Free Reprise by C.D. Breadner

a woman that hot and ready to go to her own devices for a week at a time? He must be fucking nuts.
    He scooped his helmet off the handlebars and was pulling it on when the door of the house across the street opened. He paid no mind to it, just another activity to the morning on a quiet street where people went to work any day of the week like the rest of the world did. They just got to come home to much nicer digs than other working schmucks.
    Until he realized he was being stared at. A cold prickle slid over the back of his neck and he rotated towards the source, clocking one Doctor Tracey Webber where she stood, staring at him in surprise.
    Leaving the chinstrap dangling, Tiny crossed the street towards her home, wondering how the hell he had no idea she even lived here. She had to have moved recently.
    “Good morning Doctor,” he called out from the bottom of the patio stone walkway that led to the small white-washed front porch on her house. One of her hands clenched her purse strap to her chest, the other hung loose at her side. And her mouth was hanging open as though surprised.
    “Is everything okay?”
    She roused herself at the question, shaking her head. “I’m...I’m fine. Thank you.”
    “When did you move to this lovely part of town?”
    “Umm...almost two months ago. Was...was that you last night, over at Mrs. Sanquist's?”
    Tiny grinned. Another one of Beth’s quirks: leaving the bedroom window open. She didn’t always do it, just sometimes. And he could give a shit who knew why he was visiting. If that chicken shit husband of hers took issue with it, he was more than welcome to come by and take it up with Tiny at the clubhouse.
    “She keep you up last night?”
    Doctor Webber nodded before she could stop herself. “I like to sleep with the window open and...well.”
    No need for more information than that.
    “Sorry to keep you awake, Doctor. Maybe next time we’ll try a gag.”
    It was an assholish delight to watch her turn bright pink and stomp down her steps, veering to her right towards the driveway. But hell, she was the one bringing it up instead of politely ignoring the fact he’d spent most of the night fucking a married woman so hard there were gouges from the headboard in the wall paint.
    Then he had to frown. The garage on this place was behind the house. She should really use the back door. It’s be a lot safer—
    He shook his head. Not his problem. Without another word he turned and returned to his red and matte-black bobber, firing her up in that noisy way she had and heading off in a roar back to the clubhouse.
    He made it back just under the wire: 7:58am. He was striding through the doors of the board room with Knuckles just as Jayce rapped his fist on the tabletop.
    “Hueneme,” Jayce said, and the room collectively groaned. “Yeah, I know. It’s a big port.”
    It was. Hueneme was a deep water, oil tanker port, which meant big money. Which meant nervous and attentive eyes on all shipments and people coming and going. But it was regulated by a Harbor District, not a branch of government. That meant, somehow, Sachetti’s pull let them roll in mid-morning with a semi, take a load, and then drive out without having to explain to anyone what was going on. Even if said truck was escorted in and out by guys on motorcycles.
    That fucker was filthy rich and so motherfucking powerful it demanded respect. Still, this made the club nervous. With their luck, this time they’d show up on some cowboy port authority hack’s first fucking day, out to prove himself.
    “Traffic blitz ended last week,” Spaz piped up. “Turnbull’s got one deputy on leave right now. Which means he has to be out on beat.”
    “And he’ll be listening for straight pipes,” Tank mused.
    “Yeah he will. Tiny, you wanna change your road plan?”
    Tiny shook his head at Jayce’s question. “Nope. we head straight towards it, bypassing San Francisco. Heat in my truck until we have that shipment, though.