HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “I’ll be glad when he gets rid of that thing. It scares me.”

  I smiled, glanced at Percy, and then shifted my eyes to her. “It doesn’t scare me.”

  “Well, it should. They tip over. It’s because they’ve only two wheels.”

  “He’s a really good rider.”

  “Is he?”

  I sat across from her, on the edge of the loveseat. “He is. He’s extra careful.”

  “Well that’s good. He should be, especially with you on it. Do you wear a helmet?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. It’s a state law.”

  “Well, it should be. Brain buckets. That’s what Percy Senior called them.”

  I laughed. “I’ve heard them called that.”

  She alternated glances between Percy and me. “Did you go to the park?”

  “We did,” he said.

  “Did you get ice cream?”

  “We did,” he said.

  It dawned on me what she was talking about. Belmont Park.

  “Did she offer you her ice cream?”

  “We’re here, aren’t we?”

  She smiled, and then looked at me. “I told him if you offered your ice cream that I wanted to meet you. If you didn’t, I said he could keep you a secret.”

  “That wasn’t what she said,” Percy said. “Not exactly, anyway.”

  “Close enough.” She glared at him, and then looked at me and smiled. “Where are you from, dear?”

  “Southern California. I’ve lived in a few places. El Cajon. Lakeside. San Diego. I live in Oceanside, now.”

  “Percy lives in Oceanside.”

  “She knows, ma.”

  “Hush, Percy. Go talk to Karen. She needs your help in the kitchen.”

  Percy sat down beside me.

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “Haven’t you got something to tend to? Leave us ladies alone for a while.”

  He let out a sigh and then stood. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Take your time.”

  He kissed me and then walked away.

  “He’s protective of me,” she said. “Always has been.”

  “He’s protective of me, too.”

  “As he should be. If Senior found out he wasn’t, he’d tan his hide.”

  “His father?”

  She nodded. “Percy Senior. He’s been gone now for some time. But. He raised those four boys right. They made him proud. Percy was going to play pro baseball. Did he tell you that?”

  “He did.”

  “The accident put a stop to it. It was an awful thing. He could hit the ball over the fence every time. After that happened, everything changed. Accidents will do that. Change things, you know.”

  “They sure will.”

  “He made the most of it, though. He played for a while, but the kids made fun of him. That’s when the fighting started. They kicked him out of that school, and we put him in another. Then, they kicked him out of it. He never cared much for the kids that bullied others, whether it be him or anyone else. He finally completed his schooling, but it was in a private school in San Diego.”

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “Since Patrick was born. All four of those little hellions grew up in this home.”

  I smiled at the thought of Percy running around the home as a child. “I bet it was fun having four boys in the house.”

  “We had two, Peter and Patrick. Then, sometime later, we had Paul. Percy came last. His two older brothers were in high school when he was born. Paul was three years older.”

  “Oh. Big age differences. Did they get along?”

  “Not at all. The older boys used to make him eat bugs, and they didn’t allow him in their tree house. Have you seen the tree house?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Have him show it to you. It’s out back. When Peter and Patrick went to the military, he went out there with a pile of wood and a hammer. He made that thing as big as he could. Then, when Paul came home on leave the first time, Percy wouldn’t let him in it. He wouldn’t even let him stand under it. He was sixteen and Paul was nineteen at the time. Percy tried to fight him. Said the tree house was his now. Then, one night, Paul climbed up the ladder. Percy hit him in the head with his baseball bat. Cut him so bad that the ambulance had to come. Paul was late for formation, and had a scar the width of his forehead. Percy’s an ornery little stinker.”

  I smiled. “He can be.”

  “So, you’ve seen that side of him?”

  “I have.”

  “He’s got his own way of solving problems, that’s for sure.”

  “We’re all unique, I suppose,” I said.

  “Did he tell you about the girl who broke his heart?”

  “Uhhm. I don’t think so.”

  “It’s a story you need to hear.” Her eyes fell to the floor. She sighed. After a moment’s wait, she looked at me. “When Senior passed. Percy was twenty-one, and still staying here helping with his father. Paul was stationed in Jacksonville, North Carolina at the time, and he was twenty-four. It was bad enough to have Senior pass, but that was an awful weekend, for sure.”

  “What happened?”

  She straightened her posture and shook her head lightly. “Percy had been seeing a girl for many years. Since school, anyway. He was in love. I wasn’t so sure about her at the time. Whenever Paul came home, and he came home every chance he got, it seemed he was sweet on her. Percy didn’t like it, but I can’t say that I blamed him. Then, on the weekend after Senior passed, Paul came home. When he left, he took the girl with him.”

  “Percy’s girlfriend?” I gasped.

  She nodded. “End’s up Percy was right about her. He’s always had a sixth sense about things. He moved out soon after. To Oceanside. On Brookside. 904.”

  904 Brookside was where he lived now.

  I digested everything she said, and when I did, my heart wadded up into a ball. My chest ached, and my throat tightened. It pained me to think that Percy had to endure such a horrific act, and that it was his brother who brought the pain upon him.

  Percy’s reluctance to be with a woman, to trust, and to give himself fully to someone made perfect sense. I doubted if something similar happened to me that I would ever recover fully.

