Clutch (Burning Saints MC)

by Jack Davenport

  “The right! Keep to the right!” I heard Jimmy yell as I ran for the ladies’ room, which thankfully was not far. I burst through the door, grateful to be the room’s only current occupant. More importantly, it was good for any potential fellow restroom dweller that they were not present, as what happened next was not pretty.

  After the demon had been sufficiently expelled from my stomach (perhaps this was a holy place after all), I picked myself up off the black and white tiled floors to go clean up.

  On the opposite side of the room was a row of hot-pink pedestal sinks with an oversized gold-framed mirror hanging over each of them. The space looked like the Moulin rouge meets Wonderland. I gasped in horror at my reflection. My hair was stuck to my sweaty forehead and my eyes were blood-shot from throwing up so violently. Worse than that, my so-called water-proof mascara had run down my cheeks in dark wavy streams. The final insult was that I’d left my purse on the back of my chair when I’d run out of the confessional. Now I had no way to freshen up and was going to have to return to the table looking like I’d just sixty-nined a racoon in the ladies’ room.

  Great job, dumbass.

  I don’t know what happened. Normally it took a lot to get me to throw up, but I suppose the combination of Jimmy’s green sludge, the fish head special, and the triggered memory of Earl losing his lunch on me, was all just a bit much.

  Just as I began contemplating escaping through the window, I heard a knock on the bathroom door and Jimmy’s voice call out, “Is the Queen alive?”

  I laughed and replied, “Barely, come on in.”

  Jimmy came through the door holding my purse. “I thought you might need this,” he said warmly, with no hint of dramatic affectation. I also caught his use of the word ‘I’ as it was the first time I’d heard Jimmy refer to himself in the first person.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I think I may need more tools than I have in this bag to repair the damage.”

  “Listen up, Dr. Hot Mess,” Jimmy said, a twinge of the reverend Swagger, coming back to his voice. “You’d be gorgeous in a burlap sack, and I don’t just mean wearing one. If you were stuffed and tied in a burlap sack, your beauty would still shine though.”

  I blushed through my running mascara. “I need to come here more often. You’re good for my ego.”

  “Don’t take my word for it, sweetheart. Just take note of how Biker Boy looks at you,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s just as sweet and charming to all the girls he brings around here,” I said, rummaging through my purse for wipes, or sandpaper.

  “Clutch? Out on the town charming the ladies?” Jimmy laughed so hard I thought his eyeliner might start running. “Oh, sweetie, that’s good. I’ve never seen Clutch here for so much as a drink, since the day we opened.”

  “Really? He seems to like it, and knows so much about the place,” I said, as I began the process of repairing the damage as best I could.

  “Clutch may not be a regular, but there would be no Pink Priest without him.”

  “He mentioned that the club helped you set the place up.”

  “Not the club, honey. Clutch,” he corrected. “Sure, the rest of the Burning Saints helped when it came to construction and the general cleanup of the surrounding area, but it was Clutch that led the charge.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “When this property came up for lease five years ago, Bob knew he wanted it. He’d been waiting for the perfect space to open his first restaurant for over a year, and we knew this was the place. We threw every penny we had into the business and had just started demo work when the trouble started.”

  “What kind of trouble?” I asked, turning to him.

  “The hateful kind,” he replied, looking down. “Within the first week after signing the lease, word got out the neighborhood about what ‘kind of place’ the Pink Priest was going to be.”

  “Which was what?” I asked.

  “A gay bar, a drag show, a bath house. Who knows what they thought? We heard all the theories and stories. Everything except the truth. Robert had a vision. The Pink Priest was to be a place where anybody could be themselves, free of any and all judgement. A gourmet dining experience where freaks and the “normies” could break bread, free of the persecution of the puritanical society we live in. I love Robert with all my heart and was determined to help him see it his vision through. Some of our neighbors, however, had other plans.” His tone was low and ominous.

  “What happened?”

  “One night, Robert was here alone, doing some painting work and three men in masks and hoods came in through the front door, which he’d propped open for ventilation. They snuck up on Robert and beat him with broom handles until he was nearly unconscious, tied him to a chair, and spray painted horrible words all over the walls, and then on Robert himself.” Jimmy’s eyes filled with tears, and his voice began to waiver. “Then, they doused him with gasoline. They... were about to... to set him on fire when Clutch walked by and saw what was happening.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, forcing back my own tears.

  “He jumped in without hesitation and took on the guy with the lighter. Robert said Clutch knocked him out with a single punch before turning to the others. He said the three men never stood a chance. We never saw them again after that night.”

  “Not even in court?” I asked.

  “There was no trial, honey. No arrest, no judge, and no jury. There was only Clutch.”

  A chill went down my spine.

  “The next day, Clutch had a work crew here to help us finish the place, and the guys in the club have been our friends ever since. From that time forward, it became known around town that the Pink Priest was under the protection of the Burning Saints Motorcycle Club, and no one ever bothered us again.”

  “Under their protection? Why?”

  “Because, that’s the business the Saints are in. Didn’t you know that already, sweetie? They protect people for money and hurt those that would try to hurt them.”

