“Ma…” I said as I shook my head.
“Hell, if anyone messed with me, I’d kill ‘em Marge,” my father grunted as he cut another chunk of casserole off of the slab sitting on his plate.
“Ken!” my mother gasped.
“Well, I would. I’m sure the court will decide who’s right and who’s wrong. It’ll be interesting to see how that pans out,” my father said.
I nodded my head and glanced down at my plate. Conversations at my parent’s dinner table seemed to not only have no boundaries, but they typically had no limits. It wasn’t uncommon for us to begin talking about my father’s tomato crop, and eventually end up in a heated discussion about the benefits of legalizing prostitution. Personally, I believed my father often changed the subjects until the conversation took a course that he believed would irritate my mother.
“Speaking of attorneys, did you hear about that doctor that sewed a pecker on that Asian stripper in Wichita? She’s dancing down at the strip club by Boeing now with a chunk of meat between her legs. Clyde says he’s seen her over there and she’s hung like a horse. Said she draws the biggest crowd out of all those girls. Rumor has it they’re getting up a petition to have her tossed out, saying now she’s not a girl, but a guy. What do you think about that?” my father asked as he reached for his beer.
“Ken!” my mother breathed.
“Well, it’s the damned truth, Marge. Sewed it right on there. Now, what I’m wondering about is this…” He paused and lowered his bottle of beer to the table. “Where’d they get the pecker?”
I shook my head in disgust. “Hard saying.”
“Well, someone had to give it up. Maybe it was one of those fellas who wanted to be switched into a girl. I’m thinking they must keep a running tally, and when there’s a guy who wants it whacked off and a hole drilled down there, they add him to the chart. And later, when they find a girl who wants a pecker, as long as there’s some dip-shit on the chart who wants his cut off, they got a match. People are just plain weird these days. Anyway Clyde seen him. Or her. Said she was pretty, well ‘cept for the bulge in her pants,” he said with a laugh.
“Let’s change the subject,” my mother said.
Disgusted at the thought of an Asian stripper with a cock swinging between her legs, I shook my head.
“Enchiladas are pretty good, ma,” I said.
She smiled and nodded her head. “Thank you.”
“Maybe next time, if there is a next time, we should have some tacos or something with this shit. You took a little piece, and Steve and I took what was left. Either that or make a double helping,” my father complained as he gazed down at his plate and pierced a tomato slice with the tip of his fork.
My mother gazed down at her plate and began to speak without looking up.
“It worked out just fine, and we don’t have to worry about leftovers. Now what I was trying to talk about earlier was that all of your friends have girlfriends or fiancées, and you haven’t had a girlfriend since I don’t know when. Maybe it’s time you get one. You know we all have to grow up some time.”
Half pissed off that she’d mentioned the subject, I grabbed my bottle of beer and pushed myself away from the table slightly. As the bottle dangled beside my hip from between my thumb and forefinger, I studied her until she looked up from her plate.
“Ma, I don’t have a girlfriend because I haven’t found one yet that suits me. They’re all too damned nosey or far too controlling. As soon as I find one good enough for me, you’ll be the first to know,” I said as I raised my beer bottle in the air and tilted the neck toward her.
“I liked Samantha. I can’t see why she had to up and move away. A girl like her would be perfect for you,” my mother said as she glanced toward her plate.
“I liked Sam too, but that was fifteen years ago, ma. Fifteen. Not yesterday, but fifteen damned years,” I said as I stood from my seat.
I walked to the refrigerator and grabbed two more beers. After finishing what little was left in my bottle, I dropped it into the trash and twisted the lid off the other. As I walked to the table, I studied my mother and waited for her response as I handed my father a beer.
She sat silently and picked at her food.
“Why you bringing up Sam after all this time?” I asked as I sat down.
As she looked up from her plate, my father gazed down at his.
“Her mother passed,” my mother said as she shifted her gaze to meet mine.
