“It’s not.”
He pierced a mozzarella ball and a tomato in one stab, lifted them to his mouth, and took a bite. “Jesus fuck.”
“Bad?”
He swallowed what was in his mouth and then shook his head. “Why are you working at the Harley dealer? You ought to have a fucking restaurant.”
His compliments filled me with pride.
“Thank you.”
He reached for a piece of the bread and chuckled. “Probably made the bread, too, huh?”
“Actually, I did. It sucks kneading it by hand, but I didn’t get all that stuff from the house when I left.”
“What stuff?”
“My mom’s cooking stuff. Sorry, my cooking stuff.”
“I’ll get it,” he said.
He took a bite of the bread, looked at the uneaten portion he held, and then stuffed it into his mouth. “You can sure cook, Smudge.”
“Thank you.”
It was awfully nice to have someone appreciate what I’d done. I didn’t have self-esteem issues – other than my leg – but receiving praise was something I sure enjoyed.
“You mother died when you were what? Ten?”
I shrugged. “Nine.”
“Who taught you to cook?”
“Same person that taught me about Harleys.”
He wrinkled his nose.
“I taught myself,” I said. “I use the internet.”
“Well, you’re a damned good cook.”
“Thank you. Again.”
He shoveled more lasagna into his mouth and then looked at me. “What about your pop?”
“My dad?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“What about him?”
He took a bite of lasagna. “How old were you when. You know. When he passed. You’ve never said much about him.”
“I was really young when he died.”
“I was just wondering. You’ve told me a lot about your mom,” he said. “But you’ve never really said much about your pop.”
I never talked to anyone about my father. Having a high degree of admiration for a man I never knew seemed silly to me. Nonetheless, I clung to the stories my mother told as if they were my own.
“I never really knew him. Not that I remember anyway.”
“Your mom never told you anything about him?”
“Oh. She said a lot. She loved him. Not like Josh. She really loved him. He was like you.”
His brow furrowed. “Like me?”
“Uh huh.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was a biker. He’s the real reason I like Harleys and stuff.”
He laughed. “I thought I was the reason.”
“I mean. You are. Kind of. But I think hearing the stories my mom told about my dad started it all. I grew up admiring him, and heck, I never really knew him.”
“That’s cool. What did you admire about him? What’d your mom tell you?”
“he was the most kind, caring, loving man on earth. Yet. He didn’t take crap from anyone. My mom said no matter where they went, she felt safe. She said no one ever messed with her, or gave her a cross look, they knew better. He had a moral code that he lived by. He didn’t lie, his word was as good as gold, and he’d stand up for anyone that couldn’t stand up for themselves.”
“Sounds like a good man.”
“He was,” I said, my voice thick with pride. “He died trying to protect one of his brothers.”
“You’ve got an uncle?”
“No. Not that kind of brother. One of his brothers in the club.”
He grinned. “He rode in an MC?”
“Yeah. One of the big ones.”
“Which one?”
“I can’t remember the name of it, but it was one of the big ones.”
“I’ll be damned. Last name was McGovern?”
“No. That’s Josh’s last name. He adopted me, so I’ve got his name. I want to change it back to my old name. When I can afford it.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a weird one. Don’t laugh.”
“Okay.”
“Schreiber.”
His head cocked to the side. “Spell it.”
“S. C. H. R. E. I. B. E. R.”
His mouth fell open. “Did your pop die about ’98 or ’99? In a bar in SD?”
A chill ran along my spine. A barely audible uh huh passed my lips.
His eyes shot wide. “Billy The Snake Schreiber?”
Snake was what they called him. It was his road name. My fork hit the plate with a clank! “Oh my God. You know him?”
“Know of him. Hell, everyone does. Man’s a god damned legend. He rode with the red and white. Holy fucking shit, you’re The Snake’s daughter?”
I realized I was standing. Initially filled with excitement, I was now slightly confused. “Red and White?”
He nodded. “Hells Angels.”
“That’s the one,” I screeched. “Hells Angels.”
Now, he was standing.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said excitedly. “That’s crazy. He was the president’s right hand man. He was the club enforcer, and the second in command. They were in a bar in San Diego, and an Outlaw pulled a knife on the president. Snake stepped in to protect him. He saved the president, even took the knife from the guy. Later that night, one of them came in and cracked him with a pool cue. It was that fight that started a war between those two clubs. Still going on today.”
“Oh wow.”
“Your Ol’ Man is a legend, Smudge.”
My eyes started to well with tears at the thought of him being the man I always believed he was.
I fought against the tears. “That’s nice to hear. Do you. Do you uhhm. Do you know any other stories about him?”
“I don’t,” he said. “But I know a man who will.”
“Can I meet him some day?”
“Depending on what he’s doing, you might be able to meet him tonight.”
“Holy cow. Really?”
He raised his index finger. After pulling his phone from his vest, he made a call.
“Nothing much. Hey, I got one for ya. You’ll never guess who I’m having dinner with. No. No. Just hold on.”
