Page 6 of Smooth Sailing

Denver, Colorado

Several years later from Diana’s attack…

Saturday

Harlan sat away from the crowd in a white resin chair in the forecourt behind Ride, the auto supply store, and in front of the other part of Ride, the custom car and bike garage that sat at the back of Chaos Motorcycle Club’s property.

He was on Chaos.

Again.

Though, this was the first time in more than a decade.

No.

More than two.

Harlan didn’t want to like what that resin chair said.

But he liked it.

It was the kind you bought for twenty bucks (if that) at Walmart.

These men, with their businesses (they had auto supply stores all over Colorado) were raking it in. Their builds from the garage were so phenomenal, they’d had magazine articles written about them.

His mom had collected every magazine, saved special in little plastic sleeves.

So now, he had them.

But that chair was not only cheap, it was bought in bulk (because there were a lot of them scattered around). They were nicked and scraped and obviously had been there awhile.

No one bothered to replace them.

No airs, no graces.

White resin chairs. A man at a huge-ass grill that was far from brand-new (and that grill had seen years of action), frying up burgers, brats and hotdogs. Potluck dishes all over a table. So much food, double the FFOs could show at this shindig and walk away stuffed. Kegs in barrels filled with ice. Massive coolers with bottles of beer, pop and water sticking out. Music playing. It was metal, it was loud, but it wasn’t so loud you couldn’t talk and listen. Kids running around everywhere.

Lots of kids.

Everywhere.

And women.

It was the women that shook him.

There were some in expensive clothes that even he could clock as pricey (though they were expensive in a casual way), wearing high-wedge sandals on their feet (that were also costly …and casual). There were others who were born old ladies and wore that proudly with their jeans and Harley tees and silver jewelry.

Christ, one of them had a cute dress on, a mass of honey blonde ringlets and looked like a goddamn cheerleader.

All of them mingled together, laughing with each other, gabbing with heads bent close, a clear sisterhood among the brotherhood.

Harlan was really young the last time he was here, and his mother was desperate. He didn’t remember much, except he felt powerless because his mom was in a situation he couldn’t help her with.

He also remembered those men treated her differently than practically anybody.

She’d been unsafe.

They’d made her safe.

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