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I decide to just walk the property first, just to get a lay of the land. I wander the living quarters, finding probably ten bedrooms, some locked and others wide open, beds made and tidy, like hotel rooms awaiting guests. I hear sexual escapades behind several doors and find myself shocked that this is going on so early in the morning.
Maybe I’m just naïve. I mean, I never spent much time wandering my dad’s club headquarters at all, mainly because he forbade it. I have more freedom here, as a prisoner, than I had there. Of course, I also wasn’t there that much. I would occasionally visit with him, usually for formal functions—honoring someone’s retirement, funeral send-offs, holidays. I always had to stay where he could see me, even after I turned eighteen.
My dad had a house a couple of miles from the club, where we lived together. He never let me move in with my mom, something she’s still pissed about. We were very close growing up, and when they divorced she assumed I’d live with her. He deemed it unsafe and told her if she tried to fight him for custody, he’d have her living on the street.
So, she learned to live with only visitation, every other weekend and every Wednesday. Her house is at the very edge of Dad’s club’s territory, as far away as she could get and still have his financial support and protection.
As I got into my late teens, he let me have marginally more freedom, mainly by way of not requiring someone’s old lady to babysit me when he was at the club. Those were the nights I’d sneak out, or invite younger members of the Blazing Pistons brotherhood over to make out. I never went far with them, and I think they were afraid of the consequences if they pushed the boss’s daughter too far.
I guess I’m just not that worldly. But I know one thing: I never felt an ounce of the attraction for those guys that I feel for Grisham. And I think he feels that way about me, so I can’t understand why he keeps depriving us both of what seems inevitable.
As I wander outside, I get a few looks. No one says much to me, other than polite greetings. My guess is that Grisham put out the word that if anyone touches me, they’ll be in deep shit. By the looks of his bruised knuckles, I get the impression he’s not a man to fuck with.
I find the pool easily, and while it looks mighty inviting on this hot August day, I keep walking until I find the garage. I’ve been a sucker for bikes since I could walk.
A guy in a wife beater, club kutte, and greasy jeans, looks up from a bike as I approach, the gravel crunching under my feet giving me away. I raise a hand awkwardly.
“Hi, I’m Tanzie,” I say.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” he says, looking back down at the bike.
“Word travels fast, I guess?”
He grunts a laugh. “When your boss has a girl on her knees on the front steps, you don’t often forget who that girl is. Or who she belongs to.”
I frown. “I don’t belong to ...”
“To Grisham? Sure, you do. You think he puts on shows like that for just anyone? He showed all of us, and those Blazing Pistons fuckers, just whose girl you are. You’re not just club property; you’re his property.”
“So is that why all the guys are being so polite this morning?” I ask.
“Polite? Sure. They don’t want their teeth knocked down their throats. And girls like you make them nervous.”
“Girls like me?” My nose wrinkles. “What’s that mean?”
“Girls who look like you do. No makeup, hair natural, normal clothes instead of stilettos and dresses up their asses. You’re a natural beauty and you have no idea. Guys are intimidated by that.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I saw a few of those ... women ... and they were quite beautiful. The guys seemed pretty into them.”
“Hookers, you mean? Well, they get paid to look beautiful and fulfill a desire. You’re just ... here. And it’s unsettling. Even more so when you’re protected by the boss. He don’t let women into his life. Ever.”
Hmmm. Interesting. I find a stool and hop up on it, watching him as he works. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Tony,” he says. “Mechanic and garage supervisor. Make sure all the bikes run smoothly.”
“How long have you worked here?”
He purses his lips, thinking. His face is kind of wrinkly and the facial expression makes me think of a bulldog.
“Well, I started here when Grisham started the club, so like five years, I guess. But I was with him in another club earlier. I knew his old man.”
“Oh, his father was in a club, too?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmmm,” he confirms. “Killed in a turf battle when the kid was a teenager. Good guy.”
“His mother?” I ask.
“Died of cancer a few years later,” he says. “Why you so interested in Grisham’ life story all of a sudden?”
“He doesn’t say much,” I say, biting my nails. “He’s hard to read.”
“Guarded, yes,” Tony confirms. “Been through a lot. Built this club up from nothing. Hard to hang onto power, even when you’ve earned it.”
“What about his daughter?” I ask.
“We don’t talk about his daughter. She ain’t part of this, and he wants to keep it that way,” he says tersely.
“Like you guys left Drew’s daughter out of things?” I ask.
“Can’t speak for the decisions of others,” he says. “You don’t seem harmed.”
“I suppose not,” I say.
He goes back to his work, the chatterbox closed for business for the day.
*
