“So this motherfucker looks up at the television and says, I’m gonna go take a shower, and when I get back, it better be on Family Feud.”

“You see, in the joint, it’s just like it is in the club, it’s all about respect. They vote on what to watch, and whatever wins the vote is what they watch. Everything’s put on a list. You know a week in advance what you’re gonna watch. Family Feud is on the list, but big boy is watching Jerry fuckin’ Springer. And in the joint it don’t matter how big a motherfucker is or how small he is. Now the fella watching the T.V. was about three fucking hundred and six foot six; he was bigger’n Otis. And the fella headed to the shower was maybe five foot five and a buck twenty.”

“So big boy keeps watching Jerry Springer or whatever it was. I sat back at my table and watched. I knew what time it was. Little man comes out of the shower and walks over between us. He looked up at the T.V. and shook his head. When he walked back to his cell, I stood up and got my back to the wall. Hell, you never know in the joint when one fight will pop off a riot. So, I’m watchin’ over to little man’s cell, and here he comes. Got a tube sock danglin’ from his fist.”

“A fucking sock?” Hollywood shrugged.

Corndog nodded his head. “Yep. Lock in a sock. You take the padlock off your locker and put it in a fuckin’ tube sock. Now, that lock ain’t much, but in the bottom of a sock when you’re swinging it, that’ll knock the biggest motherfucker to his knees.”

“Let the man finish his story, you rude prick,” Otis said as he tilted his beer toward Hollywood.

“So little man walks up behind the big fella in a wide sweep, and swings the fucking sock. Funniest fuckin’ thing I ever seen. You see, a two-foot sock stretches to about three feet when it’s got a three-pound lock in the bottom of it and you’re swinging that fucker about sixty miles an hour. So the sock stretches, and just wraps around big boy’s head coming back and hittin’ little man’s wrist.”

Corndog raised his bottle of beer to his mouth. After a long drink, he lowered the bottle to his waist, and rested his thumb on his belt. “Now big fella gets up and his eyes are as wide as a motherfucker. That little prick recovers from the first swing, leans back and…”

“WHACK! The fucking lock hits this motherfucker on the temple and down this bastard goes like a sack of shit. And little man steps on his chest with one foot and just pummels this prick into a bloody pile of toothless shit. He finally gets satisfied that his work is done, and he looks over to me and nods his head. I nod back. He walks over to his cell, washes the lock, flushes the sock down the shitter, and walks back out.”

Corndog paused and took another drink of beer.

“So guess what the little fucker does now?” he asked.

I shrugged, expecting I already knew the answer.

“Drags that big fucker over about ten feet, sits down, and switches the television to Family Feud. Like nothin’ happened. When the Goon Squad shows up, he says he didn’t even notice the fucker layin’ there. Here’s the other thing. Nobody saw shit. That’s how it works in there. No fucking snitches. Snitches get stitches for being punk ass bitches.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re out,” I said as I slapped him on the back.

“Feels like I never left, Slice. Shit, time in that bitch goes slow as fuck, but once you’re out, it’s all good. Little ol’ five-year bit? Shit I’ll do the next five standing on my head,” he chuckled.

“Well, this little barbeque is for you, brother,” I said.

“Appreciate it, brother. I’m gonna wander around. Hell there’s a hundred fuckers here I ain’t seen in a bit,” he said with a grin.

“Stay out of trouble, Dog,” I said.

As long as I had waited for him to be released, and as much as I anticipated his arrival at the barbeque, it seemed odd having him back. Five years is a long time. In his eyes nothing changed. It was as if he stepped out of a meeting and stepped right back in. In my eyes, he’d been gone for five years. A lot happened in the time he was gone. New members, members retiring, some being locked up, and others died. Be as it may, Corndog was out of prison, and I was glad to have him back.

As I stood amongst the few men who had surrounded Corndog to listen to his story, I glanced around, looking for Avery. I hadn’t seen her since she walked away with Sloan fifteen minutes prior. Not necessarily worried, but a little uncomfortable about her wandering around a hundred bikers without a Property Of patch, I had my doubts even she would walk around for long without someone doing or saying something.

“Anybody seen Sloan?” I asked into the crowd.

“In the dyno room with Toad. Has been for half hour,” Otis responded.

“Hasn’t been half a fucking hour, Otis,” I hissed as I looked down at my watch.

“Fuck it hasn’t. It’s ten o’ clock,” Otis responded.

“Why the fuck ain’t you in there with Toad? And where the fuck is Pete?” I growled.

“Toad’s alone with that bitch. He wanted first in, so he got it. That chic’s nuts, Slice. Toad told her he wanted to fuck her until she’d have to be hauled off in a wheel chair. That was his pick-up line. And what’s she say? Bring it. That was her response. Bring it. So, that crazy fucker Toad snaps his fingers like a high school cheerleader and does that deal with his head, and says, it’s been brought,” Otis said as he swerved his head from side-to-side.

