Teddy, Chico, and I rolled to a stop in front of the bar, thirty feet away from the covered patio. The outdoor seating area was filled with beer-drinking patrons who were anxiously watching the pre-season football game on one of the many flat-screen televisions.

We parked our motorcycles along the sidewalk that connected the bar’s front door to the patio. Before I had a chance to get off my bike, the crowd erupted in cheers and drunken applause. There were four men seated at a high-top table, however, that seemed far more concerned with the three of us than the football game.

I glanced at the four over-sized idiots and then looked at Teddy. “Let me guess,” I said flatly. “The four frat brothers.”

Teddy was in his mid-thirties and looked more like an outdoorsman than a biker. He cut his unkempt hair once a year, and rarely trimmed his unruly beard. Instead of black boots and wife-beaters, flannel shirts and Doc Martens were his attire of choice.

He swept his kick stand down, glanced toward the patio, and then gave me a confused look. “The what?”

I gestured with my eyes toward the four men who were now fidgeting in their seats. “The four dip-shits with the Greek letters on their shirts.”

He glanced in their direction and stroked his beard. After a long study, he nodded. “Yep. That’s them.”

I climbed off my bike. With my back to the men, I looked at him and arched an eyebrow. “Which one was it?”

“Hard sayin’.” He craned his neck and peered over my shoulder. “I just saw the finger, not who it was attached to.”

Our MC took part in a poker run earlier in the day. Afterward, fifty or so of us went to a local bar. Then, around five o’clock, the club voted to go to a different bar.

Chico was sweet on one of the bar’s waitresses, so we stayed behind until her shift ended. With her on the back of Chico’s bike – and us trailing an hour behind the rest of the club – we left in typical biker fashion.

Fast and loud.

We shot out of the bar’s parking lot full-throttle, racing toward the downtown district to meet the rest of the club. Upon coming to a stop at the first traffic light, Teddy informed me that someone had flipped us the bird and shouted something as we rode away from the bar.

I treated everyone with respect. I expected the same in return. So, upon hearing of the disrespectful gesture, I demanded that we turn around and go back to the bar. Teaching the men in question a lesson was something I felt compelled to do.

Chico’s arms were loosely draped over the top of his ape hanger handlebars. The bubbly blond waitress had her hands in his lap and her boobs pressed against his back.

The Black Keys’ Sinister Kid blared from his custom Road King’s speakers.

“Fuck ‘em,” Chico said. “I say we stab ‘em up. Disrespectful pricks.”

Chico was half-Hispanic, muscular, and covered in tattoos. With short black hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee, he could easily pass for one of SoCal’s Chicano bikers, but he was born and raised in the Midwest.

His answer to everything was stabbing someone. An awkward look in the coffee shop, a spilled drink, or someone giving his motorcycle a second glance were all grounds for being stabbed.

I glared at him. “Nobody’s getting stabbed up.” I shifted my eyes to Teddy and gestured toward the rock garden at the edge of the sidewalk. “Hand me one of those rocks without any of those fuckers seeing you. A big flat one.”

Teddy’s eyes widened. “What’s the plan?”

“You two are going to sit here,” I said. “And, I’m going to teach them a lesson on respect.”

With his hands hidden from their sight, Teddy handed me a four-inch round one-inch thick rock.

“How’s that?” he asked.

The rock was heavy in my hand. It would give me the edge I needed to face the four college football players. With my back to the men, I slipped the massive stone into the pocket of my jeans.

“It’s perfect,” I said with a nod.

Teddy looked at my rock-filled pocket and shook his head. “You sure you want to do this?”

He was the club’s pacifist. In his opinion, God would sort out everything in the end. Nothing warranted violence. I disagreed with his theory wholeheartedly. If anyone knew it, he did.

“They need to be taught a lesson,” I said dryly. “You know I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t do this.”

He let out a sigh. “You’re going up there alone?”

If three kutte-wearing tattooed bikers sauntered up to the men’s table, it would be intimidating. Intimidation was a form of bullying. I was many things, but a bully wasn’t one of them.

I needed to act alone.

I nodded. “Yep.”

I glanced at Chico. The ditzy blonde’s delicate nineteen-year-old hands were resting in his lap while her head bobbed to the music.

I shook my head at the sight. “If things go to hell in a handbasket, you two can join in. Only if they go to shit, though.” I gestured toward the waitress. “Leave her ass here if you come up there.”

Chico pulled out his phone. “I’m recording this shit.”

I shot him a glare. “No, you’re not.”

“Why not?”

“Because. It’s intimidating,” I explained. “You know how I am about that shit.”

