Chapter 11 #2
“I will. I’ll see you a little after nine tonight.
” She quickly hung up, and after drawing in a deep breath, she let it out in a rush when she realized she’d walked closer to the dumpsters and they smelled foul.
With a laugh at herself, she went back inside, grabbed the apron she’d left on the shelf, along with a fresh receipt pad, a pen, and headed to the dining area to find Mary.
Since it was slow, Mary showed her the ropes and in an hour, Petra forgot all about what Paul might be doing because it was like the flood gates opened and she swore hundreds of hungry people stormed the restaurant.
She later learned that it was their normal late afternoon, early dinner crowd.
*****
Paul went into the house, checked the crockpot, left a couple of lights on, then after he locked up the house, he went out to his shop.
Since arriving to the farm, he had taken two hours a day to drive around to familiarize himself with the area, so he knew exactly where The Last Chance Tavern was located.
He pulled his bike from the shop, shut and locked the doors, then climbed on, and because it was a beautiful late Spring day, he strapped his leather on the back, though Iowa was a no helmet state, he made sure his was strapped onto the back of his bike, because as much as he loved to go without it, he always wore it if he rode after dark regardless of which state he rode in.
He just made sure his bandana was tied a little tighter, then started the bike, and took off down the driveway.
It was a relaxing time with the wind in his face, and by the time he arrived at the bar, he was relaxed, and had a conversation in his head, or at least how he wanted it to go with Warren.
When he arrived at the bar, he noticed there were several vehicles there, but no motorcycles, he pulled off to the side to park, and because he wasn’t sure of the area yet, he brought both his leather and helmet inside.
He found a seat at the bar, and placed the jacket and helmet on the chair beside him.
No one said a word, and when a large man behind the bar approached, he only nodded.
“What do you have on tap?” Paul asked, then placed his order from the choices given. After the beer was brought, the man walked down to the other end of the bar. When those people left a few minutes later, it was only Paul, the bartender, and a middle-aged couple in the corner eating fries.
“Are you new around here?” the bartender asked.
“Sort of,” Paul said with a chuckle then shook his head. “I bought a small farm here several years ago, but I had rented it out. The renters left because they were transferred, and I decided it was time to live in my own home now.”
“Ah, where is this place?”
“The Jenkins’ used to rent it.”
“Ah, I know the place. What’s your name?”
“Paul Rankin,” Paul said as he held out his hand and shook the bartender’s.
“Warren Mott, I own and operate this joint. I’m semi-retired from my job, and I’ll put this out on the table now. I don’t suffer fools, and there will be no shit, whatsoever, in my establishment.”
“I understand. As we speak, my girlfriend is starting her first shift at the diner in town. Sally is her boss.”
“Ah, my sister. She also runs a tight ship.”
“I understand.”
“I also heard you arrived on a bike. There are several clubs in the surrounding towns, but all are welcome as long as no shit happens.”
“I understand.” Paul nodded and sipped his beer, sizing up the man.
He hated sounding like a broken record, but there wasn’t anything else he could say to get his point across that he agreed with what Warren had said.
He nodded once and looked at Warren directly in the eye.
“You said that you’re a cop?” He didn’t react when Warren flinched, but didn’t deny it.
“I am.”
“Maybe we can work together in the future.”
“How so?”
Paul remained silent as the couple in the corner at the tables asked for another round of drinks, and as Warren filled cups with soda, he sipped his beer.
When they were alone at the bar again, Paul pushed the black leather wallet he had pulled from his back pocket.
Neither of them said a word as Warren took it, flipped it open, then stared at Paul in shock.
He handed it back, and once it disappeared into Paul’s back pocket, he just raised his brow at Paul.
“Care to explain?” he asked when Paul remained silent.
“Those badges are real. I’m undercover for both the ATF and DEA. I was on assignment for two years out in Arizona. Myself, along with several other agents, my girlfriend included, infiltrated the Devil’s Scorpions.”
He paused when Warren whistled and schooled his shocked expression. “I saw the arrests on the news, you’re telling me you were part of that?”
“I am, so was my girlfriend.”
They stopped talking when they heard several motorcycles pull up outside, and in minutes they were swamped with thirty men and women entering the bar, demanding drinks.
Paul sat there and watched them, and once they were served, they went over to the pool tables.
The couple in the corner finished eating, and quickly brought their plates to the bar, paid their bill, and left.
“Does that happen often?” Paul asked when Warren asked if he wanted another beer, which he said he did.
“Yeah, this group are the young punks of the Iron Men.”
“Punks, how?”
“Strikers, wannabe’s, hang arounds. They’re trying to make a name for themselves.
” Warren suddenly reached beneath the bar, pulled out a gigantic club and slammed it on the bar, causing Paul to jump.
He saw a movement in the mirror and out of the corner of his eye, and ducked just as a closed fist was aimed at his head.
He twirled on the stool, reached out with both one hand and one foot and the guy who tried to attack him ended up at least ten feet away, sitting on his ass on the floor.
Paul walked over, bent down, took the knife out of this guy’s hand, grabbed him by his shirt collar close to his neck, leaned in and whispered in his ear.
When the kid pissed himself, Paul shoved him away, and went back to finish is beer.
The guy scrambled to his feet and ran out of the door.
Everyone heard a motorcycle roar to life then scream out of the parking lot.
The others who had come with him approached the bar.
“Back off,” Warren said. “You know the rules of my bar. He provoked a fight, and this gentleman defended himself. If any blow back comes to me, or him, your actions will be reported to the officers of Iron Men.” Warren glared at them from his considerable height, which Paul estimated to be at least six foot five inches, and a good two hundred and seventy pounds, then he stood also to face the young punks.
Being almost fifty, he wasn’t that out of shape yet, but these kids didn’t even look old enough to drink, let alone step foot in a bar.
It was a tense few minutes, then one of them stepped forward and only looked at Paul for several seconds before turning on his heel and going back to the pool table. Both Paul and Warren stood there for several moments, before they both released a breath.
“What the hell did you say to the kid?” Warren asked after he refilled Paul’s beer.
Paul grinned, then motioned for Warren to come closer. When the other man leaned down, Paul whispered what he said, and Warren stared at him in shock, then threw his head back and laughed. He made a quick decision.
“Will you be home on Sunday?”
“I will, why?”
“I’d like to come out and talk to you.”
“What time?”
“Eleven?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I’ll call Sally to see if your girlfriend can have that day off, and I know she takes Sunday’s off.”
“It won’t get Petra in trouble?”
“No, it’s good to know that we finally have people in our corner.
I’d like to meet your girl, then I would feel better that Sally has backup if and when needed.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Mary, but I think she would be one of those gals that would run screaming from a fight, or cower beneath a table and whimper.
I mean no offense, but you know the type from the movies, the one that won’t shut the hell up when shit goes down. ”
Paul laughed and felt several pairs of eyes on him, and sipped his beer. He had a feeling he and Warren would become good friends in the very near future.