Unamused, I looked around the crowd for Avery. There were probably fifty people in the shop talking or gathered around the kegs drinking and another fifty or so in the paved parking lot outside. I scoured the crowd in the shop.

Nothing.

“Let’s go out in the lot, Otis. I need to see what the fuck Avery’s up to.”

“Got it, Slice,” Otis said as he began to push his way past the people standing by the door.

As we wandered into the parking lot, I noticed there was a small crowd gathered in the corner near the street. It appeared two men were fighting. Nothing out of the ordinary for a biker get together, but I still needed to find out who it was and what the fuck was going on. The crowd surrounding the two men was pretty quiet while one of the two was talking mad shit to the other. I didn’t recognize the voice, so I assumed it was someone from Wichita who I didn’t necessarily know.

Our typical open gatherings were used to invite outsiders to see what the club was like, what we did, and what we stood for. The Sinners did not recruit talent. Potential prospects came to us and asked questions about becoming a member. As a result, we often invited outsiders to our parties to let them see what we were all about. If they were interested, and asked the question so what’s it take to be a member? We’d take time to explain. Some outsiders later became hang-arounds, some lost interest, and others become prospects. Having people I didn’t necessarily recognize or know at parties wasn’t anything new.

I followed Otis toward the group. As we got closer to the two arguing men, I noticed Avery was standing on the side watching the fight intently. Otis tapped me on the shoulder and pointed toward Avery. I nodded my head in acknowledgement, walked to her side, and rested my hand on her shoulder. She spun around nervously and widened her eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked.

“Watching these two dip-shits,” she responded as she tilted her head toward the two men.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “What fucking part of stay by my side didn’t you underfuckingstand?”

“I’m sorry Axton, but you were talking to Corndog and the rest of the fellas, and some asshole walked up to me and started being a total dick. I tried to get away from him, and I tapped you on the shoulder like twice but you never paid attention, so I figured you were busy. I just wanted him to leave me alone, so I wandered out here to get away from him. Then he found me again. When he wouldn’t let up, the other guy told him to shut the fuck up. Now they’re in an argument.”

“God damn it. I told you if anyone fucked with you, to find me or Otis, didn’t I?” I said.

She nodded her head sheepishly.

“Uhhm. That’s the one who told the other guy to shut the fuck up,” Avery whispered as she pointed toward the bigger of the two men.

Neither of you two would bust a grape in a food fight. Stop trying to impress the ladies, fellas, no one cares.

“Break it up, fellas,” I shouted uncaringly toward the two men.

As soon as I spoke, the bigger man’s gaze shifted to where I stood.  I didn’t recognize either of the two men. Neither of them wore a cut or colors from a club. They appeared to be two bikers from out of town somewhere who were invited by someone in the club to come enjoy the fun. The bigger of the two had shoulder length hair, and was doing all of the shit-talking to the other man.

“This asshole was being disrespectful. Everything’s just fine. Now why don’t you get your hand off of my bitch?” the bigger man said over his shoulder.

Are you fucking shittin’ me?

I pushed my way through the crowd. “Your bitch?”

“Let me explain something, motherfucker,” I said as I pushed the smaller man to the side.

As I grabbed the sides of his hair in my hands, his eyes widened. Without any notice or saying a single word, I thrust the top of my head into his nose. As I felt it shatter from the force of my head crushing down on his face, I released his hair from my grip and swung a right uppercut into his jaw.

He collapsed onto the concrete.

“God damn,” I heard someone holler.

“That’s the President of the Sinners,” I heard someone else say.

“You just need to pick him up and get him on out of here,” Otis said as he stepped through the crowd and into the area where I stood.

I pointed down at the man who was laying silently on the concrete, “Him?” I snapped.

“I’m just getting started,” I said.

I swung my right foot into his stomach. “Get up, you worthless piece of shit.”

“Slice, he’s done. That right hand knocked him the fuck out,” Otis said.

I shook my head. “No. I’m nowhere near done with this mouthy prick.”

“I said get up,” I growled as I kicked him in the stomach again.

“Where’s the other motherfucker, the one who was fucking with Avery?” I asked.

Otis shrugged his shoulders.

I stared down at the motionless body. I reached down and pulled him to his feet by his hair and belt. The thought of anyone fucking with Avery angered me to an unhealthy level. Adding salt to the wound came from the stupid fucker claiming Avery as his bitch because he had stepped in and saved her from the mouthy prick who started the problem in the first place. Everything around me became a haze. The sound of the music, people, talking - it all felt distant.

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Slice!”

I spun in the direction of the voice with my hands raised, ready to fight.

“Slice, drag him out to the street. Come on, it’s over. You beat that poor fucker half to death. Someone’s gonna call the fucking cops. You made your point. We got the other guy out of here,” Otis explained.

