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Wolf swallowed the last of his coffee. It was still good, even though it had gone cold.

He tossed the cup at the dumpster as he entered the back of the building that housed the MC’s strip club and hangout.

It bounced off the edge, and he swore as he turned to go back and pick it up.

Madge’s blue-coiffed helper knew her way around the spitting espresso machine.

Cute kid. She looked like she’d just graduated from high school, even though he knew she was older. Late twenties, maybe? Nice hair.

The shy girl disappeared from his thoughts as he joined the group of men sitting around one of the bar tables.

Scrap and Baghouse were senior members of the club with Melter right behind.

Camshaft and Crossman were the youngest. Wolf and Quillon sat in the middle.

The only one missing was Go-Kart. “We having church or something?”

Scrap shook his head and raised a scarred three-fingered hand to the black patch over his missing eye. “Nah. Just talkin’ about some stuff. Nothin’ formal.”

Scrap was the president, owner of the strip club, and the oldest of the group.

He’d been a steelworker for years until an accident with a rolling mill nearly took him out.

The company had ignored safety precautions for years until Scrap got caught in the machine.

His body had a myriad of scars from the incident, and it was a miracle he only lost his eye and part of his hand.

The upside? The company didn’t want a big scandalous and expensive lawsuit, so they’d settled on a very generous compensation with Scrap, one that allowed him to purchase and start the machine shop and the titty bar.

Melter called it Attic, and the name stuck.

Later, Quillon bought out the machine shop but still employed a number of club members.

“Camshaft said the Slaggers were riding through our area last night.” Baghouse shook his head. “Stupid name for a bunch of jagoffs.”

“Those jagoffs are growing. I understand they’ve taken over the Lincoln Park area across the river and are looking to expand on our side.” Melter sprinkled some dried pot onto a rolling paper and licked the edge. “They’re drug dealers, n’at.”

Wolf gave an incredulous huff. “You’re rolling a blunt and calling them drug dealers?”

Melter held up the white stick. “This ain’t drugs. It’s only weed. Those guys do the big stuff like pills n’at meth shit.”

Wolf didn’t argue with the older man. Melter was also a veteran of the steel mill and had the scars to prove it. “I doubt they’re interested in our side of the river. They got enough business to keep them happy on the southside.”

The older man grunted, showing his waning interest in the rival club. “Didjoo bring any Danishes from Bill and Madge’s place?”

Wolf smiled as he handed over the white bag. “I have one left. Figured you’d claim it.”

Baghouse didn’t want to let the subject drop. “So, what are we gonna do about them?”

The bag crinkled as Melter pulled out the wax-paper-covered treat. “’Bout who?”

Baghouse threw his hands in the air. “Christ on a cracker, the Slaggers!”

“Nothing.” Scrap snatched the Danish and took a big bite. White icing smeared around his wiry gray beard.

“Motherfucker!” Melter yelled and grabbed it back.

“Yinz fuck around too much,” Baghouse grumbled. “That hippie guy up at the vape shop said those fuckers came by last week, asking about business n’at. He said they wanted him to store some shit for them. Kinda like a distribution center. Said they wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Wolf shrugged. A night of running security at the titty bar made him bone-tired and ready to go home and crash. However, he was also the club’s unofficial mediator and enforcer. He flipped around a high-backed chair and sat, leaning his elbows on the top. “The hippie guy agree to it?”

“He said no, but it’s only a matter of time. Rumor has it the Slaggers got some big-time connections comin’ from New York City. International pipeline straight to here.”

“Why the hell would a big international drug cartel be interested in a small-time vape shop?” Melter said around a mouthful of pastry. “That shit only happens in movies.”

“Not the big-time guys who make the shit. It’s the guys who bring in the goods who’re looking for new places to distribute and sell.”

Wolf’s eyes grew grittier by the minute. “Then we have nothing to worry about, right? If they have their spot staked out, that’s got nothing to do with us.”

Baghouse made a sound of disgust. “It’s not right.”

“Maybe not, but as long as they stay out of our business, we’ll stay out of theirs.”

“Yeah, sure. We’ll see how long that lasts. Yinz know damn well if those fuckers move anywhere near here, there’s gonna be trouble. We’ve never had a turf war with anyone, and we don’t want to start now. We need to keep our eyes on this before it becomes a real problem.”

Wolf sighed as he stood. “I’m not concerned about anything right now except getting some sleep. Crossman, you’re on tonight, yeah?”

The younger man nodded.

“Cool. I’m outta here.”

Wolf left the club and mounted his big blue Honda.

