Page 4 of Property of Thrasher
I watched him go shaking my head with a proud smirk.
“Think he’s gonna remember any of this tomorrow?” This came from DK, my VP, and longtime closest friend as he slid up beside me, a joint rolled tightly tucked behind one ear.
“Pinky’s memory never worked right,” I muttered. “Don’t think five years in lock up changed that.
“Heard he punched an officer in the nuts just outside the gate.” DK told me what I already knew. “Don’t know how the fucker didn’t end up back in bracelets and behind bars.”
I nodded with a grin. “Paid our inside man to let that happen. Pinky promised the fucker every day for five fuckin’ years he would make him remember him.” The correction officer in question had it coming. Pinky did his time, tried to play by the rules as much as any outlaw biker can. This fucker wanted to test a King. He needed a message. Pinky sent that message and was breathing easy. “He wanted a piece of the warden, but accepted this opportunity for the gift it was and didn’t push.”
We both chuckled. Mine faded quicker as I once again scanned the room, always watching.
A couple of the prospects were bunched together in the corner, trying not to look like they were waiting for the next command. One of them, Frootloop, barely twenty-two was standing too close to a brother’s old lady with his eyes locked to her ass like he was glued in place.
“Frootloop,” I yelled. He flinched and turned. “Quit starin’ like you forgot your fuckin’ name.”
“Yes sir,” he stammered out.
“You need a job to do. Go check the head, I’m sure at least one toilet needs scrubbin’ or uncloggin’.”
He took off like he should and thankfully Sweeper’s old lady was none the wiser. She was old school and been around forever. She knew how things were. Still, though, she was claimed and that meant off limits.
My focus drifted again. Back to the woman in the nun outfit. She wasn’t in the main room and I couldn’t help but wonder where she went. Maybe she took the hint and left. That would be best for everyone.
Something about the way she looked though, it stuck with me. She had this look in her eye like she walked through the wrong door in the wrong town, but figured it out too late. Yet, she still stood here refusing to show fear. This place ate people alive if they didn’t know how to stand their ground. Especially for women.
Even with the doors closed, the party spilled out to all areas of the compound. Women danced, some with clothing that covered their bodies, others with barely there attire, men relaxed and tossed back drinks with their brothers, and not one person thought about the outside world.
I made my way back to the bar. Jonesy, Widower’s more steady piece immediately came over to me. “Hey Thrasher, you want the good stuff or the cheaper good stuff?”
Jonesy was nice like that. And given Widower was hands down another woman’s pants, I guessed Jonesy and him were on the outs again. She had curves of the plump variety, but Widower liked it like that. He grabbed that ass, pinched her sides, and cupped her tits any chance the fucker got. And well, Jonesy, she just smiled and kept on about her business. She wasn’t his old lady, not sure why, but she wasn’t a bunny around fucking us all. She was his but he wasn’t hers and I didn’t much expect him ever to belong to any woman.
“What’s the difference?” I asked raising a brow and knowing damn well, there was a method to her madness.
“About twenty bucks, but more importantly the hangover.”
“Well damn honey, you better give me the cheaper good shit.” I laughed as she pulled out a quart Mason jar from under the bar and poured me a glass of the clear liquid.
“Got this shit straight from the barrel. Good ol’ Carolina shine. Guaranteed to get you drunk but not leave the hangover behind.
I lifted the glass, took a quick sniff, then tossed back the moonshine letting it burn down to my core.
The music switched again, harder, heavier. The floor vibrated with bodies grinding and thrashing now. In the middle of it was Pinky with a woman on his shoulders flashing her tits as he spun them around and around.
Bender appeared beside me with his third or fourth bunny of the night hanging half on him. He looked high as fuck, but I wasn’t about to ask on what.
“Shit, Prez, this place feels alive again,” he explained shouting over the ruckus around us. “It’s been dead without Pinky.”
I laughed, “maybe it was peaceful, not dead.”
He gave me a full ear-to-ear grin, “fuck that, peace is for pussies. We’re fuckin’ Kings!”
I didn’t disagree. Still, something about tonight was off for me. I couldn’t explain it. I wasn’t feeling this. I liked chaos. I dreaded calm. Something, though, kept me on edge.
“You good, Prez?” Bender questioned seeming to sober up.
“Yeah,” I gave a nod. “Just thinkin’.”
He slapped me on the shoulder, “damn don’t do that. You’re gonna ruin the mood.”
