by Oakes, Tara
“We ready brother?” I ask Jay.
As V.P. we wait for him to lead us into the lion’s den, better known as BOOTY CALL, the strip joint that the Slayers use as their main base.
Normally, any Kingsman walking through these doors is fair game, just as any Slayer walking into our garage. Today, though, we’ve called enough of a truce to be able to meet without bullets flying.
Doesn’t stop us from being prepared, though, just as they most definitely are.
The parking lot is full of cars and bikes alike, both testament to a booming business.
Jay is the first to dismount, with me following soon behind. The large tan-skinned man standing guard as bouncer by the front door nods to us as we approach. He’s wearing a cut, but no patches. He’s a prospect.
Young but not too young. Most importantly, though, he obviously knows his wheels.
“Nice pipes, man,” he nods to the custom work on my pop’s bike.
I lift my chin to him, in a mutual sign of respect.
He knows better than to pat us. We’re packing. He knows it, we know it. Just as sure as shit they’re all packing. There’s nothing keeping any of us from having at it right now other than our word as men.
The music is loud, pumping through us, through the dozens of men ogling at the stage, and through the strippers dancing topless in front of them. We’re stopped by an older man with a long grey beard and an eye patch.
“Boys,” he greets us. “We’re all set up in the back. Esè,” he nods passed us to the prospect that’s followed us inside. “Let Dawson know they’re here.”
The prospect, Esè, obeys and heads through the crowd, stealing glances at the naked women contorting on stage. I catch one of them, a double D redhead, winking at him.
Good for him. Let him get it while he can.
“Get you boys a drink?” the pirate-looking biker asks us.
I nod. “Cold brews. Domestic.”
“Hey Stitches!” He shouts over his shoulders. “Four bottles. Send them to the back.”
Another Slayer, standing close to the bar shouts back. “How many times I gotta tell you Uno… I ain’t no bar bitch!”
The one-eyed man, I’m guessing named Uno, retaliates. “Yeah? Well, until Baby gets back, you’re manning the bar. So I guess that does make you a bar bitch.”
Uno’s one good eye is practically tearing up from laughter as he leads us back to where the prospect disappeared. Jay takes the lead with Tiny and T.J. falling in line before I take up the rear.
We pass dangerously close to the stage just as a bright pink bedazzled G-string lands on T.J.’s head. He’s quick to grab it just as we start to bust his balls over it.
“Looks like you got yourself a little souvenir, kid,” I tease. “Maybe she’ll come lookin’ for it later?”
A pantiless dark-haired stripper with fantastic implants comes crawling over to us. She whips her head and bounces up and down on her knees, showing off her skills.
I push T.J. from behind, urging him to pick his tongue up off the floor and move it. He can go looking for pussy later. Right now, we’ve got business.
T.J. crumples the cheap panties in his hand and shoves them in his pocket.
By the time we pass the stage, the crowd thins, with Uno pressing a code into a garage-opener type keypad. The small display screen lights up and beeps, signaling the clearance needed to open the knobless door.
Huh. Pretty high-tech. I’m guessing the door is bullet-proof, too.
The door opens to a narrow hallway with several closed doors before it opens into a large room. A round, polished, stone table sits in the middle of the room with a sprinkling of Slayers situated around the edge.
We’ve had enough dealings with these fuckers for me to know the core group of them by sight. Besides Uno, our guide, and Esè, the prospect, there’s Dawson, Gryff, his V.P., and Chase, the club enforcer, basically their version of me.
“Gentlemen,” Dawson’s deep rusty voice acknowledges us. He uses his fingers to point to the available chairs not occupied by his own men. I wait for Jay to give the signal before I take a seat.
The loud bass-filled beats briefly fill the room as the heavy-duty security door is opened with the Slayer brother from the bar, Stitches, carrying a bucket filled with ice and long-necked bottles.
The sound quickly disappears as the door bolts shut behind him, and I realize that the room is completely sound-proof.
I’ll bet they wouldn’t even hear the bullets outside.