Harleys were great for cruising on long stretches of road, but in the city, Hondas and Kawasakis did better because they had water-cooled engines instead of air-cooled.

A blaze of colorful orange flames streaked down the front and side fairings from the custom paint job he got at a rally down in North Carolina.

Dodge, a member of the Dragon Runners MC, did it for him. The man was definitely an artist.

The ride to his place wasn’t very long, but he did have to drive by the steel plant.

Acrid fumes drifted from the place where iron was heated, purified, blended, and formed into steel.

Wolf’s father had lived, worked, and died in that plant, his lungs shot from breathing the toxic air for so many years before OSHA came in and forced it to code.

Bill was the only one left from that crew, and Wolf had a soft spot for the man.

Madge worked hard to keep the bakery going and take care of her husband, and it bordered on more than she could handle.

What other choice did she have, though? Money had to be made, and bills had to be paid.

Wolf’s thoughts drifted to the young woman who’d assisted them for several years now.

Madge probably didn’t pay a lot, and he was sure there were no benefits other than free pastries.

She must live on a shoestring budget or had another job.

Perhaps she had a sugar daddy packed away somewhere?

She was pretty enough to attract one, but nah, any woman with a big income wouldn’t be dressing in thrift-store glam or working in a bakery, right?

“Jazz,” Madge had called her a few times, though it was usually “Jazzy,” and more than once she’d mentioned how much she and Bill depended on the young woman.

Wolf had seen her there and noticed her pretty blushes every time she had to serve him.

Yeah, he got a kick out of that, and he made a point of messing with her to see her cheeks go pink and hear her screw up her words.

He pulled up to a house in an older neighborhood.

Like many in this area, the long and thin structure had very little yard in front and no space between it and the house on the left side.

The right side butted up to an overgrown tangle of trees that threatened to engulf the house one day.

Behind it, some yards away, sat a set of abandoned train tracks.

Delia Best, his eighty-nine-year-old neighbor and landlady, lived in the bottom half, and he occupied the top.

The almost-nonagenarian rarely left her home, as she no longer drove and relied on her church people or Wolf to take her places.

She had a son and a daughter, but one lived in Florida and the other in California.

She spent much of her time watching TV or YouTube cat videos and scrolling through Facebook.

It bothered Wolf that Delia was essentially by herself, and he did as much for her as he could to help her out.

“Wolf, is that you?” Delia’s wavering voice came from the open door, and the thin, frail woman appeared, bent over an old-fashioned metal walker with small wheels on the front and yellow tennis balls on the back legs.

Life hadn’t been easy for her, but so far, she’d avoided any major falls or health issues.

She waved a square paper on a stick at her face, making her wispy hair fluff.

Delia’s part of the house had fans but no air-conditioning.

He had a window unit upstairs if the summer heat became too much.

The shade was one advantage of the encroaching greenery.

“Yeah. You need something, Dee?” She told him once that she loved it when he called her Dee.

It made her feel special and wanted. “No, thank you. Robin and Barry from the church are coming by later to take me to the grocery store. I saw in the paper that bratwursts are on sale. If I get some, will you join me for dinner?”

“You bet. I’m gonna go crash for a few hours. I’ll get up and do Jeopardy! with you later, yeah?”

Her faded blue eyes lit up. “That would be lovely.”

He hugged the fragile woman gently. She charged a ridiculously low rent, but he added an extra hundred every month as she cooked several nights a week for him. Sometimes, he was the only person she saw in a day’s time.

“Call upstairs if you need anything.”

“Enjoy your nap.”

The top of the house was composed of two large rooms with a bathroom in between.

Wolf used one as a bedroom and the other as a kind of den.

He owned very little furniture, just the basic bed-dresser-nightstand setup.

He did have a couch in the other room, but most of the time, he used his recliner to watch the big flat-screen he had mounted on the wall.

A small dorm-sized refrigerator sat in one corner of his den, filled with his favorite Iron City brews and bottled waters.

A set of plastic white shelves held snacks and a microwave, but that was as much kitchen as he wanted or needed.

Wolf considered ordering food, but sleep called to him more.

Instead, he opened his fridge to grab a water bottle and chugged down half of it in one go.

The night had been a typical one. The dancers danced.

The men drank and stared. Money flowed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing special or significant.

Sometimes boring was nice. He’d take it any day over his past job.

He took the three steps needed to get to his bedroom, where he promptly stripped down to his boxers and fell onto his back.

The cheap metal frame squeaked and bounced under his weight.

Wolf heaved a great sigh and closed his eyes.

Nope, nothing out of the ordinary. No drama. No glitches. No problems.

So why did he have this uneasy feeling in his gut?