Smokey

I rolled past the gate, across the narrow strip of asphalt, and through the open doors of the shop. As my bike came to a stop beside Pee Bee’s bagger, I whacked the throttle twice. After making sure Crip was pissed off, I shut down the engine, pulled off my helmet, and stepped over the seat.

“How many fucking times have I told you not to rev that piece of shit up in the shop? Motherfuckers in Los Angeles can hear that loud son-of-a-bitch,” Crip complained.

Crip was the president of the club, a former Navy SEAL, and a pain in my respective ass. He wasn’t arrogant, but he was damned fucking close. His don’t rev your engine in the shop rule was one of the many rules he had that I didn’t like, or respect.

Bikers revved their engines.

Especially in confined spaces.

I pulled my vape from my pocket, took a long pull, and exhaled it in his direction. “My bad, Brother. Shit, I forgot.”

“You always fucking forget.”

I shrugged. “I can’t remember shit.”

He glared at me, and then folded his arms across his chest.

I considered folding my arms in a similar fashion just to piss him off, but realized if I did, I wouldn’t be able to blow smoke in his face. So, I decided not to.

The club’s Sergeant-at-Arms, Pee Bee, was leaning against the workbench with a bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips. Standing 6’-8” and solid muscle from head to toe, he was an intimidating motherfucker, but his heart was made of gold.

I glared at Crip until he broke my gaze, and then gave Pee Bee a nod.

“What’s shakin’, motherfucker?” he asked.

“Just trying to make enough money to buy a new set of cams,” I said. “Cholo whipped my ass the other night, and I’m sick of it. How’s things?”

He shrugged. “Things are good.”

I looked at Crip. “So, what’s the emergency, Crip?”

“No emergency. Just need to figure something out.” He glanced at my vape and then shook his head. “Ought to make a rule against those motherfuckers in the shop.”

I raised my vape. “Against this?”

He nodded.

I pressed the fire button, inhaled for as long as I could, and exhaled a flume of vapor so large that it encompassed them both. “Let me know when you do, I’ll turn in my kutte.”

He waved his hands, frantically trying to clear the air in front of him. “That shit’s going to end up killing us.”

I folded my arms over my chest and shot him a glare. “And you pricks getting drunk and riding in the front of formation will end up killing the entire club.”

“That’s different,” he said. “I’m serious.”

“I’m serious. Make a one-beer limit. Then, add something against farting and fucking to the bylaws. And loud noises. Oh, and leaving oil spots on your precious fucking concrete floor. Make a rule against scratching our nuts, too. Outsiders might see it as pretentious. They’d see us as the big cocked biker club. Hell, that’d be the end of us.”

He crossed his arms, looked me up and down, and then met my gaze. “I’m about sick and fucking tired of that attitude, Smoke.”

Shielded from Crip’s view, Pee Bee cocked an eyebrow and grinned. He knew the remark would irritate me, and was obviously waiting eagerly for my response.

“I’m about sick and fucking tired of you being an arrogant prick,” I said.

He flexed his biceps. “Come again?”

“You heard me.” I lifted my chin slightly and waited for his blood to boil.

His face went flush. He inhaled a shallow breath and jutted his chest out. I coughed out a laugh and nodded toward the SEAL tattoo on his upper arm. “What am I supposed to do now? Lower my head and tell you I’m sorry?”

He took another short breath, and I was sure a response was coming, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I waved my hand toward Pee Bee. “Peeb here can’t do wrong in your eyes, and Cholo’s pretty close to the same. Rowdy could come burn this shop down, and you’d help him clean up the fucking mess. Me? I smoke my vape and rev my motor, and you’re ready to crucify me. You treat P-Nut the same fucking way. Always on his ass. Consistency, motherfucker. I want consistency. Equality--”

His hands shot to his hips. “You fucking done?”

I shook my head. “Did I sound like I was done? You fucking interrupted me. That’s what I’m talking about. Give and get, asshole. Give respect. You’ll get it back.”

“Jesus, Smokey. I treat you with respect. I treat all the fellas with respect. You’re a prick most of the time, and I act accordingly.”

I shrugged. “And you’re a prick all the time, and I act accordingly.”

He exhaled heavily, and then shook his head. “You’re tough to take, Smoke. You pissed?”

