He felt himself walking briskly. Chin tucked in his collar, hands tight in his pockets, for the air was nippy like a thousand puppies teething. He walked down this street and that. He walked across the Pattullo Bridge into New West and found himself rolling into the College Place Hotel and Bar for a drink. His mind was cluttered. Full of cobwebs. He struggled to even order a Rusty Nail. It came along with a girl.

“Hey handsome, need a friend?”

He shook his head. “Not now. Maybe later.”

“Just holler for Amy.”

He watched her hips sway from one side of the room to the other.

It was around ten or eleven pm. A lot of college kids there from Douglas College just up the street. He watched two guys go into the toilet. Came out with wide eyes. Full of balls. Looked as if Death walked in, asking for them, they would kick him in the balls. Cocaine. Couple of Hells Gate Bikers (HGB) sitting at the bar, the newly formed BC chapter of the international biker gang. They ran the prostitutes. After midnight the girls came out dancing and stripping. Tony, the manager, brought out five girls and introduced them proudly like they were his own daughters. He said that the one on the end, Georgia, had a seven inch clitoris. Sam ordered another Rusty Nail and watched the people come and go. It took his mind off things. There was a telephone on every table. Classy, Sam thought. There was some commotion behind him, but Sam knew better than to watch biker gangs beat the shit out of someone and throw them out. A glass was flung towards him and broke on the floor, splattering some drink on his legs. He took a peek over his shoulder, brushed the droplets off his leg and went back to his drink. When the hooligan was tossed out, probably half dead, an HGB pulled a stool up next to Sam. Not too tall, maybe five ten, five eleven, but built like a WWF wrestler.

“Hey there, bud, you had a little accident?”

“Was gonna throw them in the wash tonight anyhow,” Sam said with a nod as if to say there was no problem. The man was tattooed, burly, beardy, with a handsomely symmetrical face, blue eyes like curaçao, and leathery skin.

“I’m Brogan. What are you drinking?”

Sam really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, but hell if he was gonna piss off an HGB.

“Sam. Rusty Nail.”

Brogan nodded at the bartender who fixed two drinks and set them down. He took one and held it to Sam.

“To your health.”

Sam lifted his glass and nodded and downed his drink.

“That’s a nice drink. I've never had that before.”

“Whisky and drambuie,” the bartender said.

“Drambuie? What’s that?”

“A kind of sweet, flavoured, whisky.”

“So it’s dry whisky and sweet whisky. How about that? So Sam, you working? Or a student?”

“Student.”

“Douglas?”

“No, BCIT. Land Surveying.”

“Land surveying,” he said, obviously pleased. “That’s a good gig. I know a few surveyors.”

“I’m not one yet,” Sam said.

“No, I know. You’re a student. That’s a good gig, too.”

“What?” Sam said in some confusion. He had been looking ahead at all the drinks behind the bar but finally turned and faced him.

“Good gig, I said. You’re an adult, but you don’t have to work, and society doesn’t get mad at you for that. Nifty.”

Sam didn't register what he said as he was incensed at being a student. “The only thing worse than being a student is being a failing student.”

“That doesn’t really make sense. You could say that about anything,” Brogan said with a bit of amusement.

“I’m a surveyor, but I have to be a student until I pass all these idiotic tests. I’ve been surveying since I was twelve.”

“So?”

“What do you mean ‘so’”?

“So, pass it and get it over with. Or don’t pass it and go be a surveyor anyway.”

“Can’t be a surveyor without a license. Can’t get a licence without passing the test.”

“Seems pretty fucking straightforward then. Go pass it. If you took the test now, could you pass it?”

Sam’s chest and shoulders collapsed an inch or two. He took another sip of his drink.

“You like to feel sorry for yourself, Sam?”

“Fuck you.”

“Haha. I’d take a look at where you are and who you’re talking to before saying something like that.”

Sam lowered his head in deference.

“That’s alright, bud. Have another drink. You read the bible?”

“Jesus wept! You can’t be serious?”

Brogan burst out laughing. “I am serious. Really.”

Sam looked him up and down. The tattoos were mosaic, beautiful and frightening, and had hints of Hieronymus Bosch. He also had the numbers eighty one and the letters AFFA. Sam didn’t know the meaning of either.

“No, I don’t,” Sam said. “Is that the one with three ghosts?”

Brogan, a grin on his face like a hyena, took another sip of his whisky.

Sam, looking at the four inch death skull insignia on Brogan’s arm, said, “I can’t imagine you do either.”

“Yes, I suppose you may think it a bit hypocritical.”

“Hypocritical? It’s sadistic.”

“Haha. Maybe so.”

“Well, at least we agree on that then,” Sam said. They had just rearranged the tables and cleaned up the mess from the fight when a girl raised her voice at some unruly man for being tight with money.

“Excuse me,” Brogan said, and got up to throw another man out. He returned as if he’d just taken out the trash.

“I believe,” he continued without a hiccough, “that there’s a place for God in every part of life. I can’t in a day or even a year become a nun from the life I grew up in.”

“A nun wouldn’t suit you.”

“Eventually I’ll find my path to God. God is everywhere, even here. And I have to contend with my environment to seek Him out.”

