Page 15 of Doozer

“Why, yes,” she replied, playing along. “Nice to meet you, Doozer. I’m Trouble.”

“Say. You’re thatplatonicfriend of Cowboy’s, aren’t you?”

The sound of Trouble’s laughter was as beautiful as her face.

“Why, yes, yes I am. And you’re one of those little builder guys from Fraggle Rock.”

“That’s me.” I laughed, surprised she got the reference as it flew over most bikers’ heads.

“And how exactly did you come to be named after a Muppet?”

“When I first started hanging around the club, Cutter, the Saints’ original president said I reminded him of the Doozers. I guess in the 80’s he used to get high and watch Fraggle Rock. Anyway, I was eager. Probably too eager and was always looking for something to do. Someway to help out around the Sanctuary or the auto shop. I just love to fix stuff, ya know? Cutter started calling me Doozer before I was even a prospect and it stuck. I’m shocked you know about that show. I sure as hell didn’t before Cutter.”

“I grew up on an Army base and Dad’s unit had a TV with a VHS player in it. We could check out VHS tapes from the base library for free, which was great, but almost all the movies were action movies from the 80’s. They only had a few tapes for kids, including Fraggle Rock which I watched the shit out of.”

“So now you know how I got my name. Why do they call you Trouble?”

“Fuck around and find out,” she replied with a wicked smile that made my dick hard.

“Alright. Next question then,” I said. “How long have you been with your club?”

“You first,” she said, finally beginning to loosen up.

“Okay, let’s see,” I said, doing a little math in my head. “I guess it’s been six years, but I’d already become a permanent fixture around the Sanctuary by the time I started officially prospecting with the Saints.”

“The sanctuary?”

“It’s our clubhouse, shop, and where some of us bunk.”

“How long did you prospect before you earned your patch?”

“About six months, I guess.”

“Did you have to kill someone?” she asked.

“What?” I replied, with a nervous laugh. Her question catching me completely off guard.

“You said you wanted to have arealconversation, didn’t you?”

“I meant a conversation without bullshit, not one that could land me in prison.”

“So, you have killed someone?” Trouble asked.

“You wearing a wire?” I teased, as I thought about how much fun it would be to check her for one.

Trouble couldn’t fight back a violent giggle. “The day someone gives me a badge, you know shit’s about to go down.”

“Seriously though. Why the questions?” I asked.

“Well, I guess I’m confused. The Saints are a one percent club, right?”

“Wewerea one percent club. Past tense,” I corrected.

“What does that mean?”

“It means all club business is legal and above board and we do our best to abide by the law.”

“But you haven’t always been that way?”

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