I left Emery on my bike, so I could walk down the lot to greet Shirley. Weekend warriors waited on their waxers and Hamsters showed off their choppers, all ready to ride with the Heelz. They were all Rider Clubs, no other MCs, so my cut turned a few heads as I got off my bike. You’d have to be stupid to mess with me or show me any disrespect while I displayed my originals. The Asphalt Gods, a true 1%er MC, outlaws with our three-piece patch and the reputation to back it up, frightened most law abiding citizens. Mine also bore other patches other than my handle, Scar and Nomad. 13 meant I belonged to the mother chapter and 17 stood for Asphalt Gods. OAGO meant Only Asphalt Gods Only. We followed no rules, even the load made up by the barstool bull shitters. We only acknowledged the bylaws of the Gods and our General, the president of our mother club in Arizona. We were affiliated with no one, but our own who were spread out all over 20 states and Canada. Shirley’s Heelz sported a three-piece patch too, and they’d fuck you up just as quick, but weren’t considered outlaws by many because they were women.
When Shirley dismounted her purple, fully dressed Harley, men and women crowded her like flies to manure. Taking off her tiny brain bucket and shaking out her flowing mane of auburn hair, she looked as good as ever. Her bare arms sported sun faded tattoos, a colorful jungle scene on one arm and a lotus flower with other exotic shit on the other. Pink leather pants, in honor of the ride today, caught my eye, along with matching boots with silver accents and shiny spurs. Next, I noticed her new bike decorations and smiled. Shirley acted like a girl and was damn proud of it. A cute tiger cub stuffed animal hugged her bike along with mementos of places she’d been like the beads from Marti Gras hanging out of her saddlebags. The queen in these parts, she smiled like an alligator while greeting her fans and was just as dangerous. If you were to let the pink pants fool you, you’d be dead, and probably by my hand. Amun had learned the hard way; The Banshee had friends in the lowest of places.
She hadn’t spotted me yet, the crowd focused on her. Her belt buckle glinted in the sun, spelling MILF in big letters, reminding me of her other qualities. Leaning back on her bike, she gave them a show while men took pictures of her and with her, or more honestly, with her larger than life titties. She sure gave Dolly Parton a run for her money. A man cuddled in too close, and she shoved him away hard causing him to stumble backwards and land on his ass.
I laughed, hanging my head for a moment. That was Shirley all right.
“I’d know that laugh anywhere.” Coming at me from outta nowhere, she punched my arm, “Scar!” People parted, leaving us alone with only the change in her demeanor, a quick wave of her hand.
I leaned down, giving her a kiss on the cheek, noticing she smelled like the road and weed. She squeezed my ass, a promise she expected more later. Shirley was twenty years my senior, but that didn’t mean shit. Without a thought, she’d taken my virginity when she was thirty-six, and I’d just turned seventeen. I was twenty-seven now, meaning she’d be going on fifty soon, but she was still as fine as wine, getting better with age.
“I take it the deed is done?”
I couldn’t tell her about Kym yet. “Yes, and I’m heading to California in the morning.”
She scrunched up her face, confused. “You’ll have the whole amount?”
I felt guilty for talking about my business with another MC. She’d want to know all about it later. “It’s a long story, but yes, I’ll have it all, soon as we settle.”
We continued walking toward my bike and Emery, but Shirley became unusually quiet once she saw another woman, not speaking until we entered Emery’s earshot. “Thought I sensed the presence of that piece of shit scooter of yours. A fucking Indian, still don’t know why the General allows it.”
I only chuckled. It was true, my bike wasn’t the favored brand but it was my favorite, at first, my old Indian was my only way to rebel against the General. Now, my brand spanking new one made me look like a RUB to some, but I hadn’t been able to resist buying one that might outrun my brother’s hogs. Midnight blue, a Classic Chieftain, it was a beautiful ride. The chrome Indian Chief Emblem on the front, acted as a symbol of pride, sort of honoring the native blood that ran through my veins from the family who were taken from me.
“This here’s Anne Marie.” I smiled at Emery with a wink, knowing she’d catch on. “Anne, The Banshee.”
“Nice to meet you?” Emery cracked a crazy fake smile, reaching out her hand.
Shirley ignored the pleasantries and got down to being nasty right away. “Anne Marie. Just Anne Marie? No leathers? She your property, Scar?”