Page 82 of Whiskey Shivers

“A hell of a lot more funds than a janitor makes,” he said chuckling.

“You know,” I ventured. “I might know a bitch who’s coming into some big money.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it, baby. That’syourmoney.”

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes, but the seed was planted and already starting to grow as we stopped at his bike.

“Just go for a ride with me and stop worrying your pretty little head,” he said, and set his helmet down on the seat. He put mine on me before I could retort. While he’d effectively silenced my talk, he couldn’t make my thoughts shut up, and I thought about it as speeches were made and engines were fired and we all threw a leg over the spines of our iron horses about to ride out into these streets like some old west posse.

Hex and I were at the front of the pack, riding alongside La Croix and Alina at the president’s right hand. I’d learned there was reason and ritual behind just about everything these men did. That club structure had given them a purpose in a world they otherwise felt had abandoned them or left them feeling shiftless or without purpose. The club life had given them a place to go, to fit, when the rest of the world had seemingly turned their back on them.

There was a lot more to it than that, layer upon layer of reasoning steeped for the most part in bitterness and anger. It was interesting to me, both as a way of understanding Hex further and in an almost anthropological sense – history and understanding people’s way of life a secondary passion of mine to the written word.

I held on to Hex, grateful that this ride would be low and slow and knowing it was going to be the longest I’d ever been on.

It was an interesting dichotomy, biker life in general.

These men were among the most feared in the city and surrounding area with a reputation of rage and ruin – and yet, they certainly had their soft spots. Especially concerning kids. I’d listened and talked with some of the men of the Voodoo Bastards and I guess it wasn’t uncommon for even bigger and badder clubs that the media liked to sensationalize as gangs – clubs such as the Sacred Hearts which was certainly the biggest and most well-known name in the MC world. I mean, the Sacred Hearts supposedly had ties to the cartels in South America! Anyway, it wasn’t uncommon at all for them to do big ticket charity things like we were doing now.

Things like toy runs to make donations to charities such as the Marine Corps led Toys for Tots, or even large sum donations to charities that helped homeless veterans.

While we’d had a surprising amount of support from the community for this particular venture, I’d heard one woman say that even Hitler had managed to do some good things but that didn’t outweigh, you know, the whole entire holocaust…

It’d given me some pause. I’dwantedto go up to her and tell her to get wrecked and leave if that was going to be her attitude but honestly in that moment, I’d felt the hypocrisy radiating off of her like the heat from the pipes of the bikes I rode. I mean, she was judging the absolute hell out of these men who were trying to do a good thing while they were trying to do it and she was here either by paying for her ticket or volunteering – I hadn’t checked so yeah… wasn’t that cyclical thinking? She was like the mythological ouroboros. The giant serpent of out of Norse mythos that was depicted eating its own tail.

The irony of her being nasty and judging me and the boys as she was helping us, wasn’t lost on me…

My thoughts turned to the glittering sea of tinsel and chrome behind us, we took up both sides of the street which had been blocked off for this spectacle to allow our passing. There were Santa and elf hats a plenty, the speeds kept so low and slow that no one seemed to be taking anyone to task over helmet laws and things like that as we made way through the city – a serpent of our own roaring with one voice made of many engines as we wound through the parade route that’d been predetermined by the powers that be for that sort of thing.

Hex had been right; there wasn’t anything as magical as riding in a large pack like this. I felt as though we were the head of a dragon snaking its way through New Orleans and I found myself in a meditative state only a short distance into the ride, riding the frequency of our good intentions as much as the bike. Holding on to the man I loved under a high blue sky, the temperature a pleasant low sixties; an almost perfect day for something like this.

I soaked up the joy and the good vibrations, waving to the kids and parents alike that gathered to watch us pass by. Returning the waves of police officers blocking off side streets and finding that I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

It was everything that we’d wished to put out into the city and the world and I hoped it would pay off in rich dividends for some hungry kids and would feed the spirit of the holiday season as much as some empty bellies.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

Hex…

The ride was nice; a little on the long side, but the day was good for it and I had to like that it seemed to put my girl into a better less worrisome mood by the end. When we got back to the club, we parked outside the gates of the old, converted warehouse while the bikes entering into the best decorated contest – about twenty or so – rolled on in through the gate to back in along the fence where me and the boys usually parked it.

The picnic tables were out in the lot, draped in red and white tablecloths, Christmas trees were up around the place, stable in old tires and cemented in place for the younger kids to decorate with lights and construction paper snowflakes.

Corliss handed me her helmet and gave my hand a squeeze as one of her students came up to get her attention. I gave it a couple of squeezes back and let it slip from my hand watching her as she wandered into the fence line away from me.

That’s when dude who was vaguely familiar walked up. He held out his hand and I took it, and he shook it heartily.

“Sup?” I asked.

He looked uncomfortable to say the least, a big fat fuckin’ shiner on his left side and he said, “I’ll be honest with you, man. I’m taking my family and we’re leavin’, getting the fuck up outta here tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod, and he held out a doubled-up grocery sack stuffed with something soft. I looked down in it and the leather vest with its worn patches and Bayou Brethren colors.

“What the fuck is this, man?” I demanded, looking up at him scowling.

He shook his head. “They’re pissed, not fuckin’ letting shit go – and now I don’t know what they got planned but the things they were talking about… man, I got a wife and kids. I wouldn’t want no one comin’ after them. That’s coward’s shit.”

“They planning on trying for family?” I demanded.

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