P-Nut

Bama’s snow-white hair was hidden by the bandana he wore. The shape of the full beard that he’d grown to his chest gave indication to the importance he placed on his appearance. He was a biker through and through, but he wasn’t a sloppy one.

He’d ridden with the Angels for three decades. The war between the Angels and the Outlaws over the state of California had caused riots, murders, bombings, and executions.

And he’d lived to see it all.

He was a legend himself, but nothing like the father of the girl who sat across from him. With wide eyes and an open mouth, Smudge sat and listened intently as Bama explained who her father was.

“You could have heard a pin drop,” he said. “That’s how quiet it was.”

“What about the guy with the shotgun?” she asked.

Bama took a bite of lasagna and then raised his index finger. “You cook just like your mother, God rest her soul. That woman could rustle up a meal, let me tell you. Now, back to the bar.”

He brushed his beard with the web of his hand and leaned forward. “The damned thing was a double barrel, and it was sawed off to about eight inches. If he would have pulled the trigger, it would have got every one of us. So, this son-of-a-bitch was in the door of the bar waving this thing like he couldn’t decide who to shoot. Before he could make up his pickled mind, Ol’ Snake decided for him.”

“What happened?”

“Just in case you didn’t know, Ol’ Snake stood about six-eight.” He looked at me, and then at her. “You met Pee Bee yet?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know who that is.”

“He’s the Sergeant-at-Arms for the FFMC. When you meet him, he’s your Ol’ Man’s size. When Snake walked through a door, he darkened it completely. Intimidating is an understatement.”

She smiled.

Bama leaned forward and locked eyes with her. “This wannabe Outlaw prospect is waving the shotgun, and the bar is just as quiet as a Sunday congregation. Snake starts walking through the crowd like he’s got an appointment somewhere. He’d been in the back, playing pool. But, once there was a threat, he had to be in the middle of it. It’s just who he was.”

He leaned back and shook his head.

“What happened?”

“Snake walked through the crowd, and right up to that kid. Two feet in front of him. Looked him right in the eyes and said, pull the trigger, you gutless little cocksucker. Then he said, after you do, this entire bar’s gonna stomp you to death in the street.”

Smudge covered her mouth with her hand. “Holy cow.”

Bama chuckled as if the event had happened yesterday. “Your Ol’ Man said hand me the gun. The kid lowered it and handed it to him.”

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Then did you guys beat him up?”

“That wasn’t how Snake did things,” he said. “He took the shotgun, and nodded toward the street. Go get on your scoot and get the fuck out of here. Tell your patch I let you live.”

“He let him go?”

He nodded. “Let him go and gave the fist.”

“The fist?”

“It was his trademark gesture. He gave it every time something happened that he was proud of. Something good. Every time he made a difference. He’d clench his fist and rise it to the sky. Weird, if you ask me. But, he did it all the time.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said. “But he let the guy go. That’s kind of cool.”

Bama shrugged and reached for his fork. “At the time, there wasn’t a war. Least not yet. And, your Ol’ Man didn’t want there to be one. He was as mean as a snake. Hell, that’s how he got his name. But, he wasn’t a violent man when he didn’t need to be. More than anything, the man wanted to ride. It was in his blood.”

“My mother said he loved to ride.”

“I’ll tell you how much he loved it.” He chuckled a light laugh. “We all rode to some Vietnamese joint one day. Your Ol’ Man wanted a bowl of fucking noodles. This little Vietnamese shit-hole in Mission Beach served us the noodles, and your Ol’ Man took one bite and shook his head. This tastes like shit, he said. Let’s go get a real bowl of noodles. I wasn’t too excited about it, and I asked where. He looked at me and said, Wichita. I looked back at him and said, Kansas? He nodded his head, looked at the six of us and said, you fellas up for a ride?”

“Holy cow,” Smudge gasped. “Did you ride to Kansas?”

“Right then and there. 1,300 miles one way, if I remember correctly.”

“You rode to Kansas for a bowl of noodles?”

“Took us two 12-hour days to get there.” He let out a laugh. “Ain’t much on dink food, but that was one hell of a good bowl of noodles.”

Smudge grinned. “I like that story.”

Bama’s eyes fell to the floor, and then he looked up. “You know what? I just thought of something. You had an aunt and uncle out there. Aunt died if I remember right. She would have been your mom’s sister. You still have an uncle, it’s just…”

Her eyes shot wide. “Just what?”

“He’s doing life in club fed.”

“Club fed?”

“Federal prison,” he said. “Third strike law. Gave him a life sentence.”

