CHAPTER Ten
Every day Win’s face looked less injured and more like himself.
In an effort to do research for his upcoming gig as a citizen looking to get laid, he used one of the laptops in the security room to look at what GQ thought was stylish club dress for the modern professional man. After looking through photos, he concluded that he’d rather set himself on fire than take style advice from GQ magazine.
He decided to do some old school research and stake out the club to see what people were wearing. He got Cue to give him use of one of the club cars and sat close enough to see what guys had on who weren’t making total asses out of themselves. After a couple of hours of observing the comings and goings, he’d settled on how to fit in with club goers.
Wednesday Cue tapped him on the shoulder. “Boss wants you to stop by his office.”
Win slid off the barstool where he’d been halfway through watching an MMA match. “Yep.”
He knocked on the jamb of the open door. Boss looked up and said, “One door down. I’ll meet you in security in a minute.”
Win nodded and stepped further down the hall to the security room. The door was open there as well. Catcher looked over and raised his chin in macho code acknowledgement.
“Boss said to meet him here. Said it would be a minute.”
“Yeah. I heard. You ready for Friday night?”
“Will be. Have an errand to run first, but mostly.”
“You’re startin’ to look human.”
“Thanks.”
Boss filled the room. “Have a seat right there,” he said. It seemed Boss was always telling Win where to sit. If he was going to be a real Marauder, he decided that would get old fast.
Since he wasn’t going to be a real Marauder, and was almost halfway done with the month-long gig, he could suck it up and act like he didn’t mind.
He sat down next to Cue, who pulled up a headshot of a guy who looked rough, not just around the edges, but from every conceivable angle.
“Cue’s gonna take you through shots of the S&B known to be in the area. You need to memorize these faces well enough so that, if you saw ‘em cleaned up for an upscale club experience in beautiful downtown Waco, you’d still recognize them for the bottom crawlers they are.”
Win nodded. “How many?”
Catcher answered. “We’re gonna concentrate on five because they’re the ones who stand a chance of gettin’ cleaned up enough to fit in. The others are too old, too pierced, too tattooed, too grilled, too bald, too bearded or too mean-lookin’ for the college alums. They’d be an instant turn off for the kind of women who show up to dance and drink at Night Flight.” He stopped and took a good look at Win. “Your face looks better. You’re gonna do fine.”
“Thanks.” Win looked at the screen. “Show me.”
They spent half an hour looking at both head shots and random photos collected from here and there.
“Remember,” Catcher warned, “these guys are likely to look different. You’ve got to be able to recognize the cleaned-up versions.”
Win nodded. “Do my best.”
“Well, it’s not critical. ‘Cause it turns out I’m goin’ in with you.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Boss decided two heads are better than one.”
“You old enough to get in?”
Catcher smiled. “Twenty-one. Last month.”
“Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve given considerable thought to my appearance. Much as I hate to say this, what are you wearin’?”
They decided that Catcher would go on the final shopping errand with Win. Win had decided on jeans and a indigo blue tee that one of the club girls said brought out the blue in his eyes.
The two bikers took a club vehicle because they didn’t want Win sighted on a bike. He left the clubhouse in a baseball cap and sunglasses, being driven by Catcher in a black Ford SUV.
Win had Catcher drive him to Cabela’s. He dropped a couple thousand dollars on a pair of Luchese horn-back caiman tail boots while Catcher looked on wide-eyed.
“You rich, surfer dude?” Catcher asked on the way out.
Win laughed. “Surfer dude?”
“Didn’t you come from southern California? Land of Beach Boys, beach babes, peroxide, and stoners?”
Win smiled, shaking his head. “I’m from Beaumont. Land of refineries, petrochemical plants, and dense concentrations of fast food clusters.”
“Hard to make fun of that.”
“So don’t.”
“Okay. But aside from that, you rich?”
“I’ve saved my money.”
Catcher barked out a laugh. “Not today.”
“No.” Win smiled. “Not today,” he agreed amiably.
