“What’ll it be, pretty lady?” The bartender looked about her age. Good looking enough to earn nice tips, she imagined.
“Margarita?”
“Sure. We’ve got Cuban Martinis for six dollars on Wednesdays.”
“Do you give free samples?”
He grinned. “Not usually. But it’s just too hard to say no to somebody who looks like you.”
She thought that was cheesy, but cute. He made a Cuban martini, then poured it into six shot glasses. He set one down in front of her and then shouted, “Who wants a sample of Cuban martini?” A rush of takers came out of nowhere. “Sorry. That guy took the last one.”
She took a sip and pursed her lips. “Don’t hate me, but can I just have a plain old Margarita. Frozen. No salt?”
He laughed. “Coming up.”
She passed the time chatting easily with James, who had come from Michigan to study geological engineering. There was no mistaking when Tara arrived. She could be heard arguing with her roommate over the bar crowd.
“That’s my cue,” she told James, picking up her Margarita.
“Come back soon,” he said amicably.
She smiled, nodded, and headed straight for Tara. She didn’t want her chances sabotaged before they’d even ordered dinner.
Tara glanced at Brigid, but finished the not-so-nice thought she’d already begun. The roommate was a cute blonde with a button nose and cornflower blue eyes. At first glance, she didn’t look capable of being a roomie from hell.
Brigid pushed her way in front of Tara and stuck her hand out.
“Hi. I’m Brigid. I’m so glad you came.”
The girl took her hand, but looked a little wary. “Hi. I’m Beth.”
Brigid went on as if Tara wasn’t glaring at Beth. “I hope you like Mexican food.”
“Yeah. She said I could pick the place.”
“Wonderful choice. I love it here.” Brigid looked at Tara. “Don’t you, Tara?”
Tara hadn’t finished her glare fest, so Brigid elbowed her. “You love Mexican. Right?”
Tara refocused her attention on Brigid. “Sure. Who doesn’t love Mexican?”
Brigid laughed. “Well, there you have it.”
She tried to stay in between Tara and Beth on the walk to their table. When the hostess tried to seat them out in the middle of the room, Brigid said, “Don’t you have something a little quieter? We need to talk.”
The hostess looked put out and huffy, but gathered up the menus and flounced to the corner, assuming they were following.
Brigid found an opportunity to lean into Tara and say, “Be nice or no favor,” under her breath.
Tara sniffed and jerked her head a little.
After the waiter took drink orders, someone left a basket of corn tortilla chips and two kinds of salsa.
Brigid looked at Beth. There were only two starting points for conversation. If she led with, “So you’re Tara’s roommate,” that wasn’t likely to steer Beth in the direction of a helpful frame of mind. If she went with, “So tell me about your uncle, the biker,“ she might appear to be rushing, possibly to the point of rudeness. She decided on a third option, putting off the inevitable with small talk.
“Beth, are you a student?”
“No. I’m part owner of We Sell Resale.”
“Oh.”
Tara sniggered. “Say that five times fast.”
Brigid’s knee nudged Tara under the table.
“That sounds interesting. So you’re a native of Austin.”
She brightened a little at that. “Fourth generation.”
“Well, that’s something. So your whole family lives here?”
The waiter set drinks down for Tara and Beth and asked if they were ready to order.
“Need another minute,” said Brigid. She watched Beth raising the on-special-today Cuban Martini. “If you don’t like that, feel free to get something else.”
Beth took a sip and then licked her lips. “No. It’s good. Really good.”
Brigid offered her most congenial smile and opened her menu. “So what kind of Mexican do you like? I’m having mixed fajitas.” Tara sat sullenly nursing her Mexican martini. “What are you having, Tara?”
“Tacos.” She looked at Brigid. “As many as I want.”
Brigid laughed at her. “Yeah, Tara. Go for it. Many as you can eat, but you have to eat what you order,” she added, as if Tara was a child. And also appropriate considering her current behavior.
