This is a true story. The names have all be changed to protect my a$$ and anyone else involved. It's about how far a man will go before he knows that he went too far. Enjoy! The (Odd spellings are to cheat the censor program)
 

The Patch

 

Jack was bored. Bored, flat broke and had a torn-down bike taking up space in his living room because he was waiting for parts. He was used to it, living the ‘Road Life’ and he accepted it, dealt with it and moved on. He was just glad that payday was only two weeks off.

He did however have a pint bottle of Jack Daniels, a fat sack of home-grown bud-leaf and the beginnings of a plan. The heads for his bike were currently being held for ransom at Shoog’s bike and machine shop. Shoog was a patch holder with one of the local MC. When Jack had dropped them off, he told Shoog “Shave ‘em flat, new valves, springs, guides, keepers and lap the valves, okay?”

Shoog looked up from the bit he was chucking into the mill, glared at Jack and growled “Is that all? Ya gonna tell me what depth to set the mill head? What’s the diameter of the valve guides you want? Jee-zus Jack, why bring yer tired she-it in here if you already know how to do it?” He was awful sensitive for an orangutan look-alike. His giant misshapen head was imbedded firmly between his massive shoulders with no sign of a neck. He had enormous, tattooed arms that reached almost to his protruding knees and they emerged from either side of an immense chest so large, no shirt Jack had ever seen covered it past the two bottom buttons. He walked with a perpetual slouch, a reminder of his racing days when a nitro-shovelhead exploded at 140 mph, took an immediate left and then dragged him through the stands. Cover him in long garish orange-red hair, stuff him into a pair of greasy coveralls that had enough material to replace a schooner’s sails, jam a filthy oil covered Harley Sportster cap on his boulder head and you begin to get the picture.

“Aw Shoog, you know I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m just kinda strapped right now and can’t pay the ‘down’ on ‘em. But you know me, right? I’ll come up with the bread before you get ‘em done… promise!” Jack looked up at him hopefully, but Shoog continued to glare at him. He set the mill tool down and approached his customer, never taking his small yellow eyes from Jack’s. He held his ground as the big man approached and refused to retreat or take one step back. Shoog bumped his sizeable belly into Jack and glared down at the biker.

“I had to come to your house to collect my last bill. Why should I think this time will be any different?” He dwarfed Jack but he met Shoog’s crazy yellow dog eyes and replied calmly “Because I paid you every cent I owed you AND gave you my last half bottle of Southern Comfort, that’s why.” Shoog continued to glare for a moment more and then turned away. “I’m only gonna do this ‘cause of what you did for the club, got it?”

Jack was a ”Hang Around” with the Local MC and with their blessing, he had thrown a “Support Your Local MC” event and it was a good time had by all. He had gotten a couple of bands to play for cheap; a few dancers he knew to “do their thing” on the stage for tips and even got a “Gathering Permit” to keep the city fathers happy. A buddy of his had a great big freeking BBQ trailer and they both cooked for a three hours until the food ran out. They had a Donations can on the BBQ and it paid for the wood, the grub and some was left over for the club. They charged $5 a head to get in and when all was said and done, they had raised over $500. The club donated it all to the Disabled Vets.

As Shoog wrote up the repair order, Jack removed the pint of JD and placed it on the counter. “Consider this a down payment on the heads, ok?”

“Yer killing me Jack… A $4.00 bottle of booze I don’t drink and that is supposed to be a down payment? They’ll be ready next Thursday so bring money!” He went back to work, still grumbling about free loaders and hang arounds. Jack reached down to collect the ‘unwanted’ booze and Shoog snatched it so quick Jack wondered if he had even seen his arm move. Jack made a mental note to never underestimate that big man’s reach or speed. That memory probably saved his life when “No” was the wrong answer.

Next stop was at the local dancer bar, the Blue Spot where he was in the good graces of several of the ladies that danced or waited tables. The bartender, Slim gave him a grin and a nod and pulled a cold brew for him. Jack yelled his thanks over the juke box that was blasting “I Believe in Miracles” while Sheila gyrated to the almost non-existent crowd. The juke box slowly died and the silence was deafening. The two construction workers clapped and hollered their approval while Sheila yawned and picked up her outfit.

