Page 22 of Red's Peril: Part 1

Oh fuck.What hits me first is the cut they’re all wearing, and the swagger that comes from a familiarity between men. A bonding, a suggestion that no one can touch them. They park and the roar dwindles to nothing, then with back slaps, laughter, a few ribald suggestions, and, with only a quick glance toward me, five of the bikers walk toward the store entrance.

One half-turns and calls over his shoulder, “Watch the fuckin’ bikes, Prospect.”

Said prospect gives a mock salute, his face showing no umbrage with the order.

I’m hesitant about going into the store now. With their backs turned to me, I can see they are members of a gang called the Satan’s Devils MC.Wasn’t that the crew that passed me in Colorado?I’m sure it was. They seem to be fucking everywhere.

Are they here to rob the store?Or just to innocently shop like me? Whatever, I’m considering whether to leave it for now and come back later, when the lone biker they left outside, talks to me.

“Nice ride you got there.”

One on one, he seems no threat, and he sounds friendly.“Restored it myself,” I tell him proudly.

“Yeah?” He walks around it. “I like your pipes.”

“I was lucky to find them,” I respond. “Took me a while to find originals in a decent enough state. All I had to do was have them re-chromed.”

“Nice job.” He takes out a pack of cigarettes, taps one to the fore and offers it to me.

Gratefully, I take it, and also the offer of a light when he flicks his Zippo. Drawing in smoke to my lungs, I think I might as well stay for a moment. Deciding to pick his brains while I’m here, I ask, “Know any places that might need a mechanic?” I shrug. “Bike, cars, anything. Though I’m not into heavy machinery.”

He looks at my bike again, focusing for a moment on the out-of-state plates. “Vermont? You’re a long way from home.”

Deciding the truth always works, I grin at him. “Got fed up with the cold weather, thought I’d give it a try somewhere warmer.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles. “Can’t say I blame you. Been here long?”

“Arrived yesterday.”

Suddenly he remembers his manners. “I’m Wraith by the way.”

Wraith has to be a road name. It’s surely not one a parent would have chosen, but then, neither is mine.

“Red.” I hold out my hand, noticing his firm grip as he shakes it. “So, a prospect, huh? You miss out on all the fun times?” I refer to his motorcycle-sitting duties as I nod toward the store’s interior.

“Something like that,” he replies with a grin. “But it’s worth it.”

I draw in smoke and breathe it out again, turning my head up a moment to enjoy the warmth of the sun. “What does prospecting entail then?” It’s just a question to pass the time, not that I’m particularly interested.

“It means I do all the shit jobs and get hazed.” Wraith sends an easy grin toward me.

Fuck that.“Why do you put up with it?”

“Because I want to earn my patch.” Seeing I’m not comprehending him, he adds, “To become a full member.”

He wants to be a criminal as much as that?I finish my cigarette, stub it out, and place it in the receptacle provided. As I do so, I see the other Satan’s Devils exiting the store, one proudly carrying a package under his arm. From the satisfied grin on his face, I gather he’d gotten what he’d come for.

One of them has obviously made some kind of joke, as they’re jostling and play thumping each other, just like schoolboys. Their easy relationship and obvious friendship make me envious for a moment. Had I ever had that? Sure, I’d had school friends, but none that had followed me into adulthood.

“Hey, Lefty.” Wraith steps up to my side. “This here’s Red. He’s a mechanic, and he’s looking for work.”

I suppose I should be grateful, he’s obviously asked for a reason, but I’d rather have not drawn attention to myself. What’s the protocol when a biker meets members of an MC? I’ll be fucked if I know.

The man he’d spoken to steps close enough I can see the name,Leftyon his patch, together with one carrying the letters VP.Vice president.Warning myself I need to watch my words, I raise my chin to the biker.

“Red, eh? Any experience?” The VP looks at me quizzically.

“Seven years,” I tell him. “Got all the certificates that I need.”

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