Harley Davidson Lawyer Ch. 04

The Harley Davidson Lawyer

Chapter 4: An Interesting Job Offer with a Condition

We had to wait to be seated in what was supposed to be the best steakhouse in the small desert town of Needles. So, we sat at the Western-style bar in a room filled with dark wood and mirrors. Matt ordered a draft, and I got a Margarita to celebrate our new relationship. I felt strangely shy after Matt had declared I was his girlfriend. He had recently broken up with his fiancee, and I had never had a boyfriend despite being almost twenty-two.

I gazed fondly at Matt's reflection as we ate one salty peanut after another. Damn, he was too handsome to be real. Every time he smiled or laughed, I got weak in the knees like a lovesick teenager in a TV sitcom. His hand caressing the back of my thin muscle shirt only added to my constant state of arousal. I've always been repulsed by couples who cannot keep their hands off each other in public. Well, hell, no one in Needles, California knew me, so I ran my hand up and down my new boyfriend's muscular thigh.

I studied my reflection in the mirror next to his. My dark pupils and mane of long black hair made my brown skin look paler than it was. My innocent face looked every bit of fifteen or sixteen despite my bright red lipstick and generous breasts that were too large for my diminutive frame. Of course, I'd been asked for ID and had to listen to the same joke I'd heard ever since I turned twenty-one.

"I've never seen a fake California Real ID before. It sure looks authentic. Bet it cost you a pretty penny. Guess if it's that good, I won't lose my license for serving a minor."

I finished the Margarita Matt had recommended well before he was halfway through his long-neck beer. I waved at the bartender to get another, well aware I hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours and had spent almost all that time in strenuous sexual activity. Well, hell, I felt like celebrating.

I looked back at our reflections. Matt looked almost old enough to be my father and his muscular frame that dwarfed my diminutive childlike body added to the misimpression. He looked like a Hollywood version of a Nordic God with blond hair and blue eyes.

I used my best smile and asked my new boyfriend, "Matt, how old did you say you were?"

Matt turned to me and smiled before he squeezed my thigh just above my trembling knee and answered. "I'm afraid I'm almost over the hill, Babe. I'll be thirty in a couple of months. I saw your driver's license and did the arithmetic. Is that going to be a problem that I'm seven years older?"

Matt looked at me and smiled hopefully. His warm gaze and woodsy scent overloaded my senses. When had he started calling me Babe? Did he know what it did to me every time he claimed me as his girlfriend? I inhaled sharply as his hand resting on my tight jeans began sliding up my thigh.

My gasp drew the attention of the middle-aged bartender before his eyes returned to my breasts. I knew the grubby bastard was hovering nearby so he could ogle my breasts that were threatening to pop out of the thin cotton fabric of my tight crop-top muscle shirt. The air conditioning in the dessert bar made my nipples hard, and I was trying to ignore the dark circles of my areoles that were all too obvious in my reflection. They looked like bullseyes surrounding the protrusions in the thin cotton. I'd developed a heat rash pushing my broken down bike across the desert, and my breasts were too sensitive to wear the sexy pushup bra that would have masked my nipples.

I wished I was wearing underwear because the crotch of my old beat-up skinny jeans was getting wet from Matt's enthusiastic smile and his warm hand caressing my upper thigh. His fingers had worked their way through one of the 'decorative' rips in my jeans mere inches from my recently shaved pussy. It didn't help that Matt had shredded my only pair of underwear. If we weren't at a public bar, I'd jump his bones right now. I felt incredibly horny. It had been nearly two hours since we'd last had sex. I guess that means I'm well on my way to becoming a sex addict. As it was, I figured I was one Margarita away from being arrested for public lewdness.

I tried to focus on something besides his fingers caressing the top of my thighs. I had been wondering how much taller and heavier he was than me.

"Matt, How big are you?"

"Why are you worried about my size? You didn't have a problem with size when I bent you over the sink. You clung to me like a baby monkey holding on to its mother, and you took everything I gave you. Sherri was a lot bigger woman than you, and I always had to restrain myself."

I repeated my question and took a big gulp of my drink as I stared at him seductively over the salty top of my Margarita glass."

"Eight and a half inches."

