First stop: the beer garden. He’d grab a cold one to cool down his annoyance with the all-women’s MC, then go listen to whatever local band was on stage.
When he found a break in the temporary fencing, he spotted one of their prospects sitting at a small folding table.
“Whataya doin’?”
Tick shrugged and pointed at the metal cash box on the table. “Collectin’ the entry fee.”
“Are you fuckin’ serious? They’re chargin’ to get in?”
“Yeah, it’s a fundraiser.”
“No fuckin’ shit.”
When he went to walk past, Tick stopped him with, “Hey, you gotta pay, Prez. Was told everyone’s gotta pay.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” he growled. “I look likeeveryone?”
Tick shrugged again.
“For fuck’s sake. How much?”
“Five.”
He jerked his chain wallet from his back pocket and opened it.
Empty.
How the fuck was he going to buy a beer without any scratch?
He thought back to last night. The little scratch he hadhe’d thrown on stage whenever one of the girls shook their massive jugs in his face.
Fuck.
“How much scratch you got?”
Tick opened the lid to the box and began to count.
“Not in there! In your fuckin’ wallet, dumbass. Jesus fuck.”
Tick pulled out his wallet and opened it. He glanced up. “Like, sixty.”
“That it?”
“All I got.”
“Throw a five in the box and gimme the rest.” He held out his hand, palm up.
“What?”
“Need your ears cleaned out? You fuckin’ heard me.”
“But—”
Zeke’s eyebrows rose. “Gonna ignore your president’s order?”
Tick’s chest puffed out, then quickly deflated. He pulled a stack of what looked like small bills from his wallet and slapped it into Zeke’s palm.
Zeke peeled off a five and handed it back. “There you go. Now, never stop your fuckin’ prez from doin’ anythin’ again. Not if you want your full set of patches. You fuckin’ got me?”
