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The next morning,Ronan found himself with one hand inside the cylinder of a Harley flathead, fishing around for whatever was left of its piston rings. They’d disintegrated while Tiny was roaring down I-5 with the predictable result of the mighty roar of his bike fading rapidly to a gasping whimper, accompanied by the clatter of metal on metal.
Tiny was not pleased. The big man watched Ronan with a sullen expression, then he lit a cigarette, inhaled, and let out a long puff of smoke. “Fucker stopped dead on me.” He looked dour.
“You might consider changing the oil sometimes, Tiny,” he grumbled. “I think the only oil changes your engine gets are when you blow the fucker up and I rebuild it.”
Tiny stood up, rising to his full six foot eight, and glared. “I change the oil, Clutch. Sometimes.”
“With what? Peanut oil?”
“Whatever the guy sold me. Shit, I don’t read labels. I tell the guy I need oil for my scooter, and he hands me the bottle.”
“Whatever you used, it was either the wrong thing, or you didn’t use enough.”
“How much should I use?”
Ronan groaned. “Forget it. You’ve screwed up the cylinder wall this time. I might have to put a sleeve in it.”
“You almost got your sleeve in it now.”
“Tiny, I’m talking about having to grind out the cylinder and then put in a metal sleeve so the piston can actually compress the gas and air.”
“Oh. Whatever. Can you do it this afternoon? I wanted to take a run to San Diego.”
“No. I cannot do it this fucking afternoon. If you don’t piss me off, I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon grinding it out. I should also break the entire engine down into a zillion tiny components to make sure nothing else is screwed. Then I’ll make a parts list I can give you so you can go buy them. Then and only then will I put it back together, and that’s gonna take a few days. I got a bunch of badly maintained bikes to fix besides yours.”
“Ah, Clutch, I need that beast.”
“We all need our bikes, and yours needed fresh oil, but you couldn’t be bothered to take care of it, so it let you down. Learn from it, Tiny. I’ll bring you the parts list when it’s ready. Now go away. I’ll work faster without you staring at me like I’m holding your only child hostage.”
“Yeah.”
Wearing an oddly crestfallen expression, the big man wandered off, heading for the clubhouse with beer on his mind. Tiny was a gentle giant, but his impressive size kept most people from ever finding that out. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the club, but Ronan liked him. He’d get his bike back soon with another reminder about basic maintenance. Most of the guys managed to lavish great attention on their bikes, but all too often, they spent their time and money on superficial things—having parts chromed or putting on fancier handlebars—not on the things near and dear to Ronan’s heart.
“You aren’t gonna get anywhere nagging Tiny like that, Clutch.”
He looked at Jett, who’d walked over to join him, and shrugged. “Considering how little money I make for my efforts in constantly repairing Tiny’s beautiful but neglected machine, I need to get some pleasure out of it.”
“You love working on that bike.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I like seeing it abused, or that I don’t get to give the big guy shit.”
“Guess not.” Jett smiled that weird smile he got when he had something up his sleeve. “How were things with Willow and Linc last night?”
“Hard to say. You know it’s hard to read them. People like Willow and Linc act like they could chew bullets up and survive it, until suddenly they can’t. So far, she’s hanging in there, and Linc is the same.” He sighed.
Jett winced. “She and Linc okay? I’m sure he needs her, and I know my sis needs him. She doesn’t talk much about it, but it’s wearing on her.”
“Yep, and my brother definitely needs her. He’d totally crash and burn without her there. He can’t be bothered to take the right amount of meds at the right time, probably wouldn’t eat right, and the only reason he gets to rehab is because she browbeats him. I wish we could do something else.”
“We’re doing the best we can, and as much as they’ll let us. I don’t know what else we can do.”
“I know, Jett, but I’m frustrated. They’re family.”
His friend nodded, but it was Choirboy who answered as he approached. That he entered the conversation indicated he’d been unabashedly listening to them for a few minutes. “You guys are doing what you can for Linc and Willow, but how about a family of your own? You must want that, Ronan?”
He snorted. “I got enough family to deal with at the moment.”
“Yeah, but you have needs.”
