No fucking patch. I was starting to think my brothers saw me as a joke and had no intention of giving me my patch. Sure, I went on some runs with them, and every now and then things got a little out of control, but mostly they didn’t even include me in the hardcore shit. The shit I signed up for in the first place.
I flipped open my laptop and my fingers danced along the keyboard. Might as well keep myself entertained as I waited for the next joke of a job to be thrown my way. Maybe today they’ll make me clean the fucking toilets in this joint. I pulled up the four-frame on my computer and randomly selected one of the images.
Old man Gregursky, always came through when I needed a good laugh. I double clicked on the frame, enlarging the surveillance footage of his apartment to fit my entire screen. He was one of my neighbors, not that he even knew I lived next door to him. I kept an apartment in Brooklyn, but rarely ever spent the night there. It was more of a storage facility than anything else, home of all my gadgets and gizmos. I had an electronic fetish and was pretty fucking good at what I did. I could tap into phone lines, security systems and even trace 911 calls. I could get you social security numbers, credit card numbers, and if you needed funds, I could pull them from your bank account with a key stroke. I was the man.
I reached for my coffee mug on the nightstand and watched as Mr. Gregursky burnt his breakfast and used Poly Grip to glue his dentures into his mouth.
“Come on man, give me something good,” I said to the screen as someone knocked on my door. I closed my laptop as Mr. Gregursky scratched his back with a spatula. I should’ve chosen the Chinese twins that loved threesomes.
“Come in,” I said, throwing my computer onto the bed beside me.
Blackie, the vice president of the Satan’s Knights, poked his head into my room.
“The Bulldog wants to see you in the Chapel,” he stated, staring at me for a moment. Mr. Gregursky’s moans filled the room. Fucking, Gregursky. “Were you slapping it to a porno?” Blackie questioned with a disgusted look on his face.
“What? No!” I said, jumping to my feet and glancing down at the offensive computer for a second before ushering Blackie out of my room.
“You’re strange,” he said pointedly.
“Yeah and you’re grumpy,” I replied, slapping him on the back. “We’re one hell of a pair. So, tell me, any idea why Prez wants to see me?”
Jack ‘Bulldog’ Parrish, was the president of our club, a fierce leader and one badass motherfucker. Years ago, he lost his son, and the guys at the club, my brothers, say he hasn’t been the same since it happened. Word around the Dog Pound is that our president has a dark side, one that would terrify a serial killer. Blackie and Pipe keep him on a tight leash, stop him from losing control, but one day that man is going to break and God help the poor bastard on the other end of that.
“No fucking idea,” Blackie mumbled, as we walked down the stairs.
“Does that mean you assholes still haven’t voted on giving me my colors?” I asked, as we walked through the common room. Blackie paused, fixing me with a cold stare. Yeah, did I mention he was a badass too? Fucking man was what nightmares were made of.
“You want to rephrase that?”
“Can’t keep the president waiting!” I said, waving him off as I hurried around him and into the Chapel, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. I smiled sheepishly at Jack as Blackie pounded on the door behind me. “Should see about getting a lock on this thing and anger management wouldn’t be a bad idea for the big brute out there,” I suggested.
“I can hear you,” shouted Blackie.
“What’d you do to piss him off?”
“I don’t know…woke up this morning?” I said, kicking off the door and making my way toward the large wooden table that sat in the center of the room. “He’s always on the rag that one,” I added, taking a seat at the table. I turned to the man who beckoned me here and flashed him my signature grin. “So what’s the deal, boss man? Finally, going to patch me in?”
I looked at him expectantly, flipping my baseball cap around as he stared at me. His dark eyes studying me, burning a hole right through me as he chose the words he would deliver.
“I like you Riggs,” he said.
Gee, Prez. I like you too but not liking the warm fuzzy vibes.
“I like you a lot,” he continued.
Okay, weird moment.
“And I feel your loyalty to the club but I’m not sure what makes you tick.”