My heart sank. Short of Sam’s husband, and what I was certain to be a house full of kids, her mother was all she had. Her father, who was considerably older than her mother, passed away when she was twelve after a short battle with colon cancer. Her mother, to the best of my knowledge, never remarried. Sam had no brothers or sisters, and longed for a large family, one I wasn’t willing to provide.
I took a long swallow of beer and washed the lump from my throat.
“When’s the funeral?” I asked flatly.
“Tomorrow,” my mother said as she looked up from her plate.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, I’ve got the trial tomorrow or I’d go. Probably best that I don’t see her anyway. She’s married and has a family. Her husband doesn’t need a reminder of who her high school sweetheart was.”
“Your father and I argued about going, you know how he is about funerals. We decided to send flowers instead. I just found out yesterday when your father told me. He heard it at work from Clyde,” my mother said.
“What happened?” I asked.
My mother lowered her fork to the side of her plate and shook her head from side-to-side. “Well, that’s the sad part. Apparently, she was cooking, and was pulled some aluminum foil off the roll. She cut her wrist on the little strip or the foil…I don’t know…and she bled to death before the ambulance arrived.”
An aluminum foil death didn’t immediately make sense to me. I sat and stared blankly at my mother and waited for her to say it was a big joke. After a few minutes of silence, I realized what she said was reality and a part of Sam’s life she would be required to accept.
My father shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “Aluminum foil? Jesus, how does someone prepare for that?”
Frustrated, I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess they don’t. That’s a damned shame.”
My father looked up from his plate and nodded his head. “Sure is. Just goes to show you, you never know…”
I stared at the bottle of beer for what seemed like an unreasonable amount of time. The thought of Sam’s mother dying, and dying from something no one would or could make any plans or concessions to prepare for caused me to feel a deeper sorrow for the entire family. Even a car wreck would allow a person to eventually accept it as God’s will.
But aluminum foil?
I began to worry about Sam, and wondered how she’d accept the death. I attempted to consider myself in the same circumstance, and decided I’d probably never accept it as being part of life’s big plan for me or my family. Trying to make sense of it was beginning to make me feel uneasy. Although I was raised by a God fearing family, I in no way struggled with God as much as Axton or Toad, but still struggled nonetheless. I did, however, believe I lived in God’s world; and that all things happened for a reason.
I sat and stared at the amber bottle, wondering if my lifetime would produce enough time for me to come up with a good reason for the mother of the only woman I ever loved dying from such an unfortunate incident.
I eventually lifted the bottle and drank the remaining beer with the understanding that although some things in life are unavoidable, we may never accept them as being necessary.
Chapter Eighty-Four
OTIS
A two-hour long workout provided little relief, and my tension was still at a level I wasn’t comfortable with. Obviously having a difficult time accepting the death of Sam’s mother as being necessary, I stepped into the shower with the hope it would wash away the remaining discomfort I was feeling.
&
nbsp; After showering until there was no remaining hot water, I dried off, took a precursory glance in the mirror, and walked to my bedroom. Although I should have climbed into bed and retired for the night, I felt falling asleep would prove impossible.
A quick text message to the Sinners I reserved as friends revealed Biscuit as the only one available to have a drink. Eager to attempt to rid myself of what was bothering me, I got dressed, hopped on my bike, and rode to Wichita to meet him at the bar.
I parked my bike beside his and surveyed the parking lot. A few cars littered the otherwise empty lot. Sunday night at most bars in Wichita was a slow night, and considering the problems in Waco, Texas with the shooting, several of the bars had made new rules regarding bikers wearing their cuts inside the bar. It came as no surprise, and although most bars prevented gangs such as the Crips and Bloods from wearing their colors, none had taken the chance at attempting to prevent MC’s from doing so. This bar was one who was still biker friendly and had made no such rule, leaving it as one of our available options. As I walked through the door I recalled the night I met Axton’s Ol’ Lady, Avery.
“Big O, what’s shakin’,” Biscuit said as he stood from his bar stool.
