I sighed. "And it was all going so well."
"Well then, how about we toast to Cutter?" Daisy replied, raising her shot.
"To Cutter," Clutch said. "The sweetest an old bastard you’d ever want to ride with."
"To Cutter," we said in unison, clinking our glasses together.
"Speaking of riding," Clutch said. "I hear you’re prospecting with the Dogs."
I nodded. "That’s right."
"You know your ass is grass if any mber sees you out in public without flying the flag," he said.
I frowned in confusion. "The flag?"
"Where’s your cut? And your prospect patch?"
"Dad hasn’t given Huck his cut yet," Daisy said.
"The offer to prospect kinda happened unexpectedly," I said. "For both Booker and , I think."
"Boy," Daisy said. "Word sure travels fast among you little club gossips, doesn’t it?"
"What can I say? The kid’s a big hockey star," Clutch said. "Word gets around, especially when Smiley’s nephew gets kicked out to make room for him."
"What?" I said. "Who’s Smiley? Who got kicked out?"
"I think he’s talking about Hamr," Daisy said.
"The kid I punched?"
"You punched Smiley’s nephew?" Clutch asked. "He left that part out of the story."
"Who the fuck is Smiley?" I asked. I was starting to feel like I was in the middle of a 1940’s screwball cody film.
"Smiley owns a biker bar out in Colorado," Daisy said. "Legendary place for those who know."
"Right," Clutch said. "And Smiley’s got a kid sister nad Lacy, and Lacy’s got a kid nad Scott, ergo, Smiley’s nephew."
I shrugged. "What’s this got to do with ?"
"Booker agreed to make Scott a prospect in return for a favor Hatch owed Sundance, the President of the Primal Howlers’ who happened to owe Smiley a favor. Word on the street is that Booker welched on the agreent and cut Scott loose in order to give you his prospect spot. Now I hear you beat the kid up, which only adds a layer of mystery."
"Don’t be an asshole, honey," Eldie said.
"What?" Clutch protested. "That’s what I heard."
"May I tell him the true story?" Daisy asked.
"Please," I replied.
"Huck ca to a club party where he t Hamr, aka Scott."
"Why’d they call the kid Hamr? He swinging a big ol’ dick between his legs or sothing?" Clutch asked.
"Oh, Jesus," Eldie said, selecting a shot from the table and slamming it down.
"Sorry, my good doctor," Clutch said sarcastically. "Does the patient suffer from an enlargent in the groinal area of the sexual organ region?"
"No," Daisy replied, trying, and failing at stifling a laugh. "When my dad brought Scott on, he warned Hatch that the kid seed okay, but was dumber than a sack of hamrs. Apparently, after working with Scott for a few days, Hatch had concluded that he was ’dumber than a sack with only one hamr in it,’ thus his na."
Clutch chuckled. "Why’d the hell Hatch keep the kid on?"
"Like you said, my dad owes Smiley a favor. He and Hatch were being patient, hoping he could be trained to do sothing useful, but they’d all but run out of steam with the kid by the ti Huck showed up."
"Then what happened?" Eldie asked, now invested in the story.
"I was shooting the shit with Hamr and another prospect, when he started making comnts about what he was going to do with Daisy when he got his hands on her," I said. "That’s when I put my fist on his jaw."
"And Hatch offered you Hamr’s spot."
"I guess so," I said. "That’s about it."
"How co the truth is never as good as the bullshit story?" Clutch lanted.
We spent the next few hours talking about everything from family life to club life. Clutch was funny, disarming, and brutally truthful about what it ans to patch into a club. As Daisy and Eldie locked into their own conversation, Clutch invited to sit with him at the bar, where we could speak privately.
"So things in your club might run a little differently than ours, given that your club has always been legit, while the Burning Saints only recently beca civilians after originally being one percenters," he said. "But then again, not everything is as it seems, you know?"
"I’m not sure I do," I admitted.
"What I’m saying is that before you patch in with the Dogs, you should know what you’re getting into. What kind of life, I an."
"I just love the idea of having a solid bunch of guys to ride with. Brothers who have each other’s backs out on the road."
"mbership is a lot more than that. Lem tell you. A hell of a lot more."
Clutch reminded of a combat veteran as he spoke. There was a mixture of pride and PTSD in his tone and I wondered if I was in fact ready to patch in with the Dogs of Fire, or any club for that matter.
"Our clubs are not that different from one another," Clutch continued. "We’re both doing our best to convince the locals that we’re safe as milk, but we both know that underneath our two percent patches you’ll find the stitches from a torn off one percent patch."
"If you’re warning that club life can get rough, rember I’ve spent my entire life playing hockey."
"They use guns on the ice where you co from?" Clutch’s voice turned deadly serious. "How about hunting knives? I don’t follow hockey. Is the other team allowed to cut the goalie’s throat?"
"I get it," I said.
"You don’t get shit. Biker culture may have gone mainstream, but the life is still the life. In fact, while the public’s been busy streaming pretty boy biker soap operas, so clubs have doubled down. This is no ti for fucking tourists, so if you’re lookin’ for so weekend warriors to ride with, I can hook you up, but the Dogs are my friends, and they don’t need extra attention on their club by so washed up jock."
I nodded. "This is the part where you test my ttle."
"This is the part where I tell you I don’t have to test jack shit. If my president wants your ball sack on a pike all he has to do is give the word. And if I want your sack, I’ll take it, stuff it, mount it on my wall, and ask Minus’s forgiveness later."
"I’m pretty sure Minus doesn’t have that say. Hatch does."
"Yeah, well, Minus is his brother-in-law."
I rose to my feet. "I respect you and the relationship you have with the Dogs, but I’m starting to feel a little disrespected here."
Clutch stood, his face inches from mine. "If you want to take any of my words back, you’re gonna have to make ."
"Lead the way outside and I’ll make sure you can’t say anything for six months," I replied.
We turned for the door only to find our won standing together, behind us, arms crossed, and they did not look amused.
"What the hell are you two doing?" Eldie asked.
"We were just...ah...," Clutch stamred.
"Going out to the parking lot to fight," Eldie finished her husband’s sentence.
"I thought you said you weren’t in the habit of getting into fistfights," Daisy said to .
"But he was the one who—"
"Save it," she snapped.
"I’ve paid the bill. Stay right here and wait for ," Eldie said to Clutch, before both won turned and made their exit.
I dragged my hands down my face. "Nice going, dickwad," I snapped.
"We’re assholes," he replied.
"Yup."
"Anyway," Clutch said, as if nothing had happened. "Rember. Prospecting goes both ways. It’s a ti for the club to see what you’re made of, but it’s also ti for you to figure out who you are, and why you need the club."
I nodded. "I should probably figure out how I’m gonna make this up to Daisy."
"She’s been around bikers her whole life. She’ll be alright. Give her so ti to cool off and tell her you’re sorry. If that doesn’t work, let her give you a free stick to the nuts."
I gave him a chin lift. "Thanks for the advice."
"Hey, you’re alright, jockstrap. Sorry for giving you shit. I get kinda worked up sotis, ya know?"
"We’re cool," I said, walking away.
I passed Eldie on the way out, but she wouldn’t talk to , and by the ti I made it outside, Daisy was gone.
Reviews
All reviews (0)