Tuesday t**s was pretty much the exact opposite of Manny’s. The name itself should’ve given that away. As we drove up to my brother’s bar, a line of motorcycles were parked outside the front door. We pulled into the back alley and found a whole second line of motorcycles parked there too.
Tuesday t**s catered to a rough crowd—not just my brother’s crew, though they fit in, but a biker gang that frequented Roussou. As we stepped inside, a bunch of guys wearing leather cuts were drinking and playing pool. A few lounged at tables, talking.
The conversations lulled and all eyes came to us.
They seemed to sense fresh meat.
“How’s it going, Bren?” the bartender asked.
It was just a formality. He didn’t want to know.
The bartender was one of Channing’s crew members. He wanted the regular cu