She wandered over to their table and asked if they wanted a table dance, all the while chewing gum and standing so close they had to have felt the heat radiating off of her belly. She slowly got dressed but Jack could tell it was a no-sale. She turned and as she looked around the dimly lit bar, she spied Jack. He looked at Slim like a man searching for shelter before a storm. He just grinned evilly at Jack and polished a glass. He could tell Slim was going to enjoy this.

“Hi Sheila! How ya been Sweetie? You’re one good lookin…” That’s as far as he got before she slapped him in the side of the head so hard his ear started to ring. She didn’t stop there but began pummeling him anywhere he wasn’t covering up. He took it for a few more whacks and then said loudly “OK OK… I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have left you at the party!”

“You’re frikin right ya ba$tard! You left me there and I had to get a ride home with Preacher!” Slim and Jack exchanged glances and Slim shook his head. Preacher was a loner that had a rep with the ladies for ‘Forceful Dating’. Sheila started to sob and when Jack tried to put his arms around her she elbowed him in the gut, hard.

“Sheila, you didn’t come to the party with me, I said I was leaving at 12 and I looked for ya, but when I couldn’t find ya, I left.” Now, that was not really a lie. He had gone upstairs and he did find a couple of gals and they played around but he told ‘em “I gotta leave.” Then he went out in the backyard, where he found a few more friends. They talked for a couple of minutes and he looked around but she was a no show, so he left.

“Yyyouuu looked for m-me?” Sheila stuttered, not knowing whether to believe him or not. He put on his best innocent face and Slim rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah baby… I looked everywhere. Hey, I bet you were in the bathroom!” Jack wrapped his arms around her and cooed soft crap into her ear while she leaned on him… she stood up after a moment or two and said “I’m sorry I hit you.”

“That’s alright sweetie. Hey, I got a little weed, can I roll ya one?” She perked up and nodded. He liked it when they nodded that way, don’t you? They headed back toward the dressing room and passed Candy at the jukebox. She was pumping her quarters into the neon music box for her set and she shot Jack a wicked grin and shook her ample chest at him. There’s just something about dancers ya gotta love.

While Jack twisted a fatty, Sheila shucked her outfit off and tossed it into her locker. She walked to the mirror naked and looked at her reflection with a critical eye. She turned left and then right and then abruptly turned her back to the mirror. She picked up a hand mirror to look back at her ‘money-maker’ and then looked at Jack and asked “Jack, do you think my a$$ is sagging?” Jack looked up from staring at the a$$ in question, fired the J and opened his mouth.

“Well, it does look a little lower than the last time I saw it.” Jack looked up just in time to catch a slap on the same ear. You might say he got a little irritated. So he stood up and when she tried to slap him again, he caught her wrist and twisted it up behind her. He held her like that and started kissing her neck and shoulders. After just a few moments she had relaxed and leaned into him. She raised her face to his and they kissed, a long hot meeting of the mouths.

It was at this point that Candy walked in; looked at them and said “Three-zee’s?” Jack and Sheila laughed, pulled apart and Jack stepped into the corner. He watched the two dancers getting ready for their next set and he said “There’s a J on the floor over there.” As Sheila bent over, the glimmer of his ‘Plan’ became a little brighter. As he drank in the sight of these two lovely ladies, he could see them in a pair of hot-pants with cut-down tee shirts with “Shoog’s Machine” emblazoned across their ample bosoms. Maybe a ‘Bikini Bike Wash’? What was the ‘cause’ though; it had to be better than “Get Jack’s Heads Outta Hock” or “Save Jack’s Heads”.

“Ladies, would you both be willing to appear in a ‘Bikini Bike Wash’ that I am sponsoring? It’s going to be held next Saturday around noon and it’s going to happen at Shoog’s place. Whadda ya say?”

They looked at each other and threw their heads back and laughed. Jack didn’t see the humor in the request, so we can forgive him if he was a little gruff with his reply.

