Ride or Die

Chapter 5

Inside the bar looks just as rough as the outside. You come to understand the meaning of the words: true grit. It's filled with leather clad Hell Hounds, and the walls are cluttered with pictures of bikes and auto parts. Old yellowed posters of cars. Shiny old clunker cars from the fifties.

Neon lights drip an ooze of red from random spots on the walls. Old garage and road signs nailed to the pine panelled walls. The floor doesn't look as if it's ever been swept. A mixture of dust and broken glass litter some far corners. There's a whole wall of booze behind the shiny wooden bar counter. Stood on mirrored shelves and backlit with bright buttery yellow.

Along the wall where the main door is, are a few ratty brown leather booths. The seats are sagging and ripped and no one has bothered to mend them. The tables hold no decoration at all. A few tables and chairs dotted on the floor space in front of the bar that stands directly opposite. The air is misty silver from recently smoked cigarettes. The harsh clack of a snooker game happening in the corner. Felt table that two of the bikers were crowded around had seen better says. Cigs hanging from the men's mouths as they line up the shot whilst their opponent watches.

You recognise some of them. The two puppyish younger guys of the gang were the ones playing pool. Their heads and dark eyes swim to you and Kylo as you come in. An old bearded biker with a sleeveless leather waistcoat and stark bruises of black tats on his arms is playing a card game with the scarred silver haired guy of Kylo's. The one who came to get him last night. Crumpled dollars sat in a heap on the table between them. Glasses of whiskey at their elbows.

A wailing rock song blares into the background of smoking and manly chatter from thumping speakers. You feel uneasy cause there isn't another woman in this whole place. Just rough cut bikers and huge beefy guys. All of whom are now watching you walk in with the boss.

You watch his eyes glint as he looks at the booth where two guys are sitting. His whole demeanour shifts. His eyes dagger at them.

"Out." Kylo jerks his head at two guys who were sat in the booth opposite the bar. They grab their bottles of beer and get out his way sharpish. Almost falling over each other to run away to a table on the far side of the bar.

"Best booth in the place. Sit down baby. What's your poison?"

You slide into the booth. Unlinking your purse strap from your body. You tell him a beer. You don't think you can start on whiskey just yet. He nods and strokes his fingers across the tabletop as he walks away.

Sat at the small table near your booth is a huge red-bushy bearded guy with a sharp hipster haircut. Buzzed at the sides. Long and pushed back, combed back, on his head. Multicoloured tats of pinup ladies and cars scrawled up his chunky arms that are also dusted with coppery hair.

He's got hoops and stretchers in his ears. A white tee nestled over his big belly. Streaked with black oily scuff marks. His pants is a pair of overalls tied around his hips. Big stained boots on his feet too. He's nursing a glass of whiskey quietly. But turns and grins when he sees Kylo walking past him.

Kylo slaps his back and the large guy turns and they clap and shake hands in that very male way guys too. Obviously friends. "Shouldn't you be out there working on my bike, Slim?" He smirks. "Not in here drinking all my whiskey."

"Why? You gonna break the habit of a lifetime and fuckin' pay me?" Slim asks archly. His voice was throaty and deep. Not as deep as Kylo's.

Kylo smirks. "Don't be a wise ass with me. You'll probably hurt yourself trying to keep up. Only thing you got the brains to do is fix the bikes I tell ya to fuckin' fix." Kylo claps his hand on Slims meaty shoulder again. And the big mechanic wobbles a huge laugh as he shakes his head.