He looked at me, smiled, and then began to pace the floor. “Billy The Snake Schreiber’s daughter. Yep. Nope. Twenty-one. Hey, brother. Can you do me a solid? Yeah. She wants to know if you’ve got any stories to tell her about her Ol’ Man.”
He glanced at me and gave the thumbs up. “Right now, if you’re not busy. Oh, one other thing. You eat yet?”
He gave me another thumbs up. “Come hungry. See you in a few.”
“Well,” he said. “We better eat while we can. When Bama gets here, he’ll eat whatever’s left.”
My heart was racing. I was way too excited to eat, but I sat down nonetheless. Attempting to hide my excitement, and probably failing miserably, I looked up from picking at my food.
“So, he knew him? This Bama guy? Like knew him?”
“Bama’s been with the red and white for 30 years. Yeah, he knew your Ol’ Man.”
My mouth curled into a smile.
While Percy ate, I poked and picked at my food. I was far too nervous – and way too excited – to eat. After a few minutes, I realized I was simply staring at the wall behind Percy. When he stood from his seat, I came out of my daze.
“Thank you for calling him,” I said.
“Least I could do. Thanks for cooking dinner.”
“Least I could do,” I said mockingly.
“I’m going to get another plate before he gets here.”
“There’s plenty,” I said with a smile. “Help yourself.”
As he filled his plate, he went on and on about how it was the best Italian food he’d ever eaten. According to him, he’d eaten Italian food from one end of the United States to the other.
All the emotion I was feeling came to a head. A lone tear welled in the corner of my eye, and then escaped.
In a matter of days, I’d gone from being beaten by my stepfather to being praised by my best friend.
My life had never been so good.
Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Four
P-Nut
Bama’s snow-white hair was hidden by the bandana he wore. The shape of the full beard that he’d grown to his chest gave indication to the importance he placed on his appearance. He was a biker through and through, but he wasn’t a sloppy one.
He’d ridden with the Angels for three decades. The war between the Angels and the Outlaws over the state of California had caused riots, murders, bombings, and executions.
And he’d lived to see it all.
He was a legend himself, but nothing like the father of the girl who sat across from him. With wide eyes and an open mouth, Smudge sat and listened intently as Bama explained who her father was.
“You could have heard a pin drop,” he said. “That’s how quiet it was.”
“What about the guy with the shotgun?” she asked.
Bama took a bite of lasagna and then raised his index finger. “You cook just like your mother, God rest her soul. That woman could rustle up a meal, let me tell you. Now, back to the bar.”
He brushed his beard with the web of his hand and leaned forward. “The damned thing was a double barrel, and it was sawed off to about eight inches. If he would have pulled the trigger, it would have got every one of us. So, this son-of-a-bitch was in the door of the bar waving this thing like he couldn’t decide who to shoot. Before he could make up his pickled mind, Ol’ Snake decided for him.”
“What happened?”
“Just in case you didn’t know, Ol’ Snake stood about six-eight.” He looked at me, and then at her. “You met Pee Bee yet?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know who that is.”
“He’s the Sergeant-at-Arms for the FFMC. When you meet him, he’s your Ol’ Man’s size. When Snake walked through a door, he darkened it completely. Intimidating is an understatement.”
She smiled.
Bama leaned forward and locked eyes with her. “This wannabe Outlaw prospect is waving the shotgun, and the bar is just as quiet as a Sunday congregation. Snake starts walking through the crowd like he’s got an appointment somewhere. He’d been in the back, playing pool. But, once there was a threat, he had to be in the middle of it. It’s just who he was.”
He leaned back and shook his head.
“What happened?”
“Snake walked through the crowd, and right up to that kid. Two feet in front of him. Looked him right in the eyes and said, pull the trigger, you gutless little cocksucker. Then he said, after you do, this entire bar’s gonna stomp you to death in the street.”
Smudge covered her mouth with her hand. “Holy cow.”
Bama chuckled as if the event had happened yesterday. “Your Ol’ Man said hand me the gun. The kid lowered it and handed it to him.”
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Then did you guys beat him up?”
“That wasn’t how Snake did things,” he said. “He took the shotgun, and nodded toward the street. Go get on your scoot and get the fuck out of here. Tell your patch I let you live.”
“He let him go?”
He nodded. “Let him go and gave the fist.”
“The fist?”
“It was his trademark gesture. He gave it every time something happened that he was proud of. Something good. Every time he made a difference. He’d clench his fist and rise it to the sky. Weird, if you ask me. But, he did it all the time.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “But he let the guy go. That’s kind of cool.”
Bama shrugged and reached for his fork. “At the time, there wasn’t a war. Least not yet. And, your Ol’ Man didn’t want there to be one. He was as mean as a snake. Hell, that’s how he got his name. But, he wasn’t a violent man when he didn’t need to be. More than anything, the man wanted to ride. It was in his blood.”
“My mother said he loved to ride.”
“I’ll tell you how much he loved it.” He chuckled a light laugh. “We all rode to some Vietnamese joint one day. Your Ol’ Man wanted a bowl of fucking noodles. This little Vietnamese shit-hole in Mission Beach served us the noodles, and your Ol’ Man took one bite and shook his head. This tastes like shit, he said. Let’s go get a real bowl of noodles. I wasn’t too excited about it, and I asked where. He looked at me and said, Wichita. I looked back at him and said, Kansas? He nodded his head, looked at the six of us and said, you fellas up for a ride?”