  “So, you pay him?”

  He shook his head. “The Burning Saints have never asked us for a dime, and to this day, I don’t know why Clutch did what he did. Like I said, he’s never even been back since the grand opening, except to check up on us. He’s never so much as asked for a beer on the house. Robert and I have tried to repay him in so many ways over the years, but he refuses every attempt. Your boyfriend may be a tough guy, but I see a good heart when I look at him, and I’m guessing you see the same thing when you look at him.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend, that’s for sure, and I haven’t seen much of him at all lately,” I said, returning my feeble repair job.

  “May I?” Jimmy asked, putting his hands out.

  I gladly relinquished my make-up bag and turned toward him. Within one minute he had me looking better than when I’d left the house.

  “Holy shit!” I exclaimed, looking into the mirror.

  “Okay, gorgeous. Let’s go see if you can soften the boy’s heart, and harden his—”

  “Jimmy,” I said, slapping his arm as we made our way out of the ladies’ room.

  * * *

  Clutch

  I glanced at my watch, then over to my only companion who, being a baked grouper, didn’t have much to say. He (or she, I’m not sure) was a poor substitute for Eldie, who’d run out of the room over ten minutes ago. Jimmy had gone to look after her and had assured me he’d return her ‘in two shakes of a lamb’s fuzzy balls,’ but so far, it was just me and the not-so-talkative fish.

  What the fuck happened? Did I freak her out? I thought women were supposed to like it when men shared their feelings with them. Then again, Eldie wasn’t like any woman I’d ever known, so maybe she’d rather me shut the fuck up and only concentrate on making her come. At least I knew I could make her feel good that way, and maybe that’s all she wanted from me. Her leaving me alone with all these feelings and questions was driving me insane.

  I’d long finished my fruity nightmare
of a drink and was eyeballing the drink cart when Jimmy returned with Eldie, looking fresh as a daisy and as sexy as ever.

  “You okay?” I asked, rising to my feet.

  “She’s fine, handsome,” Jimmy said, replacing the lid on the grouper as he sat Eldie back down at the table.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t feeling very well, but I’m fine now,” she said.

  “Doc, if you’re sick, we can take off right now,” I said.

  “I’m good. I want to stay, really. Maybe we could skip dinner and just talk?”

  “Anything you want, Doc. You just let me know,” I replied.

  “I hope you’re feeling well enough for one chef Robert’s signature dessert creations,” Jimmy said to Eldie. “They’re quite impossible to resist actually.”

  “Oh, really?” she asked, shooting Jimmy an inquisitive look. “Well... maybe I’m feeling well enough for a few bites.”

  Clutch

  Jimmy left us, and I tried to get our conversation back on track.

  “So, I kind of said a lot of things, and then Jimmy came in, and then you sort of ran out... ” I said.

  “Again, I’m so sorry about that,” Eldie said.

  “You don’t have to apologize, Doc. I just wanted to make sure you heard what I said. About, you know, how I feel and everything,” I said, finding it hard to keep eye contact. I hated this. I hated feeling weak in front of her. For some reason I wanted her to know that I was strong. I needed her to know that if she was with me, I’d always protect her.

  What the fuck? If she was with me? What did that mean? Was I looking for a relationship with Eldie?

  “Clutch?” Eldie waved a hand in front of my face, snapping me to attention. “You okay?” She chuckled.

  “No... no Doc, I don’t think I’m okay. I—”

  “Hey,” she said, taking my hands in hers. “It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about any of that right now. How about we get to know each other? Ya know, normal first date stuff.”

  “Chit chat?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sure, if you want to call it that.” She smiled. “Let’s start with something easy. Tell me about your family.”

  “Nothing to tell,” I said.

  “C’mon, they can’t be that boring,” she replied.

  “No, I mean there’s nothing to tell because there’s no family.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “No mom, no dad, no brothers, or sisters. No one else, just me.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “I was left at Firehouse Fifteen, wrapped in a blanket, stuffed in a duffel bag with a note that said, ‘Please take care of my son. His name is Nikolai Christakos.’ That’s it.”

  “I guess that wasn’t such an easy question to start with after all. I’m sorry.”

  “How could you know? It’s no big deal anyway. Everyone has their own sob story, right?”

  “Maybe, but that had to be difficult growing up without family or relatives of any kind,” she said, with a heartbroken look in her beautiful eyes.

  “I never really thought about it all that much, but it was tough sometimes when I’d meet another Greek person. They’d hear my name, or sometimes just take a look at me and say stuff like “Isn’t is great to be part of the Greek family? Family this, and family that. Family, family, family.”

  “That must have been hard. I’m sorry.”

  “Was nine-eleven your fault too?” I asked.

  “What?” she replied.

  “I figured since you apologize for everything else, you must feel responsible for the attacks that happened on September the eleventh, two-thousand-one as well,” I said.

  “Bad habit, I know, saying I’m sorry all the time,” she said sheepishly.

  “I told you, Doc. You never have to apologize to me. I’ve done so much bad shit in my lifetime, I’m the last person on earth that deserves an apology for anything.”

