Page 9 of Tinsel & Chrome
Deal
Arriving at the hole-in-the-wall bar, I park, turn off my bike, dismount, and head inside.
I grab a beer at the bar, then choose a table in the back corner, take a seat facing forward with a view of the entire establishment in front of me and settle in to wait.
The years spent in the military taught me to keep my eyes on the entrances and exits no matter where I went.
The service was where I also learned how to cage my temper.
A temper that had a judge recommending the military as an olive branch, instead of the two to five I would’ve likely been sentenced to for a fight I hadn’t even started.
It wasn’t my fault the guy who started the fight had a big mouth, an entitled attitude, and a glass jaw.
The couple of cracked ribs and shattered nose might have been excessive, but in my defense, the damage was inflicted before the hit to his jaw.
How was I to know he was the mayor’s son? Lucky for me, the judge had cared little for the troublemaking asshole either.
Never known for being stupid, I chose the judge’s olive branch and enlisted, figuring I could do three years with my eyes closed.
Serving in the Navy versus the possibility of five in prison as an eighteen-year-old, I signed up the next day.
The judge kept his word, and the charges were set aside.
Bonus—it got me out of town and out of the reach of a mayor who thought his son did no wrong.
A month after signing on the dotted line, I was seen off by the guys from my neighborhood, including my brother—who ironically followed me into the military three months later.
It seemed the mayor figured one Reyes was just as good as the other.
My buddies hadn’t even let the bus door shut before bets were made on how long I would last before they booted me out.
Little did they know, or even me for that matter, I’d enjoy the military and end up serving twelve years.
The door opens and three Merciless Few MC members from the Alabama Chapter enter, look around and head in my direction.
“Been here long, Deal?”
Nightmare, the Sgt at Arms for the chapter, asks as he pulls out the chair next to me and sits. Bruiser and Jester follow suit, taking the chairs across from us.
“A couple of minutes. Not sure why you wanted to meet at this out of the way place when I could have easily swung by the clubhouse.”
I lift the beer bottle to my lips and take a drink.
“Well, it’s not for the aviance,”
Jester deadpans, damn near causing me to choke on the drink of beer I barely had swallowed.
Bruiser snorts.
“Like you’d know anything about aviance.”
Nightmare chuckles as the waitress walks up. After their order is taken and the waitress leaves, he leans back in his chair and looks over at me.
“The Georgia chapter got wind of someone asking around about you.”
“Okay, but why didn’t Hardware or Diamond contact me?”
I ask because chapters usually handle their own business.
“Their clubhouse is being watched, and until it’s figured out why, we are informing you. Not sure what’s going on or who the person is, and until we do—we play it safe. Stryker has Tracer digging into it.”
Stryker is the president of MFMC Alabama Chapter, and Tracer is the club’s computer genius, who may or may not dabble in a little hacking.
“For fuck’s sakes, it’s probably some asshole looking for his woman. Pissed because we’ve either rescued her from his abuse, or she’s left him and is hanging around the clubhouse.”
“Maybe, but doesn’t answer why asking around about you specifically,”
Bruiser pipes in.
“Who knows? The man might think Deal fucked his woman. If she didn’t have a wedding ring on, it’s not as if she’d tell him she’s cheating on her ol’ man. And if it makes him an asshole for not asking before taking what she offered, shouldn’t matter.”
Jester’s head swivels from each of us when he notices us staring at him. “What?”
“Damn, Jester,”
Bruiser says as he shakes his head, “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Just saying. It could happen.”
“Christ, we are getting off topic. Not saying that scenario couldn’t happen, but it wasn’t a man who was asking around or watching the club.”
Nightmare reaches inside his cut and pulls out his phone. After a few seconds of tapping on the screen, he hands the phone to me.
“Recognize her?”
I looked at the picture of a woman’s face behind the windshield of an SUV.
“No. Then again, the only thing I can make out about her is dark hair. Her facial features are too distorted from the glare off the windshield.”
“Yeah, it isn’t the clearest picture. One of Hardware’s prospects was coming back from the store and noticed a woman sitting on the side of the road a little way past the turn-in to the clubhouse. He thought she might be having car trouble, so he headed toward the vehicle. She started the vehicle and put it in gear as soon as he started toward her. By the time he got his phone out and snapped a picture, she’d backed up and done a U-turn to avoid driving past him. She hasn’t been back since, unless she’s found a new spot to watch from. Luckily, Tracer thinks he can clean up the picture. I’ll send it to you when he gets it done.”
“Okay, but it isn’t as if I can’t handle myself. So why the mystery meeting?”
“Until we figure out who she is or works for, Hardware and Stryker agree you should lie low,”
Nightmare informs me as he pushes back from the table and stands, then pulls out cash from his pocket and throws it on the table.
Bruiser, Jester, and I stand at the same time. The four of us head out of the bar and head toward our bikes, which are parked side-by-side.
We reach our bikes, and Nightmare looks at me.
“You’re not going to listen and lie low, are you?”
I shrug and throw my leg over my bike before I glance over at Nightmare.
“It’s not my style to stay hidden. Besides, this shit needs to get figured out in the next month because I’m not missing the clubs’ joint Christmas party.”
Nightmare shakes his head and flashes a rare grin.
“I hear ya. We’d miss your mug.”
“We see his ugly face regularly. It’s Knight’s mug we only see about twice a year.”
I flip Bruiser off.
“As if seeing me isn’t like seeing him too, asshole.”
“Hey, at the next joint church, we should put to a vote in to change your and Knight’s road names to the Double-Mint twins.”
Jester slaps his leg at his joke and laughs.
“I’ll be sure to let Knight know about your suggestion.”
The statement instantly sobers Jester up. Everyone knows my brother doesn’t have a joking bone in his body. Compared to him, I’m a comedian.
Twenty minutes later when I walk inside my home, the thought of Jester’s backpedaling has me laughing all over again.