A half hour south of Wichita, in a town I’d never heard of, the three of us were seated at an office in the back of his clubhouse. He took a moment to digest the death of a mother he’d never really known, and then looked up.
He folded his massive arms over his chest and met Smudge’s gaze. “Died, huh? I’ll be damned. Like I said a minute ago, I never really knew her. She left when I was a kid. Ol’ Man was a violent prick, so I can’t say as I blame her.”
“I’m sorry,” Smudge said.
“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s nobody’s fault. Part of the journey. Happens to the best of us.”
“Your pop rode with the red and white?” I asked.
“He did. Like I said, he was a violent prick,” he said dryly. “They did the world a favor when they locked his ass up.”
“Did he ever mention his brother-in-law?” I asked. “His wife’s sisters husband? Your uncle?”
“Not that I recall, no. But we didn’t talk much past when I was about eighteen. Not much up to that time, either.”
“Ever heard of Billy The Snake Schreiber?” Smudge asked.
Axton shot her a glare. “Do I look like a car salesman?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“A landscape architect?”
“No.”
“Resemble a 1%er at all?” he asked flatly. “Maybe a little?”
She chuckled. “Maybe a little.”
“Any man who wears a patch knows of The Snake,” he said. “Man gave his life for his club in more ways than one. We could all learn a little something from how he lived his life. Why do you ask?”
Smudge pushed herself away from the table and straightened her posture. “He was my father.”
His eyes thinned. After a moment’s thought, his lips parted slightly. He pushed himself away from the table, stood, and shot her a look.
“You’re Billy Schreiber’s daughter?”
She nodded. “Sure am.”
“That’d make him my uncle.”
“That’s why we’re here,” she said. “I was hoping you could tell us more about him. Well, that, and I wanted to meet you.”
He looked at me and then at her. He motioned for her to stand. “Stand up.”
She stood.
He looked her over. “As far as I know, you’re my only relative.”
“My dad was an only child, and my mother only had the one sister. If you don’t have any siblings,” Smudge said with a grin. “You’re my only relative, too.”
“I’ll be fucking damned.” He extended his hand.
She looked at his open hand as if he was trying to hand her a snake. She clenched her fist and straightened her arm.
He pressed his fist into hers, grinned, and then looked at me. “And you’re a Filthy Fucker?”
“Done a dime with ‘em so far.”
“Dime in that state’s like a lifetime anywhere else. It’s like the wild west out there, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Can be.”
He looked at Smudge. “Did you know my mother?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“You didn’t know my mother, and I didn’t know your father. It’s a damned shame you came all this way.”
“At least we got to meet each other,” she said.
I know it wasn’t what she wanted, but it was really all he had to offer. He seemed to be a man of few words, and I had my doubts we’d spend the day in the clubhouse chewing the fat about bikes, booze, and bitches.
We did stay for another hour or so, and then said our goodbyes.
As we saddled up, Axton stood off to the side and looked my bike over. “Good lookin’ scoot.”
“Appreciate it.”
Smudge pulled on her helmet, and then turned toward Axton. “Do you eat Vietnamese noodle soup?”
He grinned. “I’ve been known to.”
“Any good places in Wichita?”
“There’s a couple, yeah.”
“Any of them been around for twenty years or so?”
“One,” he said. “My Tho. Fellas that run it ride. Good people, good noodles, and a good atmosphere. Family owned and operated. Biker friendly, too.”
“Thanks,” she said.
She looked at me. “Noodles?”
The thought of eating at a place her father had ridden 1,500 miles to eat at was intriguing.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I responded.
The small building on a corner lot with a dirt parking lot wasn’t at all what I expected. After parking the bike, we walked inside.
The inside of the restaurant was spotless. We chose an empty seat, and were greeted promptly by a man in his forties.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Water and coffee, times two,” I said.
He gave a nod and then motioned toward the center of the table. “Menus are right there. I’ll be back with your drinks.”
As we looked over the menus, he returned.
“How long has this place been here?” Smudge asked.
“Twenty-five years,” he said.
“How long have you worked here?” she asked.
He smiled. “Twenty-five years.”
“Do you ride?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. Mine’s parked out back, right beside my brother’s.”
“You ever heard of Billy The Snake Schreiber?” she asked.
He gave a sharp nod. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Her eyes went wide. “Has he ever been in here?”
“Yes, ma’am. He came in several times. It’s been a long time ago, though. He’s dead, you know.”
She nodded. “Do you remember where he sat?”
He gave a sharp nod, and then pointed to a large round table in the far rear of the restaurant. “Same place every time.”
“Mind if we move to that table?” she asked.
“No, Ma’am. Not at all.”
We moved to the other table and sat down.
The waiter brought our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”
“Do you know what Billy ate when he came?”