  “So uhhm. What happened after that? With her and Paul?”

  “Well, they married. It was an awkward affair, and Percy wasn’t invited. They’ve got kids now. Paul doesn’t come around anymore. I’m sure they’re both afraid of what might happen.”

  My throat tightened. For an instant, I thought I was going to vomit. I swallowed heavily and shook my head. “Holy cow. No. He didn’t tell me that.”

  “That story stays between us.” She pinched her index finger and thumb together, raised them to her lips, and did the lip-zip thing. “Ladies honor. You needed to hear it, because it’s important that you know what he’s been through. I don’t want my Percy hurt again. He’s got a great heart. I’m just not sure he’s got another heartbreak left in him.”

  “He won’t need one,” I said. “I’m going to stick around forever.”

  “Forever’s a mighty long time.”

  I cupped her hand in mine and smiled. “The difference between anyone else and me is that I truly love your son. He doesn’t know it yet, but he will. Keep that between us for now, Until I break the news, okay? Ladies honor.”

  She smiled. “I like you.”

  I squeezed her hand lightly. “I like you, too.”

  She pointed toward the far wall. “See that fireplace?”

  A fireplace was centered on the wall. The stone mantle was covered in photos of who I assumed were Percy and his brothers.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “We used to hang their Christmas stockings there. Filled them on Christmas eve. When they decided Santa Claus didn’t exist, we kept filling them anyway.”

  I shot her a look of surprise. “Santa doesn’t exist?”

  “He does in this house.”

 
; “As he should.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “Do you have any children?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’d like to fill that mantle with stockings again before my time comes.”

  I glanced at the fireplace. I imagined children’s voices, their excitement on Christmas morning, and their fights over who might be king of the treehouse. The thought filled me with excitement.

  I looked at her and smiled. “I’d like that, too.”

  Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Six

  P-Nut

  She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Dressed in my favorite jeans and one of the new tee shirts she’d recently purchased, she looked magnificent.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “You look magnificent.”

  “Magnificent?”

  I looked her up and down, and then gave her a kiss. “I’m thinking so.”

  “So how does this work? I’ve always wondered.”

  “What?”

  “A poker run. What’s the process?”

  “We hop on the sled and ride all fucking day.”

  “So that’s the plan? We aimlessly ride up and down the coast?”

  “No. It’s organized. Come on.” I turned toward the door. “We’re going to be late.”

  She rushed to my side. “How about a quick rundown?”

  “Everyone starts at a selected spot. They give each rider a sealed envelope. Inside it is a card that has all 52 cards from a deck of cards printed on it. On the outside of the envelope are the numbers 1 through 52. The rider slips the envelope in his pocket or hands it to his Ol’ Lady. In an organized group, we ride to five different cities. In each city, we pick a random number out of a bucket or a sack or a pile of ping pong balls. The person who’s in charge at each stop punches the card with the number we’ve randomly picked. At the last stop, we turn in our cards. We have no idea what five cards we’ve selected, because we can’t see the inside of the envelope. The proctor opens the envelope, tallies up who got what poker hand, and the best hand wins the grand prize. Make sense?”

  “I think so. Poker with no skill. A random selection of cards by chance. Best five cards wins?”

  I pulled the door closed, and checked the lock. “You’ve got it.”

  “How many people attend?”

  “Attend.” I chuckled. “You mean ride?”

  “Yeah. How many people ride.”

  I turned toward the driveway and shrugged. “At this one? Probably 2,500.”

  “Holy cow. That’s crazy.”

  “The five will be all but shut down. Cops will be there to direct traffic. It’ll be bikes from Oceanside to Irvine.”

  “That’s 100 miles.”

  “You’ll just have to see it.” I motioned toward the bike. “Now. Stop yapping and get on.”

  She got on the bike, pulled on her helmet, and cinched the strap. “Ready to ride, Boss.”

  Many of the fellas took random woman on the poker runs with them. In hope of getting laid, they’d take some skank from the bar, an old friend, or some chick they met at the 7-Eleven on the way to the run.

  I’d never taken a woman on a poker run. My doing so now would undoubtedly raise eyebrows.

  When asked, I’d answer the questions proudly.

  She’s my Ol’ Lady.

  Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Seven

  Joey

  We exited the main street, and turned down a two-lane side road. On our left, dozens of motorcycles were parked in front of a metal building that resembled a warehouse or manufacturing building. In the center of the roof’s gable, four simple letters gave hint as to who lurked behind the building’s walls.

  FFMC

  My heart raced.

  “Hold on,” he said. “Tight!”

  I gripped his waist firm in my hands.

  He twisted the throttle, pinning me against the backrest. We shot down the empty street, directly toward the entrance to the building. Our speed increased to what I guessed to be 60 miles an hour.

  There was no way we could make the turn.

  Holy crap!

  He pressed the rear brake pedal, sending us into a tailspin. We slid past the entrance, spun around 180-degrees, and then he hit the throttle again. As if it were something he’d done a thousand times, he shot into the lot and came to a stop.

