Ropes Read online

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but I…”

  “Our president’s name is Troy Holden and you’ll likely find him hogging the Magic Lady the entire evening,” he said, pouting.

  “Riiiight. And none of you guys in here tonight are drinking?” I asked, motioning to the crowd.

  “We’re all straight edge,” Nerd Two said.

  “Shut up, Randy,” the Alpha Nerd barked before turning back to me. “We’re just here for the Magic Lady.”

  “Which is some sort of pinball machine?” I asked.

  “Not just any pinball machine,” he huffed. “There were only nineteen made. It took six years and over a million dollars to design,” he said as if Sally Anne’s had a Rembrandt hanging on the wall that I’d mistaken for ‘Dogs Playing Poker.’

  “Okay, great. Thanks for the info, I think I hear my boss calling me,” I said, and made a beeline for the bar. I had a feeling Sally Anne was going to be none too pleased with the news that her bar was currently filled with a bunch of teetotalers. I’d only encountered one table full of these guys and I was already done. I could handle drunk bikers all night long, but these assholes had to go. Not to mention, who still played pinball, or would plan an entire night around gawking at something that couldn’t be worth more than its weight in scrap metal?

  Sally Anne wasn’t in her usual spot at the bar, but I spied her coming out of her office, so I quickly made my way to her.

  “Is everything alright, sweetie?” she asked. “I was just checking on inventory. I wanted to make sure we had enough booze and food to cover this unexpected rush.”

  “I don’t think you’re gonna have to worry about that tonight,” I said sheepishly.

  “Why’s that?” she asked.

  “Take a look at the tables, and the bar. You notice anything missing?”

  Sally Anne scanned the room. “Sweet and sour Jesus. Why isn’t anybody drinking?” Sally Anne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry, hon, I know you don’t like blasphemy.”

  “Don’t worry about it, besides I don’t think Jesus is your problem tonight,” I said.

  “Well, someone is keeping these healthy men from knockin’ ’em back.”

  “The Magic Lady,” I replied.

  “Who the fuck is that, and do I have to cut the bitch?”

  “She’s part two of tonight’s bad news report. These fine gentlemen, I can only assume because I have yet to see a female among them, are pinball nerds,” I explained.

  “Pinball nerds?” Sally Anne asked.

  “Sober pinball nerds,” I replied.

  “And why are they here in my bar?”

  “The Magic Lady.”

  As if on cue, the group in the corner erupted into cheers, and then broke apart as each of its members began congratulating the man in the center of it all. The crowd were all smiles, handshakes, and pats on the back for the man who I could now see was the one who must have been playing the Magic Lady pinball machine.

  “I believe that’s Troy, the group’s leader,” I said to Sally Anne, who immediately turned toward the source of the action.

  “Let’s go have a chat with Troy,” Sally Anne said, and I fell in step right behind her as we made our way to Troy and his merry band of water drinkers.

  As we approached the group, Sally Anne extended a hand to the man at the center. “Hello, my name is Sally Anne, and this is my bar. Are you Troy?”

  “That’s right, Troy Holden,” he said, smiling. “It’s so nice to meet a fellow pinball enthusiast. I can’t believe you have a Magic Lady machine out here for everyone to play.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Sally Anne said.

  “Not what?” Troy asked.

  “A pinball enthusiast. I am however, an alcoholic beverage sales enthusiast, thus the reason I own a bar. True, it does have a pinball machine in it, but that was given to me around the time I bought the place, and I was under the impression that it didn’t work properly,” she said.

  “Of course, it doesn’t work properly!” Troy shouted gleefully to laughs all around. “None of them did. That’s part of the charm of the Magic Lady and her legacy… I’m sorry, did you say that someone gave this machine to you?”

  “Yes, but I feel like we’re still talking about the pinball game and I need to talk to you about the very large group of sober men currently draining my club soda taps dry.”

