FoA Chapter 8

Time for round two. It’s getting dark outside, and this time you spend more time on your appearance. It’s definitely counter to the outlaw vibrator-running biker lifestyle to worry too much about looking cute, but you put on cool books, tight, black jeans, and an equally tight top. You even put on some makeup. Now showing some bulge and pokey nipples, it should pretty clear to everyone at Goldfinger that it’s not beer you’re thirsting for.

You take Stef’s car again, and find the bar much busier tonight. There’s no sign of Stark this time, and Goldfinger is much livelier as a result.

Rachel is one cool chick. She doesn’t even act like she recognizes you when you come in. You have to wonder how many people she’s hooked up with in this place. She definitely has the right job if she doesn’t like sleeping alone. You get a beer and hang out along the bar, where you’re approached by two women pretty quickly. The first one isn’t really your type, but the second one has a MILFy aura that you like. She seems out of place, and her clothes seem like a costume. You don’t think she’s an undercover cop or something, you think she’s probably like an executive here in disguise. She probably has a husband and kids. If you weren’t on a mission, you would totally take her home and keep your neighbors up all night with her screams of pleasure.

But you have to do your job. The club comes first. You get her phone number, but ultimately slide away. There are no convenient college chicks to mingle with, but you do spot a girl that you know from the club. She often comes to HQ to drink and flirt with Free Gurls. You know for a fact that she’s gone down on Jan. She’s kind of ditzy and has a bad dye job, but she always wears these bras that squeeze her boobs together and low-cut shirts.

You sit with her a bit, and she seems unusually polite and not slutty. You realize why… she’s waiting for Ingrid too. Damn! Ingrid must be offering goods at a low price if even fans of Free Gurls are jumping ship to be her customers. You’ll have to tell Stef about this.

You have a feeling that when this Ingrid person comes in, you’re going to recognize her. Everyone here is normal, but someone selling vibes has to be pretty hardcore. They have to give off a different feeling than all these thirsty women slamming light beers and vodka sodas.

About a half hour later, you find out that you’re right. You’re still surprised though, because you recognize her. You have seen this woman before. Right after you blew that truck driver after picking up the goods for Stef… she was in the bathroom at the gas station.

Tonight she’s wearing the same white, leather jacket. She’s blonde, but her nails, lipstick, and eye shadow are all black. She has a soft, voluptuous body, and behind that makeup is an angelic face. She’s not quite as tall as you are, but she has the biggest bust in the whole bar.

You see her walk in, and you see the look that passes between her and Rachel… Rachel must be signaling that there are no cops here. That has to be Ingrid. You remember admiring her bike when you saw it. So she’s with another crew… and she’s selling in your territory. Nothing’s ever simple.

But there’s nothing simpler than talking to a girl at a bar. You slide onto the stool beside her as she takes a beer from Rachel.

“Hello,” she says with a smile, and she still has that thick accent.

“Hi.” You look straight at her, holding her gaze. She hides it well, but she’s wary. When you met her in that bathroom, it was like she knew what had happened. Now you know why. “You were watching me.”

She laughs. “What?”

“Play innocent if you want. So that’s what’s going on.” If Ingrid knew about the shipment… you try to think this through, gazing at her. Well… you aren’t sure what to make of it, but it can’t be good.

“You are Free Gurl,” she says.

“Just a prospect,” you say with a smile. The way she talks is very charming.

“You do as you are told.” She nods. “You were told to collect the items.”

“That’s right.”

“I do as I am told.”

It looks like a couple other women in the bar are interested in Ingrid, but they aren’t approaching because they sense the tension between the two of you. Even Rachel is staying away.

What’s Ingrid trying to say?

“If you’re thinking that I’m pissed about what happened, I’m not. We have to do what we have to do,” you say. You didn’t enjoy sucking off that truck driver, but it was a small price to pay for keeping the club in business. Although… it hadn’t worked out.

“I have also been asked to do things,” Ingrid says sympathetically. “To come to this place.”

“It’s risky,” you tell her quietly, looking around. “Cops know about this place. You know that. And you also know that my club would not be nice to you if they caught you.”

“Are they nice to you?” she asks.

“Why would you ask me that?”

She glances down. She’s looking at the way that you’re sitting. Like she can tell that your ass is still tender. You blush and glare at her.

“If I wanted things to be easy, I would have gone to work for a bank or something,” you tell her. What’s she trying to do? Make you pissed off at your own club?

“I am sorry,” she says, and it seems like she means it. You stare at her, uncertain.

Maybe she’s just like you. This is a shitty assignment… having to come here and sell vibes in enemy territory. Maybe her club is hazing her, or her boss is mad at her. If they aren’t mad at her already, they are about to be.

“You can’t sell here,” you tell her. “Not in front of me. And not ever again in our territory.”

She takes that in. She had to know that you would say it. But her club is just like yours, so they need money. They are expecting Ingrid to bring home profits. Now, she won’t be able to do that… but that cannot be your problem. That’s something that Ingrid will have to figure out.

She seems almost scared.

“If you just go and don’t come back, I won’t tell my people. I won’t tell them about what you look like. Your bike. You can just go. Just don’t compete with us. That’s all. We were here first,” you say. You hope you’re being reasonable. You are trying to be.

Seconds go by.

“I wish I could just buy them from you,” you tell her. “We need them. But I don’t have the money.”

Ingrid smiles. She seems to understand.

“I can buy you a drink though,” you say.

“OK,” she replies. You get her a beer.

Now that you are on the same page, there’s no need for any threats or unpleasantness. You have an understanding. You smile and move closer to her. You know you are not hooking up with this chick… she’s off-limits, but you like her, and you want to talk to someone with another club.

“You’re lucky to be getting out of Thurst County,” you tell her, starting on your second beer. “We have the worst fucking law enforcement in the world. They jumped me outside my place yesterday and planted a bug on me.”

“Oh,” Ingrid says, looking startled.

“Yeah. My club found it and—you know,” you say, wiggling to indicate your tender butt. “It was a bitch.”

“That is horrible,” Ingrid says.

“It was,” you admit. It’s a good thing that redhead was there. She saved your ass. Literally.

You have another leisurely beer with Ingrid. She doesn’t share as much as you hoped, but you definitely feel a connection with her. She’s living a similar experience to yours, just with a different group of women. She seems great. You kind of wish she was a Free Gurl.

She finally thanks you for the beers.

“You’re welcome,” you say, offering your hand. “It was nice to meet you.” It’s nice to resolve something in a civilized way. No belts, no pain, no screaming. Jan would’ve dragged Ingrid outside and kicked her ass, then sliced her tires and probably like… done even worse things. Your way is definitely better.

“You too,” Ingrid says with a smile, shaking your hand. Her hand is super soft.

You watch her leave the bar, but for once it’s not because you want to look at her luscious rear end. It’s just… you’re sorry to see her go.

“True love?” Rachel asks dryly, and you jump. She snuck up on you. “No more cheap vibes, huh?” she asks.

“How cheap was she selling them for?”

“Way cheaper than you,” Rachel says. Hmm.

You know what? You can’t let her go like this. At the very least you have to get her number. You get up and leave the bar, hurrying so you can catch Ingrid before she leaves.

She’s in the parking lot, going to her gorgeous Harley.

“Hey!” a sharp voice barks. Ingrid stops and turns as a flashlight clicks on blindingly, shining in her face.

Stark, in full uniform, comes jogging out of her hiding place in the woods just beyond the edge of the gravel. She grabs Ingrid by her hair and drags her to the bike, where there’s a very obvious hard case on the back. That must be the where the merchandise is.

“Open it,” Stark snarls.