Train
Iwalked throughthe great room of theclub just as one of my president’s kids, Flash, chucked a soda bottle at thewall, letting out a “Fuck!” as the glass shattered. I held up my guitar case toshield myself from the flying shards.
“You got aproblem with that wall in particular or were you aiming for me?”
Flash faced me,dragging his hands through his hair. “Sorry, man.”
“It’s okay, kid.I’ve had plenty of bottles hurled in my direction, but I was always either onstage or opposite a pissed off woman, and either way, I’d earned it.”
Flash lookedlike his old man, but he also had a touch of his mother’s softness about him.He was a good-lookin’ kid and always teased Hatch that with a face like his, hecould skip paying some fancy high college tuition and send Flash to Californiato model or act. But the truth was, Flash was plenty smart, and his head wasalready in the clouds. He’d been obsessed with aviation since he was a toddler,and all he ever wanted to do was fly. Planes, helicopters, anything that tookhim into the air.
“Club, school,or girls?” I asked.
“It’s nothin’,”he grumbled. “Forget about it. Hey, you workin’ out?”
“Was about to,yeah. Wanna work off whatever the fuck’s eatin’ at ya?”
“Yeah. Thinkthat’d be a good idea. I’ll clean this shit up and meet you out there.”
I gave him achin lift and made my way out to the gym. Hatch had made a number of changessince Crow had passed him the President’s patch. The club owned several acresof a commercial block in Beaverton that we used for our club headquarters andautobody shop. Hatch had turned some unused outbuildings into a gym, bunkhouse,and storage. Anything we or our families needed, was at our disposal, and if wewanted to add shit, we just had to speak up and it would be addressed atchurch.
Hatch had beenmy mentor since I’d patched in at eighteen. Of course, that had always seemedinadequate in my description of him, because he was more like a father to me. Ahell of a lot more than my actual father had ever been.
I walked intothe gym, flipping on the lights as I moved through the room, then setting upthe weight bench just as Flash walked in.
“All good?” Iasked.
He sighed. “Ihave no idea.”
“Tate?”
Tate Burke hadbeen Flash’s best friend since they’d sat next to each other on thekindergarten school bus. They lived a block or two away from each other and younever saw one without the other.
Flash nodded.“Tate’s mad at me. She’s always mad at me right now.”
Poor bastard.
“Fuck, sorry,kid.”
The Wallace menfelt their shit deep. Hatch’s love for Maisie was evidence of that, so it wasno surprise his boys were the same. His youngest son, Jamie, wore his heart onhis sleeve, but Flash was a little less emotional, so the fact he was sharin’with me showed he trusted me, and I’d never take that for granted.
“Yeah. I’llfigure it out,” he said with a confidence I didn’t really believe he felt.
“You gonna runor lift?” I asked.
“I ran thismornin’,” he said. “Figured you could help me with the weights. I wanna makevarsity, so I need to build up some muscle.”
I grinned. “Yougot it.”
My love oflifting goes back almost as far as my love of playing music or motorcycles.Growing up, I’d always been one of the biggest kids in my class, so wasimmediately pegged for the wrestling team in the seventh grade. By the middleof high school, many of the competitors I’d dominated over the years werecatching up to me size-wise. I figured I’d better start gaining muscle beforethey started wiping the floor with me, and so I started lifting almost everyday.
After a while,body building became more important to me than wrestling, so I quit the teamand began competing in junior events. At the same time, I was busy playing inlocal bands. Usually as a guitarist, but sometimes filling in for an absentdrummer or bass player. A couple of times I’d even found myself doubling as amusician and a bouncer at the same night club. Mind you, I was seventeen oreighteen years old at the time. I wasn’t even old enough to be in the place,and there I was tossing drunks and cracking skulls in between sets. The regularbouncers were all bikers who rode with the Dogs of Fire MC. They took a shineto me and my band, and always made sure no one fucked with us or our gear.
After severalyears of competing in any body building contest I could enter, I was sick todeath of pushing my body to the brink for an $800 check, a plastic trophy, andbragging rights. I’d had enough and decided to focus all my attention on musicinstead. The constant lifting had made my joints swell to the point ofjeopardizing my ability to even pick up a guitar and it just wasn’t worth therisk of losing the ability to play. I eased up on the workouts and took thattime to focus my energy on writing and recording the best music I could.
I put everypenny I’d saved from competing into a down payment and bought a smallfixer-upper in downtown Vancouver, Washington. I built a modest but serviceablehome recording studio and immersed myself into the world of audio production. Iconverted the basement into a combination drum room and gym dubbed “thedungeon,” as only pain and suffering occurred there.
I continued tostay in shape, but now enjoyed more of the things I loved including good wine,cheap beer, and a shit ton of red meat. I was also fortunate to have been ableto pivot into a full-time career in music, writing and recording original musicfor film and television. Early on, I’d been especially fortunate in the fieldof commercials, writing and producing for several large ad campaigns, includinga national spot for chocolate Yum Yums. Yes, I’m the guy you can curse everytime the chocolate Yum Yums’ jingle gets stuck in your head.
