Being Butch Green || ✓

Chapter 12 - A Karaoke Loving Bikie

But I didn't.

I didn't even flinch. I sat, like a stunned rat, on the shoulders of two humongous men and waited with the urgency to pee. My very presence seemed to have gone completely unnoticed. No one did me the courtesy of bringing over the pot plant which now seemed to be the only thing in the room that noticed what was going on.

"Bahahaha!" a booming, yet squeaky, laugh came from the shadows as all the men in the room turned and kneeled. I squinted and jolted back, the grip of the men the only thing stopping me from dropping to the ground. As if on cue, the men swayed in unison like a camel down to the floor and I wriggled out of their grip.

Leaping off the men, I hesitated. The file lay on the table right in front of me. It sat like a lost wallet waiting to be picked up. I ran to it, reaching out to snatch it up, but stopped short.

Horrified, I watched as a squirrel bounded out from nowhere and cascaded across the table, grabbing the soggy mess in its teeth and hopping away before I could snatch it up.

"And what do we have here, Jerry?" the high-pitched voice bellowed, stepping out of the shadows.

My eyes widened, as my face slowly morphed into the beginnings of a smiling episode.

"I told you to run, Butch."

Ignoring the voice in my head, I rushed over to the pot plant. This was an emergency. As if on cue, I began to laugh with relief as the dirt within the pot darkened. I couldn't help it. The room was deathly silent as I wheezed out my laugh. I finished with a certain air of delight before I turned, smiling with the small win in my grasp.

I bawled over, tears welling at the corners of my eyes as I exploded into a belly-aching roar, making the old injuries I'd obtained irrupt in pain. I wasn't laughing at my success anymore, but at the sight in front of me.

A man about the size of a giant stood, feet squarely apart, holding the soggy file, a look of utter disgust planted firmly on his face. His tattoos went an extensive way down his arms, neck and bald head. A bright orange beard dawned his chin, braided in little pink daisies; whilst the squirrel ran up his leg. Through all the bikie clothing, you would expect one of his stature to have a deep hurling voice, but instead, the man's voice sounded like a twelve-year-old whinging about spaghetti.

I slapped the table, falling to my knees as I laughed.

"What's so funny?" the high-pitched voice replied, sounding slightly offended.

"Everything!"

He squinted at me as his face contorted in a blurry wave of tears and I belted out an incoherent non-human sound. I continued to laugh, not only at my own misfortunes but now because I couldn't stop. I always had impeccable timing for things like this.

"Pull the kid up."

Thick, sweaty hands grasped my forearms, dragging me up off the floor, and over to a table. They forced me down, still in my giggling fit. The daisy bogan slid into a seat opposite me, glaring into my eyes as I continued to choke on air.

"Are you done yet?"

"N-no!" I wheezed.

He folded his arms across his chest as I wiped away a tear.

"Ahhh..." I began to calm down and giggled a little. "I think I'm good now."

He nodded. "Looks like you're in a pickle."

I began to giggle again.

"Butch."

I stopped mid-laugh, eyeing him suspiciously. "How do you know my name?"