P-Nut

I sat on the edge of the workbench in Smokey’s garage and tried express all the things that had transpired in my life over the last two months without sounding like a complete hypocrite.

Or a fool.

Smokey took a drink of his beer and then gave me a look. “Let me get this straight. Couple of months ago, I made mention of something like hey P-Nut, how old’s that neighbor girl? Your response was along the lines of how the fuck would I know, you dumb son-of-a-bitch? And then you said, even if I did, I wouldn’t fuck her, because I don’t dick kindergartners. Sound about right?”

“Didn’t call you a dumb son-of-a-bitch.”

“Semantics,” he said. “You get the gist of what I’m trying to say.”

“It’s the details that’ll get ya, Smoke.”

“Well, it was one thing then, and now she’s in the house talking to Sandy and Eddie while we’re out here drinking a beer and cussing. Just kind of shocking.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m telling you so you can tell the rest of the fellas. You know, filter it to ‘em as you see fit. Cause if anyone says anything slick to me, I’ll bust ‘em in the fucking eye.”

“You want me to tell the fellas you’re hitched up with the neighbor girl?”

I hopped off the bench and shot him a glare. “She’s not the fucking neighbor girl, Smoke. She doesn’t live there anymore.”

“Better yet,” he said with a laugh. “You’re hitched up with the girl from Biggs Harley-Davidson, and she’s living with you? Is that what you want me to say?”

“Sure. Tell ‘em that. They’ll be a bunch of jealous pricks. But, she ain’t the fucking neighbor girl.”

“I’m not your messenger.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Sometimes you make me wonder about what’s between your ears, ‘Nut.”

“About ten pounds of fucking brain.”

“I have my doubts.”

He took another drink of his beer and then tossed the bottle in the trash. “So, how’d this happen, anyway?”

“None of your business. None of anyone’s business. Hers and mine, that’s it.”

“You fuck her yet?”

“No, but she gave me handy in the movie theatre.”

As he reached for another beer, he paused, and shot me a look. “No shit?”

“I was lying, Smoke. She ain’t yanked my rod, and even if she had, I wouldn’t tell you about it.”

“You’ve told me stories about your sordid past for fucking years. I swear, if you’ve told me one story, you’ve told me--”

I peered nervously over his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up, Smoke. I’m not looking to have her hear you talk shit about me. The past is the past. Let’s forget about it.”

He shook his head and let out a laugh. “You’re telling me she’s the one?”

I raised my beer. “That’s what I said.”

“Craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What the fuck’s crazy about it? Seen her every damned day for 8 years. She’s been helping me on my bike since she was a freshman in high school, and she probably knows more about Harleys than half the fucking MC. She rides without bitching, she can cook, she’s got a good head on her shoulders, she’s a hell of a lot of fun to be with, she’s fucking intelligent, and she ain’t got a bunch of hang-ups or issues. Nothing crazy about that.”

“I guess you got a jump start on things. You’re right. You’ve known her for a bit.” He twisted the lid off his beer, took a drink, and looked at me. “Do you trust her?”

“Would I be with her if I didn’t?”

“Do you trust her?”

“You heard me.”

“I’ll ask you again. Do you trust her?”

I did. But, it wasn’t easy saying it.

“I do.”

He extended his hand. “Congratulations, Brother.”

I shook his hand. “Thanks.”

The garage door opened, and Eddie stuck her head through it. “Dad? Can I go shopping with Joey and Sandy? Sandy’s driving.”

“If Sandy’s driving, I’m fine with it.”

Joey stuck her head underneath Eddie’s arm and smiled. “Percy? Is it okay if I go with the girls?”

“Okay by me. I’m just hanging out.”

“I’m going shopping,” Sandy said.

“Have a good time,” Smokey said.

The door closed.

I looked at Smoke. “Notice two of the girls asked, and one didn’t?”

“Sandy doesn’t need to ask my permission to do shit. She’s an adult.”

“Joey’s an adult, but she asks out of respect.”

“She asks out of fear.”

“Bullshit.”

“That’s my opinion.”

“Your opinion is bullshit.”

“You’re an intimidating prick, P-Nut. You might not see it, but you are. I’m sure she asks out of fear. Fear of you doing or saying something derogatory.”

“What would she base that fear on? She’s never seen me angry. Never seen me act like a damned fool. All she knows is that I’m a 1%er.”

“You beat her dad half to death, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “Stepdad.”

“Point made.”

“Your point is bullshit.”

“I made it nonetheless. Think about it.”

I considered what he said, but soon dismissed it. After hearing the car pull out of the driveway, I sat down on the bench. “Can we have a serious talk?”

“I thought we were.”

“We’ve been bullshitting. I want to have a serious fucking talk. Is that possible, or do I need to go talk to the Prez?”

“Speak your mind.”

“It’s off the record.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“This ain’t club business. It’s yours and it’s mine.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

Remember that chicken-shit cocksucker, Tank? Prospect that ended up being a ATF agent?”

He glared at me. “He was my fucking prospect,” he snarled. “And, he ended up being a fucking fed. How the fuck would I forget about him?”

“Just asking,” I said.

“What about him?”

“Got him in a box in Temecula.”

His face contorted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just said you’ve got him in a box. In Temecula.”

“Not really Temecula,” I said flatly. “More like outside of Fallbrook.”