  “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for the Magic Lady machine right now,” Troy said, in an ‘I’m using my big boy voice’ sort of way, and an eerie hush fell over the bar.

  Ropes

  “DID CLUTCH PUT you up to this?” Minus asked with a laugh, before breathing out a huge sigh. “Shit, man, that was pretty good. You kept a straight face the whole time and everything. I’m impressed.”

  “I’ve self-published three books over the past two years and my readership is really starting to pick up steam,” I replied.

  “Let me guess,” he said, still smiling. “You write stories about… sexy-ass vampires. No, wait… cowboys. That’s how come all the questions about my boots.”

  “I write about a motorcycle club,” I said.

  Minus stopped laughing. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “I can show you the book I’m working on right now. That’s what I was doing out there in the hallway. I write every chance I get. It’s like an addiction.”

  “Jesus, you are fucking serious. You’re actually writing romance books about our club?”

  “A club, not our club,” I corrected. “Usually… but I’m working on something a little different right now.”

  “You write books as Ropes Kimble and people are able to buy them?”

  “Yes, people can and do buy them, but I don’t write as Ropes, and I sure as hell don’t use my family name,” I replied. “I use a pen name.”

  “A pen name? What is it?” Minus asked.

  “You’re just gonna give me shit about it.”

  “Look, brother. You’re the one who brought this whole thing up. I don’t know why, but you did,” he said.

  “You’re right,” I said, rising to my feet. “I don’t know why I brought it up either. This was a mistake. Forget I ever said anything.

  “C’mon, man, don’t get all bent out of shape.”

  “I said forget it. I’ll bring you another idea.”

  “Hold on,” Minus said softly. “I’m sorry, brother. You just kind of caught me off guard. I’ve been prepared for guys to come at me ideas, ranging from pawn shops to pet shops, but I can’t say I was ready for this.”

  I sat back down. “Look, I get it. It’s why I’ve been nervous to talk to you about this.”

  “I just didn’t have you, of all people, pegged as a pervert,” he laughed.

  “How does writing romance novels make me a pervert?”

  “Aren’t those books just stories about a bunch of horny motherfuckers… fucking?” he asked.

  “Well, when you put it so eloquently…”

  “You know what I mean,” he said.

  “No, I don’t. And you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I said.

  He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you ever even read a romance novel?” I asked.

  “Fuck, no,” Minus snapped.

  “Then how the hell do you know what’s in them or that you wouldn’t enjoy reading one yourself?” I challenged.

  “Ropes, you’re one of the only literate members of the Saints, let alone someone I can discuss the classics with. You’ve read everything from Nietzsche to Nabokov. Why in the world would you read that shit… let alone write it?”

  “For such a well-read man yourself, I’m surprised at the level of your snobbery.”

  “I’m not a fuckin’ snob,” Minus said.

  “Then, read one of my books and tell me what you think.”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to tell if you have the ability to earn serious money as a romance writer? You’re supposed
to be selling me on the idea.”

  “I know I can make money, I already am, but that’s not the point…”

  “You really see money from writing these books?” Minus’s tone shifted from disbelief to intrigue.

  I reached into my satchel, produced a paperback, and handed it to Minus.

  “This book is the first in my MC series. Read it and tell me what you think of the story. That’s all I want you to do.”

  Minus looked at the book’s cover and raised an eyebrow. “Clay Morningwood?”

  * * *

  Devlin

  I didn’t know what the hell had just happened, but it clearly got the attention of every weirdo in the bar.

  “You wanna give me a thousand dollars for an old broken pinball machine?” Sally Anne asked.

  “I’ll write you a check right now,” Troy said, reaching for his back pocket.

  “Hold up there, GameBoy,” I said, raising my hand. “First of all, whenever negotiating a deal in a bar, be a man and bring cash. Second, if you’re willing to pay one thousand for the machine, then I’m sure you’d be willing to pay two thousand.”

