“Over a decade.”
“And president the whole time?”
“Yep.”
“Great. What do you think about the reputation of the Devil’s Patriots in town?”
“I couldn’t give less of a shit what people think of us, to be honest.”
“Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
“Is there anyone whose opinion you do give a shit about?”
There was just the briefest of hesitations, enough to tell me I’d asked him a question that seemed to trigger some sort of honesty appraisal for himself. I smiled, but I tried not to let myself get carried away.
“My son and the club.”
He’s making them separate. Interesting.
“And…that’s it.”
That was clearly not it. But for one of the few times in my life, I felt that asking the obvious follow-up question would cause more harm than good. Maybe he was about to say his former wife. Maybe he was about to say a parent. It would have made for great television, but it would have also killed the interview and anything in the future on the spot.
“Makes sense. What would you say your role in the town is?”
“Our role is to just exist. We don’t ask anyone to fuck with us, and we don’t want to fuck with anyone.”
“You don’t want to affect anyone?”
He chuckled.
“That’s cute, you trying not to swear.”
I gulped and hoped that it came across as charming and not flirtatious.
“Contrary to public or political belief, we aren’t looking to be menaces to society. Yes, we get in fights, and yes, sometimes, we get too loud. For the times we’re too loud, well, I’m not going to say we’re sorry, but I’m not proud of it. And I guarantee you, every time that one of us got in a fight, someone else started it.”
“You guarantee that?”
Satan just arched an eyebrow at me and folded his arms. Message received well enough—“Even if that’s not the case, do you really think I’m going to say otherwise on camera?”
“So what would you say your role is to the rest of the club?”
“To be a father figure.”
“Can you elaborate?”
Satan drew in a breath. He looked like he kind of regretted the words, but he knew well enough to keep going.
“We’re not a crowd of successful people, OK? A lot of us have had hard lives, some of it self-inflicted, a lot of it just shitty circumstances handed to us. Some of us have gone to jail. Most of us had parents in jail at different times. We’re not going to make it long-term in the ‘real world.’ We know our limitations. If I can give these guys a place where they’re a fucking brotherhood and a family, that’s good enough for me.”
I sat back in my chair, stunned into pleasant surprise. Satan’s voice had actually gotten…well, I didn’t want to oversell it, but it was more emotional than usual. I had more emotion in my voice when I asked the bartender for a margarita, but it seemed I’d finally found something that would make Satan open up.
“Is there anyone else that you have the same sort of family feel for?”
“My son. And I once…we don’t need to go into that.”
