Page 28 of Doozer

“Right there. That’s better,” I said once the sign was level.

“That’s exactly where I had it the first time!” Tacky argued.

“Keep on giving me shit and I’ll kick this ladder out from underneath you. I think Sweet Pea’s old wheelchair is still around here somewhere,” I said.

“Meanandin a shitty mood,” he said, climbing down. “Come on, man. Decorating ain’t so bad. It could be worse. Cricket has Spike power-washing the driveway right now.”

Tacky wasn’t entirely wrong about my mood, although, it had nothing to do with decorating or with the early hour. It had everything to do with the fact that I’d woken up alone. Again.

Since Trouble and I started bunking together six months ago, mornings had become the best part of my day. Especially when she’d get up first. Trouble was horniest in the morning and there was nothing better than being woken up by her ass grinding on my cock. But there had been no grinding this morning, or yesterday, or the two days before that. In fact, I’d barely seen her all week, let alone spent any amount of quality time with her.

Quality time? Jesus in a Chrysler, I sound like a fucking chick.

“There, I told you it was straight,” Tacky said, backhanding my chest as he admired his handywork.

“Come on, let’s go see what the queen requires next,” I said, and we headed for the kitchen.

The Sanctuary was packed to the rafters. Minus had made it crystal fucking clear that this party was a mandatory event. All Saints on deck. Officers and senior club members were already cracking beers and jokes while us younger soldiers and prospects kept ourselves busy.

The kitchen was in a state of what you might call ‘controlled chaos.’ Cricket, Minus’s old lady and club den mother, was busy calling out instructions to her team of apprentice chefs… a group of Saints, dressed in leather, denim, and white aprons.

“Socks, please check on that last batch of cupcakes, sweetie. I need to know the moment they are cool enough for Hacksaw to start frosting them.”

“Sure thing, boss lady,” Socks replied affectionately.

When Cutter appointed Minus as club president, he also asked Cricket to join him. His idea was for her to act as a sort of business manager for the club. Minus and Cricket were to work hand-in-hand to secure the club’s future. Cutter’s plan worked out better than he could have imagined. Minus and Cricket were rock-solid partners, and the club was flush with cash even though we’d ended all street-level business almost three years ago. Minus had already been tested several times by outside clubs since his appointment and had proved to be a great wartime president and leader. The club also loved Cricket and I didn’t know a single member that wouldn’t take a bullet in the face for her. Still, I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of bikers in aprons. As much as Cutter wanted the club to clean up our act before we all ended up in jail or dead, I’m sure even he could never have envisioned Burning Saints frosting cupcakes in the Sanctuary kitchen.

“How’s the sign looking, boys?” an extremely focused Cricket asked, while vigorously stirring the contents of a large metal bowl.

“Just like Warthog,” I said.

“How’s that?” Cricket asked, without looking up.

“Straight and high,” I replied, stealing a freshly baked cookie from a nearby tray.

“I saw that,” Cricket scolded without ever looking up from her bowl.

“Damn, boss lady. Your kids aren’t gonna get away with shit.”

“Kids?I think I’ve got my hands full with just the one for now,” she replied with a chuckle.

“This is true.”

Minus and Cricket’s son, Cutter Randall ‘Little Cut’ Vincent, was not quite one year old and already hell on wheels…in a good way.

“Things might slip a little when we have more,” Cricket continued. “Of course, we should probably get on that, huh? Minus and I are already three behind Clutch and Eldie.”

Besides their two newly adopted children, Clutch and Eldie were also proud parents of twin daughters, who’d spent their first precious moments of life in the neonatal intensive care unit at OHSU. The babies were born prematurely, which I guess is common for twins, but the girls arrived six weeks early, and things were pretty touch and go for a while.

I laughed and asked, “Anything else you need me and Tacky to take care of?”

Before Cricket could answer, the kitchen’s back door swung open and Kitty walked in, his frame, blocking the entire doorway. “Hey, little man,” he said. “You got a minute?”

“Yeah,” I said, and followed him back to his makeshift office.

“Remember that judge you asked me to look into?”

“Yeah.”

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