  “Two thousand?” Troy protested.

  “I heard some of your little gang talking about how rare that particular machine is, so I figure it’s gotta be worth more than you’re letting on. We should probably have it appraised, Sally Anne.”

  “You’re crazy. One thousand is a solid offer,” Troy replied, his upper lip drenched in sweat. “I…I…I’ll go to twelve-hundred, caaaashhh, just to prove that I’m serious.

  I looked at Sally Anne who simply shrugged back. My phone was in my locker, per Sally Anne’s strict on-shift rules, so I couldn’t do a search on the game’s value, but twelve hundred bucks of pure profit for a busted pinball machine seemed like a pretty good deal to me. Especially if it got these assholes out of our bar.

  “Fifteen hundred,” I said, quickly adding, “Plus, you and your boys haul it, and your non-drinking asses out of here.”

  Troy’s eyes squinted before he smiled and extended his hand to seal the deal. I scanned the room for expressions that would show indications that we were getting fleeced but saw only stone faces. What did it matter anyway? In the end, what were we losing? A stupid pinball machine that no one played and only took up space? Fifteen hundred seemed liked more than enough to make up for the lack of a bar tab from these weirdos. I figured what the hell, and after a few moments of final deliberations, reached out to shake Troy’s (more than likely sweaty) hand.

  “I wouldn’t do that!” a familiar voice blared through the otherwise totally silent bar. I turned to see Ropes, one of the Burning Saints, begin making his way toward us from the rear of the bar.

  “Do what?” I asked, taken aback by the interruption.

  “Shake that man’s hand,” Ropes replied.

  Ropes was gorgeous. Not just hot for a biker, but GQ kind of hot. In fact, a good chunk of the Burning Saints club looked like they could pose for a charity calendar, but Ropes was next level good looking. He’d asked me to go out with him at least half a dozen times since I’d started working at Sally Anne’s, and despite his looks and general politeness, I’d turned him down every single time. It’s not that my pussy didn’t want to accept his invitation, because believe me, it most certainly did, but I could not allow myself to become distracted from my goals right now, and I had a feeling Ropes would be a big distraction. At least that was the current line of bullshit I was trying to sell myself. I knew that I was terrified to let any man close to me after what happened with Tripp.

  Ropes wore designer jeans, boots, and what looked like a tailored button up shirt, and jacket. It wasn’t that far off from how he normally dressed, except for the lack of his leather kutte. I could see how his current lack of biker attire could cause Troy to mistake Ropes for a business man, or male model rather than a guy who spent most of his time with his hands covered in either oil or blood.

  “Do I know you?” Troy asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

  “No, but I know who you are and how you do business, so I’m gonna suggest you haul ass out of here before you do find out who I am,” Ropes said.

  “Excuse me. Thanks, but I don’t need any help,” I said, a little irritated that Ropes had inserted himself into the middle of my conversation, let alone our deal.

  “I never thought you needed help,” Ropes said, flashing me a grin. “I merely wanted to make sure you didn’t shake this slime ball’s hand, and to let Troy know that we won’t be accepting whatever chicken-shit, lowball offer he’s made.”

  “We?” I asked.

  “The Burning Saints own half of the bar, so yes, we,” he said matter-of-factly. I looked over at Sally Anne and shrugged. She rolled her eyes and then made the universal “jack off” hand motion. I stifled a laugh.

  Troy began to speak, but Ropes and I shushed him simultaneously before I continued, “Like I said, I appreciate the assistance, but Troy just wants to buy that broken pinball machine.”

  “I know why he’s here. I saw his post online about bringing his club here tonight. I was wondering how long it would take for word to get out about the machine being here,” Ropes said. “I’d planned on getting here before they arrived, but I got held up in a meeting.”

  “Hold on,” I snapped. “You’re one of these guys?”

  “I lurk on a few on-line forums,” Ropes said.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I knew that nerd culture was spreading, but a biker bar was the last place in the world I’d expected it to rear its pointed ears.

