Never Too Rich by Judith Gould Read Free Book Online Page B

the tits department. Sure, but he wasn’t
complaining. She just had to walk down the street and men would
start salivating.
    He put-putted into that part of the East Village
called Alphabet City, past Avenue A and then on to Avenue B. And
there was the clubhouse, on the south side and in the middle of the
block, a six-story tenement with some twenty shiny Harleys parked
out front. The bikes never needed locking. Nobody dared steal a
Satan’s Warrior’s scoot. That was like begging for death.
    “ Hey, bro!” a deep voice
shouted.
    Snake nodded as he walked his bike against the curb
and flipped out the kickstand with his boot. He slapped hands with
a heavily built six-foot-five giant who was dressed almost
identically to him, except that the dude’s head was covered with a
black kerchief, completely hiding his hair. They clasped hands
roughly in their ritual greeting, fingers gripping each other’s
wrists. “Hey, Trog,” Snake murmured. “How’s it go-innn?”
    “ Heyyyy . . . not bad.” Trog nodded
at Snake’s bike, which was ticking as the engine began to cool. “Ya
got it runnin’ again. Carb needs adjustin’, though.”
    “ Yeah, I know.” Snake sniffled,
leaned sideways, blocked one nostril with his thumb, and let snot
fly; cold-weather riding always clogged his sinuses. Then he swung
off the bike like a cowboy swinging off his horse and stood there
slightly bow-leggedly, eyeing the machine as critically as a madam
eyeing a whore. “Spent half the night tinkerin’ on her so she’d
run. I’m gonna tune her up later, but first I’m goin’ up n’ gettin’
me a righteous fuck.”
    “ Not with my ole lady, you don’t,”
Trog scowled.
    “ Why’d I wanna have her when I got
Shirl?”
    “ Then good luck, bro.” Trog
laughed. “Yuh might as well have yerself a snooze
first.”
    “ Huh?” Snake stared at
him.
    Trog poked a greasy thumb eastward. “She left a
couple, three hours ago. Said she wuz goin’ window-shoppin’, or
some shit like that.” Trog shook his head morosely. “Bitches! Never
satisfied. Always goin’ out to buy shit. If I’d let her, my ole
lady’d have me hock my scoot.”
    Angrily Snake kicked his rear tire and shoved his
hands in his chain belt. “Shee-it!” He glowered. “When she gets
back, there’s gonna be one bitch screamin’ so loud they’ll hear her
all the way out to Montauk.”
    “ Hey, hey,” Trog said equably.
“Take it easy, man. Lighten up. Shirl’s a good kid.”
    “ Yeah?” Snake demanded. “Well, she
knows better’n to go traipsin’ off without my permission.” Snake
sniffled again, leaned over, pressed his thumb against the other
nostril, and cleared it too. Then, hunching his shoulders, he
stomped up the front steps of the clubhouse.
    Sometimes he didn’t know what got into Shirl. It was
almost like she was asking for punishment. Despite his warnings,
every few weeks she’d sneak out and go walking off by herself. Like
poking around St. Mark’s Place, or heading over to the West
Village. Once, she’d even gone uptown, to Bloomingfuckingdale’s,
like she was some kind of princess. He’d warned her often enough,
and slapped her around a little so she’d remember who was boss, and
she’d beg his forgiveness and promise never to go off by herself
again.
    He stepped over a biker who was passed out in the
front hall, headed for the nearest refrigerator, and grabbed a can
of Bud. He popped the top and then went back outside. A carful of
teens was driving slowly by. Ogling the row of bikes shining in the
sun.
    Getting a thrill out of cruising past the Satan’s
Warriors’ clubhouse. He heard the shrill of female laughter, and
that did it. He flung his beer can down to the sidewalk, watching
the foam explode.
    Christ, sometimes he hated women! They were crazy
bitches, all of them! Crazy fucking bitches!
    Well, the longer Shirl was gone, the sorrier she
would be. Bet your ass on that.
    Where the fuck was she?

 
    Chapter
7
     
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