Page 26 of Thug

Our club meetings were what I liked to call “stand up meetings”. I stood by the center overhead door and spoke to the group. Facing me, the men stood and listened. Many offered insight, and we often voted on matters that required the club’s endorsement. I believed a man who was standing listened much better than one who was sitting. Unless, of course, someone else was talking to him while I was speaking.

“I don’t need to continue. I just finished what I was talking about.” I lifted my chin slightly. “What’s your name, prospect?”

Thirty feet from me in the far-left corner of the garage, the prospect cleared his throat. “Jordan. My name’s Jordan.”

“Your road name, prospect.” I pulled my hair away from my face and took a few steps in his direction. “I don’t give a damn what your given name is. What’s your fucking road name?”

“Jordan,” he responded.

It wasn’t much of a road name. His given name must have been something like Flash, Butterbean, or Zero. Although I didn’t give a fuck ten seconds earlier, my curiosity was killing me.

“What’s your given name?” I shouted.

“Peter.”

Both names were awful. I laughed to myself as I continued to thread my way through the crowd. “Who the fuck named you Jordan?”

“Lackey and me,” Panzer said. “Thought it was funny.”

“What’s funny about it?

“His girlfriend’s name’s Jordan. Sounded like a dude’s name to me, so I decided to name him Jordan. Pisses him off when we call him that, so it’s perfect if you ask me.”

I paused when I was within arm’s reach of the two men. I gave Panzer a nod of approval. “Agreed.” I looked at the prospect. “What did I just say, prospect?”

“Who the fuck named you Jordan?” he asked sheepishly.

“Before that,” I said. “When Panzer was nibbling on your ear.”

“You said Lackey complained that we were short on dues, and dues are supposed to be paid quarterly, no later than the first Friday of the month, which is tonight. The dates are posted on the garage wall.” He gestured behind him. “Over there.”

“After that,” I said. “What did I say after that?”

He stared blankly.

“You didn’t hear what I said after that, did you?”

“No, Sir.”

“I’m not a sir, Prospect. My name’s Price. Not Prez, not Mister President, and definitely not Sir.”

He nodded. “Okay, Price.”

“Do you know why you have no idea what I said after I discussed paying dues?”

A look of embarrassment washed over him. “Because I was listening to Panzer?”

It wasn’t my sole intention to make him look like a fool, or to embarrass him. I hoped to stress the importance of paying attention, recognizing the club’s pecking order, and, of being respectful. Panzer was typically very considerate. Like everyone, at some point in time he needed a friendly reminder. The prospect, however, needed to be taught the basics of being respectful.

“You are correct,” I said. “You were listening to Panzer, which made listening to me a difficult—if even possible—task.”

I wagged my index finger between Panzer and me. “If the two of us are speaking during a club meeting, which one of us do you think you should listen to?”

He was a lanky kid with a mess of curly brown hair and a farmer’s tan. Despite being roughly twenty years old, the skin on the back of his neck was wrinkled from working in the sun. Based on tan and his muscle structure, I guessed he worked on a concrete crew.

I locked eyes with him and waited for him to respond.

His Adam’s apple rose and then fell. “I should listen to you, Price.”