I looked down at the man on the concrete. His face was almost unrecognizable. Blood covered his face, hair, and shirt. His lips looked like hamburger and both eyes were swollen partially shut. I glanced down at my hands. Both were covered in blood, and the knuckles on my right hand were beginning to swell.

“God damn, I think I just lost it. Where’s the other guy?” I asked as I raised my hands to my face.

“Toad got him. Wasn’t too pretty. Kinda broke up the little party,” Otis said.

I looked around the parking lot. Roughly two-thirds of the people were gone. Somehow, I had no memory of what had happened. Although this wasn’t the first time something similar had happened, it hadn’t happened since I was a kid. When I found the quarterback fucking my girlfriend, I ended up in jail for the beating I gave him. I didn’t remember any of it. I learned in court he had a broken jaw, fractured skull, and a few broken ribs as a result. Another time, when I was in my early twenties, my father and I were in a terrible fight. It was the first time I stood up to him, and the last time we really spoke. I have no doubt he’ll remember what I did to him for the remainder of his miserable life.

I glanced down at the heap of shit on the concrete. I shook my head and rubbed my knuckles as I shifted my gaze to Otis, “So what happened to the other dude?”

“Can we drag this fucker to the street? You done, boss?” Otis asked.

“Yeah, I’m done,” I responded.

Otis waved toward the fellas who were standing off to the side, obviously afraid to intervene. Hollywood and Pete stepped in front of me, picked the man up, carried him past the entrance gate, and laid him on the curb. Luckily, the clubhouse was in an industrial area of the city, and away from the general population, at least at night. Although he could probably use medical attention, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to get it from any of us. When he woke up, he’d realize how he fucked up. More than likely when he was back in Wichita telling stories or asking questions, someone would explain to him the benefit of keeping his mouth shut around the Sinners.

“Well, Avery pointed the kid out. I was just going to carry him out and toss his dumb ass in the street, but fucking Toad came runnin’ out of the dyno room when he heard all the screaming. His fuckin’ belt wasn’t buckled, and his baggy fuckin’ pants were all around his thighs like Busta fuckin’ Rhymes or one a those fuckers,” Otis said, laughing as he spoke. “So this kid looks at Toad and his fuckin’ pants and he starts laughing. I didn’t hear it, but the fellas said he said some shit like, what the fuck are ‘you’ gonna do about it? Yeah, didn’t end well for him. Toad jumped up in the air and did some fucking Bruce Lee shit. Kicked the kid in the head, and when he hit the ground, his head split open like a ripe melon. Funny part was when Toad came back down from the spinning kick deal. His fuckin’ baggy pants hit the ground.”

Otis shook his head and started laughing again.

“Commando?” I chuckled as I looked up from my bloody knuckles.

“Yep,” Otis nodded.

I shook my head and laughed.”Can’t buy entertainment like this, can ya? Where’s the girl?”

“In the Shop with Sloan. Think ya mighta scared her a little bit with the beatin’ you gave that poor bastard,” Otis said.

I glanced down at my bloody hand. As I walked toward the shop I pressed my knuckles into my jeans. Avery and Sloan stood talking amongst a small group of Sinners. Without speaking, I walked to the cabinet, grabbed a rag and my lick ‘n stick, and slowly made my way to my bike. Methodically, I wiped the dust off the rear fender, positioned the seat in the center, and pressed it into place. I tied the rag around my hand and looked over my shoulder toward Avery.

“Avery!” I hollered as I stretched my leg over the seat and rested my rag-wrapped hand on the right grip.

Her eyes widened as she spun my direction. It seemed as if she had no idea I was even in the shop. I reached behind me and slapped the lick ‘n stick with my left hand. She smiled, nodded her head toward the fellas, gave Sloan a hug, and pulled her glasses from her purse. As she walked across the shop, rolled the hair tie off her wrist, and pulled her hair into a ponytail, I couldn’t keep myself from smiling.

And I hate people seeing me smile.

Silently, she swung her leg over the fender, dropped down onto the seat, and placed her hands against my waist. I glanced down as she rested her feet on the pegs. After I twisted the throttle twice and pulled the choke, I flipped the ignition and hit the start button.

“See you fellas in the morning,” I hollered over the sound of the exhaust.

“Ready?”

“Always,” she responded.

I grabbed a handful of throttle, released the clutch, and pulled out onto the street. I knew Avery had no idea where we were headed; hell, she didn’t care. As long as she was with me, she seemed to be satisfied with everything else around her. I turned and looked over my shoulder as we passed under a street light. She smiled a smile of complete satisfaction. The type of smile that washes over your face naturally and is never created for a camera; the smile you might see only a few times in a lifetime.

As I shifted my gaze to the road and out of her line of sight, I smiled the exact same smile.