5 - Shoes

Go help Nessie clean up the kitchen, prospect. And by help, I mean you do exactly what she says, and she doesn’t lift a finger. – Ink

The Fourth of July comes with plenty of traditions. Fireworks. Cook outs. Family. Friends. Potato salad.

Leo knew that he was oversimplifying things when he said that he was looking forward to potato salad. Priscilla had told him that she would be helping her Momma Becks to make her famous sweet relish potato salad. He had never had it before dinner at their house, but suddenly it was the only way that he wanted potato salad.

He walked out of the men’s bathroom in the first-floor hallway and headed for the supply closet to put away the cleaning supplies. Since the day that he had cleaned the bathroom for nearly five hours, he had been cleaning it every morning.

Every morning when he walked into the bathroom, he gave an involuntary shudder and gagged when he thought about how nasty it had been. He hated that he had ended up in that position and knew that Mitzi held her pussy over his head. If he was caught fucking around with her, his punishment would be much worse than a disgusting bathroom.

But he was also grateful that he had been ordered to clean the bathroom with two stalls and a urinal. He had done it without complaint and earned the respect of a few brothers. Plus, Mitzi was right about the brothers being impressed with his initiative.

The good thing about being under her thumb, other than getting his rocks off, was that she was a talker. He learned that she was right about keeping the bathroom clean. And other chores around the clubhouse that no one else wanted to do.

With the tips that she gave him, even Pipes was scowling at him a little less. Not by much. But there was an improvement.

“Prospect!” LJ yelled down the hall as Leo made a mental note that he needed to get more glass cleaner and another package of urinal cookies.

Closing the door, he looked down the hall at the older man, “Yes, sir?”

“Good job with the bathroom,” he grinned at Leo. “You’re making a good impression with this change in attitude.”

Pride filled him as he smiled back at the man, “Thank you, sir.”

“Come on, this is the only day that the officers and old dogs feed us,” LJ moved so that Scrapper missed him when he threw a good-natured punch. “You have to take advantage of it when you can.”

Brute motioned to Leo to be quiet as he crept up behind LJ and smacked him across the back of his head. “You’re on grill duty.”

“Son of a bitch,” LJ muttered, and Leo couldn’t help but laugh.

Leo rolled out with the other riders from the mother house and headed to the Shack where most big gatherings for the three clubhouses happened. The Shack was the biggest clubhouse in both size and numbers.

As a prospect, he had to learn the club history, and he knew why there were three clubhouses in one county. The Devil’s Saints was founded by two Army buddies after they returned home from Vietnam. Their buddy, Murphy, did not make it back like they did. But it was their plan to come back and open a bike shop. The club came along on its own afterward.

The club motto came from a phrase that Murphy always said. “May the Saints protect us while we do the Devil’s work.” With two Army veterans finding their new home in the tri-city area of Ridgeview, Monroe and East Vale in Massachusetts, a California surfer and Montana cowboy found kindred spirits in their club brothers.

The mother house started off as a five-bedroom house that had been added to over the years. It was still the smallest of the clubs. Two of the bedrooms were split to create smaller rooms. Additional rooms and offices were added to the building. There were now twelve rooms for the brothers to stay in, not including the bunks that were in the basement.

Leo considered himself lucky in that he had a small room. Most prospects were relegated to the bunks. Now he wondered how much influence Mitzi had over that. Obviously, she could not fuck around with the prospect of a dozen others sleeping nearby.

In the late seventies, they had decided that they needed more space and bought an old used vehicle dealership. It couldn’t be classified as a used car dealership because they also sold tractors. And the same could be said for it being a tractor dealership.

Killer remained at the Mother house while Pops moved to the new place. Because it was his, it became Pops Place – no apostrophe, thank you very much. There were many stories about why that circulated around the club.

Pops did not like the apostrophe.

It did not show well on the patches.

It was accidentally left off on the paperwork.

But the one that his four kids all agreed with was that Pops himself sucked at grammar and simply did not want it.

Then, in the late eighties, a plan was made to route a major highway bypassing the three cities. Several investors came out and one bought up land and began building a large and opulent hotel just outside of town. But it was all done before the final plans were in place.

When the state decided not to pursue the new route, investors backed out and the owner needed to get rid of the property. He was only days away from going up for auction due to a tax lien when the Saints offered to pay the taxes and take the property off his hands. He could save face and not see his hard work being auctioned to what could be considered the lowest bidder.

Sinner was the one to oversee the purchase and was voted the first president of what is now known as Sinner’s Shack. With apostrophe.

Before they had moved anything in, Sinner and his young wife, Lilly, had been at the Shack when her water broke. Their daughter was born in one of the ballrooms before the ambulance arrived. It was the same daughter that got married last month in the garden of the Shack.

That was the day that he had gotten Priscilla around the back of the building for a make-out session. Pulling into the large compound, he did not think that he would be able to do that today.

A recently patched brother, he wasn’t sure if it was Athos or Aramis, directed them to park in the multistory garage. The roar of the pipes echoed as they slowly climbed to the second level and found a place to park. They took the elevator down to allow the next group to come up without pedestrians.

“How often do they use the parking garage?” Leo asked as the door closed, and the box began to descend.

“Mainly when we need to hide numbers or protect bikes,” Brute explained. “The fireworks will rain down on the parking lot.”

The door opened, and they headed out into the sunlight in time to see Priscilla racing across the parking lot with Camille and the other two musketeers. The darker-skinned musketeer laughed as he held two pairs of flip-flops above his head.

Watching, they all laughed as the two girls huddled together for a moment and then changed their tactics. Camille lifted her shirt and flashed her breasts. He shrugged in a weird way with his arms above his head and said something. Priscilla untied her off the shoulder peasant top.

“Porthos!” Priscilla called out as she pulled down the floral print crop top.

The other man’s attention turned to her and Camille grabbed the shoes out of his slightly lowered hands.

He took off after the two girls and the other musketeer stood there laughing.

“That’s not fair! I don’t see yours as often!” Porthos yelled.

“That’s your girl?” Zero laughed.

“Yeah,” Leo said as he shook his head.

“Maybe I shouldn’t give Camille the bottle of mezcal I brought,” Brute called out.

Camille stopped running and turned towards the group. “You brought me some mezcal?” She handed a pair of flip-flops to Leo and hugged Brute.

Laughing, the president wrapped an arm around the teen and lifted her off her feet. “Only if your dad says that you can have it.”

Leo left them discussing the mezcal as he headed over towards where Priscilla now sat on the ground laughing as she tied her shirt back together. The dark-skinned musketeer lay on the grass next to her. The other two dropped next to their friends as Leo approached.

“I found a pair of shoes,” he held them out, “I think they might be yours.”

The musketeer who had taken them grinned up at Leo, “They clash with my bag.”