He gazed at the floor, shook his head, and then looked up. “You know where he is?”

“I just fucking told you where he is. I mean, not exactly, but pretty much.”

His eyes shot wide. “You’re serious?”

“Serious as a dose of cock cancer.”

“You know where he is?”

I chuckled. “You know where he is. Now.”

“I fucking knew it,” he exclaimed. “You’ve been bullshitting me for two months about this. I knew that prick didn’t just disappear--”

“I never lied to you. Not once.”

“Don’t doubt that a bit, ‘Nut. Never have, and I’m sure you never will. But you skate around the truth when you don’t want to give an answer.”

“Maybe you ought to learn how to ask questions.”

“Maybe you ought to learn how to answer ‘em.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is he dead?”

“Not sure. Haven’t been there in two days. Could be, I suppose. If he ain’t dead, he’s probably pretty thirsty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. But he was alive two days ago?”

“When I left, yeah. Him and a couple tarantulas.”

His eyes thinned. “What in the fuck?”

“Trying to decide what to do with him.”

“He’s in a box?”

“Big fucker. One of them storage containers. Like the construction companies use.”

He let out a laugh. “You’ve got him in a metal container in middle of the fucking desert?”

“Not in the middle, no. Kind of on the edge.”

“What have you been doing with him?”

“Just fucking with him, kind of like you do the monkeys at the zoo. Questioned him for a few weeks. Then I started making my plan to do something with him. Just can’t decide what that’s going to be.”

“What are your options?”

“Suppose there’s two. Killing him, or keeping him.”

“He’s not a fucking puppy,” he said. “You can’t keep him forever. They’ll come looking for him sooner or later. Surprised they haven’t yet.”

“Been sending ‘em texts and emails. They think he’s on the lam.”

“You’ve been sending who texts and emails?”

“His wife. And, the feds.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind. God damn, ’Nut. Where do you come up with this shit? You’ve got an ATF agent in a metal container in the desert, and you’ve been fucking with him for 2 months?”

“Pretty much. Yep.”

“And they think he’s run off or something?”

“Yep. Took his cell phone when I kidnapped him. I put the battery in and send ‘em a message when I’m in different places, then take it back out. Keepin’ ‘em on their toes. Sent ‘em one from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and then from just outside of Mesa, Arizona. Couple a few weeks ago from Chula Vista in a shitty part of town. Sent ‘em one from outside a bar in the SD a week ago. Told ‘em he was chasing down a lead on a Savage who was running meth and pimping bitches.”

“You’re fucking nuts.”

“They think he’s nuts. Ought to see some of the messages they send back. Been pretty fucking entertaining.”

“Jesus Fuck, ‘Nut.”

He seemed to digest the entirety of it all for a few minutes. After he finished his beer, he sat on the bench beside me. “Get any good information out of him?”

“Just that he’s a shit hat. All he had was Meathead being a felon in possession of a firearm. After that, he was just trying to see who else he could set up on a crime. You were next on is list.”

“Tough believing a man who lies for a living. Those fuckers lie to whoever they’re setting up on a crime, and then when they get in court, they say, I was lying then, but I’m telling the truth now. Might not ever know what the real truth is.”

“Pretty sure I know the truth.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Poked a cucumber up his butt. Did a little water torture after I researched it. Put a couple rattlesnakes in there with him one day. Fucker’s scared to death of snakes, for what it’s worth. And scorpions. Tarantulas, too. Doubt he’ll ever eat a cucumber, either.”

“You poked a fucking cucumber up his butt?”

“Couple of ‘em.”

He chuckled. “And you said I was the weird fucker.”

“Least I know better than to disfigure the prick. Could have pulled his teeth, spooned out one of his eyes, or cut off his toes, but it’d look bad later.”

He spit out a laugh. “Spooned out an eye?”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re worried that’d look bad?” he asked, his tone sarcastic.

“Yep.”

“Bad how? Other than the fact someone spooned his eyes out.”

“It’d look like someone’s been torturing him. When I’m done with him, I want to make it look like a suicide or something. Get him all liquored up, and then toss his drunken ass off a bridge or push him in front of a big truck on the 5. If he was missing toes or teeth, they’d know something was up. Then, they’d come looking at our MC for it. If he gets drunk and steps in front of a truck full of avocadoes, nobody would be the wiser.”

“So, when did you become an expert on torture and such?”

“Been reading about it.”

“Did the terrorist torture manual give you the cucumber idea?”

“Nope. Came up with that one on my own.”

“Rattlesnakes?”

“That one was mine too. So was the tobacco sauce. And, the goat.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“Probably best you don’t.”

He tossed his empty beer in the trash, and got another. “Rotten bastard. I’ll volunteer to toss his ass off the bridge when the time comes.”

“When the time comes, I’ll let you know.”

“Enough about that for now. Are you planning on bringing Joey around the fellas?”

“Sure am.”

“No shit?”

“Told you things have changed. They have.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said.

“Not as glad as I am to say it.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means what it means.”

“It means what it means,” he said mockingly. “Some things never change.”

I accepted Joey as she was, and neither expected – nor desired – any changes on her part. She accepted me, wholeheartedly. I wasn’t changing to please Joey, and she wasn’t changing to please me.

Some things simply didn’t need to change.