Page 31 of Bozo

Behind me, I hear the bikers regrouping, muttering to each other. I can feel their eyes on my back as I maneuver Eamon toward the exit. He's still struggling, but his drunken state makes him easy to control.

"Get your hands off me, you little shit!" he slurs, trying to twist out of my grip.

I ignore him, focusing on getting him out the door. Just as we reach the threshold, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I tense, expecting trouble, but when I turn, I see it's the bearded biker.

"Need a hand?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

I hesitate for a moment, then nod. Together, we half-drag, half-carry Eamon out onto the street. The cool night air hits us, and Eamon seems to deflate, the fight going out of him.

"Go home, Eamon," I say, releasing him. "Sleep it off."

He stumbles away, muttering curses under his breath. I watch him go, making sure he doesn't fall or try to come back in. When he's out of sight, I turn to the biker.

"Thanks," I say, suddenly feeling awkward.

He nods, eyeing me with curiosity. "That was some quick thinking in there. You handled yourself well."

I shrug, not used to praise. "Just didn't want Donal's place getting trashed."

The biker grins. "Loyal. I like that." He extends his hand. "Name's Preacher."

I shake his hand, wanting to ask where he got the name Preacher from, but I refrain. Now ain’t the time. "Connor," I reply.

Preacher's eyebrows rise slightly. "Connor? As in the poker player, Connor?"

I nod, surprised. "You know me?" I ask, wondering how he knows my name.

"Sure do. My prez, Pyro, mentioned meeting you the other night. He said you were a smart kid."

I feel a flush of pride at Pyro's words, quickly followed by a wave of uncertainty. What else has Pyro told them about me?

Preacher seems to sense my unease. He claps me on the shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle for such a large man. "Hey, why don't you come back inside? I’m guessing if you’re good at cards, you’ll be good at pool, right?" There’s no weirdness to his tone, just stating a fact.

I hesitate, glancing back at the pub. Through the window, I can see Donal and the other biker cleaning up the mess from the fight. I should go back to my spot at the bar and leave it be, but there’s a part of me that wants to find out more about the bikers.

Maybe Donal was right. Maybe it is time to take a leap.

I take a deep breath and nod. "Yeah, alright. Thanks."

Preacher grins and leads me back into the pub. As we enter, I can feel the eyes of the other people on us. I follow Preacher to the pool table, wondering if I’m making the right decision.

As we approach the pool table, the other biker eyes me with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Preacher introduces me, "Wrath, this is Connor. He just helped us take out the trash."

The guy called Wrath is a little shorter than Preacher and has a full sleeve of tattoos. He nods appreciatively. "Nice work, kid. I'm Wrath."

Preacher turns to me. "What's your poison, Connor?"

"Whiskey," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

He nods approvingly and heads to the bar. I stand there awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with myself. I hate interacting with people I don’t know. Wrath breaks the silence.

"So, Connor, Pyro tells us you're quite the card shark."

I shrug, uncomfortable with the attention. "I'm alright."

Wrath snorts. "Alright? From what we heard, you're a fucking savant."

Before I can respond, Preacher returns with our drinks. He hands me a glass of whiskey, noticeably better quality than what I was drinking earlier.

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