Page 45 of Spike

“Why would I findthat hard to believe?”

“I don’t get theimpression you or Mrs. Mitchell care much for bikers.”

“I don’t know ifI’d say that.” Gary turned from me slightly and it was then I spotted traces ofwhite powder in his moustache. Looking at him closer I could also see he wassweating, and his pupils were pinned. This man was jacked up.

“Okay then, maybeit’s just that you don’t like me,” I said.

Gary scoffed. “Idon’t know you well enough to dislike you.”

“You know meenough to know that you don’t want me around your daughter.”

Gary cocked hehead. “Do you have a child?”

“No.”

“When you have adaughter, you worry when the mailman walks on the same side of the street asher. Seeing my daughter looking at a man like you the way she does is more thana little concerning to me.”

“So, this is oneof those ‘What are your intentions with my daughter?’ speeches. Is that it?”

Gary shrugged.“For lack of better terms, let’s just call it that.”

“To be one hundredpercent honest with you, sir. My intentions are to pursue your daughter witheverything I have within me. I plan on captivating her heart and earning hertrust by being everything she needs me to be. I plan on proving to her everyday that I’m a man who is worthy of her love, and on the days when I’m not, Iplan on improving until she’s as happy as she can possibly be. And then, onceI’ve earned her love, respect, and trust I’ll ask her to marry me. And, if I’mthe luckiest sonofabitch ever, she’ll say yes, and I can prove myself to heruntil we’re too old to chew or screw.”

“Does my daughterfeel the same way about you?”

“I don’t know. Infact, I’ve just told you more about how I feel about her than I’ve told her.But you asked my intentions so there they are.”

“And how does aguy like you plan on supporting someone like my daughter?”

“I don’t know. I’mnot interested in someonelikeyour daughter. I’m in love withyourdaughter.And I would support her the same way I support myself now.”

“As a welder?” heasked.

“That’s right.”

“And not throughcriminal activities, because as you said earlier, the Burning Saints aren’t one-percenters.”He narrowed his eyes. “Right?”

I nodded. “Ourclub roster is populated by legitimate local business owners.”

Gary chuckled.“Legitimate. That’s a word only criminals use.”

“There’s nothingmore legitimate than a tax return. I cleared one-hundred-twelve grand lastyear, and I’ve only been in business for four years. Not to mention, I’vemanaged to save eighty percent of my income over the past six years, much ofwhich is invested in low risk-high yield money market accounts, savings bonds, andtreasury bills.”

“Don’t try to conme. We both know the Burning Saints aren’t a Boy Scout troop. Your club may beall about toy drives and community carnivals these days, but I know your club’shistory all too well, and it’s nowhere near as ancient as the artifacts in thisroom.”

“You’re right. Myclub has a history of violence and perhaps even some criminal activity, butthat’s not the club I’ve come up in. Minus, our president, runs a clean shop.No exceptions. And anyone who doesn’t fall in line is out.”

“I put my faith inGod. Forgive me if I don’t have much left for your word.”

“Don’t judge mebased on what other people in my club may or may not have done in the past. Doyou vouch for everything that happens at all these ministry centers?” I asked,pointing to the maps. “You said yourself, you haven’t even visited them all.”

“Traveling isdifficult for me. My weekly job at the pulpit keeps me pretty busy as you canimagine.”

“Does it?”

“I beg yourpardon?” he asked, sounding a bit stunned.

“To be honest, andI mean no disrespect to you, I’ve always imagined a preacher’s job as arelatively cushy gig.”

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