked out into freedom, tingles stinging my back with relief that I was actually free. Once in the Suburban, instinct took over. Key in the ignition, familiar sound of the engine, and the feel of the seat beneath me satisfied me that I was once again in control.
We pulled away from the old whore house without looking back. One street and we were on the main drag of Keystone. I wasn't on it for more than a block before lights in my rearview mirror caused me to look up. A white Durango with black and blue police markings was flashing at us. I pulled over with an exasperated sigh. Things were going so good...