Page 26 of Devil's Marker

Win yelled back. “She won’t. I’m makin’ myself a BLT. And she doesn’t like to be called Bertie.”

Her head jerked toward Win and a slow smile started as she said, “He calls me that just ‘cause he knows I don’t like it.”

“Well, that ain’t right,” Win said.

“True that. These crispy pieces right here got your name on ‘em.” She shoved six pieces of bacon off to the side and left them cooling on paper towels.

It didn’t take Win long to find bread, lettuce, tomato and Miracle Whip. It took even less time to make his sandwich, cut it in half, and dump a couple of handfuls of potato chips on a plate.

Bertalia looked over with grudging admiration and cocked one eyebrow. “Like a man who can cook.”

“You’re the one doin’ the cookin’. I just threw stuff together. Bacon looks good by the way.”

He poured himself a glass of apple juice, took the plate, and walked with as much confidence and ease as he could muster when approaching seven bikers who’d agreed to install him as a member - sight unseen. Every one of them was performing a first impression assessment, trying to glean every bit of information they could based on what he was projecting.

As he approached Boss pointed to a seat beside him that was purposely left unoccupied. Win set his plate down.

“What’s that you’re havin’?” Boss asked.

“BLT.”

“Bertie make that for you?”

“She did the hard part. Made the bacon. And she does not like to be called Bertie.”

Boss smirked. “She got a champion now?”

Win smirked in return as he casually put a potato chip in his mouth. “We’ll see.”

The guy across the table from him said, “I heard you got a beat down from Boss’s door, but damn. We ought to put some kind of plaque on it.”

Boss said, “This is Zipper. He’s V.P.”

Win looked from Boss to Zipper, who was in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He had jet black hair worn in a short ponytail with pale gray accents around his face. He was tan, with deep laugh lines and alert, intelligent dark eyes that weren’t missing a thing. “I met your wife. Angel of mercy. Met a girl named Robin last night at the bar. She yours?”

He saw Zipper tense in a subtle way. “Yeah. She’s mine. And she’s off limits.”

Win laughed. “You got no worries from me. She called me, just a minute, oh yeah, an escapee from a Tim Burton movie.”

Zipper looked at the other men. “What’s that mean?”

One of the others said, “I think she means he looks like a nightmare.”

Zipper’s eyes slid back to Win. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I see that. My wife calls you Ice Face.”

Win gave Zipper a look that said he wasn’t receptive to being called Ice Face. “Just so we’re clear, Boss’s door’s got no mind of its own. This is all baby girl.”

Boss chuckled as he raised his coffee cup. “She’s somethin’.” The mood downshifted fast when Boss got serious. “But enough about that. Soon as breakfast is over, we’ve got business to discuss in church.” He looked at Win. “Assumin’ you’ve got no plans.”

“I’m all yours,” Win said, knowing he wasn’t actually being given a choice.

While he ate, Boss introduced him to the others. Grange. Cowpie. Snuff. Shovel. Rock.

“How’d you get your road name?” Cowpie asked.

“Not my road name,” Win said around a mouthful of BLT. “It’s my real name.” He stopped and looked each one of the bikers except Boss directly in the eye, one at a time. “And I’m keepin’ it.”

“Okay by me,” Cowpie said. “A man who’d lay down a challenge with a face as messed up as yours… Respect.”

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