mind quiet, and he sure didn’t mind being on his own, but this was getting oppressive. And wondering what it would be like to come into this room in a morning and find a certain black-haired beauty pouring coffee or grilling bacon in the kitchen was not helping.
He rose, rinsed the mug and left it in the sink. Heading back into the even quieter bedroom, he snagged a long-sleeved thermal shirt from one drawer and a plaid shirt from another and tugged them on in turn. He pulled socks and his boots on next. He lifted his kutte from its place on the back of the chair in the corner of the room and slipped it on and made his way out to the clubhouse and company.
When he pulled up at the clubhouse, despite the relatively early hour, he found all the club bikes lined up. That was good, he wouldn’t need to call everyone in to discuss his concerns about the town. He backed his own bike into its place at the end of the line nearest to the clubhouse door. Once he’d cut the engine he could hear the sounds coming from the open garage bays. Metal clunked against metal, a vehement curse, the revving of an engine, and music from the radio underlined it all.
Dizzy retrieved his Stetson and settled it firmly on his head before entering the clubhouse. The main room was empty and quiet. The owners of the bikes outside were probably all in the garage. That was even better. Dizzy left his kutte over the back of his chair at the head of the table in the Chapel, then he removed his shirt and left it folded on the seat. Of course he kept his hat on. He walked out and around to the garage bays.
Although the garage was delineated into four separate bays, each with their own roller shutter door, it was actually one long, continuous room. Keeping to the wall that adjoined the clubhouse, out of the way of the men at work, Dizzy snagged a set of coveralls from a peg and pulled them on.
There was a desk in the corner created by that wall and the back wall. A laptop, plugged in and open, was sitting on the end of it. Papers were strewn haphazardly across the remaining surface. A squeaking swivel office chair that was hard enough to unman a eunuch was pushed in front of the grey metal filing cabinet that had been pushed right into the corner of the room. No one had the inclination to tackle the filing, and no one hated their balls enough to sit on the chair while they checked the laptop to order parts of deal with enquiries.
Dizzy checked the job list on the laptop before looking to check who was where. There was an import with brake problems in the far bay that he would work on. Shaggy was closest, standing in front of a Volkswagen Beetle with the hood open, staring at the engine, brows drawn down.
Ferret was working on a bike, some sort of crotch rocket, next to him. Since both machines were relatively small, they were sharing a bay. Shaggy didn’t even blink when Ferret called over, “Shit, bro. You gonna fix it or ask it out on a date?”
Scooby chuckled, but his laugh cut short when Dizzy walked into the middle of the semi-organized chaos. He, along with Fitz, Cage and Easy, were working on an assortment of cars and bikes in the remaining space.
Scooby nodded towards Dizzy’s hands; the knuckles were still a little raw from their repeated connections with the tweaker’s face. “You party without us last night, boss?”
Dizzy found the radio and turned it down to a tuneless murmur. “Somethin’ like that. You guys got five minutes?”
All six men downed tools and came closer.
“Had a situation at the store over on Westway last night, brothers. A junkie tried to pull a stickup. Must’ve been flyin’ high, he didn’t check the place was empty before he launched right in.”
“Lemme guess. You just happened to be there,” Cage asked with a grin and a suggestive note to his tone.
“I was.” Dizzy nodded.
He rose, rinsed the mug and left it in the sink. Heading back into the even quieter bedroom, he snagged a long-sleeved thermal shirt from one drawer and a plaid shirt from another and tugged them on in turn. He pulled socks and his boots on next. He lifted his kutte from its place on the back of the chair in the corner of the room and slipped it on and made his way out to the clubhouse and company.
When he pulled up at the clubhouse, despite the relatively early hour, he found all the club bikes lined up. That was good, he wouldn’t need to call everyone in to discuss his concerns about the town. He backed his own bike into its place at the end of the line nearest to the clubhouse door. Once he’d cut the engine he could hear the sounds coming from the open garage bays. Metal clunked against metal, a vehement curse, the revving of an engine, and music from the radio underlined it all.
Dizzy retrieved his Stetson and settled it firmly on his head before entering the clubhouse. The main room was empty and quiet. The owners of the bikes outside were probably all in the garage. That was even better. Dizzy left his kutte over the back of his chair at the head of the table in the Chapel, then he removed his shirt and left it folded on the seat. Of course he kept his hat on. He walked out and around to the garage bays.
Although the garage was delineated into four separate bays, each with their own roller shutter door, it was actually one long, continuous room. Keeping to the wall that adjoined the clubhouse, out of the way of the men at work, Dizzy snagged a set of coveralls from a peg and pulled them on.
There was a desk in the corner created by that wall and the back wall. A laptop, plugged in and open, was sitting on the end of it. Papers were strewn haphazardly across the remaining surface. A squeaking swivel office chair that was hard enough to unman a eunuch was pushed in front of the grey metal filing cabinet that had been pushed right into the corner of the room. No one had the inclination to tackle the filing, and no one hated their balls enough to sit on the chair while they checked the laptop to order parts of deal with enquiries.
Dizzy checked the job list on the laptop before looking to check who was where. There was an import with brake problems in the far bay that he would work on. Shaggy was closest, standing in front of a Volkswagen Beetle with the hood open, staring at the engine, brows drawn down.
Ferret was working on a bike, some sort of crotch rocket, next to him. Since both machines were relatively small, they were sharing a bay. Shaggy didn’t even blink when Ferret called over, “Shit, bro. You gonna fix it or ask it out on a date?”
Scooby chuckled, but his laugh cut short when Dizzy walked into the middle of the semi-organized chaos. He, along with Fitz, Cage and Easy, were working on an assortment of cars and bikes in the remaining space.
Scooby nodded towards Dizzy’s hands; the knuckles were still a little raw from their repeated connections with the tweaker’s face. “You party without us last night, boss?”
Dizzy found the radio and turned it down to a tuneless murmur. “Somethin’ like that. You guys got five minutes?”
All six men downed tools and came closer.
“Had a situation at the store over on Westway last night, brothers. A junkie tried to pull a stickup. Must’ve been flyin’ high, he didn’t check the place was empty before he launched right in.”
“Lemme guess. You just happened to be there,” Cage asked with a grin and a suggestive note to his tone.
“I was.” Dizzy nodded.
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