Page 10 of Hawk

I nod. “You’re clear. Perfectly clear. I understand.”

He leans in close to me, his eyes boring into mine, and plants a kiss on me. The taste of his breath in my mouth and the feel of his cold and slimy tongue, swirling around my own nearly makes me lose it. I don’t know how I manage to hold it in check, but I do and somehow keep my sick down. I deserve a medal for that.

He pulls back and a menacing chuckle slips out of his mouth. His lips are curled into a vicious sneer. After a moment, he turns and walks toward the door to the clubhouse Hogwild just went through.

“Finish cleanin’ this shit up,” he calls over his shoulder. “And hurry up about it.”

The door slams behind him and I fall to my knees. Burying my face in my hands, my body shakes violently as I tremble. I manage to get back to my feet, fearing he’ll come in and find me like that and earn his wrath. Instead of continuing to wallow in my self-pity and rage, I run over to the bar and grab another bottle of tequila. Opening it as quickly as I can with my shaking hands, I raise the bottle to my lips and take a long drink, washing the taste of Hammerhead’s disgusting mouth out of my own.

I set the bottle down on the bar and let out a long, trembling breath. “I need to get out of here,” I whisper as a fresh tear spills down my cheek. “I need to get the hell out of here soon.”

CHAPTERFOUR

“Jesus, what a dump,” I mutter to myself as I climb off my bike.

I haven’t been to the Howlers’ clubhouse in a while, but I do remember the last time I was here, it didn’t look like this. The last time I was here, the clubhouse was tight. It was still an MC clubhouse, to be sure, but the place was clean enough and in good repair. It looked like they had some pride in their place. Now it looks like a worn-down crack house. Piles of trash are littered everywhere, there’s cardboard covering the busted-out glass in a couple of windows, and a nasty stench wafts in the air around the clubhouse. The whole thing looks almost ready to collapse under its own weight. The standards around here have obviously dipped since my last visit.

A few of the Howlers step out onto the porch and give me a nod. I remember two of them—Hogwild, the VP, and Jammer. Hogwild is a big guy and looks exactly the same. He may have gotten a couple tattoos since I saw him last. Jammer is a couple of years older than me but looks like he’s aged a decade since I last saw him. His eyes are red and rheumy, his skin is sallow, and his face is full of pockmarks that weren’t there before. He’s short, maybe five-six or so, and he used to be rocked up, but most of that muscle seems to have withered. He’s become so scrawny now. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been dipping into the meth market.

“How’s it goin’, brother?” I drop my bag and greet Hogwild with a handshake and back-slapping embrace.

“Hangin’ in there,” he replies. “How was the ride down?”

“Uneventful. It was just what I needed… a long ride on the open road to clear my head.”

He nods. “I hear that. I’m about overdue for one of those myself.”

“Ride north. We’ll roll out the red carpet for you.”

“Might just do that.”

I nod then turn and shake Jammer’s hand. “How you been?”

His eyes are wide and unfocused, but he’s doing his best to hold his shit together. It’s not hard to see that he’s high as fuck right now.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good, man,” he replies. “I’m good.”

I nod and look around. I want to ask them about the condition of their clubhouse, but I don’t want to be rude so soon after arriving. Hogwild seems to catch my vibe, because he looks away and frowns as if he’s embarrassed by the state of things. He clears his throat, and I can see that his embarrassment seems to deepen as he reaches for the door.

“Well, let’s get on inside,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ to talk to Hammerhead.”

“A beer to wash the road dust out of my mouth would be good too.”

“I can do that.”

I follow Hogwild and Jammer in, letting the door swing closed behind me. The stink that surrounds the clubhouse on the outside seems to be even worse inside. It smells like a combination of rotting meat, body odor, and an outhouse in August. I light a cigarette real quick just to smell something other than the other pungent scents that fill the clubhouse. I turn to Hogwild and grimace.

“You got a dead animal in the crawlspace or something?” I ask.

He frowns and shakes his head. “It’s—”

“Hawk! Good to see ya,” Hammerhead’s voice calls out. “Get over here, you son of a bitch.”

I walk over to the bar where he’s sitting and as he slips off the stool, I notice that like his clubhouse, the man himself has started to fall into serious disrepair. Once upon a time, he used to be ripped like Hogwild. But all his muscle seems to have coalesced around his mid-section and he just has a look of ill health about him. He looks kind of jaundiced, his eyes are bloodshot, and he’s got veins spiderwebbing on his red nose, showing he’s become a pretty prolific drinker.

He’s also got that unfocused wild-eyed look Jammer has that tells me he’s high too. I’d swear he was doing meth like it seems Jammer is, but Hammerhead is puffy and bloated, not stick-thin. If anything, it looks like he ate his meth dealer. As he pulls me into a bone-crushing, back-slapping embrace, I suddenly understand the stench in the clubhouse. It smells a lot like Hammerhead who, I’m assuming, has stopped bathing regularly. What an absolute shitshow he and his club have become.

I step back and take a drag from my cigarette. “Thanks for havin’ me.”

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