Everyone is well aware of what went down last night, because there are six bikes here having some kind of repairs carried out. News spreads fast and anyone not there knows the clumsy Prospect fucked up again.
A few of them laugh at the insinuation. The shed is no place anyone wants to find themselves. I’ve only been in it a couple of times and I don’t want to go back. You can smell death and desperation as soon as you walk in there, even after Hammer cleans it up when they’ve had guests.
I barely talk to the guy, he’s too macabre for me, even though he has his uses for the club. No man should like disposing of bodies as much as he does. Or the manner in which he does it.
“He’s gone. Shady booted his ass out this morning.”
That piques my interest. Like everyone else who overheard Mace’s comment about no one getting away with that shit at his clubhouse, we were wondering how Rip would be handled.
The kid is a walking disaster, but his heart is in the right place. He’s not motorcycle club material and is better off out of it.
He won’t see it that way for some time but hopefully he sees King did him a favor. You have to be a certain kind of person to take to this lifestyle and Rip did not have that in him.
I climb out of the Buick and indicate for Chester to bring over the carpet. Everything is where it needs to be and it’s time to start fitting out the interior again. The new bench seat is arriving in a couple of days, so I want the upholstery down and all the interior panels back in place before then.
I’ve been working on it non-stop, in between paid jobs coming in, especially late into the night. It isn’t just about getting it done and sold on, it’s soothing to me, watching the timeless beauty of this machine slowly be brought back to life.
It’s a fucking travesty the state it was allowed to get in but I see that all too often with classic cars. They’re expensive to maintain. And if it wasn’t for those dire circumstances people sometimes find themselves in, I wouldn’t be able to do this. I like that I’m a part of bringing it full circle and getting the cars into the hands of people who appreciate them.
Someone comes up behind me and I glance over my shoulder at Raptor. He doesn’t usually come in here. I step around him and watch as Chester gets in the Buick, taking the carpet with him. It’s a two-man job to make sure it sets right with all the cut outs placed perfectly.
“What’s up?”
Raptor leans back against my bench and tells me to carry on. It can’t be all that important cos he lets me finish which takes close to half an hour because I’m a perfectionist.
Chester gets out and stretches out his back with a groan so I send him off to work on something else. Now that the carpet is fitted, I can get back to working alone.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Raptor.
“It’s interesting to watch. How much is that thing worth?”
“More than we can afford,” I laugh.
“Right. Felix is sick.”
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, grabbing up a rag and wiping my hands on it.
Raptor rolls his eyes. “Strep throat, Doc has put him on antibiotics and says he needs to monitor him. Apparently he’s had it a while and didn’t say anything. Doc is worried about kidney infection.”
That doesn’t sound good.
“His old lady is about ready to rip him a new one and kicked him out of the house so her and the baby don’t catch it.”
“Sounds right,” I smirk. “What do you need me for?”
“He was part of a run for the Stroudsburg chapter. Ink asked if you can go in his place.”
Our Road Captain might have asked, but it isn’t something he expects me to turn down. After last night, the thought of working with his chapter is the last thing I want to do. But like the good brother I am, I nod.
Raptor tells me I’ll need to see Ink to get the details and slaps my back.
I fixed the Fatboy first thing this morning. I want it out of here and not have to deal with Mace again. Watching him drive away with Cassie last night messed shit up and against my better judgment I drank more than I would normally, even after King broke the party up.
I’ve been staying in Hudson’s old room at the clubhouse. The constant buzz and people coming and going at all hours of the night helped with the nightmares.
I feel good enough to go back home now they’ve subsided. I don’t like that it went on longer than normal and I made the choice to turn off the notifications for stories about my parents because they have been in the news a fuck of a lot.
Of course the press drags up theirtragicbackstory of losing both their kids. I sat through an interview my father gave where he said they’re still looking for me, still holding out hope that nothing befell me and I’m living a life somewhere.
