Page 92 of Highball Rush
Darren’s face lost another shade of color. I wondered if he’d pass out. Or maybe piss himself. “What do you want from me? I don’t have the money. I paid off my loans and bought the car and—”
“Shut your pie hole.” Gibson stood. “Like I said, you’re going to help us unfuck this. And when it’s over, you might even get to keep that car of yours.”
“I don’t understand. What do you want me to do?”
“You said you need to lay low for a while?” Gibson asked.
Darren nodded.
The corner of Gibson’s mouth hooked in the barest hint of a grin. “I have just the place.”
28
GIBSON
Leaning against Nicolette’s bar, I chewed on a toothpick. My water sat near my elbow. The Lookout wouldn’t get busy until after five. For now, it was me and a bunch of members of Bootleg’s only biker gang, the Dirt Hogs. They weren’t so much a gang as a group of balding, gray-haired old-timers who wore matching leather vests when they occasionally went out riding. They usually drank over at the Still while their wives played bingo on Tuesday nights. But this afternoon, half a dozen of them had gathered here, taking up a table nearby.
“Need something else, Gibs?” Nicolette asked.
“Nope.”
She gave me a short nod. “I need to run into the back. Don’t hit anyone while I’m gone.”
I scowled at her. Of course, that was probably a fair warning. I’d hit a lot of people in this bar.
I glanced at the time. Where the hell were my brothers?
“Something’s gotta give,” one of the old-timers said, his voice rising. “We can’t keep living like this.”
“Wendell ain’t lyin’.”
“God’s honest truth.”
“I ain’t built for this.”
“Well, what are we gonna do about it?” Wendell asked.
Old Jefferson Waverly stood. I had no idea how old he was, but his back was still straight, even if his flannel hung off his now-thin frame. “We take a stand.”
I was bored enough to want to know what they were talking about. “Take a stand about what?”
“Our women,” Marvin Lloyd said, shoving a finger in the air like a politician making a speech. “We ain’t takin’ this no more.”
I shifted the toothpick to the other side of my mouth. “What’d y’all’s wives do now?”
“We ain’t getting a moment’s peace,” Marvin said. “It’s nothing but lovemaking, every single day. Why, I’ve had my willy wet more in the last couple of weeks than I have in the last twenty years.”
Pulling the toothpick out of my mouth, I tried not to gag. “Jesus. Sorry I asked.”
“A young’un like you wouldn’t understand,” Old Jefferson said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how they expect us to keep up with their raging appetites.”
“Are y’all cracked? I know y’all’s wives. You’re telling me they’re chasing y’all around for—” I stopped before I said it.
“For the sex,” Marvin hissed out in a loud whisper.
I had no idea what was going on with the elderly of Bootleg, but I decided I didnotwant to know more. “Good luck with that,” I said, turning my back on them.
They kept up their griping. Made a shudder run down my back. Luckily for me, the door opened, and my brothers finally walked in.