I blinked once before I started laughing. I was asking about height and weight, and the gorgeous hunk had told me his penis size. When I was a kid, my brothers would wait until I had a mouthful of milk before making a funny face. The next thing I knew, milk would be spewing out of my nose while I coughed. If I had to shoot a liquid from my nose, I'd prefer milk. The icy Margarita froze the inside of my nose and hurt like the devil. Matt patted me firmly on my back as I coughed and sputtered.

When I finally managed to compose myself, I said, "Seriously, you're not even nine inches? All the porn stars are at least nine inches. What happened?"

Matt looked perplexed. "So, now you're an expert on penis sizes? Have you ever checked the internet? Several studies report an average of 5.1" in the United States. The standard deviation is 0.62". If you believe penis sizes follow a bell curve, then about one man in thirteen million has a larger cock than I do."

I looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "Are you sure?"

"Hey, I'm an accountant. Trust me; I know how to do the math. Don't blame me if the data is wrong. I promise I didn't go around measuring ten thousand American cocks."

I laughed. "Well, someone is touchy. To be nice, I'll retract my objection. I'm not an expert on cocks, but I sure enjoyed yours."

Matt took a swig of beer and looked at me intently before he smiled. "Apology accepted."

He paused before continuing. "I noticed you were a bit tentative the first time you touched my cock. Just how many have you seen in your life?"

I blushed. It was my turn to be on the defensive. I focused on my Margarita before taking a long slow sip.

"Well, I'm waiting for an answer."

"One."

"Really? You've only seen one cock besides mine?"

"No, counting yours, just one."

Matt sat there staring at me for several minutes before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry. I was under the impression you were experienced. If I'd thought you were a virgin, I would have been gentler."

I didn't want to talk about being so drunk my first time that I couldn't remember anything about the night I lost my virginity. I didn't know Matt well enough to share my darkest secret.

"I wasn't a virgin, and you were more than gentle enough. I just didn't see their damn cock, Ok?"

Matt laughed nervously. "Now, who's being touchy?"

"Can we change the subject?"

"Ok, but just in case you have a thing about African cock's being larger than American's, you should know all the studies report that the U.S. is number one."

I laughed. "Ok, now that we've established that you're Matt the Magnificent, which you had already proven more than once anyway, can you just tell me how tall you are and how much you weigh? That's what I wanted to know when I asked how big you are."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about my cock some more? You seemed to love the subject."

I punched his arm hard enough for him to wince. Hey, I may not weigh much, but I put all my 106 pounds behind my fist.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. I promise; I'll behave. I'm 6'2 and two hundred and twenty pounds. I was two hundred and fifty when I was playing football in college."

"Damn, you're over a foot taller and more than twice my weight. I'm just a little kid compared to you."

"Well, for a size-challenged person, you performed better than any woman I have known. I love fucking athletic women. I've never had the pleasure of a lady who is both athletic and intelligent. Babe, you're fucking amazing. I can't wait to get you in bed again."

I smiled my sexiest smile. "If you're going to get all mushy and romantic, then this little girl is going to melt. I can't say no to such a warm and sexy invitation."

I don't know what would have happened if we hadn't been interrupted by the hostess telling us our table was ready. I was thinking along the lines of a lap dance followed by screwing on top of the bar. Boy, was I under the influence of raging hormones.

The waitress led us to a booth in the back and gave us two grease-stained and battered menus. She recommended the steak dinner. Matt ordered a beer and another Margarita for me. We both ordered the steak dinner before she could runoff.

Of course, I was carded by the waitress once again. She snorted when she examined my ID and asked us to be patient because the kitchen was short-staffed. I was concerned about drinking Margaritas on an empty stomach. There was going to be trouble if our food didn't arrive soon. The sexual tension between Matt and me was growing by the minute.

Matt cleverly defused the situation by taking out my business card. He rapped the edge of the card on the table a couple of times with a hard clack.

"Your card says you specialize in criminal defense and corporate law. I did a quick check on the web and found out you're the one who got that sick fuck Derek Grenhouser off with only seven years for two homicides, aggravated rape, kidnapping, and extortion. I'm impressed. We had a criminal defense lawyer working for the LA Raptors, but he snorted a shit ton of coke and tried to ride his Harley under a big rig. He's not much use to us without his head, which means we have an opening. So, are you interested in the position?"

