Piss Ant was on his back laying on a large mulberry bush. The plant broke his fall when he careened off the barn roof. He lost his footing at the roof top, bounced down the rusty metal, made a yelp, went airborne and with his arms outstretched he sort of swooped to the ground. Lucky for him he fell on the big bush.
When he landed he was giggling hysterically and couldn’t stop. I didn’t know if it was the Yukon Jack he had been swigging or relief that he was alive. Fortunately, Piss Ant was knee-walking drunk. If he was sober, he might have broken his neck.
God always looks after babies and drunks. The bush and alcohol probably saved his life or at least saved his scrawny neck. Piss Ant weighed about 120 pounds and could hardly keep his jeans up.
P.A. fell when Roach yelled up that he had been served by the sheriff for running a phony fifty/fifty drawing. There had been no winners, except for the club. We kept 100% of the proceeds. The little man screamed, “Them bastards gonna come for all of us. We all screwed!”
And then, he threw up his arms and fell off the roof. Rugburn tried to grab him and he dropped two of the paint cans. One can hit P.A. in the balls and spilled its red contents all over his jeans.
Piss Ant and Rugburn had been ordered to paint some stuff on the barn roof. Rug’s job was to hold the paint cans and the extra brushes while Piss Ant did the painting.
When all this was happening, Rug had been temporarily demoted back to prospect. His colors were confiscated and he was back to being a just a prospect. He had to do whatever any patched member ordered him to do.
Saturday morning Roach gave Rug a list of paint colors and brushes to buy at Home Depot. He said, “Don’t fuck around. Go buy the paint and get your ass back here. We got a lot to paint today. Take Misfit with you to carry all the stuff.”
It was Saturday and when the members were sufficiently drunk on beer and Yukon Jack they ordered Piss Ant and Rug to climb the long ladder up to the barn roof where Rug tied the little guy with one end of a rope looped around his thick black belt and Rugburn knotted the other end to a lightning rod on the barn roof. Roach had ordered Misfit to hold the ladder to steady it for the long climb up.
We were looking up at P. A. We never thought that if the “little un” had fallen off the roof he might be cut in half. The tiny little dude had maybe a 29 inch waist. When he lost his balance and fell, he snapped off the old lightning rod and was damn lucky that it didn’t slingshot and impale his gut when he hit the bush. Instead the rod came down on Misfit’s shoulder and stabbed him about two inches. The lightning rod was rusty but everybody was too drunk to care or call for an ambulance. Instead Roach yanked it out with blood spewing everywhere and spit tobacco juice on the wound. Then he ripped off Misfit’s shirt and wrapped it tight around the shoulder.
Roach announced, “That should do it. He’s got enough booze in him to prevent any infection and the tobacco juice will heal it up fast.
Misfit wanted to show his guts and said, “Yes, boss. You right. It don’t hurt bad. Not nearly as bad as that time the Downingtown Desperadoes gut shot me.”
Roach said, “Yeah kid. Suck it up. We got paintin’ to do.”
We couldn’t give up on the paint job. No sir. Both men took a leak and had a few swigs of Yukon Jack and climbed the ladder again with Misfit steadying it and lookin’ kinda pale. . Roach yelled, “We’re Saints and we damnwell don’t never give up.”
Snake threw another safety rope up to Rug and he tied it around Piss Ant. Rug couldn’t figure out where to tie it off now that the lightning rod was gone. So he just lied and told Piss Ant it was secure.
The motley drunks on the ground had grown to eleven equally drunk members. They hoisted paint cans and brushes up to Rugburn. Piss Ant had been ordered to paint a “good lookin’ nekked lady” on the barn roof on the side away from the highway.
We were supposed to paint “Praise Jesus” on the side that faced the highway. We thought that would throw off the cops. P.A. was a good artist sober or drunk and we decided to paint Jesus with his open arms in a white robe and “Praise Jesus” under his open arms.
Piss Ant had worked as a sign painter for more than twenty years and he told people that’s why he always had a pint of vodka in his back pocket. He’d say, “You know it cuts the phlegm from the paint fumes.”
He could freehand anything and had never had an art lesson.
Roach had said, “No sense in getting the cops in here ‘cause some goddamn holy roller complains about our roof”.
One of Roach’s ladies had laid on her sofa and posed naked and he photographed her with a Polaroid camera so Piss Ant would have something to go by.
Roach kept shouting up to Piss Ant, “Don’t forget the tattoo”. All of the Saints’ ladies were required to be tattooed with a statement announcing which Saint held title to her body. Most of these ownership tattoos were made on an ass cheek or the lower back or on a thigh.
Roach had designed the tattoo on the back of a cocktail napkin. The words were circled by an inner circle of daggers surrounded by four doves. None of the members were willing to tell him the design looked ridiculous. The women all hated it.
Roach had several ladies. The lady in the barn roof painting, Stephanie, was called “Staph” by the close knit tribe of bikers and her tattoo read “Property of Roach”. Her tattoo was actually on her inner right thigh but Roach told Piss Ant to paint it on her lower belly right below her navel where everybody could see it.
Little Dick’s woman, Fat Linda, was embarrassed by her tattoo because Little Dick literally had a Little Dick. Her tattoo was on her wrist. She refused to let the tattoo artist see her naked fat. There was far too much fat on her ass and thighs. She would try to adorn her wrist with cheap plastic bracelets, anything to hide that “fucking tattoo”.
Piss Ant did a beautiful job. Staph looked way better in the roof painting than she did in person. Someone on the ground commented, “Staph looks better than a Playboy centerfold.”
Roach countered, “Goddam right she does. She’s my woman and I deserve the best pussy in Chester County.”
We all gathered under the roof and partied. The women came over and everyone bragged about how Staph was so beautiful. It got Roach turned on and he took Staph inside the house.
Staph came back outside in about ten minutes.
“Roach had more of those chest pains. I told him to keep his pants on. I gave him a handful of Tums. Told him I’d give him a good fuck when he felt better. I knew he wouldn’t be able to get a good hard on. He probably just has a bad case of indigestion.” She didn’t mention that Roach hadn’t had an erection in about six months. He was club president and she didn’t want to embarrass him.
The rest of us decided to have a cook out and we sent some prospects to get some hot dogs and hamburger. We told them to get two more quarts of Yukon Jack and three cases of beer.
They returned with the beer, the booze and about a bushel of white corn they bought from an Amish roadside stand.
We gathered around and shucked the corn while Misfit started the fire and filled a wash tub with water.
“God, that corn was good.”
Roach never came out. He slept until 11:00 AM the next morning.
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