Chapter 4
MERRICK
Iwatch my brother walk the women out. He’s going to be pissed. He wanted Symphony here for opening night.
Marietta is something else. I’m not sure I can stop what she’s started.
Hoss slams his hand on the table. “If she wants to be a club bunny, we need to let her.”
“I don’t know,” Two-Shit says, eyeing me over his pint class. “She’s caused a lot of trouble for the prospect already.”
“Hell, yeah,” Chain says. “That girl opens more cans of beans than a fart factory.”
“And we all saw her nonexistent tits.” Too Fast Freddy sucks on a vape.
“Fuck you,” I tell Too Fast Freddy.
Chain laughs. “They’re good enough for me. Ain’t popped myself a cherry in a very long time. I want to stake my claim. Put it to a vote.”
Low Joe chortles. “Is anybody eligible for the cherry?”
His ol’ lady Betz is close enough to hear him. She storms over and smacks his head so hard it knocks off his bandanna, revealing a bald spot in the middle of his wiry gray hair.
“The fuck you are,” I say, standing.
Iron Jack lifts his palms. “We won’t be voting on this tonight. This isn’t church, and we don’t have our VP. We’ll talk at our next meeting, and someone can reach out to the girl once we decide if we’re even going to proceed.”
“She left. Isn’t it over?” I ask.
Iron Jack shakes his head. “A cherry asking to be a club bunny is going to make the rounds. If we don’t claim her, some other club might step in, and they might not be so nice about it.”
Fuck. I didn’t need this to happen only two months into my time as a prospect. I don’t even have a vote. God damn it. If the Wild Hair wants Marietta, they’re going to make it hard for her to refuse.
I sit back down. This whole thing is utter bullshit. I joined the club because I could see what was about to happen. Diesel, my brother and the only family I’ve put up with for the last decade, is going to art school. He’s gone plumb fog-headed over that blonde.
And Symphony’s fine. I like her. I’m glad he found her, that they’re so tight.
But I had next to nothing once he was on top of her all the time. Two-Shit filled the gap. Then Chain and Stoney and Hoss.
So, I patched in a prospect. Why not? I see the club every day, other than Iron Jack, who is our primary heavy and does the bulk of the protection side of the club.
I spot the whiteboard Low Joe brought out and lean over to wipe the message off. I already knew Marietta’s status, but now the entire club is in on it. And maybe other clubs. Her private detail has put a mark on her head.
Iron Jack smacks the table. “That’s enough. It’s a big night for the Leaky Skull. Get to drinking!” He throws a wad of money down. “Serve up shots for the club.”
Vicki has an eagle eye for cash and swings in close to snatch up the bills and drop them on her tray. “I’ll bring ‘em around.” She flashes her eyes at Iron Jack, even though she’s old enough to be his mother.
He doesn’t notice.
I’m relieved he didn’t take an interest in Marietta. That would have been a real problem. I can probably take on the others without hurting my chances in the club. The fight tonight proved that.
But there’s no going up against the president. Not if you’re going to stay in the club. Or live.
I pick up the empty whiteboard and pass it over the bar to Jake. “Get this back up.” Then I walk the length of the counter, patting shoulders and acting friendly, even if inside I’m not clear what I ought to do.
Marietta has made my life a hell of a lot more challenging.
Iron Jack holds church as usual at the club’s main house.
I roar up to it at half-past ten. As a prospect, I’m expected to be there even if I don’t have a say in club business yet.
By the time I’ve slung my helmet over the handlebars, a few others who live off site are arriving, a plume of dust in their wake on the dirt road.
The clubhouse has been added on to many times over the years. The original building was a brick number, typical three bedroom, two bath.
Then they built an addition with a long row of single bedrooms and a bathroom every so often. There’s a bunkhouse for any girls who serve as a house mouse, but it’s been empty for a while. The club bunnies don’t live here. They come to party.
The Wild Hair reserved a room for me should I want to move in, but I’m keeping my house next to Diesel’s for the time being.
I head inside. The front living room has a pool table in it, plus a dartboard and a beer fridge. I cut through the kitchen, where Carol stands by the window, her hands on her swollen belly. She’s the wife of Stoney, our VP. “They’re in the back,” she says.
