Page 3 of Raiding Halloween
Prophet nearly doubles over laughing at my admission, which has me throwing a bar rag at his head. The fucker ducks, but I get the last chuckle when it hits the mop bucket and splashes him with the water that’s in the dirty side.
“You’re an asshole,” he grumbles as he looks down at his wet T-shirt.
“Takes one to know one,” I jeer. “Be right back, gonna pull a couple of cases to fill in the coolers, then we can hit the road.”
“Breakfast at the diner?” he asks.
“Hell yeah,” I reply, giving him a thumb’s up. Thankfully, a year or so ago, the diner went to twenty-four hours because of the increased businesses just outside of town. Having a distribution center with three shifts brought not only jobs but revenue intoour community. As a club, we’ve got a few ideas that we want to present at the next city council meeting, including a tattoo parlor and a consignment shop.
I haul the cases out of the storeroom and quickly get them into the cooler. “Fuck, I’m tired,” I mutter to myself. While Rebel was recovering from being run down on his bike, the running of the club fell on my shoulders. I’ll never complain about it, because he’s my brother, but I’m glad that the seventeen- and eighteen-hour days are coming to an end. I need to sleep for about a week, take a long ride to nowhere, and get laid, not necessarily in that order.
Finally finished, I lock the bank bag and daily receipts in the safe, lock the office and head back to the front to see Prophet emptying the bucket out before he rinses it. “You ready?” I ask.
“Hell yeah.”
After eating, we rode back to the clubhouse, which is out in the country, but not so far out that it takes forever to get there. Thank fuck for that, too, because by the time we park our bikes, weariness has me wondering which brother can possibly take a few shifts at the bar for me. As a club, we’re a well-oiled machine, but some brothers are more suited to work at the auto and bike repair shop we run, while others handle things at our junkyard. Prophet, Fox, Rebel, and I usually handle the bar, but with Rebel still recovering, we’re down to three of us. Holly knows how to bartend, but I think she’s due just about any time now, so she’s out of the question.
I wave to the few brothers who are still up and sitting around the common room, shooting the shit and drinking beer, but don’t stop. My goal is to take the fastest shower known to man, then hit my bed for at least eight hours of shuteye. God knows I need it. I know my temper’s been more evident lately and I feel like it has more to do with the stress of everything that’s happened than anything else.
Because surely one slip of a woman isn’t the reason for my shitty attitude. No female has ever caused me to have that kind of reaction, so there’s no way that Marnie is behind it. Nope. It’s because the weight of the world has been on my shoulders. But it’s definitely time to distribute some of the weight.
As that thought crosses my brain, I remember one of the times I caught Marnie staring at me tonight. There was interest in her gaze, but then I saw something that almost looked like sadness cross her features before she turned away.
“I’ll figure it out, baby, and when I do, I’m going to make you mine,” I mumble as sleep finally drags me into a deep and restful slumber.
“I think we should turn the house the club owns off of Main Street into a haunted house,” Psycho says as we sit around the table in the room we use for church. “It has that field nearby that we can make into one of those maze things, and there’s plenty of frontage that we can probably set up a bunch of games and shit for kids and adults to play.”
“Fuck, I think that’s the best idea yet I’ve heard for this year’s Halloween carnival,” Rebel replies. “What do y’all think?”
Shrugging, I ask, “Who would run it? Don’t those things need a lot of actors and shit?”
“I’ll do some research on it,” Psycho replies. “But it shouldn’t be too difficult. Go through and make each room something scary, put in those speakers with creepy music, and get those fog machines.”
I watch as Fox shudders and I smirk at him as I question, “Scared, brother?”
“Haven’t you ever watched any of those fucking paranormal shows, Ash?” Fox retorts. “They go into places that have spiderwebs and unexplainable cold spots. Hell, a few of them claim to have caught ghosts on their specialized equipment.”
By now, all the brothers are laughing, even though Fox has a stubborn look on his face. “I’ll take money for tickets, hell, I’ll hand out fucking cotton candy, but I’m not working inside a haunted fuckin’ house,” he grumbles. “No fucking way. Because they always have killer clowns, too.”
Tank laughs so hard he falls out of his chair and even then, he’s still cackling and sputtering about Fox’s fears. “Alright, alright. It’s not a bad idea,” Rebel muses once Tank’s back in his seat and order has mostly been restored. “Psycho, see what you can find out and then we’ll decide just how terrifying we want things to be. I don’t want my girls to have nightmares, but some friendly scares aren’t too terrible.”
“What the fuck are friendly scares?” I ask.
“Like when a kid is blindfolded and they put their hands in a pot of cooked spaghetti and they’re told it’s someone’s guts,” Fox helpfully supplies, shuddering. “Or they handle ‘eyes’ that are really peeled grapes.”
“I think we should do both,” Psycho states. When Rebel raises his brow, he holds up his hand. “Hear me out. That place is two stories, right? Plus, there’s a detached four-car garage. What if the tamer one for kids was set up in the garage, while the frightening one was created in the house?”
“Holly brought up the fact that the beauty shop that she, Esther, and the girls use is about to be sold. The owner wants to retire, which will leave the four stylists without a place to work. Anyone opposed to the club buying it? It’d be another revenue stream for us,” Rebel states. “And Psycho, I like that idea of splitting the hauntings, so you and Data see what you can find. We’ll make it work.”
“I think it’s a good idea. Would we have to bring that to the city council?” I question. “I mean, we’re already asking to open two other businesses.”
“Likely not. Hell, we can always have Holly be the owner if y’all think it would be an issue,” Rebel replies. He nods at Data, our IT guru, who smirks.
“I’m on it, Pres,” Data says. “I’ll get the info on the beauty salon together, and me and Psycho will look at ways we can terrify the town.”
“It would be a moneymaker for the club,” Slammer adds. “Get shit up on social media and advertise the fuck out of it and we’ll have people driving in to go through.”
Fox starts chuckling then he says, “I remember when I was a kid and my granny’s church did one of those rapture story things around Halloween. They had the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse come riding through fields, their scythes in their hands. Some definite fear factor shit for sure.”