“Yes, Ma’am. The number twelve,” he said. “Every time.”
Her eyebrows raised slightly. “You’ve got a good memory.”
“Hard to forget a man like that, Ma’am. It’s been a long time, but it isn’t very often someone rides 1,500 miles to eat in your restaurant. My brother and I were gang-bangers back then. We actually started riding because of him. He was an easy man to admire.”
She grinned. “I’ll have the number twelve.”
“Bring us two of ‘em,” I said.
“It’ll just be a few minutes.”
Smudge relaxed against the back of her seat and looked around the restaurant. “I like this place.”
“I do, too. And, the fella waiting on us is nice.”
“It’s cool thinking that my dad sat here. That he ate the same food.”
“I like the thought of it.”
“I’m glad we made this trip,” she said. “I wanted answers. It’s weird, but the only answers I really got were when we were on the road.”
“You know you’re a true biker when you get far more satisfaction out of the trip than you do the destination.”
“I guess I’m a true biker, then.”
It was one more thing we had in common.
Not that I needed another reason to invite her into my life.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Joey
We’d been home from the trip for three days. As much as I enjoyed our time on the road, my unanswered questions left me feeling empty. I decided there were things about my father I would simply never find out. Accepting that decision as life’s reality, however, didn’t come easily.
We were halfway through our meal, and Percy couldn’t sit still. Fidgeting in his chair and having an attention span of no more than a few seconds, it seemed he was preoccupied with something.
It wasn’t uncommon for him to act
sketchy. In fact, it was quite normal. In the past, however, he acted nervous when he was telling a story, or in deep thought. It seemed his mind worked at a speed much faster than his body, and he struggled physically to keep up the pace.
“Food’s good as fuck,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He took a drink of beer, set the bottle to the side, and then readjusted it. After checking its placement, he moved it again, and then scooped up another forkful of potatoes.
“Olive oil?”
I blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”
“Olive oil? On the potatoes?”
“Oh.” I smiled. “Yes. And basil.”
He nodded. “They’re good.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes darted around the room as he ate, never focusing on one thing for longer than a nanosecond.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Me?” He chuckled as he looked up. “Good as gold.”
His eyes dropped to his plate. While he poked at a small piece of chicken with his fork, the sound of a vehicle in the driveway caught my attention.
Oddly, he seemed to not even notice.
I stood and peered through the window. A white van was parked in the center of the driveway. “Someone just pulled in the driveway.”
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
He sauntered to the door and opened it.
A man stood on the porch with a large thin package. Half as tall as he was, and the same length as the porch, it was roughly six inches thick.
“Percy L. Welsh?” he asked.
“The one and only,” Percy said.
“Sign here.”
He handed Percy something. After signing it, he exchanged it for the package.
“Have a nice night,” the man said.
“Thanks.”
Percy carried it inside and leaned it against the couch. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
I looked at the package, and then at him. “What is it?”
“Hard saying. I’ve ordered a lot of shit in the last few weeks, and none of it has shown up yet.”
I wondered how many three foot by six foot objects he was expecting.
My curiosity got the best of me. “Why don’t you open it?”
“Maybe later.”
He walked to the table and sat down.
It amazed me that he could go right back to eating. I really needed to know what was in the package. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care one way or another.
It could have been a tabletop. Or a workbench of some sort. I wondered for a moment if it was a headboard for a bed, and then decided not, due to the width being narrower than a mattress.
“After we eat?”
“I’ve got a few things to get done. I’ll get to it at some point, yeah.”
I let out a sigh and sat down. “Okay.”
Percy’s mood had changed completely. Now eating – and acting – normally, he seemed to have dismissed whatever it was that was troubling him earlier. I, on the other hand, was overcome with interest about the delivery.
“I think I’m done,” I said.
He looked up from his plate. “You didn’t finish your food.”
“I’m full.”
He nodded. “I’m close.”
I stared at the cardboard box while he continued to eat. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
“What was that chicken again?”
I sighed. “Baked chicken.”
“You can add it to the short list,” he said.
I shifted my eyes to him and managed to smile. “I’ll do it.”
“What’s on your agenda tonight?” he asked.
“I was going to do some research, and then go to bed.”
We carried our plates to the kitchen and cleaned up the dinner mess together. After I wiped down the countertop, I turned to face him.
“Are you going to open it now?”
“Maybe in a bit,” he said. “I’ve got to respond to some emails first.”
“Baseball card business booming?”
He grinned. “I suppose.”
I took one last glance at the package. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Same here.”
“Let me know if you…when you open it.”
“Oh. That?” He turned toward the package as if he forgot it had arrived. “Yeah. I’ll let you know. First things first, though.”
I went to my room and began research on management practices. Fifteen minutes into my first webinar, the contents of the package no longer mattered.
