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I drop onto the sofa bed and pull out my little purple book. Though I haven’t had much free time, I have been making sure to write everything down like I always do. Even if it takes years, I’m going to figure out what happened to Pop. I’m going to make sure the guys who murdered him—whoever it was from the Steel Kings—suffer.
“Don’t worry, Pop,” I whisper. “They’re not getting away with it.”
* * *
The next few days are more of the same. I integrate myself at the saloon and among the club members. I might not be a club girl as Sandie so cattily pointed out, but I don’t need to be one—several of the guys are cool with me. Meanwhile, I’ve overheard a couple of them joke around about Sandie’s obnoxious behavior and bad fake tits.
It doesn’t matter to me either way. I’m only here for one purpose.
I might ingratiate myself with Velma, Mick, and the bikers, but none of these people matter to me.
Solving Pop’s murder does. Holding his killers accountable does. Seeking the revenge they’re owed…
I have only a handful of run-ins with Mason. We mostly stay out of each other’s way. I’m busy spending most of the day and night at the saloon. He’s seemingly preoccupied with club business, looking noticeably more pissed and stressed than ever.
On my seventh day, the club hosts its monthly meeting. The surrounding parking lot and street outside fill up with four times as many Harley-Davidsons as usual. Members I didn’t even know existed pile into the saloon. Men of all ages and different looks—still most with a rugged, renegade quality about them—and even a couple Black and Latino men.
One of the tallest members, built like a redwood tree, is a forty-something Black man named Big Eddie. He approaches the second he sees me, with a laidback smile and introduces himself. “I’m an enforcer,” he says, winking. “You need anything, you find me. I’ll handle it. Especially for a sista.”
Velma pulls me aside and briefs me on what the barmaids do during the club meetings.
“You don’t hear or see shit, girly,” she says in the blunt, matter-of-fact way only she can. “You serve the beer. You don’t draw attention to yourself. That’s it, got it?”
I nod. “If it’s supposed to be a secret, then maybe it’s best I’m not there.”
…reverse psychology. Hopefully, my hesitation wins your trust even more.
Velma slides an arm around me. “The fellas want their beer more than they want the privacy. Just do your job and stay out of the way.”
I take Velma’s advice with the knowledge that my ulterior motive will still be at play. I’ll present myself as an unsuspecting and innocent barmaid while I listen to every word spoken in search of any important info.
I enter alongside the other barmaid on shift with a pint of beer in each hand and begin serving.
As sergeant at arms, Alberto “Tito” Dominguez calls the meeting to order. The first order of business is a recap of the last meeting. Ozzie happens to be secretary. He stands up with his beer bottle and a wrinkled napkin square that’s supposed to be his notes. A couple lines in, it’s obvious his so-called ‘notes’ are nothing more than gibberish.
Big Eddie tosses his own crumpled up napkin at Ozzie and boos. Several of the guys laugh, including Ozzie, who scratches his tattooed neck and then shrugs. “Cutty might’ve thought twice before making me secretary.”
“Tom made you secretary ’cuzit’s a fucking laugh riot every time, Oz.”
“Alright, fellas, time for serious business,” Bush says, standing up from his table at the front. “Mick and I have been crunching numbers. The club’s not doing so hot with funds.”
“What about the dues?” shouts out a man in the crowd whose name I haven’t learned yet.
“We’ve taken the dues into account.”
“The problem is, we’ve got less regulars coming by,” Mick says with a solemn shake of his head.
“Some of ’em have been intimidated by the Hellrazors. Specially the ones from outta town,” says another man I don’t know. Chubby, with a wiry beard that touches his belly.
“They’ve been playing dirty, that’s for sure,” Tito says. A couple of the men nod along.
I’m moving between the tables, delivering more beer. It’s a hard task keeping the dozens of members reupped on their drinks. When one’s good, another’s empty. The job’s almost so busying that I lose track of paying attention to what’s being said.
I’ve caught wind of the rivalry between the Steel Kings and Hellrazors, even as an outsider. Tensions are escalating. There’s some kind of mission Mason and the others had been hoping to complete only to fail. I’d overheard them talking about wanting to ‘send a message.’
Could it have anything to do with Pop? Had they been trying to send a message by taking him out?
But why? None of it makes any sense…