“What the fcuk are you laughing at?” He put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, a scowl on his face. The fact that they were both now almost naked and had an irate biker in the dressing room dampened their mirth, a little. Candy said “Jack, when we showed up at the ‘concert’ and danced on stage with the band, we were up there for almost two hours and you know how much we made? I pulled in $40 and Sheila made $50. What did we do with the money? We gave it to the Disabled Veterans. We drove home with no money. Now, you want us to do a Bike Wash? What is the worthy cause, Unwed Mothers? Maybe…” Then she stopped talking and stared hard at Jack’s face.

“It’s for you, ain’t it? You have bike parts there, at Shoog’s, don’t you?” Jack’s face told them the truth, and they both started laughing again. Jack’s face turned beet red and he turned to the door and escaped with the echoes of their laughter ringing in his ears. He plunked himself down at the bar; Slim looked him over and said “Strike two?”

“Yeah. I’ll never understand women, Slim. Gimme a draft, will ya?”

“Well let’s see, you are broke, since I’m giving ya free beer. You have your heads at Shoog’s and the note is due… when?”

“Next Thursday.” He said it as though it were a long prison sentence. Slim whistled low and then looked at his friend, judging just how much shit he could give Jack before he stepped over the “Disrespect” line. He racked some glasses while he thought about Jack’s dilemma. Now Slim knew a lot about the club because many members and officers came in to the bar. They knew Slim and trusted him with some of the goings on in the club. Slim knew that the trust they gave him came with a heavy price, if he ever shared those secrets. He wondered if he should tell Jack what the club was about to do to him. He shook his head and thought to himself “Nah, he was asking for it. He’ll find out soon enough.”

“Jack, you’re NOT a woman… shut-up an’ listen. I been behind this bar for three years, I know how women think. You are going about it all wrong. If you haven’t totally blown this, what you tell them is…” Slim leaned over the bar and started to whisper in Jack’s ear. Jack’s face clouded with anger, then changed to an embarrassed grin. He dropped his head and looked at the concrete floor while he digested what Slim had said. He shook his head slowly and drank his beer in one long gulp, seemingly to wash a bad taste from his mouth.

“Do you fcuking hate me that bad Slim? I thought we were friends? Man, that is just wrong. In soooo many ways.” Jack hung his head again and to Slim it looked as if there was a fierce battle going on inside his friend. When Jack raised his head, Slim knew he was “on the hook” and had decided to carry out his suggestion. Jack got up and headed for the dressing room and he walked as a condemned man would, headed on the long walk to his noose. That it was of his own making, did not seem to matter.

When he had finished talking to the ladies, they had agreed to appear at the Bike Wash and would bring “A couple of friends” to help. His next stop would be the hardest, most lowdown and dirty thing he had yet to do. When he walked into Shoog’s, he saw that the place was jumping and there were several bikes parked out front. He slipped in and turned his back on the room while he pretended to look at the Snap-On calendar from 1963. After a few minutes, Shoog hollered at him “Whadda ya want Jack? Did ya bring me anymore of yer crap ya want me to fix for free?”

“I need to speak to you, in your office.” Jack had a scowl on his face and he turned to head back to the office. Shoog looked at his customers and said “This won’t take long.” He slouched back to his office, shut the door and turned to face Jack. The folks waiting at the counter turned and looked through the large window in the office wall. They could see Shoog but not Jack. Shoog started out shaking his massive head like some kind of pissed off bull. Then he stopped shaking his head and stared. Then, he threw his whole body back a couple of steps and started roaring with laughter so loud, they were able to hear it at the counter. He patted Jack on the shoulder, which felt like being patted repeatedly with a large rock. He said something and then doubled over laughing again. When Jack stormed from the shop, the customers noticed that his face was a curious mix of pi$$ed off, embarrassment and determination.

Saturday rolled around and it was a perfect day for a bike wash. When Jack pulled up on Slims’ bike, there went up a great cry and much loud laughter. The bikes were lined up around the block and there were several cages, but they would have to wait till all the bikes were washed. A banner had been made that said “Jack’s Bikini Bike Wash”. A small strong-box sat on a table by the front door of Shoog’s and the sign above it said “DONATIONS ACCEPTED, $10.00 DONATIONS STRONGLY SUGGESTED” and on the same table, there was a well made sign that read “Tips to the Washers are Greatly Appreciated!” and a coffee can had been painted with Sheila and Candy’s names. They had pasted some of their pictures from the club on it and it was full already. There were FOUR bikini washers (friends of Sheila), Shoog had hooked up the two wash hoses and he had rags and he also paid for a couple of gallons of “Zip-Wax”.