CHAPTER TEN
T.J.
I’ve been in some pretty tight spots before, but none compare to the shit we’re in now. We’re outnumbered, out-gunned, and they’ve got the home-court advantage. We may be playing nice for the moment, but that shit can change real fucking fast.
We’re playing a very delicate game, with Dawson and Jay vying for first move. While we wait, I assess our surroundings. Expensive furniture, electronics… it’s impressive. An entire wall of flat screen monitors shows every angle of the inside as well as the outside of the club.
This is some heavy-duty surveillance equipment, and this shit don’t come cheap. No doubt every piece of this setup was bought and paid for with drug-infested cash.
“What can I do for you, Jay?” Dawson’s made the first move.
I take a sip of my cold beer and do my best to sit tight, letting my V.P. handle this.
“We thought it was a good time to refresh memories on some old agreements.” Jay indirectly refers to the truce.
Dawson’s eyebrow raises, with the deep scar that cuts above his left eye moving in curiosity.
“Really? And what makes you think we need reminding?” His southern accent breaks through his words, almost masking the hidden sharpness.
Almost.
Jay plays the game just as well as Dawson with neither coming right out as hostile. Instead, they let it lace through the syllables for the other to catch. Kinda like biker, passive-aggressive bullshit.
“Chisolm’s been having a little pharmaceutical problem, lately. Shit’s finding its way to our streets.” I watch Dawson’s face very closely as Jay says his words.
It’s real easy to hide your shit when you know what’s comin’ at ya. If our rival prez knew what Jay was here to say, then his face would be blank, prepared for the subtle accusation.
Right now, though, I swear I see a darkness flicker in the cold-blooded killer’s eyes. The old scar above his eye moves as he twitches, taken off guard by Jay.
“You don’t say? Thought that we had an understanding, Jay? Kingsmen stay out of our way, take themselves out of the game when it comes to dealing, and in turn as we keep the dealing outside of Chisolm?” His jaw moves quickly and suddenly, cracking.
Jay nods, making sure to keep his tone low. “It ain’t comin’ from us, Dawson.”
At this, all of the Slayers sit up in attention.
“You implying we’re crossing lines and doing business in your backyard?” It’s a pretty direct question. A delicate one. If Jay says yes, then we’re all but calling the truce null and void and all bets are off. If he says no… then he risks making us look weak, like we can’t handle our own.
“I’m making a proposal. One that helps us both out. Kingsmen won’t tolerate dealing in our town, Dawson. You know that better than most.”
What the fuck is he doing?
Yeah, Dawson knows better than most just how far the Kingsmen are wiling to go to keep our streets clean. The last time we had turf war with them, before the truce, the Slayers lost just as much as we did.
We lost a man… they lost two.
One of them just so happened to be Dawson’s brother, his twin. That’s not necessarily the best thing to go throwing in his face right now. I can feel Uno’s one good eye set on me, watching, waiting to see the slightest hint of movement, ready to match it.
Dawson says nothing. He stares. Hard.
“So they way I look at it,” Jay moves right past the subtle reminde
r of just how deadly we are as adversaries, “you got some competition moving into the area. Someone dumb enough to deal this close to your territory, while foolish enough to do it in ours.”
Dawson bites his lip, contemplating the implications Jay’s inferring.
“What info you got so far?” our sometimes-enemy asks.
Jay shrugs his shoulders, “We’re workin’ on it. Should have some answers real soon.”
Dawson inhales once, then again. His eyes finally leave Jay’s to briefly confer silently with his nearby brothers.
“When you get an ID on the dealers… you let me know. This shit is an insult to both our clubs… I want in on taking them down. Send a message loud and clear.”
Jay nods, accepting the terms, holding out his hand for the shake that seals the deal.
“Well, whatdya know, boys?” Dawson sweeps the room, passing over all of us, Kingsmen and Slayers, alike. “Hell just froze over!”
We all laugh, relieved at the outcome of what could have been disastrous.
“Now, let us show you some Slayer hospitality… pussy and booze for everyone!”
