Page 4 of Chubs

“Hi, Chubs! Hi, Craig! Want to have a spa day with us?” she asks innocently.

Axel’s body freezes for a moment before his hands push the cucumber slices up, and his eyes land on me. Axel bolts to his feet but, unfortunately, forgets he’s half-wearing high heels. His ankles twist sideways, and his large body crashes to the floor, nearly taking out his two nieces. Kicking the heels off, he stumbles to his feet. The gold facial stuff must be really thick and sticky because the cucumber slices are now stuck to his forehead above his eyes like forgotten goggles. It’s a sight to see.

With the girls giggling and Axel glaring, I stop the video and pop a cookie in my mouth. Grinning around the cookie, I look down at Craig and see he’s ready. He knows what we have to do, no explanation necessary. We turn and haul ass for the door with Axel right behind us.

Craig’s smart and leaps over the steps, landing on the lawn and never looking back. I grab the rail, sling my feet to the side in a smooth jump, and land a few feet behind Craig’s fleeing body. We make tracks and don’t stop until we reach the clubhouse.

Rushing through the back door, then the kitchen door, we slide to a stop inside the main room. Gunner is sitting at the bar with Pigeon, both watching our wild entrance.

“I don’t even want to know,” Gunner states while holding up his hand to stop any explanation we might offer.

“I do!” Pigeon says with a wide smile.

“Ballerina Axel spa day,” Craig chokes out, laughing and trying to catch his breath.

“Video?” Pigeon asks hopefully while holding his hand out.

“Of course,” I answer while handing my phone over.

I’m proud of the video we got, but prouder still that I did that run with a cookie in my mouth, two more in my hand, and I never dropped a crumb.

Being a foodie and a wrecker truck driver, I know every inch of Denver and its outlying suburbs. Being a people person, I’ve chatted with every form of human working or living in those areas. Race, sex, financial status, political beliefs—none of that matters to me. Everyone has an equal chance with me until they prove otherwise. I don’t judge based on anything other than someone’s actions. Because people seem drawn to me, open up to me, I believe they can sense that, and it’s earned me trust and friendships with people others might avoid. I’ve also learned to keep my ear to the ground for tidbits of information that may someday be useful. Today is one of those days.

Pulling the wrecker to a stop in front of a Chinese take-out joint I love, I shut it off and jump out. Forcing myself to walk past the door of the restaurant, I aim myself to the alley that runs alongside of it. I’m in luck and spot the few men playing dominos that I was hoping would be around today.

“Hey, guys. How’s it going?” I ask as I come to a stop next to an aged white guy who goes by the street name of Black. I don’t know why or how that became his nickname, and I don’t ask those kinds of questions. I quit asking about the story behind street or road names after my club brother Pooh was tagged with his. That incident still brings on a laugh and an icky feeling in equal strength when I think about it.

“Hey, Brother Chubs. Fancy seeing you in these parts. On a call?” Black asks with a grin while the other men give me nods or a chin tip in greeting.

“Not yet. Heading out to one shortly,” I answer while sniffing the aroma floating in the air. Damn, I should have stopped inside the restaurant before hitting the alley. “Thought I’d drop by and see how you’re all doing.”

That simple comment opens the men up, and they each give me a rundown of the happenings in their worlds. I listen closely, respond when needed, and make a point to ask questions so they know I’m sincere about checking in on them. And I am sincere about it. I enjoy my time spent with people I’ve come to know that others might tend to look down upon.

After several long minutes of chatter, I join in on a game of dominos, lose twenty bucks to Black, and bow out of the next game. When the laughter of my loss passes, I aim serious eyes at Black and quietly ask my questions.

Gaining the information I need, I hang out for a few more minutes before saying my goodbyes. The best way to gain knowledge is to engage with the older folk who hang out on the stoops or in the alleys. They see and hear everything because the other people don’t see them as a threat. They’re fixtures in those areas, and people overlook them all the while they’re filing away everything that happens on their streets. If you’re on good terms with them, they’re a wealth of knowledge of the goings on in their area.

I pull away with my take-out order and head to the first tow of the day. I only make it a few blocks when I realize I have a tail. Not surprising since I’ve had one most days for the last several months. Fucking Feds are getting on my last nerve. I have things to do, plans to set into motion, and they slow me down.

Just for fun and to annoy them, I start making fast right turns. Speeding up between turns, it’s not long, and I’m the one following them. When they stop at the intersection, looking in both directions for me, I laugh loudly. Honking my horn, I flip them off when each guy looks in their mirror. Whipping the wrecker into the lane next to them, I time my acceleration perfectly when the light turns red, and I leave them in my dust. Fed that, suckers!

“Put the mallet down, Trig. We both know you’re not going to clock me with it,” I say in an amused tone.

“You might think you know that, but I seriously haven’t decided yet, Chubs!” he shouts in my face.

Finally noticing how close he is to the edge, I remove the smirk from my face and eye him seriously. Holding both hands up in a placating manner, I regret my decision to return the wrecker before Trigger’s shift ended today. I’ve been avoiding him a lot lately, and I was a fool to think not seeing me might calm his legendary temper. Now, he has me cornered in the club’s garage, and I’m not seeing an easy escape.

“I’d like to hear some truths too, Chubs. So don’t think I’m going to run for Petey to intervene,” Tessie states as she stops next to Trigger while wiping her hands on a grease rag.

I know better than to assume she’ll side with anyone over Trigger. Those two are joined at the hip most days, and Axel, my club’s vice president, accurately calls them The Dangerous Duo. Most of the guys that work at the garage know better than to cross Tessie because she’ll rat their asses out to Trigger in a second, and he’ll make them sorry they did. Trigger’s not only overprotective of his young protégé but also loves that girl like she’s his own. Knowing all of this, I give Tessie a warm smile and flash puppy dog eyes at her. Her stance softens a bit, and I start to think I may survive, after all.

Still standing nose to nose with me, Trigger lowers the mallet to his side but growls out, “Why are there Feds harassing you? What do they want, and why the fuck won’t you let the club help?”

“Yeah, Chubs. Why?” Tessie semi-parrots Trigger’s questions while placing her hands on her hips.

“I’ll tell you my secret if you tell Trigger yours,” I return, looking at Tessie, and fight a grin at the instant response from both humans.

Trigger’s head swings Tessie’s direction while her body stiffens in alarm. I’m suddenly no longer on Trigger’s radar, and Tessie looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Yep, I may survive this encounter in one piece, after all.

---