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“It ain’t cold in an ice house, you asshole,” Magnus growls. “You’re letting that Cajun gift for storytelling get away with you.”
“Minnesota’s okay in the summer, brother, but how y’all live up here year-round, I’ll never understand. Anyplace I can’t ride my iron horse year-round is just pure unnatural,” Sinnerman insists, tapping his temple. “Your ancestors were touched in the head to come up here to settle.”
“At least we didn’t put down roots in a damn swamp,” Magnus counters.
“Bayou, my brother. Bayou,” Sinnerman corrects him smoothly.
Snickering, I turn to the man in the Lords of Carnage cut, noting the Road Captain patch on his chest. “Rogue, right? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“That’s right,” he agrees. “Magnus is an old buddy of mine from way back. Our dads used to fish up here together when I was a kid.”
“Your club’s based out of Ohio, yeah?”
Rogue nods. “We’ve got two Ohio clubs, in Tanner Springs and Ironwood. And we just started a chapter in Jacksonville, Florida.”
“Florida? How does Creed feel about that?” I ask, referring to the president of the Royal Bastards Jacksonville, Florida chapter.
Rogue takes out a pack of cigarettes and shakes one out. “It ain’t a problem,” he says casually. “Creed and Wideglide, the prez of our Jacksonville club, go back a ways. It’s all copacetic. They’ve worked it out.”
Sinnerman clears his throat. “Welp, I’m gonna take off,” he announces. “Got some shit to take care of.”
“Yeah, I’m outta here, too,” Rogue says. “Gotta catch a flight back home tonight.”
“Say hi to your ol’ lady for me,” Magnus says to him. “Tell her she should come back up and try to catch the Northern Lights again.”
“Rory’d like that,” Rogue takes a puff of his smoke. “She still talks about how cool it was when we saw ‘em the last time we were here.”
Sinnerman and Rogue walk out together. A few seconds later, the roar of engines fading into the distance tells us of their departure. Magnus heads into the chapel to go over some club business with Norse. I drain my beer and head over to join my brothers Mack and Reed at the bar.
Little Big Mama eyes me as I approach. “One more?” she asks, indicating my empty bottle.
“You know me well,” I joke.
“Hey, welcome back, man,” Mack greets me, clapping me on the back. “How was Iowa?”
“Did what needed to be done. Spanner’s taken care of.”
“Yeah, we heard.” Reed, our Road Captain, observes. “You don’t look that happy about it.”
“Yeah, shit. Thought you were looking forward to seeing that asshole suffer,” Mack says. “You turnin’ soft on us? You look like your grandma just got hit by a bus.”
“Fuck off, Mack,” I growl.
“You do look like shit, though,” Reed agrees. “Thought you were salivating over ending that fucking traitor.”
“Nah, that ain’t it. Watching Spanner die a slow, painful death got me hard as a rock.”
“Well, then, what’s up?” Reed asks. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”
I pause, then figure, the hell with it. “I saw Kat,” I say, looking at Mack.
“No shit?” His eyes go wide. “Down in Iowa?”
“No. Over at the G-Spot. I stopped there on the way back here. She’s back in Minneapolis now. Works at Fairdale Hospital as a nurse.”
“Well, fuck.” Mack exhales. “How’d that go?”
“Not great. Like shit.”
