Page 8 of Oh Holy Knight

“Black,” I greet, but he doesn’t take his eyes off our new bar hand. He may be knocking back sodas and hoarding suckers, but the man is perceptive as fuck. He brings the straw to his lips and sucks down some cola. After a few slurps, he sets the glass back on the bar and turns his gaze to me.

“New hire,” he says flatly and looks back at the guy. “Riggs says he’s alright, but something about him rubs me the wrong way.”

“Well, he’s gunning for your hairdo,” I deadpan.

Blackie’s hair is the envy of nearly all our women. He cut it once and broke the hearts of all his admirers—his wife included.

“Gunther,” he grunts.

“Say what?”

“His name.”

I scratch my beard and look back at our new employee. We’ve never had a Gunther before, I suppose that’s mainly because everyone in Staten Island is either named Anthony or a Nicky. There’s a reason they call this place Staten Italy.

“Where’d Riggs find him?” I ask, knowing damn straight he didn’t put an ad on Craigslist. He’s a computer geek but when it comes to hiring, he pulls people of the street and fits them for a Big Nose Kate’s t-shirt without giving them a background check. That’s Riggs’ biggest flaw—his good heart.

It makes him trust too easily.

“He’s a dishwasher at the catering hall next door,” Blackie supplies.

Keeping my eyes trained to the guy, I lift an eyebrow.

“The Old Bermuda Inn?”

“You know another catering hall we share a dumpster with?” he volleys, popping a cherry into his mouth.

“Smartass,” I grunt, watching as his lips quirk. The faint grin doesn’t last long, though, and he schools his features before continuing.

“Riggs says he’s got two small kids and that he’s looking to make extra money for the holidays.” He pauses and his brown eyes lock with mine. “Can’t knock a man for trying to make his kids have a good Christmas, but I don’t know, man, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off with him.”

If we’ve learned anything through the years, it’s been to always trust Blackie’s gut. It’s very rarely steered us wrong. That being said, it’s fucking Christmas and at one time or another, we’ve all struggled around the holidays. Hell, when Nico was a baby I worked three jobs just to keep the electric on, if it wasn’t for the few scores me, Parrish, and Pipe did around the holidays, there wouldn’t have been a single present under the tree for my boy.

I reach behind me and pull out my notepad.

“Keep an eye out and find out what ages his kids are,” I say, flipping the page. I add Gunther’s name to the list before diverting my attention to the back of the bar where the Toys For Tots box sits. “Any donations?”

Blackie shakes his head.

“Someone dropped off a basketball last week but that’s about it.” He pushes back his stool and stands. “Still early, though. If the box doesn’t fill, me and Lacey will be happy to fill it up.”

“We’ll all chip in,” I reply.

“Nah, Wolf, I mean it. The club does a lot with the toy run, and you got a full plate with the kids at Frankie’s House. It would be mine and Lacey’s honor to help out.”

A couple of years ago, after Bishop retained full custody of Connor, we reached out to the social worker in charge of Connor’s case and started doing a toy run for the kids in the system. Now, every year, the night before Christmas Eve, we dress up as a bunch of Santa’s, fill our red sacks with the toys on the kids wish list and ride.

If someone would’ve told me the guys who once rode their Harley’s through the front windows of a Chinese restaurant and shot up a fish tank would be riding to deliver presents to kids in need, I’d have told them they were crazy. But we don’t ride to serve the Devil as much as we ride to serve the community these days and I’m okay with that.

“Appreciate it, brother,” I say, pocketing my notepad.

“What’s with the pad?” Blackie questions.

“Don’t ask,” Parrish says, walking up behind us. “He gets offended when you talk about the Holy Grail.”

Ignoring him, I walk down the hallway and make my way to the back room that serves as our chapel, finding Stryker, Deuce, Cobra and Linc all gathered around the table waiting for me to declare church is in session.

A sense of nostalgia fills me as I stare at them. It seems like just yesterday I was riding my Harley across state lines in search of men who would join our chapter and now here they are—a drifter, a wanderer, a roamer and a loner. Four men who swore they’d never park their pipes in one place. Stryker’s married with a baby on the way. Cobra finally married Celeste and when they’re not busy chasing their two little girls, they’re working on adding a boy to the mix. Deuce and Ally are engaged and Linc married my niece Kelly. I also can add Great Uncle to my list of titles.

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