Matt emphasized his question by running his hand up my thigh until he encountered one of the higher rips in my battered jeans. I jerked as his probing finger slipped inside the rip. I began wiggling on my stool as he ran his fingertip up and down the sweaty crevice between the top of my thigh and my recently shaved labia. The intense stimulation on top of one too many Margaritas made it challenging to respond. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on his question. Finally, I squeaked a reply.

"It sounds intriguing. Maybe you could elaborate on the financial details?"

Matt's finger invaded my wet slit. He seemed determined to test my ability to think under pressure.

"Before I talk compensation, I'd like to discuss your qualifications in corporate law."

I looked around the dimly lit room to see if anyone was observing what Matt was doing to me under the table. I groaned as he wet his finger in my vagina before running it over my throbbing clit.

I moaned, "I can handle most aspects of corporate law, but I specialize in tax law if that helps?"

I had trouble keeping my hips still when he slid his finger deep into my dripping wet vagina. Matt smiled as he caressed my G-spot.

The beautiful man said, "This job interview just keeps getting better."

Matt reluctantly removed his hand and casually licked his finger. He took a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and folded it in half lengthwise. He slipped the bill down the top of my muscle shirt."

"That's to ensure attorney-client privilege."

I nodded my head. "Just remember it doesn't protect you against any intentions to commit crimes in the future. I'm obligated as an officer of the court to report those to the proper authorities."

"I understand. You don't need to understand much about the nature of our business to advise us. The LA Raptors are middlemen in a supply chain that transports high-value products. Our business generates a large cash flow that needs to be invested and protected from taxation. Since I'm the accountant, I maintain a detailed record of the LA Raptors' finances. Let me show you what we are dealing with."

I watched Matt open a spreadsheet on his cellphone. The Master worksheet provided access to several linked worksheets that contained an enormous amount of information that would take hours to review. Matt gave me a high-level overview. I was impressed that the average monthly revenue for their motorcycle club's enterprise was a little over twelve million dollars and growing.

Matt said, "I know you need more time for a complete evaluation, but I'd like to hear any suggestions you have for reducing our tax liability."

I took a sip of my third Margarita and listened to my empty stomach growl before listing several classic approaches. Matt listened carefully to each one before showing me they had already incorporated all of the standard tax dodges.

"Matt, you may find it weird, but my favorite classes in law school were in corporate law and, in particular, tax law. Unfortunately, every time I interviewed a large corporation, they were only interested in how many rich blue-blooded families I knew. They never gave me a chance to talk about what I had learned interning for one of the most brilliant corporate economics professors in the world. You cannot possibly know how much I appreciate you listening to me talk about my experience."

I won't bore you with the details, but I proceeded to give Matt an overview of the professor's work and concluded with a discussion on how it applied to their business model.

Matt said, "Oh my God, if I understand correctly, we can reduce our tax liability to practically zero just like all the biggest companies in America."

I laughed. "In a nutshell, you understand the concept perfectly."

"Ok, so not only are you a crackerjack defense attorney, but you're also a hidden gem in the area of tax law."

I blushed and took the last sip of my Margarita. If we didn't eat soon, I wasn't going to be responsible for my actions.

Matt leaned closer and said, "The president of the LA Raptors has tasked me with finding a new defense attorney since the old one lost his head. Our business is highly competitive, and sometimes our club members get into altercations with our rivals. Normally, we keep such matters under wrap, but we need an attorney on call to represent our fellow bikers if law enforcement gets involved. I'd like to have you on a retainer if you are interested."

"If you include an opportunity to work on your company's taxes, then I'm excited. It depends on the details."

Matt's placed his hand on top of mine. "I'm thinking about $100k a year as your retainer. We would expect top priority on your time, and the first two hundred billable hours come out of the retainer. The LA Raptors will compensate you at $250 an hour for any additional hours. Does that sound acceptable?"

I was stunned, and I had to fight to keep my poker face from slipping.

"I can work with that. We need to put the details into a contract, but unless you have some bizarre conditions hidden up your sleeve, I'm your new LA Raptors' attorney."

