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“Wherever they fuckin’ want to. People need to worry more about themselves and their fuckin’ kids, and stop worrying about what everyone else is doing or not doing.”
“Do you believe in equality?”
I believe I want to shove my cock down your throat.
“I believe it doesn’t exist.”
“Should it?” she asked.
“Sure as fuck should.”
“On earth and in your club? Or only where it’s convenient?”
“Everywhere.”
“It’s common knowledge that the guidelines for the Hells Angels MC prohibit black membership. The Bandidos and Mongols MC’s share this guideline. In fact, a 2008 federal indictment listed many racist acts that were allegedly committed by the Mongol’s members, including beatings and murder. Do the guidelines of your club allow black members?”
“Generally speaking, there are black MC’s and there are white MC’s. The FFMC is an MC that chooses not to discriminate.”
“Do you have any black members?”
“No.”
She widened her eyes. “Will you ever?”
“If a man wants to prospect with the club, and he’s a solid dude, we’ll consider it. If he passes the initiation without problems, he’ll be a patched-in member. Skin color has nothing to do with our decision making process.”
“What, specifically, is the initiation process?”
I admired her for a moment. She was beautiful by anyone’s standards. With the glasses on, she was irresistible. As I felt my cock began to go stiff, I pressed the heel of my palm against it.
I exhaled heavily. “By invitation from a fully-patched member, someone becomes a hang-around. A hang-around is a person that comes to club functions by invitation only, and only with the member who vouched for him. After some time, say, after six months, they may become an associate. An associate is a glorified hang-around. Maybe they’ll attend a few organized rides with us, go to a few parties, and hang around the clubhouse – again, by invitation only. Then, if agreed by the membership of the club. They may become a prospect. If so, they prospect with the club for a year, and then must receive a unanimous vote for membership.”
“So, the process takes eighteen months?”
I nodded. “At least.”
“Have you denied anyone membership?”
“Yes.”
“Who and why?”
“Who is none of your god damned business. Why? Because they weren’t capable.”
“Capable of what?”
I considered my response, and gave one that lacked specifics, but was revealing enough to keep her from continuing. “He wasn’t capable of satisfying every member of the club that he was who we needed.”
She nodded, took a drink of her coffee, and gazed beyond me for a moment. After zoning out for some time, she met my gaze. “Your club, no differently than other outlaw MC’s, claims territory. Often, when many clubs claim the same territory, there’s bickering between the clubs. Does the FFMC have issues with any clubs? Do you have a rival?”
“Off the record, there are always issues with someone. On the record. No.”
She reached for the recorder, turned it off, and cocked an eyebrow. “Off the record.”
I shrugged. It was no secret that FFMC and Satan’s Savages were rivals. “Off the record, Satan’s Savages are poking around where they shouldn’t be.”
She nodded and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