~*~
T.J.
“Show me your bike….” The boozed-up broad slurs her speech.
Yeah… that’s not happening. Show a skank like this your bike and the next thing you know she wants you to take her for a ride. Whore’s like this are good for one type of ride and one type of ride only… and it ain’t on the back of my bike.
“Eh, maybe next time,” I blow off her offer. “How ‘bout another shot?”
She nods her head up and down like a goddamned plastic bobble-head doll.
“Yeah!” she nearly falls down, wobbling in her platform whore shoes. The sequined string bikini top is spread thin over her jiggling jugs, the abnormally round tits popping out in all the wrong paces.
“Good. Make yourself useful and go get me one.” I push her off my leg, where she’s been trying to straddle for the last few minutes.
A roll of her eyes, a cluck of her tongue… but she eventually does as she’s told. I’m left with a foul taste in my mouth from her raunchy perfume and the damp stain her crotchless panties left on my thigh.
“Dude…” Tiny slaps my back. “She fell, hard!”
I roll my eyes. “She’s got enough silicone in her. She bounces.”
He laughs.
“Kid, she’s a sure thing. You’re the only Kingsmen here without an Ol’ lady to worry about slicing off your balls if you touch the goods. Why the hell aren’t you knee deep in that shit right now? Hell, get two of ‘em. Live it up.”
I tip back and draw out the remaining beer from my bottle. “Nah, she ain’t doin’ it for me.”
Tiny takes one of his massive hands and mockingly places it on my forehead. “You feelin’ all right? Since when do you turn down pussy?”
“They’re all the same, bro. Do one, you’ve done ‘em all. Same fake tits, same fake lashes, same lower back tattoo... same STDs. I’ve had my fill.”
Tiny squints his brown eyes, acting as if I’ve just committed blasphemy.
“If you’re such a fan,” I suggest, “go help yourself.”
He laughs even harder than before. “If only it was that easy, kid. My Ol’ lady keeps it hot enough for me to stay zipped up tight when I’m on the road. But just to be sure, she sniffs my junk every time I get back from a ride.”
I chuckle, picturing Sunny’s blonde head bobbing around like a bloodhound over Tiny’s crotch.
“They about done, you think?” I nod over my shoulder to where Jay and Dawson are sitting in the VIP area, talking seriously.
Even though we may be playing nice, no one takes it for granted, with Clink sitting right next to Jay to watch his back.
“Should be,” he weighs in. “There really ain’t a precedent for this. You haven’t been around long enough to know firsthand, but our interactions with Slayers usually involve shooting and then gettin’ the hell outta dodge.”
I exhale deep, suddenly uncomfortable in my own skin. “I gotta get the hell outta here, bro.”
Pushing my drink aside, I stand, frustration at myself growing. This isn’t right... this isn’t me. I should be pounding a lot more than a fucking beer right now, yet I look at any one of these near-naked chicks bopping around and I can’t even stomach it.
Since when do I give a fuck about half the things that are bothering me right now? One girl had enough makeup caked on her face to give a clown a run for his fucking money. Another could barely put a damn sentence together without using the word “like” a dozen times, sounding like a brothel Barbie doll. And this last one… had the emptiest eyes I’d ever seen.
Since when do I give a fuck about any of those things? It’s easy enough to face them against the wall, on their knees or even keep the lights off to take care of the makeup and the soulless stare.
The valley-girl verbs? That’s the easiest… just keep my dick deep far enough down her throat to keep her from talking. Yet… none of these options even work the slightest to get me revved up.
“Go clear your head, kid,” Tiny suggests. “Should be done here soon, anyway. I’ll tell Jay you had an errand to run.”
I slap the man’s large back, “Thanks bro… I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me tonight.”
He laughs and tilts his head in mild curiosity at the stripper doing a naked backbend three feet from his face on the raised stage before us.
Weaving my way through the growing crowd, I make eye contact with Clink from the VIP section over the shiny brass railings. He looks about as interested in this place as I probably do right now. Holding two fingers to my forehead, I twitch them just so, signaling I’m taking off.
