Devil's Girl(2)

“Usually I’m pretty bored when the guys ain’t around,” I told her, sliding into a booth. She took the seat across from me and continued to eye the bar. Her big white purse hit the table with a thud.

“Thanks for being nice to me,” she said. “Mort said there’s work?”

“Sort of.” I shrugged. “They don’t need any waitresses right now, so we just do odd jobs. Whatever the guys need.”

“The bikers? Like Mort?”

“Yup. The club.”

She finally met my eyes. Her own glinted with excitement. “Whatever they want?”

“You’re catching on, girly. You’re on protection, right?”

“Duh.” Popping her gum, she dug into her purse. “Well, if we’re not officially on any clock then, we ought to pass the time somehow. Want to play cards?”

I perked up. “Sure!” I wondered if maybe I’d judged this one too quickly; maybe she’d stick around, and we’d be friends after all.

We must have played gin rummy for almost an hour before Nella arrived. She was the general manager of the bar and clubhouse, and an old biker bitch like me. When Dawn had been dropped off, she became one of Nella’s girls, not mine. I explained this to her as she popped her gum and shuffled the cards.

“I hear there’s a meeting tonight?” I asked Nella as she collected a stack of cash from the safe beneath the register.

“Yeah,” she said, “I talked to Mort. So get yourself prettied up. New girl, too. They’ll all be here.”

The whole club. We’d undoubtedly be needed to run food and drinks and special favors. It would be a good night for tips. I grinned at Dawn. “You’ll make a little money tonight, babe. I’m gonna run home and get changed. You hang out here and do whatever Nella tells you.”





I returned before sundown, wearing a bright pink tube top and a dark denim miniskirt. It was just on the wrong side of trashy, but hell, it made me feel sexy. I parked my beat up old pickup truck behind the building. Only a couple motorcycles were parked out front, so I hadn't missed much while I was busy putting on makeup and watching talk shows.

I sat next to Dawn on a stool as Nella tended the bar. Irish - just a young Prospect himself - has been invited to attend the meeting, so she would take over until he returned.

We watched the club members walk in, their black leather cuts immaculate and well-fitted as always. They all had the club colors: the horned devil skull in the middle of a dust cloud, death’s scythe in the background, set below the club name - Dust Bowl Devils. I pointed out the members to Dawn as they arrived, and introduced her to any that showed interest. There was Bill, the new president. His son, the serious and quiet young man ironically nicknamed Jester. Mort appeared, winking at both of us as he passed through to the back room, followed by the intimidatingly good-looking Gunner.

"He's hot," Dawn commented as he passed, his thick shoulder muscles drawing our eyes like magnets.

"Yeah. He's trouble. But he is hot." I'd been with Gunner enough times to know that he was not for beginners. Many a new girl had fled after a little alone time with him.

Then the vice president Bars arrived with a stranger in tow. The new guy was big - really big. Like, wrestler or boxer or lumberjack big. I didn't get a good look at his face beneath his sunglasses, but I was way too distracted by his sheer size, anyway.

"Who's he?" Dawn asked, awe in her voice. "I like him."

"Don't know." He wore the Dust Bowl Devils colors, but I did notice a slight difference on his cut - where our guys had a patch that said "OC" for Original Chapter, his said "PA." Pennsylvania? "I don't think he's from around here."

Old man Anchor was the last to appear. Nomad, the former club president, was away on some other business, but otherwise that was everybody.

Once they’d shut the door behind them, Dawn turned to Nella. “So how does getting paid work?”

“I’ll tip you out at the end of the night.”

“Oh. I thought the guys paid us. Or tipped us.”

“No,” Nella and I both said at the same time, then Nella continued, “They tip me and then I tip you. You’re an entertainer and I’m your manager. You get what I'm saying?"

"I got it," Dawn said. A feral grin spread across her face. "We ain't whores if we're getting paid in tips at the end of the night."

I sighed. We weren't whores because we were getting paid for "promotional purposes." We helped with odd jobs, brought in customers, and kept them there. But Dawn was close enough.

Nella didn’t think of it that way, though. She placed her palms on the bar and gave Dawn a serious look. “Honey, we don’t say that word around here.”