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Since our old club wasn't like that, I didn't get D's blind loyalty.
"Been fucking forever since my feet touched these streets," Virgin commented as we moved down South.
"Used to raise a lot of hell here on weekends," I agreed. We'd lived all over the tristate area, but the city was where we chose to go hog wild most weekends. From getting into fights in Queens to bar hopping in Brooklyn before it went all hipster, to picking up rich chicks who wanted to slum it with some outlaw bikers on Central Park South, we had seen and done it all.
But it had been years since we had been back.
It felt both familiar and foreign all at once.
A year in New York time was like ten in any other city. You could blink, and all the old haunts you knew and loved were gone, replaced two times over by new places.
"Been a rough couple months," Virgin said a block or so later, tone a bit heavy. Heavier than was his normal anyway. "Don't fucking even remember the last time I went home with a woman," he added.
"Tell me about it," I agreed, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck.
Since the whole V shit started, everything had been tense. We had to constantly watch our backs, protect not only one another, but the women and kids as well. You couldn't look away for a minute, let alone fuck around on the town at night.
And not being able to get some pussy meant the frustration was tenfold.
The older guys, they had their women. Even some of the newer members like Cy, Reeve, Pagan, Edison, and Laz. It really just left me, Virgin, Roderick, Adler, and Roan with our cocks in our hands. Literally. Roderick took this, as he seemed to take most things, with his usual jocular acceptance. Roan, fuck, dunno, figure that man was half-robot since I didn't remember the last time I saw him even look at a woman. Adler seemed to get his jollies by flirting with anyone with a snatch from legal age to death. It wasn't a fuck, but it got him by.
I guess it was hitting us hardest seeing as since Cy and Pagan traded their game for commitment, we were the biggest dogs in the club.
"It's Saturday," I said as we stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light with the rest of the crowd. "Roan, Reeve, and Edison are on guard tonight. We can hit Chaz's. It's not doing the club any good for us to be in shitty ass moods because we haven't gotten any pussy in too long," I said, ignoring the side-eye I got from some middle-aged broad on her cellphone. Seeing as we just passed some homeless crazy fuck on a soapbox screaming about how the only way to salvation was through anal sex, I figure she could take a flying leap if she was offended by my pussy comment.
"Sounds like a plan. Wanna catch a cab?" he asked, looking over at me. "Not feeling like slumming it with the mole people today. And Tish said she always sees him around five. We're cutting it close."
We caught a cab, letting it drop us off at the end of the block in case he saw us climbing out of the car and didn't want to see us, and would skip out the back.
The tattoo shop was a no go, but when we opened the door to the sleazy dive bar - a place like you would normally have found us three or four nights a week back in our old club - smelling of cheap vodka, smoke even though you couldn't fucking smoke here, and a hint of desperation coming from the cougars in the back, our eyes landed on the lone male figure at the center of the bar.
Heavy D was Heavy D because, well, the dude was big. Not overly fat, though he held some extra weight around the middle, but tall, solid, wide. His blonde hair was a bit coiffed for a biker, cut and styled, and he had a full beard that would make the fuck Instagram-famous if he was the selfie-taking sort. He wasn't looking our way, but I knew from all the years we'd known each other that his eyes were the lightest of blues, see-through almost. He had always managed to get chicks, no one seeming to mind his extra chub, maybe even preferring it at times to bodies like mine and Virgin's.
"Heavy fuckin' D," I greeted as Virgin and I moved in on either side of him.
His entire body tensed as his stool scooted as he tried to stand.
"Nope," Virgin said, slamming a hand down on his shoulders and pushing him back into his seat. "We're gonna have a little talk."
"Hey, we don't want any trouble here," the bartender said, eyeing us in the wary way people who had been in the job too long in a seedy bar often would.
