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It takes just under an hour to get back to the clubhouse. When we pull into the compound, I see two prospects at the gate I haven’t met. I’ll have to remember to try and meet anyone new at some point tonight, but the things highest on my priority list right now are a beer and a fucking cigarette.
We back our bikes into a line at the front of the clubhouse. Ghost pulls a pack of Marlboros out of his vest pocket and offers me the unopened pack. I take it out of his hand and open it up, putting the smoke between my lips. After lighting his cigar, he hands me his zippo. The first inhale fills my lungs and my eyes roll to the back of my head.
Sure, I had smuggled cigarettes in prison, but they were the shit-nasty kind. “Nothin’ like your first cigarette as a free man,” Ghost chuckles.
“You got that shit right.”
I follow Ghost into the clubhouse where we find ol’ ladies and family members scurrying around to get things prepared for a cookout.
“Party tonight?” I ask Ghost.
“What the fuck, brother? You been in the pen so long that you don’t know how we do shit? Of course we’re havin’ a fucking party. My brother just got outta prison!” He slaps me on the shoulder with a sinister grin.
Maria, Tank’s ol’ lady and my best friend Flame’s mom, comes around the hall from the kitchen. She must have heard the commotion because her eyes immediately seek me out. Once she sees me, she runs in my direction. Throwing her arms around my shoulders, I lift her small frame up into a hug.
“Miss me much, did ya Maria?” I kiss the top of her head as I set her down.
“Watch it, brother,” Tank says from behind her. I lift my arms in surrender as I back away, laughing.
“I’m so happy you’re home,” Maria admits with tears in her eyes.
“Alright woman, let us get Ringer a beer. You finish cookin’.” Tank gives Maria a kiss and a blush tints her cheeks as she smiles.
To be together for thirty years and still blush when your man kisses you is something else. Not many have that, especially in this life. Maria looks at me one last time. I throw a wink in her direction and turn towards the bar.
The next few hours are spent catching up with some of the guys. Brothers come in and congratulate me for getting out early. Ol’ ladies and club girls squeeze me in tight hugs.
Ghost and Trigger follow me inside to the bar as I throw myself on a stool. “Patch, get a beer for our brother,” Ghost tells the prospect behind the bar.
When the young guy turns around, I see why his name is Patch. He has a black leather patch covering his right eye.
“Sup, man. I’m Ringer.” I extend my hand across the bar after he dumps four bottles in front of us.
“Patch.” He shakes my hand. I nod in thanks as I take a pull of my beer.
Damn.
I’ve missed beer. And whiskey. But the hard shit needs to be saved for later.
After my third beer, large hands land on my shoulders. “Well look what the damn cat dragged in,” a loud voice booms from behind me.
I spin around on the stool and hop down and clasp my brother in a hug. “Reaper, brother! How’s it goin’?” We slap each other's backs and he releases me to look me up and down.
“Well shit, man. Prison really does get people fuckin’ ripped,” Reaper laughs.
“Not really any other shit to do in there, man,” I chuckle.
“You look good, brother.”
“Thanks, VP. How ya been?” Snatching my beer off the bar, I step to the side with Reaper.
My pops slides over to us with a beer of his own. Reaper and Dad start up a conversation about business at the shop we own that they run. While I add comments here or there, my focus leaves the conversation, and I observe the club, spotting what’s changed over the years.
Someone added a stripper pole in the center of the tables at the far right corner. Had to have been Ghost’s doing. He’s been known for his love of strippers. It was no surprise that he opened a strip club. I remember his excitement when he came to see me for a visit and told me he bought a building for the club.
The couches around the place look a little more worn than they once did. I think they're even the same couches from when I was a teen.
I interrupt my pops and Reaper to excuse myself up to my room.