  “I have an interest in the value of collectable arcade games,” he replied.

  “I don’t know who you are,” Troy said snidely.

  “That’s because I’ve never wanted to know you, and I’d sure as hell never to business with you, so like I said…”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “You said Troy had made a lowball offer, but you weren’t here, so how could you know what his offer was?”

  “I don’t have to know what it was. If it came from him, it was a low-ball,” he replied. “Troy Holden, aka PimpBallWizard, is a known scumbag within the community of serious buyers, who’s known for ripping people off who don’t know the value of what they own. His mindless cronies here do nothing about it, because even though he’s an asshole, he’s got connections and gets solid leads on inventory.”

  Troy once again opened his mouth to protest, but I bowled over him with my ranting, which was now directed entirely at Ropes.

  “Did you think that maybe I accounted for him lowballing me, and had raised the price from his initial offer accordingly? Twice.” I said.

  “Oh, okay,” Ropes said stepping aside, hands raised in surrender. “I hadn’t realized. My apologies.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “As long as you settled somewhere near the twenty-grand mark then you’re good, but you know what you’re doing.”

  “Tw… Twenty…” I couldn’t even complete the sentence. Troy’s face sank, and the blood drained from his face. He knew the jig was up and that his deal was blown, and I knew that Ropes had been right all along. “You’re telling me that stupid pinball game…”

  “Machine,” the room corrected me in unison.

  “Shut the fuck up, nerds!” I shouted. “You’re telling me that stupid pinball machine is worth twenty thousand dollars?” I asked Ropes.

  “At least,” he replied.

  “What’s it doing here?” I asked.

  “I didn’t have anywhere else to put it,” he replied.

  The casual nature in which Ropes delivered this bit of information made me want to stab him in his beautiful face. “That’s your pinball machine?”

  “Well, it was until I donated it to the bar. I figured why put it in storage when people could play it? Granted, it’s not the greatest game ever, but it’s good for a few laughs after too many beers.”

  I stood stunned and silent for several moments, thinking of just the right words
before settling on, “Listen up! I need everyone within the sound of my voice who’s seen all of the Harry Potter movies to please get the fuck out of this bar immediately!”

  The sound of grumbles and scooting chairs filled the room as the disappointed patrons made their way to the nearest exits. All except Troy, that is, who stood motionless, his eyes fixed on me.

  “I think you heard the lady,” Ropes said taking a step toward him, but Troy refused to acknowledge him.

  “I don’t like liars,” Troy said in a flat tone that gave me the creeps, before walking off to join the rest of his sad posse as they began to file out of the bar.

  Once Sally Anne’s had been cleared of all dungeon masters and black-market games dealers, I turned to Ropes, shoved a finger in his face, and snapped, “Sally Anne’s office, now!”

  Ropes

  DEVLIN WAS PISSED. I didn’t know her well enough to know just how pissed, but I knew women enough to read that her mood was currently set somewhere between Alien and Predator, and that I’d better do as I was told.

  “Yes ma’am,” I said and took a single step before Devlin dug one of her fire engine red fingernails into my chest.

  “Don’t call me ma’am, ever,” she said.

  I chuckled, “Sorry, I just…”

  “I mean it,” she said, digging in further.

  It was clear that she wasn’t fucking around, so I dropped my smile. “Got it,” I said.

  Devlin stepped to the side, which was a shame because I had a great view of her tits when she was standing in front of me. I barely felt the sting of her nail in my sternum when I had her glorious body to look at. I marched to the office and Devlin followed, closing the door behind us before immediately laying into me.

  “Who the actual fuck do you think you are?” she snapped.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m the guy who just saved you from getting ripped off,” I replied. “So, you’re welcome.”

  Devlin stood silently, arms crossed.

  “I think the words you’re looking for are, thank you very much, Ropes,” I said brightly.