Page 76 of Cash

TWENTY-SIX - Cash

Smoke pouredfrom the homemade barbeque grille’s stack, enveloping the eave of the roof before filtering into the evening sky. The members of the MC stood shoulder-to-shoulder on Gooses’ deck. While they listened intently, Baker’s Ol’ Lady, Andy, stood in the center of the group telling a story.

Baker was the only member of the club that was in a relationship. His Ol’ Lady was a once-in-a-lifetime find. Although trusting her didn’t come easy, I now saw her as an asset in Baker’s life, and, in turn, mine.

His persistent introduction of her into outside functions involving the club made sure we were able to make own decisions regarding her worth, and it seemed everyone agreed.

Baker’s Ol’ Lady was solid.

I proudly paraded Kimberly toward the group, stopping a few feet shy of the deck’s edge. “Everyone, this is Kimberly. Kimberly, this is,” I pointed at each person as I named them. “Goose, Tito, Ghost, Reno, Baker, and Baker’s other half, Andy.”

Kimberly stepped onto the deck and introduced herself to everyone, shaking hands like a politician on parade.

After Kimberly exchanges niceties with each of the men, Andy pulled her aside and talked for a few minutes. Then, they stepped off the deck. As they wandered through the ornately decorated yard, I grabbed a beer and gestured toward Goose with the bottle.

“Appreciate ya, Brother.”

He gave a nod. “Appreciate you two taking time to stop by.”

Baker glanced at the women, and then at me. “Damn, Cash. That girl’s a looker.”

I sipped my beer. “It ain’t about looks, Bake. She’s a good woman. She makes me think about shit I ain’t never thought about. She might change me.”

“A leopard cannot change its spots,” he said. “You’ll always be you. She’ll either have to accept you or walk away.”

I raised my middle finger. “Fuck you.”

Reno stumbled across the deck, and came to a stop at my side, almost toppling over in the process. He was obviously drunk. I wondered how he made it to the barbeque without wrecking his bike.

“Damn, Brother. You drunk?” I asked.

His eyes met mine, but he didn’t respond. After staring blankly at me for a moment, he shifted his gaze to the yard.

“Invested in some scam,” Ghost whispered. “Took him for fifty grand. He’s been over here drinking since three o’ clock, drowning his sorrows.”

“He needs to stop with that get rich quick shit,” I said. “Real estate is where it’s at.”

Ghost cocked his head to the side and pressed his index finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

I nodded. “Gotcha.”

“She’s as fine as frog’s hair,” Reno murmured, slurring half the words. “She a Filipino?”

I shot him a look. “A what?”

“A Filipino.” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “She looks like it.”

“No, she ain’t a Filipino. She’s a fuckin’ San Diegan, or whatever the fuck people from here call themselves.”

He craned his neck to take another look. “Looks like a Filipino.”

“Don’t matter how many times you say it, she ain’t Filipino.”

“Is she that chick that you were telling the story about?” he asked, his voice ten octaves louder than it needed to be. “Swallowed your schlong like it was a buttered breadstick?”

I glanced over my shoulder, making sure she wasn’t within earshot. “No. That was someone else. And, if you’re going to be a rude prick, I’ll just ride right back up the block and eat leftover lasagna.”

“She lives down the street, don’t she?” he asked.