Jack slowly got off Slims’ bike, removed the bungees from a paper bag on his handlebars and turned towards the waiting crowd. He knew most of them, by sight if not name and also, there were the Triple Threat. The three people he knew would be there and they were the ones he didn’t want to see. The Prez, The Veep and the SAA of the club that he had been hanging around and supporting all summer. Another loud cheer erupted from the waiting crowd but from the three patch holders, only scowls could be seen.

Ignoring everybody, Jack stalked to the door and shouldered his way through the crowd and into the shop. He headed back to the grimy bathroom, closed the door behind him and slumped against it. “oh my gawd… what have you got yerself into now Jack?” Knowing there was nothing else he could do, he shucked his riding clothes. He rolled them into a tight bundle and tied them with his bandana. Then he pulled from the bag, a neon green bikini and then put it on. He put on the matching water-shoes and he looked at himself in the smudged mirror, under the dim glare of a 40 watt bulb and burst out laughing! Then he pulled his hair back into a ponytail, put his riding glasses on and said to his reflection “It’s Show Time!”

He squared his shoulders, stiffened his spine and fixed a grin on his face that would have scared a pitbull. As he shouldered the door aside and walked out, there was a hush and everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at what had just stepped out of the shop. A great laughing roar went up and there were idiots with cameras everywhere. Jack walked over to the bike and dropped his clothes bundle onto the front wheel. There were wolf whistles and cat-calls and all the way back to the wash area, the noise was incredible. He made it to the girls and stood for a moment. Then he held his arms out wide and said “I need a wet hug!” All the ladies surrounded him and smashed their wet, bikini-clad bodies against him. Later, he would say that was the best part of the day.

So, now there were five bikini washers but Jack never stopped working and actually was a good member of the crew. He got a lot of good-natured ribbing, to which he always smiled and said “Beats welfare!” Gunner stood up and tried to tell the gals how to wash his bike. Candy looked at him and said “Gunner, you know me and Sheila. We KNOW how to wash a bike because we’ve done it. No disrespect meant, but watch us first and judge for yourself, OK?” She grinned at him and went back to washing the scoot in front of her. He got up and walked over to the wash area. He just stood there with a big stupid grin on his homely mug, watching the girls shake and jiggle and sway until Jack said “Gunner, yer in the way bro, go sit down!” Which he did and the rest of the day seemed to fly by.

They washed and rinsed over 70 bikes and three cages. There were still bikes lined up when they had to take a break. Then Shoog said “What the hell, come on and wash yer own bikes!” Then the ‘Bike Wash’ turned into a ‘Squirt Everybody Fest’ and it rapidly went into “Party-Mode” when folks started breaking out the bottles of beer and booze.

By 8, Shoog had chased most of the folks home, the ladies too. They had been well paid and so Jack was their buddy again. Shoog took his small cut and the price of the Zip-wax. He handed Jack his finished heads and slapped him on the back. Jack almost lost his glasses off his face but Shoog said “Jack, that took a lotta balls but ya woulda looked better with some titties! Har Har.” Jack just smiled, kinda sick-like and took the heads out to the bike, grabbed his bundle of clothes and fled to the shop bathroom. He walked out of that bathroom with a new feeling. Humble and humiliated came to mind but he thought maybe now, he knew how far he would stoop. Stoop, so he could ride. Humble, because he now knew what it felt like to wear a costume and wave a business sign on a corner.

Now, you would think this story ends here, but when Jack came out of the shop, all that were left were patch holders. The Terrible Trio, Shoog and seven more members, all wearing their cuts. They all had their riding glasses pulled down and when he walked out, they all stood up and stared at him. A shot of fear hit Jack at the base of his neck and shot down through his legs, bounced back up and landed in his heart. He started trying to think who he could hurt first but he gave that up as a lost cause. Then the Fear evaporated, he raised his glasses and looked right at the Prez and he spoke.

