Chapter 1
FINGER
I’m having a drink at the local club with Books and Bowie. We are just shooting the breeze at a table near the farthest wall from the door. We need a relaxing evening because it’s been a long week.
A woman around 5’4” is looking our way, and I side-eye Bowie and see he is frowning. The woman walks toward us, but it’s difficult to see which one of us she’s looking at. When she reaches us, I have to tell you it’s more than obvious that she’s looking past us, but it’s the wall behind us!
“Get away from him,” she snarls, and the three of us snap to our feet and look behind us, but it’s still the fuckin’ wall, nothing or nobody else.
“Lady, what’s going on?” Books asks with a huge scowl on his face.
“That woman knew your mother, and she’s a nasty piece of work, that’s what she is. I said get away from him.” The woman has to be batshit fucking crazy.
We, I have to inform you, are looking at each other, then at the woman, and to the wall. Not one of us knows what the fuck to say to this conversation she’s having withnothing or nobody—well, that we can see at least.
“What’s your name?” I ask the crazy woman, but you know she’s fascinatingly different to any other woman I’ve ever met.
“Priscilla because my mother was crazy about Elvis... I’m sure you get the connection,” rolling her eyes before continuing. “You can call me Cilla.” Suddenly she points to the right of me and states, “Mother, you are dead, and if I want people to call me Cilla, then that’s what I’m going to do. What are you gonna do about it, resurrect?” With that, Cilla laughs before looking back at me.
Books mumbles, “Fuck me!”
“Don’t blaspheme, it’s not nice,” Cilla states firmly while placing her hands on her hips. She appears totally unafraid that she’s in front of three large bikers who could probably snap her neck at a moment's notice.
“Sorry, Cilla,” Books responds like a child who has been reprimanded by his mother.
“Now, begone with you and don’t return, or I’ll have the higher-ups come and get you. Or better yet, the ones with thenice tails and horns.” Cilla cackles under her breath right before giving us all a bright smile, then pats Books’ forearm right before stating, “Okay, she’s gone now, everything is fine.” We don’t have time to say more as she dashes away from us, out the front door of the club, leaving us with our mouths hanging open.
“What the fuck just happened?” Bowie asks bemused, but we don’t have the answer either, so we slowly retake our seats.
Not one of us comments for quite a while because I reckon we are in shock. We’ve seen some shit in our time during our service, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone supposedly talk to dead people.
Looking at Books, I can’t help but chuckle, “Wonder who your mother's friend was? I wonder what she wanted to do to you because it looked like Cilla was ready to throw down for you, Books.”
Bowie takes out a small knife and plays the game of rolling it through his fingers. Something we have all seen him do, but usually it’s because he’s ready to do something drastic. “If she can see the fuckin’ dead, we’re in trouble brothers, because you know we have some blood on our hands.” Bowie looks at me, then Books, and we swallow a little harder than normal as we consider what he’s saying.
I have to tell you, we all three keep looking at that damn wall the rest of the evening. My gut reaction is that the woman’s not right in the head, but just in case I decide the next time we come to this club we’ll sit somewhere else.
The next morning, I am standing in the kitchen doorway with my nose curled, because honestly, the place is a mess. I feel sorry forthe club employees we took on to keep the place decent. Anna and Yvonne clean, while Jo is the cook. Bessy helps cook or clean. It just depends on what is more urgent. Anna walks into the kitchen through the back door and comes to a grinding halt. She doesn’t immediately notice me standing in the doorway to the common area. “Oh, fucking hell!” Anna says to herself, and you know it looks like she could burst into tears.
“I’m going to get the club women out of their beds to help, Anna,” making her jump when she hears me speak. “You don’t need to always be cleaning up after them. They are here to be useful and not just for their snatch.”
“It is getting tiring, Finger. Coming in day-after-day to the same mess. Why can’t they clean up as they go along. We do the cooking and most of the hard cleaning, and it wouldn’t hurt them to rinse dishes and fill the dishwasher.” Anna steps over to the sink, which is overflowing with dishes. Even the counters are full of dirty mugs and other crockery.
Yvonne rushes into the kitchen, “Sorry I’m late...” She also stops suddenly when eyeing the mess in the kitchen. “Oh, for fuck's sake...”
Yeah, they are both at the end of their wits, and I can’t say as I blame them seeing the mess in here. “Let me get the bitches out here to help.”
Yvonne speaks before Anna has the opportunity. “Finger, get them to do the bathrooms. I’m sick of cleaning up after everyone’s dirty habits. Let the club women do it. They don’t seem to mind what bodily fluids they intake, so let them clean other bodily fluids.”
“What is this about bodily fluids?” Tracker asks as he walks into the kitchen from where I’d just been standing.
Anna steps forward, hands on her hips, and looks at Tracker. “Pres, we are sick to death of cleaning all the shit up around here. I mean, shit, you know in the bathrooms. Yvonne and I vote that the club women can clean the bathrooms for a while since they are so eager to get all the brothers' fluids.”
“Oh, those fluids,” Tracker laughs. “Okay, Finger, get the club women on it. Anna and Yvonne can deal with the kitchen, dining room, and common area. The rest you can have the women deal with.”
“Okay, Pres.”
Before I can leave the kitchen to do Tracker's bidding Cap walks into the kitchen. “What no breakfast ready?”