I shook my head and grinned. “Just needing to unwind. Let’s go over and sit in one of those booths, I don’t need the bartender listening to what we’re talking about.”
“No argument from me, that stool is as hard as a wedding day cock,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me and slapped me on the back.
“Place don’t seem the same without Avery and that other chick workin’, does it?” Biscuit said as we walked toward an open booth.
I shook my head. “Sure doesn’t.”
Biscuit sat down and placed his Red Bull and glass of vodka in front of him. As he sat and studied me for a short moment, he rubbed his beard with his right hand, and eventually drug his fingers through his thick brown hair.
“Sure you heard about Corndog and that poor girl who worked here, huh?” he asked as he leaned onto the edge of the table.
I nodded my head. “I’ve heard some, yeah.”
He pressed his forearms onto the table, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward. “They’re inseparable now. He’s been fuckin’ that poor girl six ways from Sunday. Talked to him after the meeting the other day. Said he’s been schooling her on sucking cock, and it sounds like she’s got quite the sexual appetite. Anyway, He’s making up for the five years of lost time he spent in the joint.”
“I’m sure he is,” I said as I raised my hand to get the waitress’ attention.
He widened his eyes slightly.
“You know, every one of the fellas is fascinated by that girl’s big fucking titties. But me? I’m fascinated with the fact Toad wrapped her head in God damned Saran Wrap, fucked her until she was damned near dead, and then took her to the Dog’s house, dropped her off, and she ain’t fuckin’ left yet. Hell, until the Toad dropped her off, she’d never met Corn Dog.”
As I noticed the waitress walking toward the table, I raised my hand to silence Biscuit.
“I’ll take a couple of Michelob Ultras and bring him another can of Red Bull and a few iced double vodkas,” I said as the waitress approached the table.
“Sounds good. You guys aren’t going to shoot the place up, are you?” she asked playfully.
Biscuit grinned as he turned to face her. “We might after we get a few drinks in us.”
Probably no more than twenty-one years old, and more than likely one of Avery’s old college friends, the waitress was cute, but young. Tall and thin with athletic legs, I wondered if she played volleyball with Avery and Sloan, but decided not to ask. Having a conversation with her wasn’t at the top of my current list of priorities.
“God damn…” Biscuit said after studying her for a short moment, drawing the word damn out for five seconds or so.
She shifted her gaze to meet his and grinned. “What?”
“Your eyes. That’s the craziest blue I ever seen,” he said as he twisted his body to face her.
“Contacts,” she shrugged.
“Figures,” he said as he turned around.
She grinned as she turned away. “Be back in a minute.”
Biscuit took a drink of his vodka, chased it with a swallow of Red Bull, and immediately pressed his chest into the edge of the table as if preparing to tell me a secret.
“Nothin’ against the Dog, but I wonder about that fuckin’ girl, Sloan. Damned thing can’t have a lick of proper upbringing in her. Personally, I wouldn’t fuck her with Pete’s cock, and he’s a nasty fucker. Corn Dog’s pounding that shit like each day’s his last, so I guess I’ll say good for him; and from what he was sayin’ she’s become mighty fine at sucking cock. Oh, shit, I almost forgot, I got a story to tell ya,” he said as he sat up and rubbed his hands together.
If Biscuit ever decided he no longer wanted to be a Sinner, he could immediately seek employment as a stand-up comic. His ability to tell a story was only matched by his willingness, and he was always willing. The problem was trying to decide if what you were hearing was the truth or another one of his wild made up fables. Either way, hearing him talk was entertaining, and probably exactly what I needed.
He pressed his forearms into the edge of the table and began to almost whisper. “So, speaking of suckin’ cock, there was this girl; she gave the best fuckin’ head ever. Damned thing was like a trained professional, and probably should have had a college course on how to properly suck a cock. She could take my meat all the way to the balls, stick out her God damned tongue, and curl it around my nut sack without missin’ a beat.”
I grinned and nodded my head, waiting to hear more about this professor of oral pleasure.
