Page 28 of Nuts

“Hands behind your head,” he said.

“I know the fucking drill.”

The agent at my rear handcuffed me and pulled me to my feet.

I tilted my head toward my bike. “If there’s one scratch on that motherfucker when we’re done, I guarantee you’ll wish there wasn’t.”

“You’re not in a position to be making threats.”

“It wasn’t a threat,” I said flatly. “It’s one of the realities of life.

“Load him up,” he said.

As cars slowly drove past, people gawked at the sight. Some took pictures with their phones. One man sat on the adjacent street corner with his phone pointed directly at us, undoubtedly videoing the fiasco.

“Kid in the jacket’s filming this. Better not make a mistake,” I said, my tone thick with sarcasm. “I know how you pricks tend to fuck things up. Ruby Ridge. Waco, Texas--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mr. Goggles snapped.

Two of the agents lifted me to my feet, loaded me in the SUV on my left, and shut the door.

* * *

“What you two fuckers don’t understand is that even though I’m nuts, I’m not your stereotypical dip shit biker.”

They looked at each other, and then the one with the curly hair sat down. “You’re losing me, Percy.”

“Call me Percy again, and I’ll plaster a picture of your wife sucking my cock on that blank billboard at exit 53.” I reached for my cigarettes and quickly remembered they’d taken them from me. “Might come as a shock to you two brain surgeons, but this isn’t my first time being apprehended. I know how this shit works. I’m either under arrest, or I’m not. If I’m not, I want you to tell me.”

He tried to hide the fact that I was getting under his skin, but he didn’t succeed. He covered his ring finger with his right hand and then met my gaze. “We’re investigating the disappearance of an ATF agent. I don’t have to tell you shit.”

The ATF agent they were looking for hadn’t disappeared. I knew exactly where he was, but I wasn’t about to tell them. They’d find him one day, but only when I was ready to let them. I pushed my chair away from the table and crossed my arms. After giving him a few seconds of my best crazy-eyed stare, I leaned forward, rested my forearms on the edge of the table, and cleared my throat.

“Am I free to go?”

Without breaking my gaze or showing an ounce of emotion, he responded. “No, you’re sure as fuck not.”

“Am I under arrest?”

He looked at his partner, and then at me. “Did either of us say you were under arrest?”

“Answering a question with a question is a punk move, cop.”

“I’m not going to tell you again, I’m not a cop,” he snarled. “I’m a Special Agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives.”

“So, I’m not under arrest.” I alternated glances between them, and then locked eyes with my kinky-haired friend. “In accordance with the Fifth Amendment of the US Constitution, I refuse to answer any of your questions without an attorney present, cop.”

He pushed himself away from the table. “So, it’s going to be like that?”

“Sure as fuck is,” I said dryly. “Gimme my smokes. I got shit to do.”

“Got meth to manufacture?” The second cop asked, his voice thick with conjecture. “Gas stations to rob?”

“No. I need to poke my dick down his wife’s throat.” I tilted my head toward the curly-haired cop and grinned. “Then I need to snap a few pics. We’ll take a vote at the clubhouse to see which one the fellas think will be the best for the billboard.”

Curly pivoted on the balls of his feet, spun toward me, and then shot me a glare. “I’m not married.”

“Yes, you are.” I pushed myself away from the table, stood, and nodded toward the tan line on his ring finger. “You’ve got a wife, and you’re worried I’ll find her.”