ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(58)

“Oh yeah? Is that so, motherf*cker?” I challenged, assessing the * up and down the same way I’d assess someone during a game.

The man, laughed. “Yeah, that’s so. No civilians tonight, kid. You’re gonna have to go get yourself laid somewhere else. Best bet for someone like you is back over the causeway where you came from with the other yuppies.

I opened my black hoodie exposing my Warriors’ cut. The man’s eyes went wide. It felt good to put it back on after so long. Along with supple worn leather, the thing came with power that surged through my veins and made me want to eat this motherf*cker like a cannibal. “You wanna call me a yuppie again, motherf*cker?”

I was about to put the dickhead in his place when Paco, the exact person I’d been looking for, stepped out from the swinging saloon doors with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was the spitting image of his younger brother Pinto, except Paco wasn’t a familiar like his brother, he was a patched in full-blown member of the Beach Bastard brotherhood.

“Goon!” Paco shouted, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. He pulled me in for a quick embrace. When he released me, his gaze went from me to the man in the bandana, who I was still staring at, visualizing his quick death.

“Jailbird, stop glaring at Goon here and enjoy your f*cking head,” Paco said, then turned to me. “Goon, get your f*cking ass on in here!” He smiled like there wasn’t about to be a brawl and pulled me by the arm, tugging me in through the doors.

“Paco, you can’t bring him…” Jailbird started, pushing the brunette to the side, who stood and wiped her mouth. He didn’t bother to refasten his leathers, his flaccid dick wobbling around freely as he came toward us. Paco stepped forward too, standing between me and Jailbird. He wasn’t a big man, but Paco had that crazy look in his eyes, the look that said “you don’t know what I’m capable of” that could warn away a f*cker twice his size.

Jailbird must have had a few too many to understand that warning because in no way did he back down.

“Listen, Jailbird,” Paco said, the playful tone he’d used in his greeting now gone. “I mean it when I say you go back to that woman and mind your own f*cking business. Goon here is always welcome. We ain’t at war with the Warriors, not right now anyway. You still got a problem with that when we’re done with our beer, and I’ll come back out here and we can all kill each other till our f*cking heart’s content. Got it?”

Jailbird finally conceded to Paco, mumbling something under his breath as Paco again entered the bar and gestured for me to follow. I flipped off my new friend and shoved him aside as I followed behind.

“Don’t mind him. He’s new and he’s a dick. Bad combination. Plus, he don’t know you like I do,” Paco said, holding up two fingers to the bartender and then another two. The bartender, a man even older than my gramps had been when he passed, set down two beers and two shots.

The bar was crowded with bikers and a few half-dressed women. The Bastards MC wasn’t far from Harper’s Ridge and although I saw a few familiar faces in the crowd, the majority of them were unfamiliar to me.

Paco noticed me looking around. “We’re all here cause we’re going to war. Had to recruit. Go get some men from different chapters.”

“War with who?” I asked. “I know I’ve been gone a while but I would have heard about a new Warriors beef. Besides, you just said we weren’t at war. Plus, if we were you guys would have slit my throat when I walked through the door.”

Paco laughed too. “True. But seriously, you haven’t heard?” He leaned up against the bar.

I shook my head and took a swig of my beer. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied since I got back.”

“Yeah man, I heard about your hockey shit. Sorry about that. Thought if anyone around here would graduate from white-trash to the big leagues, it would be you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”

“Bear. That’s who we’re going to war with.”

“No f*cking shit,” I said, in disbelief. Chop was the president of the Bastards. Bear was his VP…and Chop’s own son.

Paco ran his hand over his smooth bald head and downed his beer. “Yeah, man. That’s why we are all here. We gotta regroup. Figure out who we got. It’s a big f*cking mess.”

“Do you want go to war?” I asked.

Paco leaned close and looked around to make sure no one could hear him when he whispered, “Fuck no, man. But I’m a soldier. Our leader says war, we go to war. You know how this shit works. If you want my opinion, Chop may have the MC at his back but Bear’s got King. I don’t know about you, brother, but that’s one motherf*cker I do not want to cross in a dark alley. Or a well lit one. Or any f*cking alley.”

That was an understatement. They didn’t call him King of the Causeway for nothing. King ran more shit through Logan’s Beach than most MCs and he didn’t belong to any of them. He was ruthless and unforgiving and lived up to the fear and the hype the town was always buzzing about.

Paco stared at his feet and then looked to the bartender and then to the ceiling. “What?” I asked him.

“Nothing, man,” he said, looking over my head.

“Yeah, that’s why you won’t look at me.”

Paco sighed and handed me a shot. “Whiskey first.” We clinked our glasses and downed our shots. The whiskey burning its way down my throat.