Maisie
Two nights later, we pulled up to the London Chapter clubhouse and Hatch wrapped an arm around my waist as we headed inside. It was just him and me tonight, with a promise to our boys that they could join us for the family night Saturday week. Hatch and I needed to get the lay of the land, so to speak, and he wanted to take the temperature of the chapter to see how everyone was doing since the global war with the Spiders.
“Maisie love!” Chippie, the chapter’s president, bellowed, rushing to us and picking me up in a bear hug.
I hugged him back. “Hi, Chippie, how are you?”
“Got me a dodgy ticker, but otherwise good,” he said, setting me back on my feet.
“Why are you hauling me around, then,” I admonished.
He laughed. “Maybe because you’re the prettiest bird I’ve seen in years.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Hatch said, and pulled me slightly behind him. “Good to see you, Chippie.”
Chippie shook his hand, smiling wide. “Good to see you too, mate. Now, let’s get you two a couple of pints.”
Most biker clubhouses merely mimicked bars, but the London Chapter met in a proper English pub. At least it used to be back in the day. Chippie explained to us that Patrick, whom everyone called Patty was the Pub’s previous owner and namesake, and he’d sold the place to the Dogs when he retired. The Dogs closed the place to the public and made it their official in-town meeting place. The Pub was in a pretty dodgy part of the city, nowhere near the places the college kids liked to drink, so apparently hardly anyone even seemed to notice.
“A round of pints if you please, Patty,” Chippie shouted over the din of bikers and clinking glasses, and we made our way to the bar.
“Patty’s still here?” I asked, surprised. “I thought you said he retired.”
“That’s what his wife thought, too,” Chippie said with a smile. “Our Patty bored of retirement within two weeks and came back here to pour pints in his spare time.”
“How often is that?” Hatch asked.
“Every bleedin’ day,” Patty exclaimed as he appeared with full glasses, placing them down on the bar. “I never made two bob in this shite location,” he said, in a thick Irish brogue. “The club were me best customers anyway.”
“We were youronlycustomers,” Chippie corrected him.
“Feck ahf. Either way, the Daahgs are good mates,” Patty said.
“You’re a good man, Patty,” Chippie said, raising his glass to his old friend. Patty responded by pouring, raising, and downing a shot of whiskey himself.
“Did I mention they’re a generous lot as well?” Patty asked, motioning to a jar labeled “Heather’s Trip.”
“Patty’s granddaughter, Heather, is graduating from University in a few months,” Chippie said, pulling a large roll of cash from his pocket, and placing two twenty-pound notes into the jar.
“She’s dreamed of going to the States since she was a wee thing,” Patty said.
“Ooh, goody,” I said excitedly as I patted Hatch’s cut. He smiled, pulled out his wallet and handed me a fifty, which I held and sniffed before placing it into the jar.
“I miss proper money,” I said.
“She says ours looks fake,” Hatch said to Chippie with a chuckle.
“American money is small boring, and...green. Plus, I still don’t know who half of the geezers are on your bills,” I replied before taking my first sip of my beer. “Oh, sweet Lord, baby Jesus,” I said as the flavor, smell, and feel of the lager nearly overloaded my senses. “I’ve missed a proper pint even more than proper money.”