  A man leaning against the edge of the open garage door crossed his arms in front of his chest. Tattooed from head to toe, including his neck and lower jaw, the man looked mean.

  And angry.

  His eyes thinned. “God damn it, ‘Nut. You’re going to fucking kill someone.”

  I let out a sigh and glanced at him. His vest said it all.

  President.

  Crip.

  I removed my helmet, got off the bike, and laid it on the rear seat.

  Percy chuckled. “I was in control the entire time, Prez.”

  “Hey Joey,” someone shouted.

  I turned toward the voice. Sandy stood at Smokey’s side. Wearing jeans, a fitted tee, and a bandana, she and her baby bump looked adorable.

  Excited to see at least one familiar face, I waved.

  “Follow me,” Percy said.

  He introduced me to Pee Bee and Tegan, Crip and Peyton, and Cholo and Lex. Dozens of other men wandered around the parking lot, talking and looking at the motorcycles, but we didn’t talk to any of them.

  I recalled what Bama said about Pee Bee resembling my father. I stole a look at him every chance I got, and imaging what everyone must have thought about my dad. Pee Bee was an intimidating figure, towering above all the other men.

  But he was jovial.

  I wondered if my father was the same.

  “Listen up,” Crip shouted. “We’re headed to San Clemente, and that’s where this motherfucker starts. There’ll be no hot-dogging, no horseshit, and no changing rank. You ride at the end of this motherfucker where you rode at the beginning. When we pull out of this lot, who you’re paired up with is who you run with for the day. I know we’ve got a couple of hang arounds in attendance, but as always, colors in the front, and colors in the rear.”

  He scanned the crowd, and then continued. “Guess that’s it. It’s a beautiful fucking day in SoCal, let’s have a good little run. Fuckers Forever!”

  “Forever Fuckers!” the crowd shouted in response.

  He raised his fist high in the air. “Saddle up!”

  “Hop on,” Percy said. “We’re up front with dip-shit.”

  “You don’t like him?” I whispered.

  “I love the son-of-a-bitch, but don’t tell him that.”

  I grinned and grabbed my helmet. “You’ve got it, Boss.”

  The air thickened with the sound of two-dozen motorcycles revving their exhaust. My heart raced. Percy inched his bike into the street, and sat in wait.

  Crip and another man pulled out side by side. Then, Pee Bee and Cholo pulled out. Smokey followed, and we pulled alongside him. Another two followed. And then, another two. I watched over my shoulder as the process continued.

  With a mechanical expertise that resembled members of a marching band, we rode from the clubhouse to San Clemente.

  When were close enough to the location for me to see it, my jaw hit my lap. I didn’t have to ask if it was where we were going.

  The sea of motorcycles gave it away.

  I would guess that most girls my age would see a few thousand motorcycles as an eye sore. To me, it was a work of art. A masterpiece. Thousands of men, and their machines, all seeking the same thing.

  A slice of freedom.

  We pulled into the lot, parked together, and walked as a group to a large tent at the corner of the parking lot. After receiving our envelope, Percy handed it to me. “You’re in charge of that. Don’t lose it.”

  I looked at Sandy. She shoved the envelope in her front pocket.

  I did the same and then looked at Percy. “I won’t.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Sandy said.
“This is going to be a great run.”

  She was right. It was 75 degrees, sunny, and there was no wind whatsoever.

  “It’s going to be fun.” I looked over each shoulder, and tried to comprehend what was happening. I couldn’t fathom how everyone could even get out of the parking lot. “This is crazy.”

  “Wait until everyone leaves,” she said. “It gives me goosebumps every time.”

  After listening to an announcement, and hearing all the rules over a loudspeaker, the men pulled out two by two, until there were motorcycles for as far as the eye could see.

  Helicopters flew overhead, undoubtedly filming for the news. At the intersections, police we positioned, stopping traffic. For that day, during that run, the men on the motorcycles had precedence.

  Being a part of such an event made my heart swell.

  We stopped at San Clemente, Santa Ana, Riverside, Palm Springs, and then rode to Temecula.

  The Harley dealer was our last stop, and where Percy said they’d give away the prizes. We were scheduled to eat lunch there, but I couldn’t imagine a few thousand people all eating at the same time.

  When we pulled into the parking lot, it was a reenactment of what I’d seen in the morning. Only much smaller. A large tent sat in the corner of the lot, and a few smaller tents were set up on each side.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  “Some ride slower than others,” he explained. “They’ll be filtering in for the next hour or two. We’ll park and eat.”

  It made sense. The people who left San Clemente first would arrive at Temecula first. It probably took an hour or more for all of the people to get out of the parking lot when the run started.

  I compared it to people leaving a concert or large event, and it made perfect sense.

  We parked, turned in our card, and loaded our plates with barbeque. While we ate beneath the shade of one of the smaller tents, I watched the steady stream of motorcycles come into the lot.

  The constant rumbling of the exhaust, the smell of adrenaline, and the bravado of the men hung heavily in the air.

  I was in heaven.

  After we ate, the men talked, told stories, and drank the free beer. Old friends met, hugged, and shook hands. New friends were made. Men did burn-outs on their bikes, revved their exhaust, and showed off their paintjobs.