I’m stepping out of Meade County Jail, unsure what to expect. Been in worse spots, but this ain’t exactly a walk in the park. A young guy in biker gear approaches me, and his vest tells me he’s a “prospect” with the Twisted Paladins.

Prospect’s a young guy with a face that looks like he’s spent more time on the cover of Teen Vogue than Easyriders. There’s an eagerness in his eyes trying to prove something. Not to me, but to someone. Maybe to the Paladins.

His gear’s still got that shine of newness; he hasn’t settled into the role. He’s in, but not all the way.

“Yo, Jim! Room’s reserved for you at the Kendall Hotel,” he says.

He’s eager to please, this kid, but he’s not falling over himself. There’s a coolness to him. He’s done this before and has something to prove but doesn’t want to show it.

“You part of this?” I ask, nodding at his vest.

“Just doing a job,” he says, not meeting my eyes.

His smile’s practiced but not fake. He hands me the keys to my bike, fingers lingering a moment too long as if he’s unsure whether to let go.

A young woman rolls up on a Harley, and the prospect climbs on back, leaving me with that lingering sense of something more going on. He glances around once as they pull away, and something in his eyes says this isn’t a simple favor.

I watch him go, still puzzling over the kid before I return to my Harley. Fresh and gleaming, it’s been washed, waxed, and detailed.

Something’s going on here, but I’ll figure it out later. For now, the Kendall Hotel’s waiting, and so is the night.

Copyright © 2023 L.T. Hanlon