“You know about that fucker, don’t you?”
“What? That he’s some war hero? Yeah, I’m well aware. But I ain’t about to let the fact that he’s got a medal on his chest make me feel like I’m somehow beneath him.”
“I wasn’t saying that, I was just--”
“Let me tell you something, Smoke. I didn’t fight in that war. They wouldn’t let me. Because of my foot. Believe me, I tried. The fact that he killed some platoon of angry Iraqis doesn’t make him any better, any tougher, or any more of a man than me.”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
“If you agree, stop talking shit.”
“I was just saying if you rammed your cock against his daughter’s thigh that he might--”
Smudge was nice, had a perfect attitude, and her personality was her most attractive feature. But, she was young, and I was pretty damned sure she was a lesbian.
“If I decide to play with his daughter’s tits, I’ll play with his daughter’s tits. If I want to rub my stiff dick on her thigh, I’ll rub my stiff dick on her thigh. And there ain’t a fucking thing he – or anyone else – will be able to do to stop me. Not like I’ll have to worry about it, she’s too god damned young for me to be fucking with and she’s probably a queer.”
“You need to go to the dealership and see her,” he said with a laugh. “And shit, I bet you’re not ten years older than she is.”
“Ten years is a long time. If it is ten, when she was in kindergarten I was a sophomore in high school. When I think about that, it makes me itch. Never fucked with the younger chicks, you know that.”
“Eleven years between Sandy and me.”
“You’re a fucking weirdo, though.”
He arched an eyebrow. “A weirdo?”
“Maybe not a weirdo, but you do weird shit.”
His other eyebrow raised. “Like what?”
I pulled a cigarette from my pack and clenched it between my teeth. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Start wherever you want,” he said with a laugh. “If there’s one of us that’s weird, it sure as fuck isn’t me.”
I lit the cigarette, took a drag, and then shot him a glare. “So, you’re saying I’m a weirdo?”
“Weirder than me, that’s for sure.”
“How the fuck you figure?”
He extended a finger as he made each point. “You don’t trust anyone. Nobody can tell you what to do. If it isn’t you’re idea, it’s wrong. If it is your idea, everyone else is wrong. You walk into a room and start counting shit, and you can’t have one fucking thing out of place in your house, or it freaks you out. Want me to go on?”
I exhaled a cloud of smoke and shook my head. “So, because I’m a neat-freak realist who sees things clearer than most simple-minded fuckers, I’m a weirdo?”
“Weirdo was your term, not mine. I might be weird, but you’re fucking nuts.”
“The fact I don’t fuck kindergartners doesn’t make me nuts.”
“She’s not in kindergarten now.”
“She was.”
“So were you.”
“If we were in kindergarten together, I’d probably be banging that shit right now just for practice. I dig older chicks. Chicks with more experience.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said.
“Then shut the fuck up about it.”
He gazed down at the toes of his boots. After a moment’s pause, he looked up. “Heard anything about that ATF agent?”
Posing as a former Marine and a biker, an undercover ATF agent had infiltrated our club and was accepted as a prospect. Midway through his investigation, he’d been exposed as being a government agent, and all but immediately went missing. I may have known something about it, but in matters such as that, keeping my actions and ideas a secret was paramount to my – and the club’s – success. I had little desire to lie to Smokey, but protecting him was more important than sharing secrets.
I opted to answer his question with a question, which was the mark of a guilty man. If presented in the proper manner, however, it might not be detected by my trusting friend.
I took a drag off my cigarette, blew the smoke to the side, and then met his gaze with a glare. “What in the fuck makes you think I know anything about that fucking ATF agent?”
He shrugged. “Just asking.”
“Ask somebody else.”
“The whole deal makes me nervous.” He gazed down at the driveway and shook his head. “The fucker was prospecting for us one day, and then he just disappeared.”
“Doesn’t make me nervous. At least he’s not fucking with us anymore.”
He looked up. “True.”
“Talking about it pisses me off. You ready to get some road time?”
He gave a slight nod and turned toward his motorcycle. “I’m ready if you’re ready.”
I lifted my leg over the seat, pulled on my helmet, and started the bike. After the engine reached operating temperature, I revved it a few times just to make sure the neighbors knew I was still alive.
Movement on my right caught my attention, and I looked in that direction. Wearing her typical oversized hoodie, loose fitting jeans, and a pair of sneakers, Smudge paused on the way to her car and waved.
I waved in return and gave a nod.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as she proceeded to walk toward her car. Try as I might, I couldn’t see her as anything other than what she was. I couldn’t fathom that a Harley shirt would transform her into anything other than an attractive lesbian.
Even if her Harley gear somehow turned her into a heterosexual goddess, it wouldn’t matter. I knew a little bit about everything, and what I knew about little girls was that little girls always had big expectations.
Expectations I couldn’t meet.
Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Five
Joey
He was twenty-something, tall and attractive. His mannerisms made it apparent he knew it, though. He was an arrogant pretty boy, and although I really didn’t want to help him, I needed the commission from the parts he wanted to convert his Harley to a show bike.