When Beth closed the menu, Brigid deftly guided the conversation back to point. “I was asking if you have a lot of family here?”
“Uh-huh,” said Beth.
While Brigid waited, hoping for something more than a two syllable answer, the waiter returned. Beth ordered a combination plate. Having apparently abandoned the idea of all-you-can-eat tacos, Tara practically created a new dish by the time she was finished making adjustments to the menu.
When they were again alone, Brigid thought perhaps she might introduce the point of meeting for dinner.
“So Beth, Tara tells me that you have an uncle in a motorcycle club.”
Beth more or less sneered at that. “He’s not in a motorcycle club. He’s in the Sons of Sanctuary.” She said it with as much pride as if she was declaring that her uncle was the ambassador to Great Britain.
Brigid knew that the SSMC was prestigious from a certain point of view and could imagine that someone might think it was glamorous to have an uncle in that lifestyle.
“I see. I’ve heard of them.”
“Everybody’s heard of them,” she said. “Gotta tell you that this is a first, takin’ me out for food and all. People have been askin’ me to get them into one of the parties since I was thirteen. So that’s sayin’ somethin’.” Beth looked pointedly at Brigid’s raspberry Henley and her cotton infinity scarf. “But I’m tellin’ you right now that, goin’ like that? You won’t get past the gate.”
Brigid cocked her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Beth looked at her like she was stupid. “You do know how biker babes dress. Right?”
Brigid flushed a little, which was embarrassing for a twenty-four-year-old. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Beth managed to take a drink of Cuban martini while looking curious. “I don’t want to go to a club party as a… um, woman. I want to go for research. I’m hoping for permission to observe their habits for a protracted period of time.”
After Beth’s eyes first widened and then narrowed, she turned to Tara, who had been quietly consuming the entire basket of tortilla chips. “What is this?”
“She’s a graduate student. Like me. A social anthropologist who needs a sample biker society to study for her thesis.”
Beth stared at Tara for several beats before she looked at Brigid and burst out laughing. When she quieted, she said, “Do you know anything about motorcycle clubs? At all?”
“Yes. But not enough to write my thesis. I need firsthand knowledge.”
“Look. If you knew anything about them, you’d know that’s never gonna happen. Bikers are so secretive they don’t even tell their old ladies what they’re up to. They’re the farthest thing from, what do they call it? Transparent.”
Brigid was undaunted. “All I need is an introduction. If your uncle can get me in, I’ll take it from there.”
Beth went back to eating. “Yeah. This is good, by the way.”
Brigid glanced at Tara who shrugged in response. “Glad you like it.”
After a couple of minutes of uncertainty, Beth said, “So what you really want is to talk to the Prez.”
Brigid put down the fork she’d been using to play with the food on her plate. She was too anxious to eat, but wanted to appear to be in control. “Yes.”
Beth met her eyes. “Let’s just say that I’m able to arrange that. No guarantees about the outcome. What’s in it for me?”
Brigid smiled. “You mean besides dinner?”
“Yeah. Besides that.”
Beth looked at Tara, then back at Brigid. Without further hesitation, she said, “I want her out of the apartment, but I want her part of the rent paid for the rest of the year.”
Tara looked at Beth with her mouth wide open. “You want to get me kicked out of the only place I can afford? Why you little…”
“Hold on.” Brigid intervened, putting her hand on Tara’s arm. “Beth, how much is Tara’s part?”
“Five hundred a month.”
Tara looked a little panicked. “I can’t find another place this close to campus that I can afford. You…”
“Calm down, Tara. Nobody’s putting you on the street. I’m considering having you move in with me, rent free.”
“Rent free? You mean you’re going to pay the troll’s blood money and not charge me anything?”
“Right.”
Tara squealed and gave Brigid a kiss on the cheek. “I love you!”
“You should,” she said to Tara,” because I hate the idea of living with somebody else.”
