The Biker's Fate Chapter 689

Hatch

ROSIE'S BAR AND Grill wasn't one of my regular haunts, not that I had many these days. Most of my drinks were poured in the Dogs' clubhouse and I rarely had time to hang out there these days. Being a husband and father meant my life didn't belong to me, and being the president of an MC meant I was responsible for lives and livelihoods of nearly a hundred people. Members and their families had become part of my extended family, and I would do whatever it took to protect them all.

Rosie's wasn't quite in the sticks, but you could see them from there. In fact, you could see them through any number of the vintage leaded glass windows that were the pride of the establishment. But I didn't choose the location based solely on its architecture. Approximately one hundred and fifty feet to the east of the bar was a dense wooded area. Hidden in those woods, tucked away within the ubiquitous Douglas Fir pine trees found all over the pacific northwest was a talented young woman named Trouble. Trouble was a biker and full-patch member of the Burning Saints MC. She was the old lady of a fellow Saint named Doozer and the club's only female member. She was also a highly skilled sniper, part of an elite FBI task force, and my personal guardian angel. If Warlock so much as reached for his beer in a way Trouble doesn't like, she'd been instructed to put a .308 Winchester through his skull via the window next to our booth.

Trouble parked a half a mile up the road and hiked into her position over an hour ago as we assumed the Spiders had lookouts stationed in the area. I rode up alone and unarmed exactly on time to ward off any suspicions, to find Warlock waiting for me in the parking lot. He was leaning against his bike, smoking a cigarette.

"You still sucking on those cancer sticks, huh?" I asked as I climbed off my bike.

Warlock smiled wide. "Cancer ain't gonna kill me, old buddy. You know that."

"Oh, yeah. What do I know?"

"Cigarettes won't be my cause of death. The life is gonna be what brings on my demise. Likely from someone in the life, you know? Hell Hatch. Maybe you're the lucky biker who punches my final clock."

"I'm here to talk peace, that's all," I replied.

"Of course you are. The road to peace leads to Hatch. Everybody knows that."

I nodded. "Good. Let's sit down, have a drink for old times' sake, and figure out a peaceful solution to our problems."

"Jesus, Hatch. I've got to take some 'How to be an MC president' classes from you. You sound more like a Don these days. It's beautiful."

I shook my head and chuckled. "Same old Warlock."

We made our way inside and were seated at the table I'd secretly prearranged for us two days earlier. From our location, Trouble had a straight, unobstructed shot to Warlock's head, without fear of hitting any patrons or staff members.

The place was mostly empty, and our waitress, Maggie, came to the table right away, ready to take our drink orders.

"What can we pour for you, gentlemen?" she asked for what I imagined must have been the ten-thousandth time. She was a beautiful woman who looked to be in her late sixties. Most of them spent in places just like this one if I had to guess.

I motioned to Warlock. "Please, you order first."

Warlock flashed that devilish grin of his. "What I drink depends entirely on the occasion. What, roughly, would you say is the occasion of our little soirée tonight among the pines?"

"Let's call it a 'meeting of the minds,'" I replied.

"How diplomatic," Warlock said. "In that case, I'll take a double of your top shelf vodka, Beluga if you have it, over ice, with one un-squeezed lime wedge. If the vodka is shit, I'll know it, if the lime is squeezed, I'll know it. If the drink is perfect and delicious…big tips all around."

Maggie smiled and turned to me.

"I'd love a pint of whatever's on tap, that isn't an IPA," I said.

"Coming right up," she replied, and disappeared.

"A meeting of the minds, huh?" Warlock said. "Not exactly warm and fuzzy, but not too clinical either. Certainly nothing said that would cause offense. My god, Hatch. You truly are a magnificent silver tongue devil, aren't you."

"You're one to talk. Using words like soirée and drinking top shelf Russian vodka."

"I understand you've never been a guest of the state to any of her fine detention facilities," Warlock said.

I shook my head. "Can't say I've had the pleasure."

"Well, I have. Three times. And I learned really quickly. There's a lot of time to read when you're locked inside a cage."

"That's admirable. Not everybody in your position chooses to better themself."

Warlock let out a short, sharp, laugh. "Better myself? Fuck no. I'd love to lie to you and say I was searching for enlightenment, but that's not true, and you'd see right through that shit. I simply did everything I could to keep from going fucking crazy. Pretty soon though, I realized that I liked to read. Funny because I hated reading when I was a little kid, ya know? School tried to make me read, my mom tried to make me read, my Sunday school teacher, the green fucking grocer. After the sixth grade, no one could get me to sit down and read anything other than a comic book, car manuals, or engine schematics. But once I was inside, I had all that time on my fuckin' hands and a library filled with everything from a full set of the nineteen-eighty-three edition of the Encyclopedia Brittanica to the complete works of John Keats. I found I loved it all."

I grabbed a peanut from the bowl in front of me and cracked it open. "You read poetry?"

"I read everything," he replied. "I became a voracious reader. Tearing through damn near everything I could get my hands on. But you know what my favorite book is of all time?"

"What's that?"

"The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. You ever read that one, Hatch?" he asked in a menacing tone, his facial expression changing as if a dark cloud had passed over him.

"Alright, gentlemen," Maggie said, returning with our drinks. "This is our amber ale," she said, setting a beautiful pint in front of me. "And a double Beluga, rocks, one, unmolested lime wedge."

"I think I might have to marry you, Maggie," Warlock said, his charming persona returning instantly.

"My husband might take issue with that, but you look like you could probably take him in a fight," she replied with a wink. "Now, can I get you boys anything to eat?"

I shook my head.

"Looks like we're just here for the drinks and your company," Warlock said.

"Well, you boys just holler when you're ready for the next round," Maggie said before disappearing back into the kitchen.

"God damn, can you imagine the smoke show she must have been back in her day?" Warlock asked.