“Is that right? A stern talking to wouldn’t have worked on those guys? Turn the other cheek? That first guy is probably still lying on the curb outside trying to scotch tape his ribs back in place.”

Brogan chuckled. “That was a stern talking to. He can come back in when he’s ready to behave. The first guy, George, in case you were wondering—”

“I wasn’t.”

“He’s a regular, and sometimes has a few too many. He can’t control himself so I need to. It’s a job. I’m not out to hurt anyone. I’m here to protect the girls, keep the business going.”

“The business alone is antithetical to God.”

“How so?”

“I don’t need to explain what you do to you.”

“Humour me.”

Sam took a frustrated breath. He felt confused and annoyed. Either his leg was being pulled or this biker was delirious. “You’re right, I guess you guys are just a bit rude.”

Brogan’s curaçao eyes jumped about as if they registered the sound waves.

“I didn’t even know we had you guys out here,” Sam said, contemplatively.

“Our PR is in need of an update, I agree.”

“Jesus, you sound as if you’re just a company. Weren’t there bombs going off weekly in Montreal?”

“Was that to do with us?”

“Wasn’t it?”

Brogan lit a cigarette and took a puff. “Lot of rough folk around. Gotta stay on your toes and protect your communities.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. Obviously Brogan wasn’t going to acknowledge any of the criminal activities that members of his groups may or may not have been involved in. So Sam went back to another point in question. “How about vengeance, then?” Sam asked. “Isn’t that God’s area of expertise?”

“Vengeance? Let not the sun go down upon your wrath. I always sleep like a baby. We settle debts. But then again so do you.”

“That’s just a word game.”

Brogan laughed again. He was clearly very amused and interested in Sam. “Why are you here, Sam?”

“I thought I was here to enjoy a drink alone, but I’m starting to doubt that’s the case.”

“What brought you here?”

“Walking around. Clear my head.”

“You did something wrong?”

“Something stupid, something counterproductive. It’s not wrong in the sense you’re thinking of.”

“Wrong in the sense that your path to God has been muddled, or detoured, or eroded entirely and you don’t know what path to take? Is that the same sense?”

Sam felt a flush of heat run through him, which he knew to mean something had hit its mark. And although he knew the sentence Brogan had just uttered was vague and applicable to every situation, he still felt the heat in his chest and the sweat around his knuckles. Sam faced away from Brogan and breathed deeply, as if the air were fresher looking that way. There was a large, cigar store Indian statue over by the jukebox, big hooked nose like an eagle, leathery skin, cowboy boots, plaid shirt, face as wide as a cow’s behind. Sam couldn’t see his whole face, but he looked sad and lonesome. Then the statue moved and Sam nearly fell off his stool.

Another drink appeared.

“All I’m saying is, bud, that I wrestle with Him every second of every day, and so do you, and so does everyone else, whether they like it or not, in whatever place they are, at whatever age they are. Because we're all trying to find the path to Him. So, tell me, Sam, what brought you here?”

Sam downed the whisky. “I’ve been failing school for three years to spite my dad and all the people who expect me to be better than him for ruining his life for fraudulent surveying.”

“Cheers to that,” Brogan saluted. “That’s cathartic. Now if you can just say it again without the self-pity.”

“What?”

“You think highly of yourself. I can tell. You think everyone is a moron in your class.”

“No I don’t.”

“In Romans, I think, it says, ‘And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.’”

“Wow! even got the “ye” in there. Right on. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Just stop feeling sorry for yourself. You were even fake concerned about the guy I tossed out to make your point.”

“I wasn’t concerned at all. That guy was a dickhead. I’m sure. I was just pointing out the fact that you’re in a racket, pun intended, that hurts people. Is this a good life for these girls?”

“I didn’t give these girls this life. And it’s not my job to solve all of their problems.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what Jesus did? Why can’t you do that? Quit this, join a church, spread the word.”

“These girls will spit in their face, you know that. This isn't Buckingham palace. Or haven’t you noticed? And those bible-carrying saps don’t belong here, and won’t do any good here. These girls know this isn’t the best life. But you make do with what you got, and maybe someday, they’ll find a path forward to God, as I trust I will, and I pray you will. The world wasn’t created in a day. Forgive your father for his wrongdoings. It wasn’t you. Have you any right to be angry?”

“I am angry at him. You forgive him, then.”

“Don’t think of yourself more highly than you ought to.”

“Enough with the bible quotes. Is someone whispering those through an earpiece?”

“Lower your voice, Sam.”

Sam felt his blood boil. As it always did whenever his father was brought up. Another HGB came over and said into Brogan’s ear, “That Indian kid is here, too. Wally.”

Brogan nodded and turned to Sam. He didn’t finish his drink.

“Sam, it was a pleasure talking to you. I’ve got to go take care of a few things now. If you ever need anything, just let me know. And if I see you in here again with that sorry-looking expression on your face, you’ll be sipping that drink on the curb with George and a black eye.”

Sam felt even more confused and angered than before he had come in. He got up to pay but the bartender waved him away.

“It’s been taken care of,” he said.

Sam grinded his teeth a bit and exhaled without satisfaction. Outside, he stepped over George, passed out on the curb.