“Oh. That sucks. It was my dad’s brother-in-law?”

He nodded. “He rode with HA. Wild bastard. Bishop was his name. Road name was Nut Bucket. Hell, he was crazier than ol’ P-Nut here.”

“But he’s in jail?”

“Prison.”

“Oh.”

“More I think about it, heard word a while back that his boy had a club back there.”

“He’s got a son? He’d be my cousin, right?”

Bama rubbed his beard. “I guess he would. Yeah.”

“I’ve got a cousin?”

“Cousin who’s the head of an MC, I think.”

“Where is he?”

“Think he’s in Kansas. I’ll do some digging.”

“I can do some digging,” she said excitedly. “His name is Bishop, and he’s in Kansas? Is he the president of the club?”

“If I remember correctly. Been a while since I heard anything about him, but that’s what I’m thinking.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” she said.

I couldn’t imagine not knowing my father. Mine was my idol, and although it appeared Smudge’s father was hers, he was a man she knew very little about. It was nice to have a man who could filter stories of her father to her from time to time.

In my eyes, there was nothing more important than family. Short of an abusive stepfather, an alleged cousin, and an uncle doing life in prison, Smudge had none to speak of.

“We’re going to have to give the story telling a rest,” Bama said. “I’ve got to finish this plate.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Smudge said.

“Hard not to. You’re definitely your mother’s daughter. She made fried chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes and biscuits for my birthday when I was just a youngster in the club. Best meal I think I ever ate. That woman could cook. In fact, at that dinner, you’d just been born. You were living in El Cajon at the time. You weren’t walking yet, but you were crawling all over the damned place.”

“I don’t remember a house in El Cajon.”

“She moved out right after your Ol’ Man passed. Her and some gal she was friends with moved in together. Never knew what become of her, to tell you the truth. Then, after a few years, we all heard what happened to her. Damned shame.”

Smudge nodded, and her eyes fell to the table. “Thank you.”

Bama finished his plate, and looked around the room. “So, what gets you here cooking for this fool?”

Smudge looked up and laughed. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“She’s staying here for a bit,” I said.

He looked at her and arched a brow. “You need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to give me a shout.”

“I uhhm. I can’t right now, but when I can, I will.”

He shook his head. “I’m lost.”

“My phone’s broken. As soon as I can afford it, I need to get it fixed.”

“Afford it?” He reached for his wallet. “I’ll get you a new phone. It’s the least I can do.”

“Sorry. I’ll take care of it myself,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s my phone, and my responsibility.”

“We’ve all got responsibilities, Joey. Best I can recall, I owed your Ol’ Man a few bucks when he passed. Four hundred if I remember correctly.” He opened his wallet and laid four $100 bills on the table. “You can do what you want with that. But, that’s my responsibility right there. Me and your Ol’ Man’s straight now.”

She looked at the money, and then at him. “I can’t--”

He stood. “Toss it in the trash. Take it to his gravesite. Frame it in a picture. Don’t rightly care. But that’s his. Him being gone and all, I suppose it’s yours.”

“Thank you. You don’t have any…do you have any pictures of him?”

“Your Ol’ Man?”

She nodded.

“Shit. You haven’t seen the book?”

“What book?”

He shot me a glare, and then looked at her. “The book about the history of the club.”

“I haven’t, no.”

“Plenty of pictures in there of your Ol’ Man. I’ll bring one by next time the Nut invites me over.”

“I can cook another meal,” Smudge said. “Fried chicken? Gravy? Biscuits?”

“Just tell me when,” he said.

“I’ll get the stuff and have Percy…” She shook her head. “P-Nut. I’ll have P-Nut let you know.”

He opened his arms. “Come here.”

She walked around the corner of the table and gave him a hug.

“Last time I seen you, you weren’t much bigger’n a minute. Nice to see you again,” he said.

“Nice to see you, too.”

Bama broke their embrace and looked her over. He shook his head and grinned. “See a lot of your mother in you, Joey. You’d sure make that woman proud. Get that phone fixed, and let me know about the fried chicken.”

“I will.”

As the sound of his motorcycle’s exhaust faded away, we carried the plates to the kitchen.

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” I said. “You cooked it, I’ll clean up.”

“I can help.”

“I know you well enough to know it’s eating you up inside about that cousin of yours,” I said. “There’s a computer in my bedroom. Go start digging.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

I looked at her and grinned. “Really.”

She clenched her fist and held it between us. “Good lookin’ out.”

I pressed my fist into hers.

Glad I could help.