Wind Therapy - A.J. Downey Page 0,43

with barbecue favorites. I went to him and touched his back and he turned, licking coleslaw dressing off his thumb as he gave me a sexy wink.

I smiled to myself, took the plate he handed me, and continued down the table with him, a little self-conscious and worried that someone was going to call me out or get pissed I was cutting in line. Nobody said anything, though.

We sat with some of the men from the Oregon and Idaho chapters at one of the picnic tables. I knew some of them from home.

There was a guy from Idaho, who wasn’t huge but was big as in he was probably no more than five foot nine or so and he had to be four hundred and fifty pounds. He always smelled of a mixture of my father’s cologne and engine grease, his big hands blackened with it in spotty patches that just never seemed to come completely clean.

He went by Baer, and one of the Eastern Oregon guys, an even bigger dude by the name of Buff, which apparently stood for Big Ugly Fat Fucker, was asking him about his first bike or something.

Baer laughed and said, “I still have it, it’s in my garage back home.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh, sweet 1990 FLHTC full dress Harley,” Baer said.

“Nice,” Maverick commented as we took seats down and across from Baer.

“Yah, skin a nice two-tone candy apple red with gold trim, soft lower fairing and highway pegs with heel rests. I upgraded her tranny from a four-speed to a five-speed for better power on the highway. I still ride her around town, but she just isn’t reliable like she used to be for these long-haul rides anymore. I had to upgrade.”

“Sounds like a sweet ride, brother.”

“Better than any broad I’ve had lately, that’s for sure,” Buff commented. Baer grinned wide and exposed a missing eye tooth, the one next to it and further back missing too. Despite his graying beard and short ponytail, the gap-toothed grin made him somehow endearing. Baer was one of the most affable of the Idaho chapter by far and I always had a soft spot for him. Mostly because he would share his sugar-free butterscotch or strawberry hard candies with my little brother and he almost always had some on hand.

He winked at me and slid one of those strawberry candies wrapped in the shiny strawberry printed cellophanes down the table in my direction. I smiled back shyly and swept it toward me and shoved it into the pocket of my short shorts.

I listened to the men talk. Mostly about motorcycles and the mechanics, some about what parts Ironheart Salvage had to offer them for whatever repairs or varying projects they wanted to undertake regarding their bikes.

Maverick nodded, answered what he could and if he didn’t have the answer? He would send the odd text or two back home to Dump Truck to get it.

That was Maverick, though. Always ahead, always ready to make another dime. He even made a few sales right then and there, texting orders to D.T. and the guys calling in payment to the yard over their phones. Some of them would even have their parts waiting for them by the time they got home.

For me, it was boring, but I wasn’t there for the scintillating conversation. I was there to eat my dinner and to look pretty on Maverick’s arm. Both, I managed to accomplish in silence for the most part, unless I was asked something directly.

I kept my answers short and to the point and tuned out anything I felt like I wasn’t necessarily supposed to hear; pretending that I didn’t see the furtive glances or notice the quick changes in the course of conversation when it strayed too close to ‘club business.’

I was an old practiced hand at it after all, simply trading ‘family business’ for ‘club business’ when I’d stolen away on the back of Maverick’s bike.

I turned my head and watched as several of the bikers from varying chapters started grooming a portion of the lakefront into a sort of impromptu fight ring, taking rakes to the sandy pebbled shore and staking out Tiki torches at regular intervals in a big circle. They dragged crude benches and stacking pallets to provide places to sit, stand, and stand higher still to provide views of the crude arena.

It sent both a thrill and a chill down my spine in equal measure.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into?” Mav asked beside me, and