Page 11 of Parrish

Chapter Five

Jack Parrish

Hanging my helmet on my handlebars, I glance across the street at Big Nose Kate’s and the sea of chrome parked in front of the bar. The last time I was here, I handed Wolf my patch and watched as he chose Pipe to be his VP. It was another somber day in the life of Jack Parrish and one I won’t forget anytime soon.

Crossing the street, I pull a toothpick out of my kutte and roll it between my lips as I make my way to the new home of the Satan’s Knights. It’s still hard to fathom the compound and original clubhouse of our charter is nothing but a heap of rubble. For a long while, I hoped we would rebuild but that lot of land harbors too many demons and is as cursed as I am.

Besides, change can be good and with the club under Wolf’s leadership it seems only right they move forward with a new home, chapel and foundation. It’s time to let go of what was and accept what will be.

Pulling open the door, I glance over my shoulder and watch as the patrol car comes to a slow stop in front of the bar. Lifting my middle finger, I blow the cocksuckers a kiss before stepping inside. The door closes behind me and I am taken back by the patrons. Not only are there a few people sitting at the bar but there are also a bunch sitting around tables, eating lunch and staring up at the flat screen television broadcasting the Yankee game.

Spotting Wolf’s son Nico behind the bar, I make my way towards him and take in the kutte he’s wearing. A couple of years back, the kid came to me and asked me to let him prospect for the club. I told him I would talk to his father about it and if he agreed I’d give him a bottom rocker. I never mentioned it to Wolf, hoping the kid would lose interest. It’s one thing to pull a young unsuspecting fool off the streets and sell him the dream of being an outlaw, it’s another to consciously allow someone you love like a son enlist.

Nico wound up taking matters into his own hands and got mixed up with the Devil’s Cross MC. Something his old man wasn’t too keen on. Wolf being Wolf, decided to go behind Nico’s back and well, mine as well, and brought the heat down on the president of the club, demanding he drop Nico as a prospect. Now, here he is, under his father’s watchful thumb, the next generation of the Satan’s Knights.

“Uncle Jack,” he greets. The smile falls from his face as he leaves his customer to his drink and stares at me. The poor kid looks like he’s torn. He can either say goodbye to me like everyone else or he can pretend like he doesn’t know I’m going away.

“Leather looks good on you, kid,” I tell him.

Sliding into one of the stools, I toss him a wink and fold my hands on top of the bar. “It’s alright, Nico, we don’t have to talk about it.”

He nods.

“I’m probably supposed to be happy for my pops now that he’s the president but, I think he’d agree, things aren’t going to be the same without you, Uncle Jack.”

“They don’t have to be the same, they just gotta be right and your father, he’s gonna make shit right for the men sitting around that table now and the ones like you, who will sit at it when we’re all gone.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does,” I say, leaning my back against the stool. “But only because it’s new.”

If life has taught me anything it’s that time doesn’t heal all wounds. Still, we find ways to cope. Time marches on and people forget. It might not happen today, maybe not six months from now or even a couple of years—but, it’ll happen. The club won’t think they lost a leader, they’ll adapt to the monarchy. Wolf’s reign will be the norm and Parrish a memory.

“How ‘bout you do a shot with me?” I suggest. “And none of that fireball shit, either,” I add, leaning my elbows on the bar. His lips quirk as he turns around to grab a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“You know, I remember the first time I ever tried this shit. I had to be like sixteen. It was before you met Reina, when you guys got down and threw some fucking insane parties in the clubhouse,” he recalls, sliding a shot glass in front of me. As he pours us both a shot, he continues with his story. “My father had no idea I was there but you, you fucking spotted me from across the room.”

“I caught you red-handed,” I interject.

“I was trying to rob your booze,” he says with a shake of his head.

“No, you were shoving long necks into your fucking jeans. That’s hardly booze,” I argue.

“Yeah, I learned that when you took the beer from me and poured me a shot of this,” he says, raising his glass. “You told me it’d put hair on my balls.”

I laugh at that. While I might not fully remember the night in question, I can appreciate that I left an impression on Wolf’s son—albeit a rotten one, but whatever. In my next life, I’m fucking coming back as a wordsmith…maybe Shakespeare.

Nico’s eyes dart to the shot glass in my hand.

“To the OG, there will never be another one like you, Uncle Jack,” he toasts.

No, I reckon there aren’t too many sick bastards floating around here.

Cheers to that.

Lifting my glass, I knock it against his and throw back the shot. Smooth fire burns my throat and settles in my gut as I set the empty shot glass on the bar. Nico cringes, shaking off the fiery whiskey before setting his glass next to mine.

“It’s just as shitty as it was then,” he mutters.

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