He raked his fingers through his hair, and then looked at my tits. “I think they call it a tombstone taillight.”
I wished my shirt wasn’t as revealing as it was, and dismissed his stares as being juvenile.
“They do.” I clicked through a few pages, chose a motorcycle that had the taillight he referenced, and selected the part on the monitor. “Like this?”
I turned the screen to face him.
“That’s it,” he said. “But I want it without the turn signals. They look like shit.”
“California law requires them on anything built after 1973.”
“I don’t care. They look like shit.”
“They might look like shit, but they could also keep you from being rear-ended and killed.”
“Jesus,” he whined. “Are you a cop?”
“One taillight with no turn signals,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as sarcastic as I felt it might have. “No problem.”
He motioned toward the monitor. “What’s that one fit?”
“This one is off a Softail Deuce, but it will fit any Softail fender,” I said. “It’s similar to the tombstone light they’ve used for years. You said your rear fender was custom. Did you fabricate it using the factory fender, or did you buy it?”
“What difference does that make?”
“It could make all the difference in the world,” I said. “If it’s an aftermarket stretched fender, the light might not fit.”
He gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, flexed his biceps, and grinned. “Explain that to me. How it would make a difference.”
I looked off to the side, and then met his gaze. “If the fender is stretched like most of them are, it follows the contour of the tire, and then, somewhere along the back of the fender, it flares outward. The back side of the taillight has the typical contour of the factory fender built into it. If you
try to mount it near or on the flare, it won’t fit. The radius is going the wrong direction.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
Why am I not surprised?
I let out a sigh, grabbed a piece of paper, and drew a symbol that resembled a question mark and a backward ‘s’ combined. Then, I drew an arrow to center of the upper curve.
“The taillight is supposed to mount here. And, it has that contour of that surface built into it. If you mount it here.” I drew an arrow to the lower leg of the symbol, where it curved inward. “It won’t fit. The contour is reversed.”
“Yeah,” he said. “My fender looks like that.”
“You’ll have to mount the light high on the fender.” I shrugged. “Might look dumb.”
“I really want that look. Anything else will look dumber.”
I looked at the monitor, and then at him. “$239.20 with all the hardware to mount it.”
“Add it to the list. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll just bring it back.”
“If it doesn’t fit, you can either build a bracket, or sell it on Craigslist,” I said. “No returns on special orders.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. Again. “Add it to the list. Fuck, I’m going to have a hundred grand in the fucker if I’m not careful.”
If he was building the bike himself, there was no way he’d have a hundred thousand dollars in it. Thirty would be more like it, and that was if he was a complete dip-shit.
“Is that the last part?” I asked.
“That’s it.”
I started adding the cost of his parts. Without looking up, I decided to entertain him. “Hundred grand, huh?”
“At least.”
“Sounds like a nice one.”
“Maybe I’ll give you a ride on it when I’m done.”
I puked in my mouth a little bit. While I reached a total, I swallowed heavily and tried to disguise my disgust.
I looked up. “Sorry, my boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”
He interlocked his fingers behind his head and flexed his biceps. “I’m sure I’ll be back in here from time to time. If something changes, let me know.”
“The total is $1,740.56.” I forced a smile. “And, I’ll be sure and do that.”
He pulled his chain-mounted wallet from the back pocket of his Rock and Republic jeans, and after fumbling to unsnap the stiff leather, handed me a credit card. “Sounds good.”
Heck yes!
His spending spree would put me at my goal for the month, and it was only the 13th. For the rest of the month I would receive a percentage of my sales as a bonus.
I rang up his purchase, disguising my excitement during the process. After he signed the receipt, I handed him his credit card. “Check back in three days, we should have it all.”
He grabbed the piece of paper I’d drawn the sketch on and scribbled on it. “That’s my cell. Call me when they’re all in. Number might come in handy sometime anyway.”
I picked up the paper and gave a nod. “I’ll give you a call when they come in.”
Asshole.
He shot me a smile, looked at Blane, and then turned toward the door.
“That guy was a dick,” Blane whispered.
“It was funny watching him play with his hair.”
He nodded toward the door. “This dude looks like a hardcore motherfucker.”
I looked up. P-Nut was coming toward the parts counter, unsnapping his vest as he walked.
I fumbled to conceal my boobs, but seemed to only be making matters worse.
Crap.
“I gotta pee. Take him, will you?”
“Sure.”
P-Nut was halfway between the front door and the parts counter. I dipped out the back of the parts department and went to the restroom.
I’d talked to him on countless occasions, and assisted – or at least observed – while he made dozens of repairs on his motorcycle. Having him see me with my boobs boiling out of my shirt, however, wasn’t something I really wanted to do.
One thing would possibly lead to another. If it did, I’d be without the only male friend I’d ever had. Dreaming about being with him was one thing. Taking the chance, and then losing him altogether wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.
I peed, washed my hands, and waited as long as I felt it would take for Blane to look up a part. Then, I waited a few minutes more. After washing my hands again, I checked myself in the mirror.