I took a pull on my vape, and then grinned. “Nope.”

“Irritated?”

I tilted my head back, blew the smoke toward the ceiling, and then looked him in the eyes. “Nope.”

“You think I’m a prick?”

“Nope.” I grinned. “I know you’re a prick.”

“God damn it,” he snapped back.

“But I can live with it,” I said. “I signed on for this shit, and you were a prick on that day, so I knew what I was getting into. What’s up? Why the meeting?”

“Peeb’s here because Peeb’s always here. I wanted to talk to you about Tank.”

“The prospect? The Marine?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t know the kid. What about him?”

“Meathead got locked up over the weekend for a firearms charge. He was in LA over the weekend, got in a fight in a bar, and pulled a pistol on some prick in the parking lot. Someone called the cops, and must have given a pretty good description, because the feds picked him up this morning on a firearms violation. There’s no bond set, and it sounds like they’re going to railroad his ass. He’ll do a dime if he does a day.”

I wasn’t sure how Meat being in jail affected me, and as much as I didn’t want to hear Crip’s explanation, I felt compelled to ask anyway. “Sucks about Meat, he was good people. How do I fit into this, though?”

“Wantin’ you to take his prospect.”

I spit out a laugh. “Shit there for a second I thought you said you wanted me to take that prospect to raise.”

He didn’t so much as crack a smile. He simply raised his eyebrows and waited.

“I’ve got one kid, Crip.” I shook my head and chuckled another laugh. “Don’t need another.”

“I’m serious, Smoke. I need you to take this kid. Show him the ropes. He’s a good kid. He’ll make a good patch.”

“I ain’t even been here two years. And, I didn’t vouch for that prick, Meat did. Peeb’s been here for what? Ten years? Give him to Peeb.”

“You’ll make a better mentor,” he said. “You never ride drunk, you don’t take any shit, and you’re not afraid to stand your ground. You’ve got a sixth sense when it comes to threats, and that’s not something anyone else in this club has. Short of me, that is. You’re rigid in your beliefs, Smokey. And, as much as you might disagree, I respect you for it.”

“As a biker, in his beliefs, or in bed, there’s only one way for a man to be,” I said dryly. “Rigid.”

Crip gave a nod.

I looked at Pee Bee.

He raised his bottle of beer and gave me his signature smirk. “It’s only eight months.”

“Eight fucking months.” My eyes fell to the floor. “Jesus.”

“It’ll pass quick.”

I shifted my eyes to Crip. “What if I say no?”

“I’ll be disappointed. Kid might not make it. Then again, he might make it, and end up being a turd because Fat Larry or Buck takes him.”

“Give him to P-Nut.”

He shook his head. “P-Nut’s inconsistent, and he’s nuttier than a fuckin’ fruitcake.”

He was right about the Nut, but the last thing I wanted to do was mentor a war-torn Marine who was seeking a place to expel his aggression. “God damn it, Crip. I’d rather not. Kid’s probably got PTSD. If he flips out on me, I’ll put hands on his ass.”

“I’m sure he does have PTSD. Get to know him.” He shrugged. “Part of being a mentor. Talk to him. Find out who he is. Show him the ropes.”

“I’ve got plenty of other shit to--”

He nodded toward my bike. “Have him put cams in your bike. Have him help you with tile work. Use him up.”

I was an asshole, there was no denying it. I’d been one my entire adult life, and for good reason. If people’s perception of me was that I was a complete prick, they didn’t attach themselves to me emotionally. And, if we left feelings at the door, I didn’t have to worry about being hurt by another rotten cold-hearted bitch.

Truth be known, deep down inside, I wasn’t a prick. It was a façade. A mask. Something I wore to protect me from the throngs of people I was sure were destined to cause me harm.

I looked at my bike, and then at Crip. Ultimately, I wanted what was best for the club. I was sure there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that this kid was going to do anything to hurt me. He might be a pain in the ass for eight months, but I could stand anything for eight months.

“Fine, I’ll mentor the little prick.”

Crip slapped his hand against my bicep and then made a fist. “Appreciate ya, Smoke.”

I pounded my fist into his. “Just want what’s best for the club.”

The next eight months were going to be hell for at least one of us, that was for sure.