The heaviness to the air of this place is getting to me. The dozens of thick perfumes mixing and filling my lungs are enough to choke me, and I feel a gag as I think on it.
The burst of fresh air that welcomes me as I push on the old-school leather padding of the main door is like a fucking life preserver, keeping me from drowning in the sea of cheap-ass pussy and everything that comes with it.
I breathe deep, holding my head high and expanding my lungs as much as my chest will allow, clearing it all away. The tension, the frustration, all the feelings that are riling me up inside. I kick a rock away, hard, as I realize the cool air may have helped a bit but the knot in my stomach is still there.
“You done already, homes? Candy, the chick that tossed you her panties earlier… she’s been lookin’ for you. Think she wants to arrange a way to earn ‘em back.”
I lift my chin over to the Slayer prospect lighting up a joint. His dark, slicked-back hair and licorice-colored eyes are perfect for the road name I heard his brothers using for him. Ese.
I laugh.
Candy. Of course her name would be Candy. It’s ironic… because there was nothing sweet about that broad. Not like Dana… now there’s something that could really satisfies a fuckin’ sweet tooth.
I toss the prospect a wave and whip out my cell as I head to my bike, one in a very long line of custom Harleys.
YOU AROUND?
I text the very person who’s partially responsible for the mental cock block I got goin’ on right now.
The gravel under my heavy steel-tipped riding boots crunches with every step I take, interrupted by the quick response of the vibrating of my phone.
BUSY. GOIN’ DOWNTOWN TO LOOK AT SOME PROPERTIES.
Swinging my leg over the leather seat of my bike, I stare at the words in the glow of the screen in my hand.
Properties? Why the fuck would she be doin’ that?
WHERE YOU AT? I’LL MEET YOU.
The engine of my bike starts and idles, but I don’t move. Instead, I wait like a fuckin’ douche for her to answer. I bite my lip as the seconds pass, finding myself growing jealous wondering what she could be doing that’s more important that answering my question.
GOING TO LARK STREET. NEXT TO THE MOVIE THEATER.
I rev the en
gine, finding my dick growing hard for the first time tonight at just the thought of being able to see her.
GIVE ME AN HOUR OR SO.
I leave the high-pitched screeching of my tire behind as I take off with the passing streetlights whizzing by. It took about an hour and a half to get here on the main highways, but I know I can whittle it down by cutting through the back roads of the university campus.
The softness of her fresh, clean skin, the bounce of her thick wavy hair as she piles it high in some kind of knot-thing to keep it out of her eyes… the pink to her cheeks when she laughs as it falls in her face anyway.
The cute smudges of flour she manages to get in the weirdest places as she whizzes around in the kitchen. The little smacking noise her lips make as she rubs on the gloss that keeps them moist.
The way she covers her eyes and looks away whenever a movie gets to the chilling part, only to peek through her fingers to see it anyway. The way she bops her head and mouths the words to almost every song while she drives, and has a lead foot racing through town like that NASCAR chick who does the commercials, yet still manages to stop for a full three seconds at every single stop sign on God’s green earth.
The way her eyes squint just the tiniest bit when she’s thinking of an answer, carefully putting it together, instead of just blurting shit out like most people.
I’ve spent enough time around her the past couple of weeks, I’ve memorized her little quirks. It’s the first time I’ve actually studied a person, mesmerized at how she manages to be so innocent and naïve on one hand, yet completely bad-ass on the other.
I run through the mental list of all the things that make her perfect, and feel a sharp pain as I realize she’ll probably be leaving soon. Now that Clink’s back and he and Charlie can get back to normal, I hate to think that Dana won’t see any other reason to stay.
For a while… that was the plan. Don’t have her catch on to the way I really feel about her. Don’t give her any more cause to get mixed up in this type of life. But, now that its a real fucking possibility that she’ll skip town; I can’t bear the thought of feeling like the way I did tonight, for the rest of my fucking life.
