It was almost four before Doc and Royal arrived back in Greenfield with the safe. It was a hand-me-down from the mother chapter in Charleston, a big, heavy bitch that would meet their needs for the foreseeable future. At almost four feet tall and two feet wide, the beast weighed over thirty-five hundred pounds and was pure hell to move. They wanted to get the safe now, before all the walls were up, to make moving the safe easier. In effect, they were building the clubhouse around the safe.
When they arrived in Charleston for the safe, Royal was at a loss on how they were going to move the lump, but six guys and an engine hoist made short work getting the vault into the back of Doc’s truck. On the trip back, Doc called Hot Rod and a rented hoist was waiting when they arrived. They removed the tailgate and carefully backed the truck up to the large double door, secured the safe to the hoist, lifted it, and drove the truck out from underneath.
Tony grinned as the men grunted, strained and swore as they slowly worked the safe through the doors and into the clubhouse. “I thought you guys were a motorcycle gang, not a bank,” he teased when they paused before rolling it across the clubhouse.
“We’re a club, not a gang,” Doc said, shaking his right hand trying to get some feeling back into his fingers. “We operate strictly on cash, so we need a place to keep it. This is the old safe from the original chapter. They bought a new, bigger, one and gave us their old one, just to get it out of the way.”
“You’re not worried someone will break into it?”
Royal chuckled. “Good luck with that. The walls are five inches thick, the door eight, and, as you can see, it’s heavier than a dead preacher. Anyone who tries to open this bitch had better have some extra time on his hands.”
Tony chuckled and turned back to his work as the Kings put their backs into rolling the vault into the corner of the clubhouse that would eventually become the chapel, the room where club business was conducted. It was almost six before they had the safe where they wanted it, then it took them another hour to upright the thing and get it level.
Tired, bruised, sore, and stinking of sweat, Royal rode to his apartment. Now that they had a place to put it, the next thing was to pick up the seed money for the new chapter and get it in the safe, but that was for another day. Right now all he wanted was a hot shower, a cold beer, and something to eat, in that order.
He was stripping out of his clothes the moment the door shut behind him, walking straight to the bathroom without a pause. The water felt glorious, washing away not only the dirt and sweat, but also the aches he had collected shoving that bastard of a safe around. After scrubbing himself clean, he stood under the water for a long time, allowing the heat to leach out the accumulating soreness.
Finally feeling human again, he dried and dressed. As he sat on the mattress on the floor, putting on his socks, he realized the one thing he missed most was a chair. That was the next thing on his list of items to purchase: a place to sit. He had put aside every penny he could while living in Charleston, enough to get himself started in Greenfield, enough, maybe, to make a nice down payment on a little house. He’d clawed his way out of his dead-end life and he wanted to put down roots, maybe find an old lady and settle down like Doc, Hot Rod, or Hammer.
He stood and shrugged into his colors, running his fingers through his hair before walking out the door. He rode for a while before stopping at a place that caught his eye, the clever name making him smile as the looped the bike in the road before pulling into the parking lot.
He walked into Handlebar, pulling off his sunglasses and slipping them into the pocket under his vest. The bar was full of bikers, not surprising given its name, and they eyed him balefully as he entered.
“What’s on tap?” he asked as he stepped up to the bar.
“Budweiser, PBR and Bud Light,” the bartender said.
Not his first choice in beers, but he wanted a cold mug and not a bottle. “Give me a Budweiser.”
The barman expertly filled his mug and plonked it in front of him. “Three bucks.”
“Keep the change,” Royal said as he tossed a five on the bar and pulled his beer to him, taking a sip.
“Out of your territory, aren’t you?”
Royal turned to face the voice. The man was older, maybe fifty, sporting long greasy hair and beard, and was at least a hundred pounds overweight. There was another man of about the same age and build standing behind him. “We just opened a new chapter in Greenfield. We’re still setting up.”
“So you think you can just move into town and muscle everyone else out?”
Royal squinted at the guy. “We’re not trying to muscle anyone out. We coexist with the other clubs in Charleston. I don’t see any reason why we can’t do the same here.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t Charleston. This is our bar and our town.”
Royal took another sip of his beer as he looked the bar over. There were at least ten men who appeared to be in the same club as big mouth, with perhaps ten more who wore a mixture of different patches, along with a smattering of women. There was no way he wanted to tangle with ten men, much less more if the other men came in on the side of the loud mouth.
His beer wasn’t even half finished, but he didn’t have his brothers to back him up and this was a fight he didn’t want. “Thanks,” he said to the keep as he rose.
“Hey! Don’t turn your back on me,” the fat man snarled, grabbing Royal by the shoulder and spinning him around.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Royal said softly, putting his hands up in a placating gesture as he stepped slowly backwards, trying to defuse the confrontation.
“Well, we don’t want you in our town,” the man snarled as he took a step forward. He reached out to grab Royal in one meaty fist, but all he touched was air.
Royal grabbed the hand as the bully reached for him, and twisted the wrist hard away from him, quickly rotating it as far as it would go. The thug wasn’t fast enough to compensate with the turning of his arm, and Royal heard the snap of his opponent’s wrist and elbow. As the first man went to the floor, bellowing in pain, his brother stepped in. He threw a wild left that Royal ducked under, then took the opportunity to grab the man’s right hand while he was off balance and spin him around, bringing the thug’s arm up and behind his back. The man’s roar of pain was added to the shrieks of the man on his knees as he cradled his mangled arm.
