Possum came back in their direction, carrying empty platters, and bugged his eyes out at Dodge as he passed.
“Still got all your fingers?” Dodge asked the prospect.
Possum grunted and disappeared behind the swinging door.
“All right. You in or out?”
“In. As long as you provide,” she lifted one finger, “food.” A second one. “Drinks.” A third. “Four hundred in cash.” And finally her pinky. “We can set out our tip jar.”
“Woman, were you born in the mafia or somethin’? You don’t fuck around.”
She shot him a smile. The first one he’d seen on her tonight. The first real one he’d seen on her at all, even though it didn’t even come close to reaching her eyes. “Close enough. Need one more thing…”
Damn. “What?”
“A place for us to park our bus, unless you don’t think the church will mind us camping out in their lot.”
“Oh, they’ll fuckin’ mind. Keep it there tonight, don’t make a fuckin’ mess, and I’ll find a spot for it tomorrow night and Friday night, too. Deal?”
She gave him a single nod. “Deal.”
“Looks like we have ourselves a deal. Now, go finish eatin’. You want anythin’ else, Possum will get it for you.”
He turned to head out from behind the bar and back upstairs. And away from temptation. The farther, the better.
“Hey.”
Her smoky voice stopped him with his palm planted on the door. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Thanks.”
He wondered if that had been painful for her to say. With a grin he hid from her, he shoved the door open and let it swing shut behind him.
“Get them whatever else they want. Soon as they’re done, close up and head back to the farm. No point in stayin’ open if no one’s out there.”
“You got it, brother.”
That reminded him. Both Possum and Tater had approached him and asked if he knew when they would finally get their full set of patches.
It was time and both had earned them. He’d have to say something to Trip next time he saw the prez.
Dodge worked his way back down the dark steps, one hand full with the Jack bottle he’d kicked, the other shoved down his boxers, holding his junk out of habit. At the bottom of the steps, he flipped the switch and the overhead fluorescent lights took a second to flicker on. He was relieved to see the fryers off, the tiny counter cleared and no mess left behind.
As always, Possum did what needed to be done. He definitely deserved his patches. His year of being a recruit had to be up by now.
Dodge was lucky. After he got sprung from Lycoming County Prison, he only had to prospect for six months since he had an “in” with the Fury by Rook sponsoring him. Those six months still sucked but, in the end, was worth it.
At the time, Trip had been desperate for members to fill the ranks of the resurrected MC. While the prez still wanted it to keep growing, he was no longer in such a rush to patch over prospects. He wanted to make sure they fit, were loyal and were hard-working.
He did not want a repeat of what the Originals went through.
But the prospects weren’t Dodge’s problem right now, grabbing another bottle of Jack was. He might even grab his hidden bottle of Sinatra Select. He also needed to double-check to make sure both the front and rear doors to Crazy Pete’s were locked.
Both Possum and Tater were pretty good about locking up before they left, but still… It was hard for Dodge to sleep without checking. A habit he’d picked up inside… Making sure he was secure before closing his eyes.
During his last bid, Rook had his back and he had Rook’s. But now he lived alone and during the middle of the night and early morning hours he was by himself. He kept a baseball bat behind the bar and always kept a .40 with one in the chamber up in his apartment. When he wore jeans, he usually kept a knife strapped to his calf.
He’d dodged dying in prison several times over the years. It didn’t take much to piss off a fellow inmate. In fact, sometimes it didn’t take shit to piss them off.
Prison fucking sucked ass and not in a good way. Your head was on a constant swivel. You had to have eyes in the back of your head and you needed to find someone inside to help watch your back.
He was lucky to have shared a cell with Rook. That motherfucker had been the ultimate asshole inside and the man made it well known he wouldn’t hesitate to shank anyone’s ass. Or strangle them with a bed sheet. Or drown them in a mop bucket.
Or even “accidentally” electrocute them in the laundry.
He grinned and gave his balls a squeeze as he used his shoulder to shove open the door and head out into the dark bar area. The only light came from the shelves on the wall behind the bar. He headed back there, threw the empty into the recycle bin, and swiped an already opened Jack bottle from the shelf under the bar.