Page 34 of Joker's Ghost

Cobra slings his arm over my shoulder. “Yeah, and you’re supposed to be the infamous Bugsy Siegel.”

“Only instead of getting shot in the eye, you got slammed in the head on a concrete floor.” Rattler flanks my other side as we all head for the stairs. “I don’t care what Doc Henderson said, I think you need a fuckin’ drink.”

“Or four,” I add.

When we get to the top of the stairs I do a quick lookaround. Granite bar-top, leather barstools, computer-style register and modern barware.

We sit down at the bar, and I huff out a sigh of relief. “Glad to see the TVs are back.”

“Whaddya mean?” Cobra shoots his whiskey.

“Before, they were gone, and you had all that old-time stuff behind the bar.”

Cobra motions to the shot Rattler slid in front of me. “I think you need that more than me.”

“Hey, I’m just happy you’re back to serving Jack again. That gin wasn’t too bad, but there’s nothing like a shot of Jack.”

“You sure you’re feeling all right?” Python asks.

Another memory slides into my brain. “I just got one question. We all ride Harleys, right?”

Python cocks his head. “Last time I checked, brother.”

“Hey, you good?” Samson flanks my other side. “Heard you were unconscious for like twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Cobra and Samson exchange glances.

“What the fuck is that look for?” I shift my gaze between the two of them. I’m the goddamn VP of the Serpents MC, and they’re all acting like I’m some nut-job.

“You just seem a little confused, that’s all.” Python tries to smooth shit over, but I’m not having it.

“I’m fine now, but when I woke up the first time, everything was all switched around.”

“The first time?” Samson asks.

“Switched around how?” Cobra asks.

“It was like I was back in the ‘30s.” I point behind the bar. “The cash register was one of those old-time ones, and that picture hanging up was actually in a real newspaper.”

Rattler takes the framed picture off the bar. “Yeah, it is from the newspaper back in?—”

“1939.”

“Yeah, the date is actually on Halloween too. October 31, 1939.”

“Spooky.” Python makes eerie noises as he waves his hands around.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m telling you this really happened.”

“All right, calm down.” Cobra lays his hand on my forearm. “You took a pretty good fall, so maybe you should go home and rest.”

I shake him off. “I’m not fuckin’ crazy, I’m telling you?—”

“Hey, I thought Doc Henderson said no drinking.” Daisy wedges herself between me and the bar.

“Yeah, maybe she’s right.” Cobra and Rattler exchange a look.