“No matter what, I’ll be a better roommate than her.” She jerked her head toward Beth, who snorted as she covered a bite of enchilada with pico de gallo and shoved it in her mouth.
“Nobody’s going anywhere yet.” Brigid looked between the other two. “Beth, I will agree to your terms if I get a meeting with the, uh, Prez and get him to agree to give me access to ask questions of the members and research the way the club is organized.”
Beth looked directly at Brigid while she contemplated. Brigid knew she wasn’t stupid. Anybody who can make a go of a small business in the twenty-first century isn’t dumb.
“Okay. I’ll press my uncle to get you a meeting. If the Prez says yes, Tara has two days to get out and every month on the first you pay me five hundred in cash to cover her part.”
“Ending December first of this year.”
“Yeah. That’s the deal.”
Brigid stuck her hand out, being careful not to let her sleeve touch the food. “It’s a deal. We have a witness. So we don’t really need anything in writing. Right?” Once they shook, Brigid handed over her cell phone. “Put your number in and make a note of mine. When do you think I’ll hear from you?”
As Beth programmed her name and number into Brigid’s contacts, she said, “Probably Friday. Depends on whether or not he’s in town. If he’s not, I’ll let you know. If he is, I should have an answer by Sunday latest.”
Brigid looked down at the food that had gone from sizzling hot to room temperature and suddenly felt famished. Thinking that cold fajitas are still fajitas, she wrapped chicken strips, onions, peppers, pico, grated cheese, and sour cream into a flour tortilla and smiled at Tara as she took a bite.
Beth finished her food and gathered her purse. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll be in touch,” she said to Brigid. After glancing at Tara, she added, “I really hope this works,” right before she left.
“What did you do to her?” Brigid asked.
Tara shook her head. “That girl and her evil BFF have put me through it. They’re demon spawn. Both of them.”
“Okay.”
Tara’s eyes twinkled. “You better pull out all the stops to get the ‘Prez’,” she made air quotes, “ to agree to be your monkeys.”
“Tara. You don’t have to put it like that.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
Brigid smiled. “No. When human beings are observed in the wild, they’re still humans.”
“In the wild?” Tara laughed. “From what I’ve heard, that fits. Biker equals human in the wild. I don’t know what’s most appealing. Getting away from Beth, getting free rent, or reading your thesis on humans in the ‘wild’.”
She put ‘wild’ in air quotes.
“There are a couple of big hurdles between here and having any one of those things become a reality. And the biggest one is apparently called ‘Prez’.”
Tara looked thoughtful. “Hey. Have you really thought through what getting down and dirty with bikers might look like? I mean, the whole Waco thing...”
“That was ‘Wacko’. This is Austin.”
“I know, but… just sayin’.”
“Appreciate your concern. Don’t worry. My interest and involvement are purely scientific.”
Tara nodded, then got a twinkle in her eye. “I’ve never been to our place before. What’s it like?”
Brigid laughed.
Sunday afternoon at five thirty, Brigid got a text from Beth.
You’re on for tomorrow morning at eleven. He’ll talk to you at the shop. Ask for Mr. Fornight. And make it good.
Brigid was supposed to be teaching a class that hour, but she’d explain to her supervisor and get out of it. If she got into the club, she was going to have to get out of all of her other obligations for the duration, which was to be determined. Like everything else. But since they were only a couple of weeks away from summer, it would be less of a hardship. Some first year grad student would be getting early exposure to freshmen, courtesy of Brigid’s thesis.
She texted Beth. Okay. Where do I go?
Beth replied with the address and a parting, Good luck. You’ll need it.
Brigid felt butterflies forming in her stomach and already knew she wouldn’t be getting much sleep. Tara’s concerns came to mind and she wondered if she really did know what she was doing.
She Googled the “shop” and learned as much as she could about Hollywood Rides and Wrecks. There were lots of pictures of Brant Fornight with big name celebrities and the cars or motorcycles he’d custom made for them or movies they were starring in. She supposed he must be the Mr. Fornight to whom Beth referred.