“You’re six-foot-two, covered in prison tats, and have a permanent scowl on your face.” He chuckled. “It doesn’t matter if you go over there alone or if we go with you. It’s going to intimidate them, either way.”

“I need to convince them that I’m right and that they were wrong. If you’re recording it, it’s going to make them nervous, and they might agree with me even if they don’t agree with me. I need to make sure their apology is sincere. Put the phone up,” I said.

He shoved the phone into the pocket of his kutte. “Whatever, you weird fucker.”

I inhaled a deep breath and turned toward the patio. “Wish me luck.”

Prepared to beat any – or all – of them into seeing things from my perspective, I strode toward the four men with purpose in my walk. It was the same bravado gait I’d used many times in prison to warn the other inmates that I wasn’t an easy mark.

With each step, I kept my eyes focused on the men. I wondered how receptive they’d be to my request. I fully realized teaching people life lessons wasn’t my place on earth, nor was it God’s will, but I’d spent a lifetime doing it, nonetheless.

I stretched my legs over the waist-high wooden fence that separated the patio from the parking lot and walked up to the edge of the men’s table.

While the four of them stared at me wide-eyed, I pulled out a spare stool and sat down at the end of their table. Two of the men were seated on my left, and two were on my right.

I made eye contact with each of them, and then gave a nod. “How you fellas doing?”

Three of them stared at me in sheer disbelief. The fourth, the biggest of the group, took a long drink of his beer and then pushed the mug to the side. “Trying to watch the game,” he said. “What’s up?”

I locked eyes with him and leaned forward, resting my forearms on the edge of the table. “Well, one of the fellas I was riding with gave me some troubling news.”

He glanced toward Teddy and Chico, looked at me, and chuckled. “What’s that got to do with us?”

He was obviously the leader of the group and wanted to play the part in front of his friends. I had minimal patience for smart-asses, less for liars, and none for people who treated others with disrespect.

He had crossed all three boundaries.

I sized up his three friends and then looked him up and down. At six-foot-two and just shy of two hundred pounds, I wasn’t small by any means. He easily had fifty pounds on me, as did each of his friends.

But, he was the one with the mouth. Therefore, he was the one I needed to talk to.

Hidden from his view by the table, I slipped my hand into the right pocket of my jeans and gripped the rock.

“It’s got everything to do with you,” I explained in a dry tone. “You see, one of you flipped us off when we were leaving a few minutes ago. I’m sure you’re aware that the gesture is a universal sign for fuck you. I don’t know about the four of you, but when someone tells me to fuck off, I see it as a sign of disrespect. I’m weird about people treating others disrespectfully, so here’s how I’m going to handle this.”

I paused and looked at each of the men. “Whichever one of you did it has one chance to apologize. Just one. If no one admits to it, I’m going to start beating on you.” I gestured toward Big Boy with a nod. “And, I’ll beat you like you’ve never been beaten before.”

His Adam’s apple rose, and then fell.

“I’m pretty sure your buddies will get me off you at some point. But, I can guarantee you this.” I stood, clenched my jaw, and gripped the rock firmly in my hand. “Tomorrow, at some point, you’ll look in the mirror at your missing teeth and the cuts I left on your face, and you’ll say to yourself, damn, I wish I would have apologized to that guy yesterday.”

Each of the men stared back at me with open mouths and wide eyes.

“I’m going to count to three,” I explained. “By the time I get there, someone better be apologizing.”

I raised my left index finger in the air. “One…”

“I did it,” Big Boy blurted.

I shook my head. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Your motorcycles were really loud, and we were trying to watch the game.”

I gestured toward the sign in the parking lot behind him and chuckled. It was one of a dozen that read, MOTORCYCLE PARKING ONLY, and reserved the front twelve parking spots for bikers.

“In case you didn’t know it, you’re in a biker bar. It’s neither here nor there, though. Disrespect is disrespect. If you treat the wrong man with disrespect, you’ll get your ass kicked – or killed. You’re lucky it’s me talking to you, and not that ugly Mexican over there.” I raised my eyebrows. “Now, I’m going to need you to apologize.”

Big Boy let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Fair enough.” I glanced at each of the men. “Look at it as a lesson learned. Give respect, and you’ll get it in return. Remember that, it just might get you out of a jam sometime.”

I reached into my left pocket, pulled out my money clip, and tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Next round is on me, fellas.”

“I appreciate it,” the man on my left said.

“I appreciate the fact your buddy had enough common sense to apologize.” I pulled the rock from my pocket and slapped it down on top of the bill with a thud. “Have a nice evening, fellas.”