Editing Getting the Band Together (section)

=='''Lucky and the Ugly Ferret.'''==
[[File:Ugly Ferret-bar.jpg|450px]][[File:SbG-Lucky7.jpg|150px]][[File:Ugly Ferret-stage.jpg|450px]]

Wrecker and Reggy walked into the quiet, darkened bar, thick with the despair that clung to the place once dominated by the Riders. The bartender, whom Wrecker had dubbed Lucky, was sitting backward on the bar, pouring himself a pint. He looked up and slipped down onto the ground, his expression shifting to one of suspicion as he remembered the last time the two had been there.

"Ah... what can I get you... fellas?" he asked hesitantly.

Wrecker took a seat. "Well, you had a bottle of Old Crow. I know because I took it. Do you happen to have any more?"  

Reggy wandered over to the dark booth once inhabited by Black Carl. He peered closely at it before stepping to a doorway covered by a ragged cloth, glancing beyond it.

Lucky brought up a bottle and pushed it toward Wrecker. "Is my tab still good?" Wrecker asked.

Lucky nodded. "It is. You gave me a grand. Not that I got to keep it."  

Wrecker raised an eyebrow. "Those guys still own the place?"

Lucky shook his head. "I own it, but they sort of... well, *own it*. They must be on a long run. It's been a month since they were here." He glanced at Reggy, who chuckled. "Ah, you looking for something?"

Reggy smirked. "Just looking around. Seeing if any of the guys are back there, you know, hiding? That a storeroom? It's sure full of stuff."

Lucky stiffened. "No one’s here but me. I haven't had more than a couple of customers a day for a month. Like I said, they’re on a run. Yeah, that's their stuff, and you should stay out of there. They don't take kindly to people messing with their stuff."

Wrecker glanced at Reggy, made a hand sign, and spoke to him in Ang Rin—the language of Ang Ri, where the pair had recently spent significant time. "What’s back there?"

Reggy replied in imperfect Ang Rin, struggling for words. "Storage, junk. Couple of..." He paused, searching for the term for “performance space.” "...arena...sands." Switching to English, he clarified, "A couple of stages." Then, in Ang Rin again, "Good space. Stairs upstairs."

Wrecker turned back to Lucky. "You don’t miss them, I bet. They tax you pretty heavy?"

Lucky let out a bitter laugh. "No, they take *everything*. Luckily, I skim enough to live on. I sent my wife to Alabama—kin—three years ago, after the ''Reapers'' moved in on me. For her own sake. Look, they really hated you guys. You don’t want to be here when they come back." 

Wrecker smiles.  "Having no visible means of support makes us hard to find."

Reggy says, "Anyway, Lucky, if they come back, it’s fine. We know necromancers." He raps his knuckles against the bar. "Beer, any time I knock."  He grabbed the beer Lucky passed him, taking a long swig. Wrecker chuckled.

"My name’s Wrecker. My mother had an attitude. He’s Reggy. You’ve got a nice place here, if it weren’t filled with scumbags."

Lucky scowled. "You making a joke, Wrecker? The place is a shithole. I bought it from the previous owner, who didn’t tell me he had these... scumbags squatting here. I put my life savings into buying the place and did some cleanup. I was hoping to have a nice little spot. At first, I didn’t know why the locals avoided it, and I couldn’t get anyone to tell me what the problem was.  

“We moved in upstairs. The back was full of junk—boxes, trash, a couple dozen motorcycles in pieces. I was looking through things and found a trunk full of weed. I couldn’t decide if I should go to the police. Then they showed up. Refused to leave, refused to lock up. Hit on my wife hard. Made it clear they owned the place and everyone in it. Made it clear my wife was their whore now. Pretty sure one raped her, but she wouldn’t say anything."

Wrecker polished off his glass and poured another. "That’s when you sent her south?"

Lucky nodded. "Yeah, and took a hell of a beating for it. They all wanted a taste, I guess. Look, I appreciate you guys coming in and all, but if the Riders find you here, they’ll kill you."

Wrecker shrugged. "I’ll risk it. You know them all, their whole chapter? Know about other chapters?"

"Yeah, sure. There are five other chapters—New York, Toronto, Durham, Jacksonville, and New Orleans. Why?"

"How many in their chapter here?"

"Uh, 13 or 14 patched members, a few prospects. About a dozen girls—four are regulars, the others are hangers-on, hooking for them. They provide protection around here. Protection from them, mostly."

Reggy made a tiny hand gesture, and Wrecker nodded. Reggy pulled out a stack of cardstock and laid them on the bar. Lucky’s eyes widened as he saw the photos on the cards. "Who did we miss?"

Lucky stared at the photos, his face pale. "What... what happened to them?"

Reggy chuckled. "Kinetic energy poisoning. They’re not acting. So, who did we miss?"

Lucky examined the photos. "Ah, Gorgie, Little Harold, oh... Smiley. Smiley’s a psycho. None of the girls."

Reggy shrugged. "Yeah... I’ll catch up with Smiley."

"They’re all dead? Uh... look, why are you showing me these?"

Wrecker leaned in, his voice low and deliberate. "Because we need to know how many are loose. We need to know who they got their stuff from, who they did business with, and who else is going to come looking for us. You look scared."

Lucky hesitated. "I don’t want any trouble."

"You’re not in trouble," Wrecker said. "Look, we need a hangout, and you need new customers. What’s upstairs? How much of the building do you own?"

Lucky sighed. "The club extends into the warehouse. A few stories. It’s got a big space back there, but it’s been empty for years. Not a lot going on around here. We’re in the industrial zone but close enough to get foot traffic. With the Riders gone, things might pick up, depending on what you guys are doing here."

Reggy and Wrecker exchanged glances, then nodded.

"Here’s the deal," Wrecker said, his tone casual but firm. "You get protection, money, and a chance to turn this dump into something respectable. We don’t need your money. Keep it. In return, you keep your mouth shut about what we’re doing here. We’ll even pay for our drinks."

He set a roll of bills on the counter. "That’s about five grand. Any questions?"

Lucky hesitated, his gaze darting between the roll of cash and Wrecker’s steely eyes. He thought of his wife in Alabama, safe but far away, and of the Riders’ blood-stained reign. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. But if this goes south, we’ll all be dead."

Reggy asked, "By the way, what’s your name?"

Lucky looked around, weighed his options, and said, "I’ll stick with Lucky."