Being Butch Green || ✓

Chapter 13 - Hippies Not Kippies

I let myself bask in the moment on the stage. It was a glorious feeling as the crowd of burly teddy bear loving men erupted into applause and whistles. My legs wobbled as the full rush of alcohol infused adrenaline coursed through my veins. Through the haze, I saw Henry come forward out of the crowd, beaming and clapping.

"That was...something!"

"Really?"

He nodded as I forced my jelly-like legs to take my body off the stage. It seems bogans were easier to please than I first expected. I beamed at him as the bar returned to an excited murmur, and a hideously edited version of 'Born to Be Alive' played over the karaoke machine.

"Now, I promised you your papers."

"Yes, I do seem to recall that." I smiled, laying out an open palm for him to slap them onto. When he didn't, my hand retreated back into my pocket. "It would be best if I got on the road soon."

He chuckled, the crowd parting for us we stumbled through. "Yes. Well, some of the boys thought that performance was so brilliant, they've set themselves a challenge to see who can restore the papers to their former glory."

I frowned. "Why?"

He shrugged.

"They do realise it's covered in dog shit and piss, right?"

"Nope," he squeaked cheerfully. "That's what makes it fascinating. My men seem to believe you're worth the time of day."

"Funny," I whispered. The minds of these men made no sense to me. Henry promised to reforge the papers, but what if Haynes and Buller saw between the lines? What if I returned them and the police were in on it? What if I still went to jail for the crimes I didn't commit? The whole country was looking for me; waiting for me to stuff up. I was a fugitive not only to the state, but also to Galgort and Jack. I couldn't trust anybody anymore.

I shook my head. Yet here I was. Trusting these bikies with my file in the hopes that I can return it undamaged. If Jack were here, he'd be punching them all up. I was glad he wasn't here; that the police had got to him. He deserved jail - I didn't. I just wanted to correct my mistakes, and maybe someday that would happen.

I sighed, following Henry and his pet squirrel, Jerry, to the back of the bar. A small doorway, minus the door, loomed before us. Instead of a door, a string of brightly coloured neon beads made a flap, replacing what was once the doors' primary position. They changed colour with the lights, and for some reason when they were a dark pink, they appeared to have little squirrels imprinted on them.

"Jerry's favourite," Henry said, glancing back at my curiosity as I examined the little beads. He smiled and parted the beads, motioning for me to follow.

Amused at the thought of grown men enjoying the company of squirrel infused beads, I entered the small room. Rows of pool tables lined the wall, and an arcade was abandoned in the far corner. I expected the patrons of the bar to be engaged in a swearing contest over whose ball was really hit into the pole table hole, but instead a group of men were huddled around two typewriters and a stack of paper.

I stopped, a little confused as one man furiously typed on a typewriter, whilst another rivalled him. Their fingers dashed across the machines with incredible speed as the rest of the men huddled around their respective teammates.

"JOE! JOE! JOE!" one side screamed.

"DEREK! DEREK! DEREK!" the other side rivalled.

They went back and forth, erupting in a cheer every time a page was exaggeratedly flipped over by the typer. It was a strange sight to behold. I smiled, and before I could stop myself, my large ass mouth spoke.