Jasper drove his bike right to the MC’s bar, The Brass Monkey. This was the very bar that sat on the contested land that Whitey Smith owned … or no longer owned, depending on who was telling the story. Two guys worked the door, he knew them both. They were prospects for the club, Snake Liver and KY. Mikey Portobello, the club’s Sargent at Arms, enjoyed giving all the prospects nicknames. Jasper never asked how or why he chose certain names. It was just one of those mostly unfortunate things prospects had to deal with if they wanted to be in the club.
KY was playing on his phone. He looked up when he saw Jasper pull in and elbowed Snake Liver.
“Jasper, that you? Holy crap what happened to you?” Snake Liver narrowed his eyes as he looked over Jasper.
Jasper shrugged it off.
“Forget it. Jealous boyfriend got a few shots in. Whitey inside?” He moved past them, regardless.
“Your boyfriend or hers?” KY laughed. He guffawed, thinking he was hysterically funny, until Jasper punched him square in the mouth, another unfortunate event for a mouthy prospect. KY shut up real fast, his hand holding his bleeding lip while his other hand pointed toward the back room.
*
Jasper shoved the back room doors open. They were heavy, hand- carved doors with a carving of three monkeys on each. They were the ‘Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil’ monkeys and tattooed on each monkey was a set of brass knuckles. Jasper did the drawing for the artist that would later carve them out.
Once inside, he looked toward the end of the long meeting table. Whitey sat at the end, his head tilted back in ecstasy as a blonde woman’s head bobbed up and down in his lap. When the doors swung open, she went to stop, but he put his hands in her hair and guided her to continue.
“Don’t you knock, kid?”
Jasper continued, not giving a care about the woman, but he did shut the doors behind him. Turning back to Whitey, he said in a calm but meaningful tone,“You have anything to do with what just went down at the shop?” Jasper drove his finger into the heavy wooden meeting table.
“Keep going sweetheart, we’ll only be a minute.” The woman’s head kept bobbing up and down in Whitey’s lap. “What the hell happened to you, Jas? You were supposed to fuck her, not fight her.”
“Yeah, well, Lucas showed up. Someone tipped him off. He came right up there and started losing his mind, throwing punches while I was still in her!” He threw his hands up and then brought them down to his hips. “Now, I don’t know what this guy's going to do. He may bring the heat on me, and then who knows what he’ll do about your land deal.”
Whitey nodded and moaned as the woman took him deeper into her throat.
“Listen kid, don’t worry so much about things. I’ll fix the mess with Lucas. We can still use Misty to feed some info to her favorite uncle and everything will be fine.”
With that he gripped his fingers into the woman’s hair and pushed her down deep to take him all into her mouth. He held her there a few moments while he grunted and ejaculated deep into her throat. Jasper turned around to face the door, shaking his head.
Whitey let the woman up. She was dressed to the nines, ultra-classy, with professionally contoured makeup. She was clearly out of place in the back room of a motorcycle gang’s bar/meeting hall. When Jasper turned to face her, she was wiping the corners of her mouth, and didn’t shift her eyes from him. Jasper was taken aback by her beauty and her glamour, and he recognized her almost immediately. She was Darla Lovell, the pseudo celebrity lawyer, and here she was going down on Whitey Smith in the back of a bar. Whitey did always have a thing for taking the classy ones and making them fly their freak flag.
Darla adjusted her clothing and stepped away from them to fix her hair, and reapply her red lipstick. Jasper looked at Whitey with a questioning look in his eye. Whitey waved a hand dismissively. It was primarily none of Jasper’s , but Whitey always had a motive for the people around him.
“Like I said, don’t worry about Lucas. I’ll take care of it. Everything will be fine in the morning. Hey do me a favor, hand me my knife.”
Whitey stood up to buckle his pants while Jasper went to get the knife. Once Whitey buckled his pants, he moved over to Darla and squeezed her ass, “She’ll let me do anything to her, as long as I take off the knife.”
Whitey was known for carrying a bowie knife on his belt. It had been in his family for generations. It had an intricate handle, hand carved of ivory and at the very base of the handle, the letters “WWS” were carved discreetly into the design. Whitey was rarely seen without it.
Jasper picked up the knife on the table by the handle and brought it around to Whitey. He didn’t examine it, just a straight pick up and hand off. Whitey sheathed it into the blade holder on his belt, then put his hands on Jasper’s shoulders.
“Now … go on home. Get rested up. If Lucas contacts you about this Misty mess, tell him I’m ready to meet. I guarantee , once he hears that, he won’t think twice about you banging Misty.” He patted Jasper on the back and saw him out.