“Holy cow,” Smudge gasped. “Did you ride to Kansas?”
“Right then and there. 1,300 miles one way, if I remember correctly.”
“You rode to Kansas for a bowl of noodles?”
“Took us two 12-hour days to get there.” He let out a laugh. “Ain’t much on dink food, but that was one hell of a good bowl of noodles.”
Smudge grinned. “I like that story.”
Bama’s eyes fell to the floor, and then he looked up. “You know what? I just thought of something. You had an aunt and uncle out there. Aunt died if I remember right. She would have been your mom’s sister. You still have an uncle, it’s just…”
Her eyes shot wide. “Just what?”
“He’s doing life in club fed.”
“Club fed?”
“Federal prison,” he said. “Third strike law. Gave him a life sentence.”
“Oh. That sucks. It was my dad’s brother-in-law?”
He nodded. “He rode with HA. Wild bastard. Bishop was his name. Road name was Nut Bucket. Hell, he was crazier than ol’ P-Nut here.”
“But he’s in jail?”
“Prison.”
“Oh.”
“More I think about it, heard word a while back that his boy had a club back there.”
“He’s got a son? He’d be my cousin, right?”
Bama rubbed his beard. “I guess he would. Yeah.”
“I’ve got a cousin?”
“Cousin who’s the head of an MC, I think.”
“Where is he?”
“Think he’s in Kansas. I’ll do some digging.”
“I can do some digging,” she said excitedly. “His name is Bishop, and he’s in Kansas? Is he the president of the club?”
“If I remember correctly. Been a while since I heard anything about him, but that’s what I’m thinking.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” she said.
I couldn’t imagine not knowing my father. Mine was my idol, and although it appeared Smudge’s father was hers, he was a man she knew very little about. It was nice to have a man who could filter stories of her father to her from time to time.
In my eyes, there was nothing more important than family. Short of an abusive stepfather, an alleged cousin, and an uncle doing life in prison, Smudge had none to speak of.
“We’re going to have to give the story telling a rest,” Bama said. “I’ve got to finish this plate.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Smudge said.
“Hard not to. You’re definitely your mother’s daughter. She made fried chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes and biscuits for my birthday when I was just a youngster in the club. Best meal I think I ever ate. That woman could cook. In fact, at that dinner, you’d just been born. You were living in El Cajon at the time. You weren’t walking yet, but you were crawling all over the damned place.”
“I don’t remember a house in El Cajon.”
“She moved out right after your Ol’ Man passed. Her and some gal she was friends with moved in together. Never knew what become of her, to tell you the truth. Then, after a few years, we all heard what happened to her. Damned shame.”
Smudge nodded, and her eyes fell to the table. “Thank you.”
Bama finished his plate, and looked around the room. “So, what gets you here cooking for this fool?”
Smudge looked up and laughed. “Me?”
&nb
sp; “Yeah, you.”
“She’s staying here for a bit,” I said.
He looked at her and arched a brow. “You need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to give me a shout.”
“I uhhm. I can’t right now, but when I can, I will.”
He shook his head. “I’m lost.”
“My phone’s broken. As soon as I can afford it, I need to get it fixed.”
“Afford it?” He reached for his wallet. “I’ll get you a new phone. It’s the least I can do.”
“Sorry. I’ll take care of it myself,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s my phone, and my responsibility.”
“We’ve all got responsibilities, Joey. Best I can recall, I owed your Ol’ Man a few bucks when he passed. Four hundred if I remember correctly.” He opened his wallet and laid four $100 bills on the table. “You can do what you want with that. But, that’s my responsibility right there. Me and your Ol’ Man’s straight now.”
She looked at the money, and then at him. “I can’t--”
He stood. “Toss it in the trash. Take it to his gravesite. Frame it in a picture. Don’t rightly care. But that’s his. Him being gone and all, I suppose it’s yours.”
“Thank you. You don’t have any…do you have any pictures of him?”
“Your Ol’ Man?”
She nodded.
“Shit. You haven’t seen the book?”
“What book?”
He shot me a glare, and then looked at her. “The book about the history of the club.”
“I haven’t, no.”
“Plenty of pictures in there of your Ol’ Man. I’ll bring one by next time the Nut invites me over.”
“I can cook another meal,” Smudge said. “Fried chicken? Gravy? Biscuits?”
“Just tell me when,” he said.
“I’ll get the stuff and have Percy…” She shook her head. “P-Nut. I’ll have P-Nut let you know.”
He opened his arms. “Come here.”
She walked around the corner of the table and gave him a hug.
“Last time I seen you, you weren’t much bigger’n a minute. Nice to see you again,” he said.
“Nice to see you, too.”
Bama broke their embrace and looked her over. He shook his head and grinned. “See a lot of your mother in you, Joey. You’d sure make that woman proud. Get that phone fixed, and let me know about the fried chicken.”
Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set Page 85