“Kid ready to make an appearance?” I ask.
“If only. There’s a month to go.” She arranges a tray of muffins. “Here, take this with you.”
“Sure.” I heft the tray, used to carrying platters around the Leaky Skull.
I walk down the line of doors, some covered with posters and signs. Betz meets me halfway. “Thanks for helping Carol. With the way she acts, you’d think she’s going to splat that kid on the linoleum any minute.”
I laugh. “Sure thing.”
When I make it to the meeting room, Iron Jack and Stoney are already there, talking by the back door. They look up with a nod when they see me.
I slide the tray next to the pitcher of orange juice and bottle of tequila. These boys start their drinking early.
It’s not long before the others show, cussing and spitting and pouring tequila with a splash of OJ. I take a shot myself and sit in the corner, like a prospect should.
Iron Jack slams a fist on the table, and everyone sits down. “I want to know how the demo went this week.”
Hoss speaks first. “We brought down the old gas station and cleared about half the debris. Still have to cut off the rebar. They want the slab.”
Iron Jack nods. “That’s on schedule. What do we have coming up this week?”
Two-Shit shoves a paper toward him. “Robert from that building outfit says they’re short on workers at the development in North Beach. They could use a couple of sheet rockers.”
“Take him up on it,” Iron Jack shoves the paper back to Two-Shit. “Two-Shit, you and Chain can work with the builder.”
“I’m too goddamn old to sheetrock,” Chain says. “Make Too Fast Freddy do it.”
Iron Jack sniffs. “I’m putting Hoss and Freddy on a security gig. You up for a couple of all nighters? I can put you there instead.”
“Fuck that,” Chain says. “I’ll sheetrock.”
“All right.” He turns to Hoss. “I’ll get you two the details later. It’s a big one. Politician’s girl.”
Hoss grins. “We get the girl?”
“Don’t fuck with me on that,” Iron Jack says. “She’s got a boyfriend the father doesn’t like. We keep him away and keep it quiet.”
“Speaking of girls,” Chain says, “I’m staking my claim on the cherry.”
I sit up at that. Here we go.
Iron Jack looks around. “Who all wants a claim?”
There’s a general murmur from all the men without ol’ ladies.
Iron Jack runs his hand across his beard. “What do you say, Prospect? She was your find.”
“Was not,” Chain says. “I bought her a shot the first time she stepped into the bar.”
“And it’s the prospect’s bar,” Iron Jack says. “Speak up.”
“I don’t know her that well,” I say and instantly regret it when the roar gets loud again.
“See, he’s got nothing!” Chain says.
“I say we all take a piece of her,” Hoss counters.
“Make her a bunny!” I don’t catch who says that.
Iron Jack slams his hands on the table, rattling the glasses. “Shut the fuck up. That girl looked terrified. You will eat her for lunch. Prospect, go see her. Make sure she understands what happens if she’s a bunny.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want her abused by you overeager fuckers.”
“Maybe the cherry has some friends,” Hoss says. “I liked that short one.”
Jesus Christ. They don’t give one shit about Marietta herself.
“I’ll talk to her,” I tell Iron Jack.
“Don’t scare her off,” Chain says. He turns to Iron Jack. “How do we know he ain’t going to pop her little cork before this matter is settled?”
Iron Jack watches me. “The girl’s cherry is under the protection of this club. Do you understand?” He drags his gaze from me to look around the table. “That goes for every member of this club. If anybody mishandles that girl, they have to answer to me. I have no problem burying you in the marsh.”
There’s a general grumble, but it’s understood.
“And furthermore, I want someone watching her until she decides what she’s going to do. I’m not having the Rebels or Lucifer’s Kin snatching her right out from under us.”
“I volunteer,” Chain says.
Iron Jack shakes his head. “Not a chance. Prospect, you’re on duty when the bar is closed. Two-Shit, you and Fancy take the other hours. And Prospect, explain things. Get an answer. Report back.”
“Will do.” I hold back a sigh. This girl is way more trouble than she ever was when she danced on my bar.