Chapter 3
Monday morning, 11 am
Brigid pulled up to the Hollywood Wrecks and Rides building in her hybrid. She decided to get things on the right foot and leave no misunderstanding. So she dressed as professionally as if she was planning to argue a case before the Supreme Court. She wore a black suit with pencil skirt and a starched white blouse with pearl buttons. She softened the look slightly with a long silk scarf with a cream and black pinstripe pattern, then finished it off with three inch pumps.
Hollywood Wrecks and Rides was an impressive place. The front door opened to a two thousand square foot showroom displaying various hip cars and bikes. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen. There was a vintage hotrod Lincoln painted with a buxom blonde shooting flames from her mouth, and a Harley painted so that it looked exobionic. She was so caught up in looking at the amazing display of vehicles that she startled when a deep voice growled, “Help you, ma’am?”
She turned expecting to see a biker with long hair, beard, and giant belly. But the owner of the gravelly vocal chords was a wiry guy with dark hair, blue eyes and a Pistol Pete mustache. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he had a look about him that could be interpreted as mischievous or conniving.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I’m here to see Mr. Fornight.”
Pistol Pete looked her up and down unapologetically. “You the new lawyer?”
Brigid’s brows drew into a momentary scowl, but she recovered her neutral look quickly.
“No, but my business is with Mr. Fornight. If you are not he, will you please let him know that Ms. Bailey is here to see him?”
Pete’s mustache twitched. “Ms. Bailey to see Mr. Fornight? My. Aren’t we formal?”
“Do I need to walk around yelling his name?”
Pete barked out a laugh. “Keep your panties on, Missy. I’ll get him for ya. But come see me when you’re done. We’ll go over to my place and have a cold one.”
He winked and walked away while she shifted her weight to one leg and rolled her eyes at his back. She went back to looking at the wonderland of vehicles. Each one was a piece of art and, she supposed, that was what she was looking at - an art gallery. A loud whistle startled her for the second time since she’d walked through the door.
She looked
around and saw a man in the far corner standing outside an open door. When she looked that way, he waved her over. As she walked in that direction she recognized him as being the man in the photos, the one behind the success of Hollywood Wrecks and Rides.
Her heels clicked as she walked across the polished floor. When she was within ten feet, she said, “Mr. Fornight?”
He answered simply, “Ms. Bailey.”
She entered the office which was nicely furnished, but gave the impression that it was never used. No books or computer. No stacked papers. Not even a trash can that she could see. The only evidence that would suggest someone had used the room was an open newspaper and a generic brand, cardboard cup of coffee.
He motioned toward one of the chairs in front of the desk, but didn’t ask her to sit with words. Nor did he offer a tasty beverage. Not even water.
He was wearing faded jeans and a dark gray tee shirt that showed off a flat stomach and arms that were both tan, cut, and would not seem out of place on the body of a much younger man.
She sat and waited patiently for him to speak.
“What do you want?”
She immediately regretted not being the first to speak. Because that was no way to begin a friendly negotiation. Still, it revealed that the man liked direct and she could do direct.
“I want access to the Sons of Sanctuary Motorcycle Club.”
He sat back and really looked at her for the first time. “What the hell do you mean by access?”
“I’m a graduate student at U.T. and I’m writing my thesis on the structure of, um, motorcycle clubs. In order to make my findings authentic, I need to be able to observe. Personally.”
Brant Fornight stared at her for a full minute. His face broke into a grin that was infectious, if not entirely friendly, and Brigid could see that he must have been a beautiful heartthrob some, say thirty years, in the past.
“Look, Ms. Bailey. I’m doin’ a favor for my sergeant-at-arms. He has a niece with a pouty mouth and big blue eyes and apparently he can’t say no to her. I’ve done what I promised. You’ve enjoyed a full five minutes of my time. Now get out.”
Two Princes: The Biker and The Billionaire Page 10