“So, this bitch had the most beautiful blue eyes. And, because she had no gag reflex, I could fuck this girl’s mouth just like I was fuckin’ a pussy. Anyway, when I’d pound her throat with my cock, I’d look down into her eyes, and after she bat those long lashes and revealed those damned eyes a few times, I’d just explode. She knew her eyes were my biggest weakness, and she was right.” He paused and rubbed his beard with his hand. “So one night, she’s down on her knees, and she’s going to town on my cock. Just a slurpin’ and a suckin’ like this one’s her last. Hell, I’m lookin’ up at the ceiling like I got no interest in watchin’ her, which couldn’t be any further from the truth. My problem was this...”
The waitress walked up with a tray of drinks. “Here you go, two iced vodka doubles, a can of Red Bull, and two Ultras. Anything else?”
I smiled and shook my head as I reached for a beer.
“Other than being like super big, you don’t look like a biker, I mean not really,” she said.
“Never thought I was like super big, but thanks, I guess,” Biscuit chuckled as he tugged on his cut.
“I uhhm, I was meaning him,” she giggled as she tossed her head toward me.
“Oh,” Biscuit said as he turned toward me and raised his eyebrows in wait for my response.
“I don’t know that bikers look any certain way to be quite honest. I look the way I look and I’m a biker. One has nothing to do with the other,” I said as I lifted my beer and tilted it toward her.
“Oh, I didn’t really mean anything by it, I was just. I don’t know. You know, trying to make conversation. Do you know Avery?” she asked as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.
I lowered my chin slightly, rested my elbow on the table, and dangled the beer bottle from my hand. “Sure do, she’s a good friend.”
“Well, we’re not close, but I played volleyball with her. I’m a senior this year and she’s a year older than me. I just heard she was like dating one of the guys in your gang,” she said as she attempted to force her fingertips into to the extremely small pockets of her overly tight jean shorts.
“Club. We’re a club, not a gang. A motorcycle club,” I said as I lifted the bottle of beer to my lips.
“Oh, I thought you were a motor
cycle gang. What’s the difference?” she asked as she gave up on shoving her hands into her pockets and allowed her arms to dangle at her sides.
“There isn’t one,” I said. “But gang sounds bad, and club sounds more professional and less criminal, so we all call ourselves clubs now.”
She tilted her head to the side, seemingly slightly confused. “So you are a gang?”
Biscuit turned to face her and raised his index finger to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell anybody.”
“Oh, I won’t. You can trust me,” she grinned. “I’m Kat.”
“Like a pussy cat?” Biscuit chuckled.
“Kind of, but with a K. Katrina, Kat for short,” she said.
“I’m Biscuit, that’s Otis,” Biscuit said as he motioned toward me.
“Biscuit? Why Biscuit?” she shrugged.
“Why not?” Biscuit snapped back.
She shrugged her shoulders as she shifted her gaze to meet mine. As our eyes met, she grinned.
“Nice to meet you guys. I’ll leave you two alone for a while. If you need me, just holler. We’re not real busy, I’ll probably stop by in a few and see if you’re doing alright,” she said as she turned away.
I nodded my head. She seemed nice enough, but from what little I could see, had nothing to offer me. Although Avery proved to be as solid of a woman as I had ever met, I had my doubts that other college students would be as mature and trustworthy as she was. After Biscuit watched her walk away over his shoulder he turned toward the table and grinned.
“Meeefuckingyow. Kat, huh? She’s a hot little number,” he said.
I lifted my chin slightly before taking a long drink of my beer. “Where were we?”
“Hold up a minute, I’ve got to clear my mind of evil thoughts,” he said as he grabbed a glass of vodka.
After taking a drink and chasing it with Red Bull, he shook his head and narrowed his gaze.
“I was face fucking my blue eyed girl,” he said as he placed the can of Red Bull beside the glass of vodka.
I tilted my beer toward him and nodded my head. “The professor of oral pleasure.”
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