Smokey

It seemed odd mentoring a prospect when I normally didn’t allow anyone close to me other than the small group of people I trusted. Trusting Tank was different than mentoring him, but he was slowly making strides toward gaining my trust, nonetheless.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get in this club, believe me,” he said. “I had that feeling of brotherhood in the Corps, and after they wouldn’t up my tour, I lost it. I miss it, and the only place I think I can get it is in an MC.”

I took a bite of my burger. “Why wouldn’t they up your tour?”

“PTSD. Said I was a threat to my fellow Marines.”

“Damned shame,” I said. “Couple of the patches are vets, and they’ve got PTSD, too. Sucks.”

He shoved a handful of French fries in his mouth and nodded. “I deal with it different than most, I suppose.”

“What do you do to deal with it?”

He grabbed another handful of fries. “Go to the range.”

“I shot him a surprised look. “That’s it?”

“Flying bullets make me happy.”

I couldn’t decide if his response made me nervous or not. “Suppose it depends on which direction they’re going.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Whether they’re coming at you, or going away from you.”

“Shit,” he said. “I’ll take ‘em either way.”

“I prefer the ones that aren’t flying in my direction.”

“Either way’s exciting.” He nodded toward my pistol. “See you carry a piece. Gives me peace of mind knowing that.”

“Gives me peace of mind, too.” I slapped my hand against my pocket. “Just like the American Express Card. Don’t leave home without it.”

“I’m with ya on that.”

Tank was in his late twenties by my guess, and had spent ten years in the military, all of which was in combat. He was average height, and way above average size, hence the name Tank. His head – still sporting a military crew cut – seemed to sit on top of his muscular shoulders, and he didn’t have the “V” shape that most men sought. He was simply big. And muscular.

One of his massive biceps was adorned with the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor, and the other was tattooed with what I suspected was his unit number, and several names.

I assumed the names were of Marines lost in combat, but didn’t ask.

“Soon as you’re done finger fucking those fries, we’ll go check on that job,” I said. “See if my guy’s done with it or not.”

“How many jobs you do at once?” he asked.

“Depends. Sometimes one, sometimes five or six. Right now, Cholo’s keeping me pretty busy with a few, and I’ve got a couple others that I’m doing. Need as many as I can, though. Got a kid on the way and all.”

“That chick move in yet?”

“Nope. We’re moving her this weekend.”

“Need any help?”

“We got it covered.”

“I’m serious.” He flexed his bicep. “I love liftin’ heavy shit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I’d always said you could tell who your real friends were by who showed up on moving day, and the fact he offered made me feel good about him being a solid dude.

He grabbed another fistful of fries, and bit the tips off half of them in one bite. “If you decide you need some help, I’m serious. Just give me a holler.”

“Will do.”

“My Ol’ Lady left me when I was in Afghanistan. I don’t know, when I see a fucker like you settling down with some chick, it gives me hope.”

“Fucker like me.” I chuckled. “What the fuck’s that mean, prospect?”

“No disrespect, but you’re a fucking asshole,” he said.

I laughed. “No argument from me on that.”

As he finished devouring his fries, I considered what he’d said about being ditched by his Ol’ Lady while he was at war. I normally didn’t feel sorry for anyone, but I began to feel sorry for him to go through such a loss while he was fighting for his country’s freedom.

“Suck’s about your Ol’ lady,” I said. “Leaving like that.”

“Standard Operating Procedure for wives of Marines,” he said. “Seems they all do it, eventually.”

I shook my head. “Damned shame.”

“I want a woman who I can trust. Tough, considering I don’t trust anyone.”

“You trust me?” I cocked an eyebrow, and waited for his response.

He finished his handful of fries and then shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t given me a reason to yet. If you want to gain my trust, you’ll have to earn it. Suppose the same goes for you, right?”

I pursed my lips and nodded. He was slowly earning my respect. In time, I was sure trust would follow.

“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s beat feet.”

“Sorry, Boss. I got to hit the head and drop a deuce. Be back post haste. Those greasy fries are goin’ right through me.”

“I don’t need all the gory details about you taking a shit, prospect. Hurry the fuck up.”

While he was taking a dump, I sent Sandy a text message and asked how her day was going. It seemed strange caring about someone other than Eddie, P-Nut or myself, but it wasn’t something I had to tell myself to do, which led me to believe I naturally cared about her, the baby, or both.

She responded with an emoji of some sort that I wasn’t able to discern, as her iPhone and my Android didn’t communicate well with each other when it came to smiley faces and other like-minded shit.

I grinned, pocketed my phone, and checked my watch. We’d been in the restaurant for almost an hour, which was a long time for me to sit in one place during the day. When I was about to get up and leave, Tank came out of the bathroom.

“Take my advice, you’ll wanna use the women’s restroom if you gotta go.”

I stood and shook my head. “I’m good. Let’s roll.”

We walked outside, and no more than reached the parking lot, when Tank spotted someone leaning over my bike. Before I had a chance to say anything, he took off in a dead run toward the guy.

“Hey, motherfucker, what are you doing?” he shouted.

The guy, who was leaned over the gas tank, stood and turned to face him. His face did little to hide the fact he’d been caught fucking with something he knew he surely shouldn’t have been.

Knowing that the man hadn’t done any damage, I paused to see just how Tank would handle the situation.

“I was just--” the man stammered.

Tank stepped in front of him, partially blocking my view. “Just what?”

“I was, uhh--”

Tank punched him in the gut, then kicked his legs out from underneath him. The man fell to the asphalt at Tank’s feet.

“When a motherfucker takes too long to answer,” Tank said as he kicked the man. “That’s when you can tell a lie’s coming.”

He kicked the guy in the gut a few more times, and he immediately covered his head with his arms, hoping to protect his face from any boot damage.

Tank shoved his heel against the man’s hip, rolled him onto his back, and then pressed his boot to the man’s throat.

“Don’t ever fuck with a man’s bike. Don’t look at it, breathe on it, take pictures of it, and you damned sure better not touch it.”

“O-okay.”

Tank lifted his foot. “Get the fuck outta here.”

The man rose to his feet, looked at me, and then turned and ran behind the adjoining restaurant.

Tank turned toward me. “Fucking shit head.”

I chuckled and then shook my head. “Fifteen years of riding, and that’s the first time anyone’s ever got near my shit.”

“Burns my ass when a man fucks with my sled.”

“Apparently.”

“Sorry I jumped him. Shoulda let you handle it, but that’s just how I roll.”

I slapped him on the back. “You did good, prospect.”

He didn’t know it, but he just earned a few points toward gaining my trust, and a few at earning a little more respect.

Hell, at the rate he was going, he’d be running with P-Nut and me in a few years.

“I’ll take that help moving Sandy if it still stands,” I said.

He turned toward me and nodded once. “Might keep me out of trouble.”

“Plan on it, then.”

I always wanted a little brother to harass, and realized Tank just might be able to fill those shoes.

With Sandy moving in, the pregnancy going without a hitch, Eddie healthy and happy, and Tank to harass, my life was looking up.

Or, so I thought.