  “You can’t say that,” Eldie said, sounding genuinely shocked at my words. “You were just a baby. No one deserves to start life out like that.”

  “Hey, I’m not saying I deserved being ditched, I just don’t expect the universe to send me a great big apology over it. Plus, I’ve done enough bad shit to balance out what’s been handed to me. Ya know?”

  “No, I don’t know,” she replied.

  “Here’s how I see it,” I said. “People are like machines, and they fall into one of three categories; in working order, broken but fixable, or fit for scrap.”

  “Sounds very scientific,” she replied.

  “Remember when I told you about Lucile? About how when I found her, she was just a rusted-out bucket of bolts?” Eldie nodded. “Well, whatever gift I have that allowed me to see that she was fixable also works on people. I usually know within moments of meeting someone which of the three categories they are in. I think the universe is constantly trying to balance everything within these three categories. You see it in nature all the time. Organisms that are healthy and thrive, and those that aren’t either need to get stronger or die out and be recycled.”

  “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure that I would have pegged you as such a deep thinker,” she said.

  “I get it,” I chuckled. “I guess you can blame Minus for some of that. I... I had a lot of spare reading time a while back, and he sent me a lot of great books. I read all of them and even understood half of them.”

  “So, what did you learn about yourself? To what do you attribute to this so-called gift?”

  “I believe it’s my birthright,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Eldie asked.

  “I think that being born in the scrap pile gave me survival instincts that most people don’t process, and an insight to the world that is very cut and dry. It’s what makes me really good at what I do.”

  “And what is that?”

  “In the simplest terms, my job is to figure out if certain people can work productively with our club, can be made to do so, or need to be sent to the scrap yard.”

  “What does all of that mean?”

  “Here’s the deal, Eldie. I can’t talk to you about my club’s business, but we’re in the confessional and I want to be honest with you.”

  “You can trust me with anything,” she said.

  “I believe you, but it’s not that simple. We’re not talking about my feelings anymore, we’re talking about information that could send my brothers, or you, to prison. Worse yet, it could get one of you killed.”

  “Then why are you telling me this?”

  “Because, I’m putting that life behind me,” I said.

  “You’re going to leave the Burning Saints?”

  “No. In fact, the entire club is going straight. No criminal activity and no more illegal business dealings.”

  “Wow, that sounds like quite a change from what I’ve heard about the saints.”

  “That’s all I can tell you right now, but I wanted to let you to know that I’m trying to be a better man. For what it’s worth.”

  “Can I ask you two things, and I promise I’ll take whatever you say to my grave.”

  “You can ask, but I can’t promise I can give you the answers,” I replied.

  “When you said that you had some ‘spare reading time a while back,’ does that mean you were in jail?”

  “No, it wasn’t jail. I was in prison. I did just over two years of hard time for aggravated assault.”

  She swallowed, then asked, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  I stared at her, careful not to make any expression at all. I searched my brain for precisely the right words to say, when once again the door flew open.

  “Who’s ready for dessert?” Jimmy’s voice rang out.

  * * *

  Gina

  As much as I wanted to know the answer, I was almost relieved when Jimmy came bursting through the door. This time with a dessert cart being pushed by a stout, unassuming man with a salt an
d pepper beard, wearing a black chef’s jacket.

  “How’ve you been, Bob?” Clutch asked, rising to his feet to greet him with a warm embrace, somewhat to my surprise. I suppose after meeting Jiimy, I’d assumed that someone named ‘Robert the Oral’ would be a lot more over the top, but this guy had about as much sparkle as a piece of toast.

  “I’m doing fantastic, Clutch. Thank you for asking,” Bob said softly before turning to me.

  “I understand the fish wasn’t much of a hit, so I hope our house specialty dessert makes up for it,” he said sweetly.

  “Oh, no. I’m sure the fish was lovely, I just—”

  “It’s perfectly alright, no need to apologize. We’re just so glad that you’re here with us tonight.”

  “Your restaurant is amazing and beautiful. I’ve honestly never seen anything like it,” I said.

  “I guess you could say it was my vision and Jimmy’s eye for... whatever the fuck all of this is,” he said motioning all around.

  “The televangelist trophy heads are my favorite,” I said.

  He patted his chest just over his heart. “Those have a special pace in my heart.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “My family is very religious, and very conservative in their views. We went to church every Sunday morning and every Wednesday night. If there was a special service for any reason, we’d go to that as well. As the only son, it was my mother’s greatest hope for me that I would become just like pastor Ron. He was our church’s new senior pastor, and hotshot preacher. When I was ten-years-old it was announced to me that I was to start saving a portion of my allowance every week in order to pay for Bible college. My parents told me that for every dollar that I saved, they’d double it. I did as I was told and by my seventeenth birthday, I’d surprised them by saving almost seven thousand dollars. I’d saved every penny I’d ever earned or gotten for my birthday. I became obsessed with making as much money as I could, so I’d be able to move off and go to school.”

  “You really wanted to go to Bible college?” I asked.

  “Hell no, I wanted to move to France, go to culinary school, and fuck French guys.”

  “How did your parents take that news?”