"Well, there is one minor condition. You have to become a member of the LA Raptors Motorcycle Club. We'll waive the thousand-dollar a year membership fee. You'd still have to go through the initiation ceremony. Once that's done, I'll cut you a check for the $100k."

"Initiation ceremony? You mean something like walking barefoot over hot coals?"

Matt grinned, "Yeah, something like that only more fun. I'll have Bertha fill you in on the details."

I was in desperate need of cash. I had a shit ton of student loans, and working in the Public Defender's Office hadn't left me much disposable income after I made my rent and monthly loan payments. I'd planned on winning enough money hustling rubes in Las Vegas to buy myself some new clothes to replace the ones I'd worn throughout law school. Unfortunately, the delay caused by my bike breaking down meant I didn't have time for gambling. I needed to return to Los Angeles for a court appearance on Tuesday. I only had one moth-eaten wool suit fit to wear to a courtroom in a building that lacked air conditioning.

I said, "I'm game. When can we perform your little ceremony?"

Matt said, "Let me see if I can arrange it. Hopefully, the guys are still in Deadman's Junction. If they got the delivery, they might have left for LA."

We were interrupted by the waitress bringing our meals. It was about time. Matt and I tore into our steak dinners and ate in nearly complete silence. The only sound was the scrapping of our knives on the plate. Of course, Matt had to order a bottle of Merlot to celebrate. I only drank what I needed to wash down the tough sirloin steak. This dive wasn't the Ritz, but I was hungry enough to wolf down the entire slab of beef. When I finished, my belly was stuffed, and my jaw was sore from chewing.

I sat back and whipped the grease from my mouth with my third paper napkin. I couldn't believe I had cleaned the plate, including a monstrous baked potato loaded with sour cream and chives.

Matt said, "I like a woman who isn't afraid to eat. I just don't know where you put that monstrous steak in that tiny body."

I said, "I felt like celebrating."

"Great, because I just texted our president that you accepted the offer. Josh is thrilled that you can fill both the criminal defense and corporate law positions. He and Bertha are at the Drunken Tortoise just down the road. They're celebrating because the shipment arrived just before dark. The rest of the gang are sleeping off a day of too much sun, weed, and beer back at the motel. Are you interested in joining them? They have a live band. Maybe you could show me your best dance move."

I smiled when he reaffirmed he was my boyfriend, but the idea of going dancing to celebrate our new relationship made me nervous. I've only been dancing once in my life. It was the evening after the Mock Trial Competition. I had gotten loose and enjoyed myself that night. I'd copied the other dancers and jumped around with my hands in the air. I tried not to think about what happened later that night. I looked at Matt and smiled. I'd felt safe lying in his muscular arms all night and knew I didn't have to worry about anything as long as he was beside me.

"I'm game as long as you're not talking about some kind of formal ballroom dancing."

"Nah, it's a local rock band that is only famous for being loud."

"Did you ask Josh about the initiation ceremony?"

"Yeah, he said it'll happen tomorrow morning. He called for a couple more members to ride up from LA, so we'll have a quorum. So, you might as well relax and enjoy yourself tonight."

We were too full for dessert and headed over to the Drunken Tortoise about nine. I was a little unsteady on my feet after three Margaritas and a couple of glasses of wine. I was glad I'd gotten some food in my stomach. Sitting on the back of Matt's bike with my arms around my new boyfriend's muscular torso felt terrific. Breathing the warm desert air during the short drive helped revived me. By the time we parked outside the sun-bleached wooden building, I was ready to dance my ass off.

The parking lot was packed with muscle cars and tricked-out pickup trucks. There was hardly a sedan or SUV around. There was a poster by the entrance indicating the Dead Rattlesnakes were playing. Another sign announced that there was a Daisy Duke Amateur Dance Contest tonight. Matt had to pay a cover charge to get in, but there was no charge for women.

The inside of the dingy, rundown bar reminded me of Ozzie's sleazy place at Deadman's Junction, except it was much larger and was packed with patrons who added the stink of their sweat to the smell of old sunburnt wood. A band was playing something vaguely familiar on a stage in the back. A handful of people were dancing in an open area in front of the stage. The bar ran along one side of the room and had three women bartenders dressed in short denim skirts, and western shirts knotted in the front to show their firm tanned abs.