As the men’s brothers rose to their feet, Royal backed off on the pressure of the man’s arm just a bit as flicked open his knife and brought the tip to the man’s throat to press it in just enough to make the man hiss in pain and terror. “I told you I don’t want any trouble,” he growled. “Your man there has a broken wrist and elbow. This asshole is about to have a wrecked shoulder and a slit throat. It’s time to decide how badly you want to dance.”
“You can’t take us all,” one of the man snarled as handguns began to appear.
“Cut that shit out!” the barkeep roared as a shotgun appeared in his hand.
Royal glanced at the keep and noticed the shotgun was pointed at the group of men on their feet, not him. “I’m going to back out that door. I would advise you to let it end here before someone else gets sent to the hospital.”
“Go on! Get out, and don’t come back!” the keep thundered.
Royal nodded as he dragged the brute backward with him. When he reached the door, he paused. “I could have killed you, or ripped your arm off, but I didn’t,” he growled into the man’s ear, “Don’t try me again or you’ll have a lot more than a sore shoulder. Do I make myself clear?”
The man nodded ever so slightly, the point of the knife still against this neck. “Go tend to your man.” He pulled the knife away and gave the lout a hard shove that sent him stumbling back into the bar as he backed out. He quickly sheathed his knife to free his hands, and then moved to the side of the door. He waited a moment and, as expected, two men came rushing out.
A quick jab to the throat of the first man as he passed sent him stumbling to the ground, his hands going to his throat as he gasped and gagged. The second man tried to turn to face Royal, but he was too slow, far too slow. Using his momentum against him, Royal stepped in behind him and wrapped his arm around the man’s throat and cinched it down tight, pressing the man’s head forward into the choke with his other hand and compressing the carotid arteries to starve the brain of oxygen. In less than ten seconds Royal felt the man go limp and he let him go, allowing him to fall to the ground. He would wake up in a few moments feeling lightheaded and disoriented, but with no other damage.
He waited a moment longer but nobody else came out. Watching his back he moved quickly to this hog and mounted up. His sunglasses were hopelessly mangled from the chokehold he put on the last guy, so he tossed them onto the parking lot in disgust, thumbed his bike to life, and roared away before anything else could happen.
Pissed off over what happened he prowled the streets of Greenfield until he had regained his balance. Once he had his calm, he stopped at another bar. This time he was able to enjoy is beer in peace and nobody hassled him. Whether it was because it was a friendlier bar, wasn’t full of bikers, or he was in no mood to take any more shit off of anyone and it probably showed, he didn’t care.
He thanked the keep and stepped out into the gathering gloom. He glanced at his phone and realized that Stella would be going on shift at the diner in about thirty minutes and that he hadn’t eaten yet. With a smile he remounted his motorcycle and thumbed it into life. He kicked the bike into gear and arrived at Carolina Diner just a bit after nine.
“How many?” the hostess asked as he paused inside the door.
“One. Stella’s section please.”
“She’s waiting a large party at the moment.”
“That’s fine, I’ll wait.”
The hostess shrugged. “Right this way.”
The diner was divided into two large rooms either side of the kitchen, with two smaller rooms at the front flanking the entrance vestibule. She placed Royal’s menu on a table in the corner well away from the boisterous party in the center of the room where eight tables had been pushed together. There were several balloons announcing someone’s eighteenth birthday, along with a cake and a few presents.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Sweet tea, no lemon.”
The hostess nodded. “Stella will be with you as quick as she can.”
“No rush.”
For the next fifteen minutes he sat nursing his tea as Stella scurried about, delivering drinks and taking orders. She had help, but the diner was unusually busy for such a late hour, a number of people arriving with high school age kids wearing baseball uniforms.
“Are you sure you want to wait?” the hostess asked. “I can move you to another section.”
Royal shook his head. “If you can just fill my glass, I’ll wait.”
The hostess smiled and nodded, returning in a moment with another glass that she placed on the table.
“Why are you being such an asshole?” Stella asked as she stopped at his table a few minutes later.
“What? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sitting here. Why didn’t you sit somewhere else and give me a break?”
Gabriel shook his head. “I told them there was no rush.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ll have the meatloaf, along with mashed potatoes, corn, cornbread, and you allowing me to take you to coffee when you get off.”
“Got it,” Stella said as she moved off, snatching the menu off the table as she turned.
Gabriel looked out the window and grinned so she wouldn’t see him smile.
“He’s back again, I see,” Tara teased.
“Yeah, and being a jerk, too.”
“Why?”
“Why couldn’t he sit somewhere else?”
“Maybe he wanted you to wait on him.”
“Couldn’t he see I was busy?”
Tara shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t care.”
Stella grunted as she picked up the pitcher of tea and made rounds, filling glasses, including Gabriel’s.
Four waitresses, working as a team, brought out the food for the twenty people as Stella quickly passed the plates around, returning a moment later to top off their glasses again, then brought out his plate and slid it in front him.
“Need anything else?”
“This will do. Thanks.”
He ate slowly, wanting the other party to leave before he finished. It was almost ten-thirty before the birthday group finished and left, and he had long since finished his meal.
Stella cleared the table and with help from another waitress, moved the tables back into their positions. Task finished, she stopped at his table. “Why are you still here?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She paused as she thought. “If you get to say whatever it is you’re dying to say, then you’ll leave me alone?”
“You have my word,” he said with a firm nod.
She glared at him a moment. “Fine. I get off at midnight.”
Gabriel smiled and nodded. “I’ll be waiting.” As she stomped away, he slid out of the booth, tossed four twenties on the table, and walked out the door.
“Did you agree to go?” Tara asked as she watched Gabriel stride out the door.
“Yeah, just so he would leave me alone.”
Tara nodded but said nothing.