3. Chapter 3

3

Chapter 3

Tank

I’ve been sitting in the club SUV for 10 minutes so far and I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. I spent all day at Devil’s Big Tow flip flopping on whether this was a good idea or not. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel for a moment and then think “Fuck it.”

I unbuckle my seat belt, get out of the car into the cool weather, slam the door and make my way up the haphazard path, past the metal garden ornaments made to look like old women bending over, their colorful butts up in the air. There’s also a bunch of fat gnomes fishing and an ugly bird.

I stomp up the steps onto the little porch, take a breath and knock on the door. There’s some bumping going on inside, and some rustling, but no one answers. Leaning to the side I try to look through the window, but my view is blocked by lacy old lady curtains. Raising my hand to knock again, the door swings open abruptly, leaving my hand in the air, fist up.

“Oh hey! It’s you, giant biker man. What can I do ya for?” The peppy, kinda odd woman leans against the door jamb, arms crossed over those large tits I never forgot about.

I take her in, from top to bottom and back up again. She’s tall for a woman, around 5’10, but still shorter than my 6’3 build. When I met her in the holding cells she was wearing a 1950s type dress. Today she’s in soft looking overalls with ladybugs on the front, an old lady cardigan thing and fluffy socks. We may have only spent half an hour, max, in each other’s company in the cells, and then again when we had given her a ride home when we were both released, but there was something about her that was endearing. And fun. And weird. I shake those thoughts off and find her staring at me, her brow raised.

“Sorry. I, ah, look, I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing here, but it’s almost Christmas and I remember you saying that you didn’t have anyone, so I kinda thought, if you don’t want to be alone, you are welcome to come to the clubhouse.” Fuck. That sounded so bad. Like a teenage, hormonal Tank asking out Kelly Masters in front of the football team and getting rejected.

“Huh. That’s nice of you. But I have a thing planned. I’m heading to Vegas to meet up with some writer friends for Christmas. We’re going to eat our weight in food and brainstorm new ideas. There’s a signing there too so I’m gonna meet some fans, buy some books, take in some strip clubs. If I was in charge of naming a strip club I’d call it ‘Titty Titty Bang Bang’. Hmm, maybe I could double my money and make it a strip club come brothel? Is it called a brothel? What’s a nicer name? Escort palace?” She squints up at me, searching my face as if I know the answer.

“Ummm, not sure. But anyway, I’m glad you have someone to spend Christmas with.”

“Oh yeah, totally! Thanks for the offer though, dude.” She smiles big at me, her green eyes sparkling.

“Merry Christmas Writer Lady.”

“Merry Christmas Biker Man!”

Marx

“Church!” I bellow out the doors. I wonder if there will come a time when I can just send the text and they all assemble, without the need to gossip like old ladies and have me yelling at them. Probably not.

They all trickle in, Fox and Nitro surprisingly early. Who would have thought that all it took to get them to turn up on time is to kick out the bunnies?

“Alright brothers, what’s the status report on Christmas?” I ask, wasting no time.

“All the Ol Ladies’ and kids’ gifts have been purchased, and kind of wrapped,” Tank starts.

“The lights are up both inside and out, and we’re picking up the tree tomorrow.” Fox adds.

I nod. “Good work. What else do we need?”

“The prospects bought a fuck ton of tree decorations so we’ll get the kids onto decorating tomorrow after school.”

“Shit, we’re doing well, brothers. Even with us being a brother down while Savage is at the hospital with his family.” My brothers all nod, seeming pleased with themselves. “Well, if everything is under control -”

The doors bang open as if someone kicked them in. I go for my gun only to hang my head when I get a look at the culprit looking safe and calm. “Can we help you, Pops?”

“Yeah. I have a plan and I need help,” he says, wandering into the room, shutting the doors behind him. He then grabs an empty chair and pulls it up to the table, taking a seat.

“Is it going to involve blood?” Judge asks. It’s a fair question.

“What? No, it doesn’t involve blood. It’s a Christmas surprise.”

“Will there be any drugging, kidnapping, torture or unaliving of anyone?” I grill, raising a brow.

“It’s for Debs.”

Well, those right there are the magic words. As soon as Debs’ name drops from his lips, we are all on board. Mama Debs is a force to be reckoned with, and in a short time has become the heart of the clubhouse. Under her watchful eye we now have a home, rather than a place to stay. Also, we have full bellies, Mom hugs and someone to whip us into shape when needed.

“What do you have in mind?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I’m going to be declaring my love and taking Debs as my Ol Lady on Christmas day. I need you all to sing and dance.”

“Come again?” my brother Rhodie asks.

“I need you to perform Debs’ favorite song.”

“Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean by ‘perform’?” Switch asks. Loudly.

“Perform. Sing, play, dance, whatever the fuck skills you have to make it special for her. I don’t know, make it up.” He huffs. “You’re grown men and I damn well know that English is your first language. What about “perform” don’t you understand? Oh, and I want Rider in charge.”

“ Me?” my SAA squeaks.

“Yeah, you. You seem like the best choice to be the creative director. Don’t fuck this up.” Pops mean mugs him to get his point across.

“Well brother,” I turn to Rider, trying hard to hide my smile. “I mean, as a club we would do anything for Mama Debs, and after all her hard work with the community gift and food parcels, I think she deserves this.” My gaze moves from Rider to look at all the brothers. Come hell or high water, we’ll be performing for her. Well, they will. I’m the Pres. I can sit this out if I want to.

“Fine. I’ll do it, but for Debs, not for you, you grumpy old bastard,” Rider agrees. Before thinking for a moment and sitting up straight, “Wait, if we’re doing that, what are you going to be doing?”

“Don’t you worry about me, kid,” Pops says, rising from his chair, tapping his knuckles on the table twice before heading out. He stops in the doorway, and turns. “Thank you, DRMC. She’s going to shit when she sees what you’ve done for her.” He tips his head at us and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

“There’s five more days until Christmas. Looks like you have work to do boys,” I slam down the gavel and laugh my ass off as they all file out, Rider yelling that he’ll see them at rehearsal first thing in the morning.