They drove to Men’s Warehouse where Win bought a tan linen sport coat for himself. It looked great over his tee and jeans with boots. Not hipster. Not L.A. ridiculous. More modern Texas money. When worn open, it was dressy and casual at the same time. The thing that really sold the look was a stomach kept flat by a still-youthful metabolism and regular trips to the clubhouse gym.
“We don’t have a lot of time to personalize your killer look. So we’re gonna have to get some help,” Win told Catcher.
When the saleswoman came back, he handed her the jacket and said, “I’ll take this. Now we need a consultation for my friend. I’m takin’ him to a club Friday. Show me what the young ladies would like to see on him.”
She looked at Catcher and smiled knowingly, believing that the end game was getting laid. “Well, you’re good-looking enough. You’ve got kind of a Jon Bon Jovi thing going on.”
Catcher cocked his head. “Who’s that?”
She chuckled softly. “Well, that firmly established my age. That means you’re making my job easy.”
After some struggle, including raised voices and one walk out, Win and the saleswoman managed to wrestle Catcher into a new style skinny leg dark blue suit, a crisp white extra pointed collar shirt left open at the neck, and a pair of polished rust-colored ankle boots.
“You sure?” Catcher said, looking at himself with extreme reservation in the three-way mirror. “I think I look like a douche.”
The saleswoman giggled.
“What do you think?” Win asked her.
She looked at Catcher like she was in love. “Gorgeous.” Something about her tone of voice told both men that she wasn’t just acting for the sake of a sale.
“See?” Win said to Catcher. To the saleswoman he said, “Can you get the alterations done by Friday morning? Scratch that. We have to have it then and won’t buy this stuff otherwise.”
“We can do a rush with an extra fee for the service.”
“Done. Now where can I take him to get a hair makeover?”
Catcher immediately began shaking his head vigorously. “No. No. No. No. No.”
Win looked at the sales clerk. “Ignore that.”
“Don’t take him to a barber shop unless you want him to end up looking like a Mormon.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God. Please tell me you’re not Mormon. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Win and Catcher both gave her amused looks. “Seriously? You think there’s a chance we’re Mormon?”
She took a deep breath. “You should go to a unisex salon where people actually know something about hair.” Win nodded. “Give us a name.”
“Now.”
“Well, yes. If you don’t mind,” said Win.
She laughed. “No. That’s the name of the salon. Now. Over on Washington.”
Win smiled. “You have been a very big help.”
She grinned. “Thank you. Kind of wish I could see the heads turn when he shows up Friday.” She looked at Catcher, who was holding a box of shoes and two shirts, one white, one pearl gray, on hangers in a plastic bag slung over his shoulder. “Got a feeling you’re going to be a regular.”
He shook his head and looked away. “Not in this lifetime.”
When they got in the car, Win pulled up directions to Now. “Head down to 17th and go west.”
“You know, for the first time, I’m wonderin’ how bad I want to be a biker. There was one time I had to go for two days without sleep. I’ve cleaned up puke. I’ve earned no money. I’ve cleaned bikes by hand. I’ve had no time to, um, date. And I’ve been everybody’s gofer. But nothin’ compares to this.”
“Takin’ one for the team.”
“Worst part is, say it works out like that lady said and I actually end up with nice clean healthy girls interested in a ride. I’m leavin’ alone ‘cause I’m workin’ for the club.” When Win didn’t answer, Catcher said, “Right?”
“I’m thinkin’ it depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“If we take two cars, have a nice quiet uneventful evenin’ and there’s nothin’ to report at closin’ time, I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t use your new look to give the little ladies a thrill.”
Catcher glanced over to see if Win was serious. “You know I’m prospectin’. Right? I don’t have the luxury of decidin’ what to do with my time.”
“Let’s go to the beauty parlor and then we’ll talk to Boss.”
“Beauty parlor! I ain’t goin’ to no beauty parlor!”
Win laughed. “Settle down. I just said that to get a rise out of you. Jesus. Are you feelin’ conflicted about your masculinity?”
Catcher gaped before slamming on the brakes and pulling off the road. “I’ll take you right here, right now, fucker. Get out of the car.”
