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They dismounted, and both took their customary scan of the lot, looking for friends and foes. The lot was a little more than half full; on a Friday night, eight was on the early side of the busiest period here at the Dawg. By ten, the place would be bouncing on its foundation, and there would be both friends and foes present.
‘Foes’ was more of a personal category, not a club thing. As long as Jay had been wearing the Bull, pretty much as long as he’d been old enough to notice, the Bulls didn’t really have foes in Tulsa—or in Oklahoma, for that matter. Among the crews in the area, they had friends or they had longstanding truces. Among the various law enforcement organizations, they had financial agreements. All in all, even considering that Jay had almost been killed on the street a few years back, it was pretty safe to be a Bull in Oklahoma.
However, at the Dawg, Jay and Duncan had a few personal antagonists. It wasn’t totally their fault. The Dawg just vibed for conflict, especially on weekends, so they’d gotten into it multiple times with a few different people.
Jay fucking loved it.
He couldn’t help but grin as he and Duncan strode through the front doors.
One set of front doors, anyway. The Dawghouse was a wild kind of place, so huge it had three separate entrances that led into three separate areas, all connected by a corridor like a concourse across the front, and the dividing walls all insulated so that the noise from each area pretty much stayed in its lane. Jay thought it had been a supermarket at one time, or a Lowe’s, or some other giant kind of store with an equally giant parking lot.
The west entrance led to something like a less family-friendly Dave & Buster’s, with arcade games, a few bowling lanes, a row of pool tables, and dartboards. That was pretty fun, too. Jay had even taken girls on dates to that side of the Dawg.
The east entrance brought you to kind of a strip joint, without the girls getting all the way down to their skin. But there was a pole-dancing bar, and burlesque shows—and, on Thursdays, drag shows—and the waitresses on that side dressed like Hooters girls, but in pleather. He’d enjoyed that area often.
However, his favorite part, the door through which he and Duncan had just entered, was smack in the middle: the perfect honkytonk. Sawdust on the floor, mechanical bull in the back corner, even line dancing, if that was your kink.
It kind of was Jay’s kink. It was definitely his dirty secret. He’d never admit it, he’d fucking gut anyone who ever told anybody he knew, but he liked the line dancing a lot. Sometimes, he came over here alone on Tuesday nights, when they had lessons. He had to be careful, though, and make sure there weren’t any regulars around. He was kind of a regular himself, so if one saw him boot-scooting his boogie, he’d have to end them before they spread the word.
He'd never actually killed anybody yet, and he wasn’t in a big rush to pop that cherry.
That said, he did love to fight, and it was the middle part of the Dawg that vibed for conflict. On the weekends, at least one fight broke out each night, and more often than not, those fights became fully engaged brawls. When it happened, the staff just got the expensive shit out of the way, grabbed bats to ward off attackers, and tried to keep the scene to controlled chaos.
It. Was.Awesome.
Tonight, after his shitty shitty day, Jay was looking forward to the brawl part of the evening’s program. Maybe he’d even start it himself. Dunc, who, like his old man had been, was a regular street fighter, wasn’t as enthusiastic about bar fights as Jay was, but he’d have his back.
Right now, it was too early for a fight. Not enough drunks yet to get something good really started. But it would happen. It was Friday night, for fuck’s sake. It would definitely happen.
They headed to the big bar. There were still a couple open seats, so they took them. The bartender, a burly old redheaded redneck named Rusty, came over and dropped a couple cardboard coasters in front of them.
“Hey fellas,” he said. He recognized them, but Jay didn’t think he knew them well enough to call them by their names. “What’ll it be tonight?”
“I’ll take a Blue Moon,” Duncan answered, nodding at the nearest tap. Then he pulled his wallet and set two twenties on the bar.
“Same for me—and a shot of Jack,” Jay said, and took two bills from his wallet as well.
Rusty nodded and got busy.
The Dawg didn’t let customers run tabs unless they were ordering a full meal. Jay figured they’d eventually order rings or fries or some shit, but not a full meal. The Dawg was not celebrated for its cuisine.
Duncan gave him a look. “Doubling up already? Don’t get too fucked to ride, Jay.”
“Tell you what, I’ll worry about what I drink, and you worry about what you drink. I don’t need another brother. Finally got the one I came with off my back.”
Duncan scoffed. Rusty set their glasses of beer on their coasters and turned to grab the Jack, but that didn’t distract Jay from that fucking scoff. Duncan wasslightlyolder, only a year, but he had less seniority than Jay did in the club, which effectively made Jay the older brother.
“What’s your problem?”
Duncan shrugged as he took a swallow of Blue Moon. “I don’t have a problem. But I will if we have to double up to get you home. You’re an asshole about riding bitch.”
“Everybody’s an asshole about riding bitch. Nobody likes it. But that’s not why you made that pussy noise.”
Duncan sighed, and that pissed Jay off, too, but he held his tongue.
“Jay, come on. I know you had a shitty day, I figure you need to get somethin’ started tonight, and I’m game. I got you. But don’t start it with me.”
Duncan was right. Jay knew he was right, and that pissed him off more. But rather than push a disagreement into a fight before they’d even warmed their stools, Jay turned to face the bar. Rusty had set a shot glass beside his pint, and he’d taken a twenty from each of their stacks.
