Page 34 of Rigid

TEN

Smokey

I started riding a motorcycle when I was 18 years old, and never looked back. I found it satisfying for many reasons, the main one being the sense of freedom I felt when I had the wind in my face. Having been charged with the task of mentoring a prospect changed everything. In one afternoon, riding went from an escape to being a pain in my ass.

We rolled into the shop and came to a stop, with Tank parking twenty feet ahead of me. I pulled off my helmet and hopped off the bike in fluid motion.

Tank pulled off his helmet, and turned to face me. “I don’t understand--”

I took a few steps in his direction. “That’s the problem, prospect. You don’t fucking understand. You’re a prospect. You want to be an outlaw biker, but you’re not one. I am. You listen to me. Like it or fucking not, I’m in charge of this clusterfuck, and you’re along for the God damned ride.”

He lifted his leg over the tank, brushed his hands against the thighs of his jeans, and looked at me. He did a pretty poor job of hiding his regret, but I didn’t give a fuck. I wasn’t going to let up on him one bit.

Not now, not ever.

If it was my job to train him how to be a Filthy Fucker, he was going to be the best the club had to offer when he went from prospect to patch.

“I’ll quit fucking around. I’m sorry.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crip approaching. He stopped behind my bike, crossed his arms, and waited. After taking a few more steps toward Tank, I paused. I took a long hit off my vape, stared blankly at him while I savored the taste, and then blew the cloud to the side.

“When you were in the Corps, did you march like a fucking slob, going wherever you wanted, while the rest of the Marines marched in formation?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, Sir.”

“What would have happened if you did?”

“I’d have been written up.”

“Called on the carpet, and then punished, right?”

He nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“When there were two of you going somewhere, did you have a procedure, or did you just nonchalantly walk?”

I knew the answers to the questions I asked, I was the son of a Marine. Knowing allowed me to ask the right questions, make valid points, and not sound like an idiot in the process.

“If there were two of us, we walked everywhere in step.”

“You walked side by side. His left foot went forward, your left foot went forward. His right, your right, correct?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“In the army, they walk around with their hands in their pockets. One soldier walking at one speed, and the other just slobbing along at another speed. Did you know that?”

He nodded. “I’ve seen them.”

“Which looks better?”

“The Marines.”

“They look organized, right? Side by side, going everywhere at the same pace. They look like they’re marching, even if they’re walking to the store.”

He nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“We do the same fucking thing here, prospect. It makes us look organized. When there’s two of us, we ride two abreast. Always. Any more of that hotdogging shit will get your ass written up. Believe me, I’m keeping track.”

“It won’t happen again.”