next.
“The Tails up north came to us with an offer. They think between us Texas clubs we could run these packages down I-10 just as efficiently. We could be the primaries ‘stead of the middle men. We’d get a bigger cut of the profits.
“Would the Rabids be patching Tails to make this happen?”
“Yeah, that’d be necessary; but we can make that right at the table. That’s the advantage of having a load of pre schoolers sit here every Friday.” Jimmy grimaced.
Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Now he had to patch to the Priests; taking this task on would be the only thing that would guarantee his life. In a strange way it made the decision easier because if he was successful, it wouldn’t be the Rabids that he’d be returning to, it would be a different club. Whichever way he looked at it, that feeling of home, of family, that he’d found in the club was crumbling at a rate of knots.
He responded the only way that he could. “You got a timeframe you need this to happen in?”
Jimmy smiled before he answered. “No, not particularly. Sooner rather than later would be good, though. But, brother, this isn’t a suicide mission we’re sending you on. We want you back at this table. However long it takes you to figure out a way to do it that doesn’t get you dead is fine.”
Samuel Carter’s life for his. He didn’t know Samuel Carter. His President was asking him to complete a mission. It looked like Charlie’s phone call just happened to be opportune, or not, depending on whose side of the equation you were on. Paul nodded slowly. “Okay. Consider it done. You want to go over those details now?”
Giles answered. “No, brother. We got time for that. Go out there, get a drink, get a fuck; relax some. We’ll work on the finer points another day.”
“Will do.” Paul pushed himself up and away from the table. Jimmy and Giles were looking hard at him, but they didn’t have to say anything. No one needed to say that the conversation was not to be discussed with his brothers. They wouldn’t have asked this of him if he was such an idiot that they would actually have to verbalize that advice.
Since neither Jimmy nor Giles had moved from their seats, Paul closed the doors behind him when he left the Chapel. When he looked around the main room he found the carnage of the Friday night post Church party already well underway.
Travis liked to start his night with head and progress from there, and he wasn’t all that shy. He was already slumped comfortably on one of the ratty sofas with a girl on her knees bobbing away between his spread thighs. Cross and Rabbit had commandeered one of the other sofas and were in the middle of an animated discussion. At this stage of the night it was probably about bikes, but who knew. It could just have easily been about the attributes of their favorite strippers.
Garfield was perched on one of the bar stools, a glass in his hand and a bottle of Jack at his elbow. Dana, one of the fresher looking club girls, was draped around his shoulders, speaking at his ear. She was probably trying to persuade him to make a night of it with her. She never turned a patch down, but it was known that she had a particular soft spot for the SAA.
Elvis was playing pool with a hangaround. Despite having a girlfriend, he’d probably sneak off into the dorms to get head later. As the youngest patch, and considering the ribbing he got about his devotion to his hair, he tended to keep his activities with the girls behind closed doors for fear that one of the other patches would see something to make a joke of. Sloth was behind the bar, whirling like a dervish to keep up with the requests for whiskey, tequila and beer. Two of the girls were taking turns to attempt to sling themselves around the stripper pole. There were no experts in tonight. The
“The Tails up north came to us with an offer. They think between us Texas clubs we could run these packages down I-10 just as efficiently. We could be the primaries ‘stead of the middle men. We’d get a bigger cut of the profits.
“Would the Rabids be patching Tails to make this happen?”
“Yeah, that’d be necessary; but we can make that right at the table. That’s the advantage of having a load of pre schoolers sit here every Friday.” Jimmy grimaced.
Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Now he had to patch to the Priests; taking this task on would be the only thing that would guarantee his life. In a strange way it made the decision easier because if he was successful, it wouldn’t be the Rabids that he’d be returning to, it would be a different club. Whichever way he looked at it, that feeling of home, of family, that he’d found in the club was crumbling at a rate of knots.
He responded the only way that he could. “You got a timeframe you need this to happen in?”
Jimmy smiled before he answered. “No, not particularly. Sooner rather than later would be good, though. But, brother, this isn’t a suicide mission we’re sending you on. We want you back at this table. However long it takes you to figure out a way to do it that doesn’t get you dead is fine.”
Samuel Carter’s life for his. He didn’t know Samuel Carter. His President was asking him to complete a mission. It looked like Charlie’s phone call just happened to be opportune, or not, depending on whose side of the equation you were on. Paul nodded slowly. “Okay. Consider it done. You want to go over those details now?”
Giles answered. “No, brother. We got time for that. Go out there, get a drink, get a fuck; relax some. We’ll work on the finer points another day.”
“Will do.” Paul pushed himself up and away from the table. Jimmy and Giles were looking hard at him, but they didn’t have to say anything. No one needed to say that the conversation was not to be discussed with his brothers. They wouldn’t have asked this of him if he was such an idiot that they would actually have to verbalize that advice.
Since neither Jimmy nor Giles had moved from their seats, Paul closed the doors behind him when he left the Chapel. When he looked around the main room he found the carnage of the Friday night post Church party already well underway.
Travis liked to start his night with head and progress from there, and he wasn’t all that shy. He was already slumped comfortably on one of the ratty sofas with a girl on her knees bobbing away between his spread thighs. Cross and Rabbit had commandeered one of the other sofas and were in the middle of an animated discussion. At this stage of the night it was probably about bikes, but who knew. It could just have easily been about the attributes of their favorite strippers.
Garfield was perched on one of the bar stools, a glass in his hand and a bottle of Jack at his elbow. Dana, one of the fresher looking club girls, was draped around his shoulders, speaking at his ear. She was probably trying to persuade him to make a night of it with her. She never turned a patch down, but it was known that she had a particular soft spot for the SAA.
Elvis was playing pool with a hangaround. Despite having a girlfriend, he’d probably sneak off into the dorms to get head later. As the youngest patch, and considering the ribbing he got about his devotion to his hair, he tended to keep his activities with the girls behind closed doors for fear that one of the other patches would see something to make a joke of. Sloth was behind the bar, whirling like a dervish to keep up with the requests for whiskey, tequila and beer. Two of the girls were taking turns to attempt to sling themselves around the stripper pole. There were no experts in tonight. The
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