okay then, but why would average Joes pretend to be criminals and gangsters?
Crank shrugged. "Depends what you want it to be, mostly. That damn TV show made MCs popular. Now everybody wants to be a little outlaw. For every legit outlaw club out there, seems like there's at least ten weekenders." He downed half his beer.
"And your Hell Raiders?"
"Straight-up. Let's just say, some of our business interests might not appeal to the soccer mom crowd. However, there's another level, like the Saxons. Bunch of dirty motherfuckers. They want a woman, they take her. They want your house, they take it. If you don't like that, they fuck you up, or bury you. They dip pretty heavily into their product, and it shows in their social skills." The rest of his beer went down.
I still didn't get it. "So what's the appeal?"
"Lots of things. Freedom. Loyalty. Being able to disappear. And more."
"Disappear?" That part seriously caught my attention.
Crank grinned. "We all got a past, man, but in the MC, nobody asks about it unless it effects the club. You're nothing more or less than the man you are at the moment."
"That sounds good to me. I sure as fuck don't want to relive my past." We talked a few minutes longer, about nothing in particular, until one of Crank's MC brothers spotted him.
The way the man carried himself as he approached the table made me wary as fuck. Unless I missed my guess, that was one dangerous motherfucker. "Yo, Crank, where you been?" The President patch rode proudly on the front of his cut.
"You know how it is, man. Nothin' much. Pissed off a couple Saxons, got my ass handed to me. Just a normal day."
The guy pulled out a chair and joined us. "Saxons, huh?" He turned to me suddenly and stuck out a hand. "I'm Kellen, by the way."
I accepted the handclasp, but once more, didn't offer my name.
"Dude saved my skin, Kellen. Ol' Timber and a couple of his boys were messing with a girl, maybe sixteen, had her scared to death. I stepped in, and they got the drop on me. I was just about lights out when he came along."
Kellen gave me a closer look. "Yeah? How'd you get Timber off him?"
I shrugged. "Told them I was going to kill him for knocking up my baby sister. Crank played along and got them all distracted. He took out the two holding him down, I got Timber."
"A baby sister, huh?" Kellen laughed. "That's a new one on me. I'll have to remember that." He stopped to light a cigarette. "You ought to come out to the camp in a while. We owe you one for saving Crank's sorry ass."
"I might head out that way later. Ain't got anything better going on."
Kellen stood, and from the look he gave me, I was pretty damn sure he saw every secret I ever had. "Make sure you do. The boys'll be glad for the chance to bust Crank's chops. Motherfucker is in trouble every time I turn around." He slapped Crank's shoulder. "Later, man. Gonna go put some pussy on lay away."
Crank and I parted ways shortly after that, and I wondered around some more. Being around all those motorcycles sort of gave me the itch to have one myself. I had the money, and nothing but time, so why not? My path took on more purpose as I headed for the section where bikes for sale were on display.
The custom machines were wicked, but I preferred to avoid the attention they would bring. Nondescript worked a hell of a lot better for me, so I headed for the lower end sellers. Near the end of the row, a guy had several older bikes that looked like trash.
But one in the back caught my eye. Someone had started to restore it, and apparently ran out of money, time, or interest. The black tank was scraped up, dirty as fuck, but the handle bars and muffler gleamed with new chrome.
I nodded to the guy. "Tell me about that bike." A half hour later, I owned an '85 Harley Low Rider. It ran, but it wasn't pretty. I arranged to pick it up later, after the crowd thinned out, and went on my way. I would have to haul the damn thing around on the back of my truck until I found a
Crank shrugged. "Depends what you want it to be, mostly. That damn TV show made MCs popular. Now everybody wants to be a little outlaw. For every legit outlaw club out there, seems like there's at least ten weekenders." He downed half his beer.
"And your Hell Raiders?"
"Straight-up. Let's just say, some of our business interests might not appeal to the soccer mom crowd. However, there's another level, like the Saxons. Bunch of dirty motherfuckers. They want a woman, they take her. They want your house, they take it. If you don't like that, they fuck you up, or bury you. They dip pretty heavily into their product, and it shows in their social skills." The rest of his beer went down.
I still didn't get it. "So what's the appeal?"
"Lots of things. Freedom. Loyalty. Being able to disappear. And more."
"Disappear?" That part seriously caught my attention.
Crank grinned. "We all got a past, man, but in the MC, nobody asks about it unless it effects the club. You're nothing more or less than the man you are at the moment."
"That sounds good to me. I sure as fuck don't want to relive my past." We talked a few minutes longer, about nothing in particular, until one of Crank's MC brothers spotted him.
The way the man carried himself as he approached the table made me wary as fuck. Unless I missed my guess, that was one dangerous motherfucker. "Yo, Crank, where you been?" The President patch rode proudly on the front of his cut.
"You know how it is, man. Nothin' much. Pissed off a couple Saxons, got my ass handed to me. Just a normal day."
The guy pulled out a chair and joined us. "Saxons, huh?" He turned to me suddenly and stuck out a hand. "I'm Kellen, by the way."
I accepted the handclasp, but once more, didn't offer my name.
"Dude saved my skin, Kellen. Ol' Timber and a couple of his boys were messing with a girl, maybe sixteen, had her scared to death. I stepped in, and they got the drop on me. I was just about lights out when he came along."
Kellen gave me a closer look. "Yeah? How'd you get Timber off him?"
I shrugged. "Told them I was going to kill him for knocking up my baby sister. Crank played along and got them all distracted. He took out the two holding him down, I got Timber."
"A baby sister, huh?" Kellen laughed. "That's a new one on me. I'll have to remember that." He stopped to light a cigarette. "You ought to come out to the camp in a while. We owe you one for saving Crank's sorry ass."
"I might head out that way later. Ain't got anything better going on."
Kellen stood, and from the look he gave me, I was pretty damn sure he saw every secret I ever had. "Make sure you do. The boys'll be glad for the chance to bust Crank's chops. Motherfucker is in trouble every time I turn around." He slapped Crank's shoulder. "Later, man. Gonna go put some pussy on lay away."
Crank and I parted ways shortly after that, and I wondered around some more. Being around all those motorcycles sort of gave me the itch to have one myself. I had the money, and nothing but time, so why not? My path took on more purpose as I headed for the section where bikes for sale were on display.
The custom machines were wicked, but I preferred to avoid the attention they would bring. Nondescript worked a hell of a lot better for me, so I headed for the lower end sellers. Near the end of the row, a guy had several older bikes that looked like trash.
But one in the back caught my eye. Someone had started to restore it, and apparently ran out of money, time, or interest. The black tank was scraped up, dirty as fuck, but the handle bars and muffler gleamed with new chrome.
I nodded to the guy. "Tell me about that bike." A half hour later, I owned an '85 Harley Low Rider. It ran, but it wasn't pretty. I arranged to pick it up later, after the crowd thinned out, and went on my way. I would have to haul the damn thing around on the back of my truck until I found a
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