My tits were everywhere.
I loved my job, but the shirt I was wearing would embarrass a prostitute.
Attempting to conceal 32D boobs in a size small shirt constructed with buttons that stopped at the bottom of my bra was nothing short of impossible.
Frustrated, I pulled the bathroom door open, walked down the hallway, and cracked open the door that led to the parts counter. I peered toward where Blane stood.
The counter was void of any customers.
Thank God.
I opened the door and walked to Blane’s side. “What did that guy want?”
“Wanted to see you,” he said. “You were gone forever. What’d you do, drop a deuce?”
I was flattered that Percy came in to see me, and disgusted by Blane’s remark.
“Stop being gross,” I said.
“What? Girls like you don’t take dumps?”
“We do, we just don’t talk about it.”
“He’ll be back in a minute. He’s talking to Harry.”
My eyes shot to him. “He’s coming back?”
“Said he’d be back in a minute.”
Crap.
There was little I could do. Him seeing me in my uniform shirt didn’t mean our relationship as friends was destined to deteriorate. I simply needed to accept any remarks he made as being nothing more than playful banter.
I scanned the sales floor, and eventually saw him and Harry talking by one of the motorcycles on display.
Seeing him in his driveway was one thing. Having him at my place of employment was clearly another.
I looked at Blane and managed a nervous smile. “We’re friends.”
His nose wrinkled. “You and that dude?”
“Yeah.”
“He looks mean as fuck.”
“He is.”
“And, you’re friends with him?”
“Yeah.” I looked at Percy and then at Blane. “You know, we were talking the other day about product branding tattoos. He’s a big believer that anyone who has beer logos or other random crap tattooed on their bodies is a sellout.”
It was a lie, and although I wasn’t a liar, I decided it was okay for me to tease a little bit. Blane’s attitude, offhand comments, and lingering stares into my shirt each time I bent over made it okay.
“Seriously?”
I nodded toward his ridiculous tattoo. “He didn’t see that when he came up here, did he?”
It was a fifty-fifty shot, but I decided to take it.
He swallowed hard. “I don’t think so.”
“You’d know it if he did. One thing he’s not is bashful.” I glanced toward the sales floor. “Oh look, here he comes.”
“I’m uhhm. I’ve got to…I need to go take a dump. I’ll be back in a minute,” he stammered.
“Sounds good.”
With his mouth twisted into a smirk, Percy sauntered toward me. I hoped Harry had said something funny, and that it wasn’t me or my dumb shirt that he was grinning about.
I stood nervously, wishing there was something I could do about my appearance, but knowing fidgeting would only make matters worse.
“How’s it going?”
His eyes scanned the rack of parts above me. “Good.”
I doubted there was anything on display that would interest him. Most of the packaged chrome accessories were things he either already had, or that he definitely wouldn’t use.
An awkward silence followed.
This is weird.
“What can I…what did you need?”
With his eyes still fixed on the random bits of chrome, he shook his head. “Just need the bolt that goes into the highway peg. Lock nut, too. Mine vibrated out. I want the one that’s got the H-D stamped in the end, not one of those Chinese ones.”
I knew that his bike was an early 2000’s Heritage Softail, I didn’t need to ask. After just a moment, I found the bolt’s part number, checked against our stock, and found that we had the bolt in stock.
“It comes as a set. Two bolts, and the nylon lock nuts. Is there anything else?”
He lowered his gaze, fixed his eyes on mine, and then swallowed heavily. “Nope.”
“Okay, let me grab it.”
I was a lot of things, but naïve wasn’t one of them.
Percy was nervous.
Instead of being embarrassed, I found it cute. I was sure that he’d seen his fair share of topless women in his clubhouse, and in strip clubs – but somehow, me and my cleavage had made him uncomfortable.
I grabbed the bolt from the back of the shop and quickly returned.
I handed him the bolts. “Here you go.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Too much for a couple of bolts. $9.37.”
He handed me a $10 bill. “This ought to do it.”
“So, what’s on the agenda today?”
“Riding to Chula Vista to look at a big set.”
“Anything good?”
“There’s a ’91 Chipper Jones Topps Tiffany rookie. Looked good in pics, we’ll see when I get there.”
“I hope it’s in good shape.”
“I hope I can get the set at a good price. We’ll see. The guy’s not dumb, but he needs money for a remodel. I’m going to hook him up with Smoke on the remodel, which might get me into the set a little cheaper. We’re headed that way as soon as I get my fucking peg mounted.”
“You’d look funny with one foot on your highway peg, and the other dangling off to the side.”
“Got that right. Well, I better hit the road.” He raised the bolt set. “Good lookin’ out, Smudge.”
I grinned. “No problem. Good luck with the Chipper Jones.”
He clenched his fist and extended his arm.
I pressed my fist into his.
He gave a sharp nod and turned toward the door. As he walked away, an odd sense of confidence washed over me. My cleavage was no longer my main concern. In fact, at that moment, I had no concerns.
Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set Page 81