Page 16 of Twisted Ties

The OG’s

(Sledge)

I’m anxious, and I’ve checked in with Slash—I gotta go see my father. If I get the call to hit the road then so be it, but if I don’t do this now, I’m not gonna make it. Helmet in hand, I walk out of the clubhouse; everyone is sleeping until we get the call from the prospects on watch.

Bull catches my arm on the way out. “Where you headed?”

“I’m going to see Slugger. I haven’t checked in for a while and there’s no time like the present.”

“Ah, Slugger. I miss him. Send him my love when you get in there. It’s been a long time. Your father is something else.” Bull shakes his head, but I got this weird feeling he wants to talk about something else.

“Uh huh, he is.”

“One of the baddest motorcycle mechanics in Southern Cali. He worked his way up, the right way. Your father is a true man of grit and dogged determination. He’s all heart.”

“Thanks Bull. You ready to ride out on call?”

“You know I am. Built for the game. Listen… I wanna talk to you about something for a minute.” Bull’s face displays concern, and I just know it’s about Slash. I can tell by the fire in his eyes.

“What’s up?” I keep it casual even though I’m riding for Slash all the way.

“Slash. I got a bad taste in my mouth about the way he took the chair. We don’t even know if he’s fit for the job. He hasn’t been nominated or voted in by nobody,” he spits as his thick eyebrows mesh together.

“Uh huh.”Stay neutral, Sledge. Let him get it off his chest.

"I'm telling you this because he's your boy, just like Axe was my man. You need to talk some sense into him before things turn ugly, if ya know what I mean? I'd have a talk with him sooner rather than later, we wouldn't want certain sensitive information to hit the wrong ear, catch my drift?” He issues a controlled smile as I jut out my bottom lip, as if considering what he’s saying.

“Anyway, how's that new old lady of yours? Hunter Jackson’s girl, huh? Is this some type of additional payback for getting your pops locked up? Some sort of generational vengeance?" he chuckles, trying to lighten up a tense conversation.

"No, not at all. It's nothing like that. She had no clue what her old man was down for. She knows he was into some shady shit, but no details. She's a great girl, a keeper."

"A keeper, eh? Well, I guess you haven't told her everything, then?" Bull cocks an eyebrow, rubbing his hands over his knuckles, and all I want to do is bounce. I tap him on the shoulder.

"Bull, I gotta run. Visiting hours are about to start. I'll catch you later."

“All right then brother, enjoy your family time.”

“Thanks.”

I take the short walk to my Harley, shaking my head.I knew Bull was salty.Couldn’t say I completely blamed him. It isn’t the Dark Angel protocol, but life has other plans sometimes. As I reach my bike, I sling my leg over, ready to hit the road. I’m feeling like this is the last piece of the puzzle in my life. I have to put it to bed.

I kick out a little bit as I hit the main freeway. I love the vibration and the sheer horsepower of my Harley—nothing better except being with my girl. We’re gonna get married. Me, a married man. Never in my life have I wanted to be married to anyone, but Simone is the woman of my dreams. I gotta lock her down. We’re gonna do it different. I’m gonna teach them about bikes, boy or girl, about resilience, about life, and getting back up even when punches are flying at your head.

I reach the Serenity Correctional Facility and head to the desk.

“I’m here to see Scott Smith,” I say, and the lady gives me a disapproving once-over. I go through the mandatory protocol as the prison guards check me for contraband and frisk me thoroughly. I go through to see my father. There’s no glass panel—it’s me and him sitting right across from one another with the guards standing on the perimeters. There are a few other people visiting, but that’s it.

My father is on good behavior and has been a model citizen—that and I know he’s running the jail. I nod to the guard, and he gives me a sour smile back as I sit down to the older version of myself. My father’s hair is laced with salt and pepper now and crow’s feet line are etched into the crevices around his eyes. His face has markings of his profession weathered on it. His beard is sharp, and it looks like he’s had a haircut.

I hug him and a big shit-eating grin covers his face. “Son, good to see ya. Man, you look great.”

“Thanks, Pop. You get a prison cut?” I chuckle.

“Yeah, I got a shape-up. Look all right?”

“Yeah, you’re good.”

My heart’s beating and I’m happy to see the big fella. “Son, talk to me, tell me what’s going on.” He’s excited to hear about my life, and I forgot how much connection we have. I know he’s got flaws, but he’s my hero.

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