Cash introduces, nodding to a biker that Georgie is blinking at as if she doesn’t believe he’s real. We’re standing in the middle of a room with a long, scarred bar, near a dozen or so tables. The cordoned off area behind me has pool tables and bathrooms delegated to Chicks and Dicks. Behind Outlaw is a huge mural of the grim reaper, eyes glowing red, blood dripping from the scythe clutched in his bony fingers. “Blond motherfucker next to him is John Boy, our VP. Fuckhead next to him is Val, our RC.” “RC?” Georgie echoes, glancing at Outlaw, who has yet to speak. He’s sucking on a cigarette, looking at me as if he has something on his mind. “Road Captain,” I grit out, pissed that she seems so fascinated with him. “That’s Mortician,” Cash goes on. “What’s he do?” Georgie asks. “Enforce shit, girl.”