Percy’s knocking on the door startled me. I pulled one of my earbuds and set my phone aside.
“Come in.”
“I was mistaken,” he said. “That package wasn’t for me. It’s for you.”
“Wait. What?”
“It’s for you.”
“Who’s it from?”
“Can’t tell. Has some letters and an address. It had my name on it, but it’s not mine.”
I rolled off the edge of the bed and tossed my phone onto the comforter. “How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to see it.”
Excited, I rushed past him and toward the living room. The package was on top of the kitchen table. Now covered with a few random pieces of cardboard and wrapped with duct tape, it was clear that Percy had opened it and then tried to rewrap it.
I laughed. “Why didn’t you just leave it opened?”
“Element of surprise, or whatever,” he said.
I sat down at the table and then looked at him. “You sure it’s for me?”
“That’s my guess.” He sat down across from me. “Damned sure not for me.”
I took a deep breath, and then slipped my finger beneath the seam of the original brown paper packaging. After carefully peeling away the tape, I opened the package.
A sheet of protective Styrofoam covered the object entirely. I scrunched my nose, slid it off to the side, and stared at what appeared to be the back of a very large picture.
“It looks like a framed picture,” I said. “A big one.”
“Looks like some dumb fucker laid it on the table upside down,” he said.
“Help me flip it over?” I asked.
He grabbed one side of the picture, and I grabbed the other. He tilted his head toward the hallway. “That way.”
Together, we lifted the heavy frame and flipped it over.
An emotional freight train plowed into me and all but bowled me over.
I stared at the black and white photo for some time. Somehow sucked into the moment in time that the picture was taken, I drifted off completely. It took quite some time, but I eventually returned.
Embarrassed by the tears that welled in my eyes, but aware I could do nothing to stop them from flowing, I looked up.
I wagged my finger toward the photo. “That’s uhhm. It’s…”
I began to cry.
He cleared his throat. “Newsweek did a write up on Hells Angels in ’96. They were with them for almost a month, interviewing members and stuff. This was taken by their photographer on a poker run, just outside of Temecula. I uhhm. I bought the rights to it. Thought you might like it.”
I wiped my eyes with the heel of my palm, but it did nothing to stop the tears.
The photo, obviously taken by a professional with a high-speed lens, was captured while the MC was traveling down the highway.
The camera’s focus was on one couple; a man and a woman on a Heritage Softail. The man’s right hand was draped over his ape hanger handlebars. His left arm was extended straight, directly toward the lens of the camera.
With his eyes fixed on the photographer, his contempt was made clear by position of his upright middle finger.
The woman’s left hand rested on the man’s hip. Her right arm was resting atop her very pregnant stomach.
The look on her face was one of sheer content.
“It’s uhhm.” I pressed my hand against the g
lass. “It’s the three of us.”
Percy walked around the edge of the table, draped his arm over my shoulder, and pulled me into him.
My quest for answers was over. Everything I’d been searching for was in the photograph. I rested my head against Percy’s shoulder, tilted my head toward the picture, and stared into the eyes of my defiant father.
I love you, Dad.
I had no idea how long we stood there, but I enjoyed every moment of it. At some point, Percy released my shoulder and stepped in front of me.
Still in somewhat of a trance, I gazed blankly at him as he extended his arm between us.
He raised his hand to my chin. I lifted it slightly in response. The space between us vanished. I sucked in a choppy breath.
Our lips merged.
My eyes fell closed. The kiss was completely unexpected. Nonetheless, I draped my arms over his shoulders and kissed him in return, cherishing every element of the intimate moment we shared.
My mother had explained how my father’s kisses took her to a place that was not of this earth. Although I’d been kissed in the past, I’d never experienced what she spoke of. At least, not until that moment when Percy kissed me.
Our lips parted. I slowly descended back to earth.
My eyes opened.
He traced along the outline of my jaw with his index finger. “I think I’m done.”
“Done what?” I breathed.
“Done searching.”
That makes two of us.
Chapter Twenty-Six
P-Nut
It was the day after I had kissed Joey. It wasn’t something I’d planned, and although it seemed natural, the flood of emotion that followed wasn’t something I was used to.
Somehow, thoughts of her now consumed me. I wanted to touch her, kiss her again, hold her, and feel her body against mine.
Everything I wanted to do with her was contrary to what I’d done in the past with other women. Not only was it different, it was the complete opposite. Convinced she had peeled back a layer of my being and exposed a part of me I had no idea existed, I was eager and afraid at the same time.
I carried my mother’s lunch to the living room and placed it on the tray. “Time for lunch.”
“I’m afraid the Italian guy is a liar. He said he was in the Navy when that poor girl got pregnant. But he’s got another son that was born at the same time. It just doesn’t add up,” she said.
F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7) Page 89