Page 9 of Spike

He cocked hishead. “What’s my wife got you doing for her, now?”

“You know thoseshelves me and Tacky built for her last week?”

“Lemme guess. Timeto stock them?”

I smiled. “It’salmost like you know her.”

“Doesn’t she haveemployees for that kind of shit?”

“Not according toher,” I replied. “Devlin told me she doesn’t have employees. She merelyprovides a kick ass workspace for top artists to work. She takes a flat cut andartists may come and go as they please.”

“What she needs isa shop manager and I keep telling her that. Someone to handle inventory andstupid shit like building shelves.”

“I don’t mindhelping her out. Besides, she’s gonna do a back piece for me once I get sometime off.”

Ropes chuckled. “Idon’t recall youevertaking a day off. You’re like a goddamned greatwhite shark. If you stop swimming, you’ll sink right down to the bottom of theocean.”

“Either way, itdoesn’t matter. I haven’t figured out exactly what I want, so until I do that,I’m gonna ‘bank’ as many work hours as possible.”

Tacky pulled up tothe warehouse and parked his bike, practically jumping off as he did.

“Is she ready toplay?” he asked, excitedly.

Ropes shook hishead.

He frowned. “Isn’tthe buyer coming tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but sincethe two of you pussies seem to do whatever my wife tells you to do, I’m barelygoing to finish final assembly before he arrives.”

“Shit, man. I washoping to get some playing time in before she was gone.”

“Me, too,” Ropesreplied. “I always like to know if there are any bugs that need to be workedout before the sale but working on my own doesn’t leave much time for play.”

“Would the two ofyou please stop griping,” I said. “It’s not going to take us all day to stocksome shelves. We’ll be back in a couple of hours. In time to help you with themachine and get some serious play time in so I can kick both your asses.”

“Kick my ass?”Ropes asked, incredulously. “Sonny, I was playing this machine when you werestill shitting in your pants.”

“You’ve beenplaying it since last year?” Tacky asked.

“You know what Ihear in both your voices?” I asked. “Fear. That’s what I hear.”

Ropes had been anavid player, collector, and restorer of vintage pinball machines for most ofhis life. A passion he passed onto me and Tacky, a brother I’d recruited andpatched in with. His current deal involved a 1979 Gorgar machine from Williams,widely known as the first synthesized talking pinball machine. When Ropesbought it, the chassis was mangled and twisted, but I got it looking like itcame straight off the factory floor.

Of course, clublife wasn’t all pinball and tattoo shops. It was about brotherhood, being witha crew that has your back, and about riding, which was one of the only ways Icould lose myself for a while. Learning to ride saved my life, redirected mypurpose, and set me firmly on the path I’m on today.

Looking back onit now, it’s amazing how close I came to never knowing Ropes or the BurningSaints MC at all.

** *

Eight years ago…

“Inmate 5014429.Kane, Jesse?” the desk sergeant asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ireplied, rising to my feet.

“Please stepforward to the yellow line.”

I did as I wasasked, acutely aware that in a few short moments, I wouldn’t have to takeorders from anyone anymore. Even though I’d spent the last chunk of my sentenceat the House, I still had to be ‘processed out’ at Lakewood. I wasstrip-searched to make sure I wasn’t smuggling out notes or contraband for myfellow inmates. I’d only been back to Lakewood a few times since moving intothe House, while helping Hopper or Fieldy, but I hadn’t been back inside untilnow. Being back in processing brought into focus how long I’d been here, andthe time that had needlessly been taken from me. I rarely gave myself theluxury of such thoughts, but now that freedom was literally outside two sets ofsecurity doors, they were beginning to seep in.

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