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“Good to be home.” He flipped the light switch and his current project was illuminated, perched on a hydraulic lift so that he could reach the underside. He was putting together something special to celebrate Baron’s wedding. It was a vintage EL Knucklehead from 1936 which he’d found in pieces at a garbage dump in Florida a couple months ago. Original EL Knuckleheads were worth a small fortune — presuming that they were whole and had original parts. Something like this, though, was not too expensive. By the time it was up and running, he’d have had to replace almost half of the original bike.
No. The real cost was the days — maybe weeks — that it would take him to rebuild the whole damn hog from scratch in time for Baron’s wedding.
“That’s what you’re good at, Rainer. Fixing up bikes. Not running a damn club.” His words echoed around the surfaces of his garage. “Not saving people.”
“Sage words.” Rainer spun around to see who it was — he recognized the voice, but couldn’t immediately place it.
Fuck. A blast from the past.
“Dog. That you?”
He’d once been the club secretary. Hard to believe that now. His hair was long and gray, scraggly and matted, pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head. Dog’s cheeks were sallow and slack, and he had bristly stubble that was more white than gray.
Dog had been one of the founding members of the Drifters — a gnarled old-timer who had been a close personal friend of Marcus’. He’d fallen from grace, though. Dog had tried to push Marcus into reclaiming the club’s New York territory too soon, and it had cost him dearly. After a verbal altercation with Marcus, Dog had left the club, and when he’d later tried to rejoin, he’d been banished for good.
Rainer had never exactly agreed with the banishment. He felt as though everyone deserved a second chance, no matter how badly they fucked up. Mind you, at the time, he hadn’t stuck up for Dog.
“You recognized me. S’pose that’s a good sign. Haven’t fallen apart too much.” He flashed Rainer a smile and laughed. The laugh turned into a wheezing cough.
They called him Dog because of his sharp canine teeth. Some folks said he sharpened them to make himself look fierce, but Rainer had never believed it. Dog wasn’t looking so hot. He looked skinny, but no less rough than he always had. His teeth looked the same as they always had.
“Mind if I smoke?”
Rainer kind of did, but he told Dog to go ahead anyway. He got the feeling that Dog wouldn’t listen to him. “Just don’t come too near anything flammable.”
Dog took out a cigarette, and lit the tip, being careful to stay out of the garage space.
“Been a while.”
“Right,” Rainer said, eying up the rear tire of the Knucklehead. It wasn’t quite straight, regardless of the effort he’d put into aligning it. “Where you been?”
“Here and there. Tryna’ find some other people to ride with.”
“Any luck?”
“Not really. Wasn’t the same. I heard about Marcus. My condolences. I know he got pissed off with me at the end, but I loved the guy.”
Rainer looked at Dog. Felt like he was telling the truth.
“Thanks. Yeah. He’s left a hole in our lives.”
Dog took a long drag of the cigarette. “Also heard that he wanted you to be Prez.”
“Well, shit. News travels fast.”
Dog grinned. “Still got some friends in the club. Lots of friends, as it happens.”
Well, this definitely wasn’t a social call. Rainer could feel something coming, and he wasn’t sure if he liked the feel of it.
“Turned it down. There’s gonna be an election. I’m not the one to petition if you want to rejoin the club.”
Dog shook his head. “Nope. Not my game-plan. Actually, I’m just here as a courtesy. See, I’m gonna stand in the leadership election.”
Huh. Not what Rainer had been expecting. Still, it didn’t bother him. The club would decide their next leader. Having people like Dog standing in the election wouldn’t change that.
“Right. Well. Good luck.”
Dog’s eyes widened. “You don’t mind?”
