Page 35 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Summer 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

Disappointed I wasn’t there to witness it, Ripp was found not guilty. I was invited to a celebration dinner at his parent’s home, and I eagerly accepted. Upon arriving, I found his mother, father, two sisters, girlfriend, Shane Dekkar, Shane’s wife, Kace, and a friend from the gym, Austin, were all in attendance to celebrate.

I had heard the phrase everything is big in Texas many times. The table, the meal, and the crowd held true to the statement. The table had ten people seated at it and had room for four more. The home-cooked meal of chicken, countless side dishes, bread and iced tea was plentiful and reminded me of meals at home before my mother died.

Mr. Ripton turned toward me and lowered the fork that dangled from the tips of his fingers. “It’s a shame your friends couldn’t make it, Alec.”

My friends from Wichita had all come to Austin to support Ripp throughout the three-day trail, and watched intently as the procedure unfolded. Ripp’s parents were appreciative of the support, and expressed it throughout the trial.

“They just came down to support Mike, Sir. As soon as the trial was over, they had to get back to Kansas. As early as it ended, they were able to get back tonight,” I said, making certain to use the name Mike instead of Ripp.

I had been warned by Shane about Ripp’s parents, and their rules regarding the use of nicknames or cussing at the dinner table.

“I knew it was all over as soon as Vee said Boom! Too late, you made the wrong decision and blew on her finger. That sent chills down my spine. I like you, Vee,” Kace said.

Ripp’s girlfriend and attorney throughout the trial, Vee, chuckled. “Pretty dramatic, I know. And I like you too, Kace.”

The story I had heard regarding the end of the trial, was that Vee had provided an exceptional closing argument. In her close, she asked the jurors what they would have done if the man in question, the deceased, would have pulled a gun on them in a drunken stupor. As the jurors sat and shrugged their shoulders, trying to decide how they’d react, she shouted, “Boom!Too late. You made the wrong decision. You should have reacted differently.” Leaving them all sitting with open mouths, realizing during such a situation, the person on the receiving end of the gun has only seconds to react.

In the end, she made her point and won the case.

“Ma’am, the chicken is fantastic,” I said as I shifted my eyes toward Ripp’s mother.

Ripp’s younger sister, Katie, interrupted. “I cooked it, thank you. Have some more.”

She made eye contact as she lifted the platter of chicken and held it in the air. She was beautiful, blonde, and I would have guessed her age at mid-twenties.

I raised my hand and waved it toward the platter. “I want to make sure everyone gets enough. No, thank you.”

“No, really. There’s plenty, have some more,” she insisted.

I grinned and nodded my head. “Alright, just one more.”

Ripp’s father looked up from a chicken bone he was gnawing on. “Called Bug and told her the news. Told her to get to cookin’ ‘cause we was comin’ home. Glad that mess is over.”

“No nicknames at the table,” Ripp interrupted.

His father reached for his fork, pointed it at Ripp, and waved it as he made his point. “It ain’t a nickname, and you know it. We been callin’ her Bug since she was a baby. Katie Bug. It’s her god damned name, Mike.”

“No cussing at the dinner table,” Mrs. Ripton said without so much as looking up from her meal.

It was apparent she was used to the shenanigans of her son and husband.

“It ain’t her name, Pop. Her name’s Katie. It’s funny. If I say a nickname, you and Mom get all over me. But you guys say Bug all the time like it’s her name; and it ain’t her god damned name,” Ripp complained.

“No cussing at the dinner table, Michael,” his mother said.

Sitting at their dinner table was like being a part of a television sitcom. My eyes, for the entire meal, darted back and forth across the table, listening to the playful banter between Ripp and his father, often wondering just how much of it was intentional on Ripp’s part. His father wasn’t much better, constantly teasing and taunting Ripp.

“Her name’s Bug, and that’s the end of it. I ain’t got to be nice to you, Mike, the trial’s over,” his father said as he pulled the fork from his mouth and pointed it at Ripp.

Ripp finished his piece of chicken, licked his fingers, and glanced around the table.

“After we eat, Dekk, Shorty, Vee, A-Train, The Kid and I are going to go out for a drink,” he said.

His mother, without looking up from her plate, condemned Ripp for his use of nicknames. “No nicknames at the table, Michael.”