It didn't take Cole Porter three months to realize he wanted Nicole in deep ways. Within his first week, he knew that if she ever hinted, just a little, at something between them, he was going to cross that boundary for her. Just make the effort, he silently promised, and he would ride right on through.

 

She made that effort today and Cole had it on his mind all the way home that evening. He decided to keep it light with her. It wasn't about just fucking. No, there was a connection with her, a hard connection, and he wanted to explore that connection. Find out what it was -- see where it led them.

 

When he got to the club’s bar, a fight was in progress between two guys who had been at each other for months. He was glad to see they were finally going to work things out. He noticed that Hank, behind the bar, wasn't exactly thrilled, however. It was his job to clean things up, so that was no surprise. Cole looked around at the damage already done and decided cleanup was going to be more than a few hours of work at this point.

 

Patch-holders watched the struggle with calm interest. As for visitors and hang-arounds, some looked nervous, some looked amused, and some left.

 

Cole glanced at the clock. Most street fights only last around thirty seconds. A down-and-dirty fight like this took a lot out of a man in a hurry. This wasn't paced boxing; this was all out, bloody war. It was quite possible a fresh corpse would be the result and neither of combatants wanted to be that corpse.

 

"Hey Cole," a hard-looking half Mexican named Rat said as Cole passed by going for a beer.

 

Cole nodded to him. "Just a sec," Cole offered, but Rat was already back to watching the fight.

 

Just as Cole reached the bar, the combatants drew knives. Cole didn't see who drew first, but they were both bladed now and slashing at each other; blood was drawn in short order.

Suddenly, the explosion of a shotgun filled the air and everyone, including Cole and the combatants, looked for the source -- discovering Big Jim, their president with the smoking gun.

 

"Monday night?" Big Jim inquired, his voice holding the feel of amused disdain in its thunder roll, "Really? This shit is going down on a Monday night? Anyone see who drew first blood?"

 

"Cap did," Rat pronounced, followed by general agreement from around the room.

 

"Then Cap is the winner. Done. You two do this under this roof again, over this same tired shit, I'll be the winner. Understood?" Big Jim cited.

 

Both combatants, Cap and Phil, nodded with heaving chests, though Cap was a bit happier about it.

 

"Fine," Big Jim said. "Phil, pay the man. You owe him. Pay up. This shit is over."

 

Phil was about to protest, but then saw that Big Jim wasn't actually in as good a mood as he was projecting and decided against it, closing his mouth.

 

Big Jim looked around the room, and locked eyes with Cole, "Cole, glad you are here. Talk to me in my office. I have a favor to ask." Then Jim turned, shotgun on his shoulder, and lumbered toward the back of the bar.

 

"Good fight, though," Rat said, sounding a little disappointed as he turned around on his stool to elbow up on the high table in front of him.

 

Cole smiled and clapped his back. "I'll hook up with you in a minute."

 

Rat nodded and Cole headed for Jim's office.

 

Big Jim wasn't called that for giggles. He was six-seven and built like a well-shaped tank. He made defensive linemen take notice. He ducked coming into rooms and straightened up with all eyes on him. His voice, though controlled most of the time, could literally shake windows.

 

He wasn't the best president the Chrome Horsemen ever had; he wasn't the brightest, wasn't the smartest, and his decisions weren't always profitable. Many examples over the last six years could be recounted as moments where Big Jim failed in these areas. However, he was unanimously thought of as the most loyal president the club had ever had.

 

Big Jim, without a whisper of doubt, cared more for the Horsemen than for his own life, his own wealth, or his own reputation. His loyalty won such a return in kind; everything else didn't really matter.

 

When Cole came through the door, Big Jim's chair was still creaking from his weight coming to rest into the padded leather. 

 

"Prez," Cole greeted him, nodding with respect, and sat down in one of the visitor chairs in front of the massive desk.

 

"Cole, do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

 

"Shit, Jim," Cole said with honest disappointment. "Actually I do have some plans, which are important to me. What's up? Maybe I can help anyway."

 

"Hot date?" Jim asked with a grin.

 

"Hotter," Cole replied.

 

"I need something dropped off north of here. I need someone I can trust without hesitation to do it for me. It's important. Really important and I can't tell you what it is or why."

 

"Will it fit in a saddlebag?" Cole asked.

 

"Barely, but it will fit," Jim replied.

 

"Then I don't need to know the other answers, just an address and a time," Cole told him.

 

"What about your plans?"

 

"As it happens, my plans were for a ride up the coast with a young woman behind me. I figure I can either leave her at a bar or restaurant long enough to make the last leg of the delivery and then we're free the rest of the day."

 

Jim mulled that over, "The delivery is to a public dock, to a yacht that will likely cast off as soon as this is done. So, it doesn't really matter what your lady friend sees, but caution would suggest your first plan is reasonable."

 

"Would caution also suggest a gun?" Cole asked.

 

"Caution would," Jim allowed, "but I don't feel it will be required. The drop is to be made between three and four in the afternoon. No later, no earlier; eyes will be watching."