Win looked at Catcher calmly. “You’re challenging a full patch member, Prospect?”
Catcher looked uncertain. “Uh. No. Of course not. I just…. Ah. Was kidding?”
“That’s what I thought. So was I. Kidding, I mean.”
“Oh.” Catcher faced forward and pulled back onto 17th.
Win had put three hundred dollar bills on the counter downstairs before the receptionist managed to find somebody who could take a ‘walk in’.
“You are not makin’ me look like fuck all Justin Bieber!”
“No, no, darlin’. This is not a Bieb-do. Swear to God!” Stylists rarely have to defend their occupation. They usually just schedule hair services and get paid to do it.
“I know this is really unusual,” Win said. “But could you give us sixty seconds to talk. There’ll be a nice big tip in it for you havin’ to put up with…” He gave Catcher the kind of glare that said he’d lost patience. “This.”
“Sure,” she said, looking anything but sure.
She stepped out of the small room that was her business within a community of individual style businesses. Win leaned over Catcher. “You wanna be a full patch member. Then stop actin’ like a whiny little bitch. Grow up. Take one for the team. And there might be rewards in it for you that you haven’t even imagined.”
“Rewards?” That word seemed to get his attention.
“That you haven’t imagined.”
“You’re not talkin’ lollipops. Right?”
“Christ. You are unbelievable.” Win counted to five. “Now the nice woman is gonna come back in here and make you look like a heartthrob.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a guy that every woman wants.”
“There’s no such thing.” He got a funny look on his face. “Is there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well, what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Why don’t we ask her what she thinks about your hair?”
“If that’s what it’ll take to get you to act your age.”
“Fine.”
Catcher grinned at the mirror like a fool. He’d been given what the stylist called an undercut with long texture, meaning the sides were almost shaved but the top of his dark blonde hair fell over his ears in a dangerous and rebellious way. The cool thing about it, Catcher thought, was that it would look equally good in a cut with his tats showing or in the custom faggot suit Garrett picked out. It also made him look older somehow.
He turned from side to side, used the hand mirror to check out the rearview action, then jumped up and gave the surprised stylist a hug and big kiss on the cheek. “You’re gonna get me laid Friday, scissors girl.”
Win turned to the stylist. “Yeah. You did good.”
Catcher spun around and flopped into the observation chair. “Now what about him?”
Win thought the gleam in the prospect’s eye looked a little mean. He turned to the stylist. “I’m too old for that.” He pointed to Catcher. “But I guess I could use a trim.”
If Win had been wearing a button down, his hair would have reached the bottom of the collar.
“Sit yourself down,” she said.
As soon as his bum hit the seat she was running her hands through his hair, almost lovingly. He’d never had a barber do that.
“You know,” she began, “you have beautiful hair. People pay a lot of money and go to a lot of trouble to get sun highlights like the ones you’ve got naturally.” From her place behind the chair she looked at him in the mirror. “They are natural?”
He smiled. “Yes. I spend a lot of time in the sun.”
“Long and short of it,” she giggled. “That’s a hair cutting joke. Your hair is too wonderful to cut. So here’s what I’m gonna recommend.
“When you’re tryin’ to get cleaned up, steppin’ out like your friend, I’m gonna suggest you just do a retro thing. Pull it back into a short ponytail.” She looked in a drawer and pulled out a leather tie. She brushed his hair back and pulled it into the tie.
He wouldn’t have imagined such a simple thing could make such a difference in his look. She might be onto something. It could work.
“There’s a certain kind of woman who loves the sexy look of longer hair. What do you think?” Win nodded. “Let me wash it, condition it, and trim a quarter inch off the ends.”
“That really necessary?”
Catcher spoke up. “Yeah. It’s really necessary. Stop bein’ a whiny little bitch and…” Catcher’s eyes widened slightly. That was twice he’d forgotten he was a prospect talking to a member. “Sorry.” He looked away.
Win went through the treatment and stepped out into the bright sunlight feeling like he was ready to play the part of an investor who’d spent his whole adult life in an office and never learned to ride.