I¡¯ve gotta take him to the vet.¡±
Tank grabbed his hands and keeled over with an exaggerated laugh. ¡°Ha! Good one,
Wrench. Your dog is sick.¡±
¡°¡ I¡¯m serious.¡±
He stood up straight, the smile washed clean from his face. Tilting his head, he once
again looked at me like I was an idiot. ¡°It¡¯s a dog, Wrench. Rub his belly, take him for a
walk, give him some food. He¡¯ll be fine.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve had Buddy for twelve years and he¡¯s never been sick like this before. My house is
covered in shit, Tank.¡±
¡°So, put some newspaper on the ground, in a day or two he¡¯ll be as good as new.¡±
¡°No, Tank¡ª¡±
¡°We¡¯re in the middle of a war with the Freeway Fucks, son. No distractions.¡±
¡°This isn¡¯t a distraction, it¡¯s¡ª¡± I was interrupted when the kitchen¡¯s mahogany-
paneled batwing doors flew open, the rusty hinges still squeaking behind our new visitor
as the doors continued to swing.
¡°Evelyn!¡± I said.
¡°Eve!¡± Tank said, looking startled. ¡°What are you doing here? I told you I¡¯d be back
home in an hour. We¡¯re talking business here.¡±
Evelyn, Tank¡¯s wife, walked in wearing a tight black tank top and leather pants that
sculpted her ass, with her platinum blond covering any evidence of gray hair pulled into a
messy, sexy, bun on top of her head. Tank would rip out my jugular if he ever knew how
much of a fox that I thought his wife was. I was sure he knew all the guys thought she
was smokin¡¯¡ªhe wasn¡¯t blind. He married her, after all. But the day we uttered those
words would be the day Tank made us literally dig our own graves with a spoon.
¡°Forgot my jacket behind the bar last night,¡± she said, motioning to the black leather
hanging over her left arm. I was too busy trying not to stare at her legs to notice. Figures,
the day Evelyn shows off is the same day I can¡¯t jack off. She adjusted her arm, making
part of the jacket slip and I saw a glimpse of our yellow and green patch. Evelyn was the
only woman who ever wore a Rebels patch, and it wasn¡¯t just because she was married to
Tank. She earned it.