“I’m glad you’re all here. I wanted to apologize to the Club for what I did today. If y’all tell me to, I’ll clear out so I won’t be an embarrassment to the Club. This will be all over town by tomorrow.” They continued to just stare at Jack, eyes guarded by the dark lenses. One of the members said “Go back in the shop Jack.” He stared at them all for a moment and then turned and went through the door. They all started filing in and Jack was shoved into the area behind the front counter. They all surrounded him and then slowly closed the distance until the members were touching shoulders. Jack was walled in with bodies. Big bad men that he had watched and admired and had hoped he could ride with them, as a Patch.

Jack looked at the faces in front of him and knew this might be the end. He looked right at Shoog and said “You ain’t taking me without a fight! So, if that’s what’s going down, bring it!” Shoog stared at the skinny young biker that had just challenged him and his answer was a slow spreading smile across his monster mug. He looked around at the other members for approval and then whipped his hand out at Jack. Jack’s answer was to aim a punch at his face… and then pull up just short of Shoog’s eyebrow when he saw something in the gigantic hand that had just missed his head. It was wrapped in a piece of leather and when Jack took it out, it was a bottom rocker. They wanted him as a prospect.

Then everybody started laughing and slapping him on the back. He shook everybody’s hand and thanked them all. They toasted the event with a shot but Jack was on Slim’s bike and so he left as soon as he could. Shoog had agreed to be his sponsor and he gave him the gasket set so he could get back on the road. Jack carpooled to work and had the bike back together in a couple of days and he didn’t leave the house much. Beer runs, smokes and pizza were all in a five block radius, so he walked. During this time he realized that he was not happy about the Prospect patch. How the HELL could he have ANY dignity left with these men? Respect a guy that wears a bikini at a benefit for HIM? Jack was having trouble respecting himself, how could anyone else? Also, he had seen a couple of pictures floating around town, of him in a bikini. He was not happy. The more he thought about it the harder it hit him. He had made up his mind, knew what he had to do.

First he went through all his tools and set aside the bare necessities and wrapped them in a long roll of leather and tied with a leather keeper. Socks, Levis, tee shirts, bandanas, check. Bed roll, check. Riding gear on him, check. Saddlebags on the bike and secured, check. He dropped by the ‘Spot’ to say goodbye to Slim, give him his keys and shake his hand. “Anything in the place you can have, OK?” The club was jumping and the music was loud so Slim hollered “You sure about this? OK, I’ll miss seeing yer mug around here. Take care man!”  Next came the hardest part and he hoped it went well but he was planning for the worst.

He backed the bike in next to the front door, popped into neutral and left it running. He walked in the front door and as he cleared it, Shoog was right there, glowering at him. “What’s this shit I hear about you runnin’ away?” (thanks Slim) He started to hem Jack in against the wall but the trick didn’t work this time. Jack slipped out from in front of him and he opened the door again and pinned Shoog behind it.

“I can’t ride for the club. You guys would be the laughing stock of the town. You wouldn’t get any respect with me in your club.” Jack knew that Shoog could push the door off of himself easily. He pulled a rolled packet from his riding jacket and set it on the counter. “There is my rocker, thanks for the invite but I just can’t stay in this town. Later, Shoog.”

He turned to leave but he kept his eye on Shoog and that was a good thing. Shoog face twisted into a mask of anger, and he came out from behind the door and made a one handed grasp at him before Jack stepped out and banged the door on his arm. Shoog yelled and pulled his arm back in and Jack slammed the door shut. He now had 3.2 seconds to get on the bike and leave. He had locked the door from the inside and it would take at least that long for him to unlock the door. He hopped on his bike, twisted the throttle, kicked it into first and almost killed it. Frantically revving it, he pulled a wheelie out of the driveway and into traffic before slamming down and peeling away from the shop. Jack didn’t know it but Shoog had very narrowly missed him when he came down from the wheelie. He had chased him into the street but could only watch him ride away. He shook his head and slowly made his way back to his shop. The Prez was NOT going to be happy.

Jack had a full tank, two weeks paycheck, $150 from the bike wash, some good bud, a pint of Jack and two pieces of left over pizza. He was on the road heading south, maybe see some water. As the 21” front wheel devoured the dry blacktop, Jake thought to himself “I ain’t NEVER gonna wear a bikini again!”