Rebel punk, Oscar Bradley, discovers that his party friend, Max, is the prince of Kingsport's Irish Mob; fierce rivals of the biker gang that's served as Oscar's surrogate family. With Max quickly pulling him deeper into his luxurious but deadly wor...
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When Oscar's flight landed in Kingsport, he wasn't at all surprised to find it shrouded in clouds and drenched in rain, as if the entire city were as morose and gloomy as the punk felt. But the weather wasn't going to hinder him. Oscar had a plan, and for once, it didn't involve drinking his problems away. He'd let a lot of things get in his way over the years. There had always seemed to be roadblocks between him and happiness, and he was over it. Today, he was going to blast right through them all.
First, however, he needed to figure out how he was going to get there... Literally.
His bike was still at the Gallaghers' estate, all the way over in Baypark, on the opposite side of the city. So, that left Oscar with the lovely option of public transit. The bus wasn't exactly quick or glamorous, but it was cheap, and it'd give him time to work out the details of his plan on his way home.
When he arrived at his apartment complex it felt like ages since he last stepped foot inside the cheap stuffy lobby, he'd even forgotten about the elevator until he was about to hit the call button and saw the 'Out of Order' sign.
The stairs it was...
More time to think, but Oscar didn't wanna think. He wanted to act.
He got to his door, and there was a fresh threat-of-eviction notice taped to it that he snatched on his way inside. He'd deal with that later, if everything went as planned. Entering his apartment was like stepping back in time. Back to before he'd moved in with Max. Back to being him again. Little Turt was still sitting on his dresser with a welcoming glint in his tiny, beaded eyes.
"Thanks for watching the place while I was gone," Oscar said as he pulled out his phone and dialed Charley.
It rang a few times before the other biker picked up.
"Oscar?" There was a skeptical tone to the older man's voice, and a little bit of edge to it, signaling that he was in no mood to be messed with.
"Yeah, who else would it be?"
"Christ, we'd heard the Italians put you six feet under, kid. Good to know they messed that up too. Heh."
"They tried, I'll give em that... Hey, why don't you tell me about all their fuck ups when you come pick me up?"
"Pick you up? Where exactly are you expecting we're going?" Charley wondered hesitantly, clearly not thrilled with the idea of being volunteered before being asked.
"To the club house," Oscar stated flatly.
"You...sure?"
"I'll explain on the way."
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