Page 26 of Minus

“Don’t blame you. The clean-up crew sounds more like a demolition crew in there,” he said motioning to the main building.

“I can’t believe it!” Grover shouted. “I finally fuckin’ found Waldo.”

He bounded into the shop, followed closely by Ropes and Sweet Pea.

“Jesus, man. Where the fuck you been?” Grover asked. “We barely laid eyes on you last night.”

“Oh, I saw him,” Ropes said. “He was on the dance floor with two hotties. I’ll tell you what, our boy has picked up some serious moves out there in Savannah.”

“No wonder you disappeared. You were buried under a pile of titties all night,” Grover said.

“He crashed at my place last night. And from the looks of this place, it was a good thing we left early,” Clutch said.

“Good ol’ Minus. Always the responsible one,” Ropes said.

“Responsible? What the hell are you smokin’?” I asked.

“What’s not to understand? You’ve always been a Boy Scout.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” I asked, stunned by Ropes’s characterization of me. However, I could tell by their expressions, that the others agreed with him. “You’re all out of your minds. How do you figure I’m a Boy Scout?”

“Are you serious?” Clutch asked. “Back in the day, you toed the line tighter than anyone.”

“Cutter ran me out on a fucking rail,” I protested.

“Yeah, but before that you were the golden boy of our crew,” Clutch said.

“Y’all’s memory is a tad bit different from mine.”

“Okay, cowboy. How ’bout you tell us a campfire story,” Clutch said in a mock southern drawl. “A tale from the old days. Back when the outlaw Minus the Kid would ride into town and raise hell.”

“I have just as much blood on my hands as you do,” I said coolly.

Sweet Pea, a man of few words, finally spoke, “But way more shit on your boots.”

It felt good busting balls with my crew again, and to hear their laughter. Of course, we all kept up via text and the occasional email, but that’s no substitute for hanging out face to face. Plus, bikers aren’t widely known as the best penpals.

“Seriously, though. How do you knuckleheads figure I was anywhere close to a straight arrow?” I continued my protest. “I was constantly on the club’s shit list. Remember when I put that fuckin’ dent in the rear fender of Elwood’s bike? I had to do the repairs myself, plus work off the cost.”

The four stooges looked at each other before breaking into a howling fit of laughter.

“What the fuck is so funny?” I demanded. “Elwood was mad as hell at me.”

“Minus,” Clutch said, catching his breath. “Do you reallynotremember?”

“Remember what?” I asked.

“Man, Grover dented Elwood’s bike and you took the rap for it.”

“The hell I did,” I shot back. “I remember how it happened. The five of us were fuckin’ off, right here in the shop. Elwood’s Indian was up on the lift and we were tossing a wrench back and forth between us.”

“Wrench Ball,” Sweet Pea said, reminding me of the idiotic game we’d invented to pass time back in the day. As younger members, we were always assigned to the Sanctuary’s grunt work. Including shit jobs like cleaning the shop at two o’ clock in the morning. One of these late nights, after many beers and sleep deprivation, the idea of chucking a twelve-inch adjustable wrench at high speeds at one another sounded like the perfect cure for boredom. Thus, the invention of Wrench Ball and the cause of the dent in question.

“Right, we were playing Wrench Ball,” I continued. “I threw the wrench and it hit Elwood’s bike. He found out and I got busted. End of story.”

“Story, my ass. That’s a fuckin’ fairy tale my friend,” Clutch said. The others stood smiling. “Grover threw the wrench and you ducked. The wrench hit Elwood’s bike and you took the blame because Grover was already rocking two strikes. If he fucked up again, he’d have been demoted back to prospect.”

“Then kicked out if I screwed up again,” Grover said.

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