The clubhouse has been added on to many times over the years. The original building was a brick number, typical three bedroom, two bath.
Then they built an addition with a long row of single bedrooms and a bathroom every so often. There’s a bunkhouse for any girls who serve as a house mouse, but it’s been empty for a while. The club bunnies don’t live here. They come to party.
The Wild Hair reserved a room for me should I want to move in, but I’m keeping my house next to Diesel’s for the time being.
I head inside. The front living room has a pool table in it, plus a dartboard and a beer fridge. I cut through the kitchen, where Carol stands by the window, her hands on her swollen belly. She’s the wife of Stoney, our VP. “They’re in the back,” she says.
“Kid ready to make an appearance?” I ask.
“If only. There’s a month to go.” She arranges a tray of muffins. “Here, take this with you.”
“Sure.” I heft the tray, used to carrying platters around the Leaky Skull.
I walk down the line of doors, some covered with posters and signs. Betz meets me halfway. “Thanks for helping Carol. With the way she acts, you’d think she’s going to splat that kid on the linoleum any minute.”
I laugh. “Sure thing.”
When I make it to the meeting room, Iron Jack and Stoney are already there, talking by the back door. They look up with a nod when they see me.
I slide the tray next to the pitcher of orange juice and bottle of tequila. These boys start their drinking early.
It’s not long before the others show, cussing and spitting and pouring tequila with a splash of OJ. I take a shot myself and sit in the corner, like a prospect should.
Iron Jack slams a fist on the table, and everyone sits down. “I want to know how the demo went this week.”
Hoss speaks first. “We brought down the old gas station and cleared about half the debris. Still have to cut off the rebar. They want the slab.”
Iron Jack nods. “That’s on schedule. What do we have coming up this week?”
Two-Shit shoves a paper toward him. “Robert from that building outfit says they’re short on workers at the development in North Beach. They could use a couple of sheet rockers.”
“Take him up on it,” Iron Jack shoves the paper back to Two-Shit. “Two-Shit, you and Chain can work with the builder.”
“I’m too goddamn old to sheetrock,” Chain says. “Make Too Fast Freddy do it.”
Iron Jack sniffs. “I’m putting Hoss and Freddy on a security gig. You up for a couple of all nighters? I can put you there instead.”
“Fuck that,” Chain says. “I’ll sheetrock.”
“All right.” He turns to Hoss. “I’ll get you two the details later. It’s a big one. Politician’s girl.”
Hoss grins. “We get the girl?”
“Don’t fuck with me on that,” Iron Jack says. “She’s got a boyfriend the father doesn’t like. We keep him away and keep it quiet.”
“Speaking of girls,” Chain says, “I’m staking my claim on the cherry.”
I sit up at that. Here we go.
Iron Jack looks around. “Who all wants a claim?”
There’s a general murmur from all the men without ol’ ladies.
Iron Jack runs his hand across his beard. “What do you say, Prospect? She was your find.”
“Was not,” Chain says. “I bought her a shot the first time she stepped into the bar.”
“And it’s the prospect’s bar,” Iron Jack says. “Speak up.”
