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n g f o r t h e D i s c i p l e s
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    of the driveway, some chick would drag me into one of the back bed-
    rooms and say, “Don’t tell nobody, because if my old man finds out,
    he’ll kill me.” Sure, the Disciples had rules—like don’t kill without a
    reason, don’t steal from your brothers, and don’t have sex with no-
    body’s old lady unless he gives you permission. But I wasn’t a Disci-
    ple yet, so I didn’t think any of those rules applied to me.
    I needed somewhere I could take a break from the chaos of the
    clubhouse, so I scraped together my money left over from boxing and
    got myself an apartment. It was a decent place on the north side of
    town.
    Tom finally put me up as a prospect to the club a few months after
    we arrived in Phoenix. If you get taken in, you have to prospect—that
    is, be a prospect, or probationary member—for ninety days before
    you can become a full-fledged member. Three whole months before I
    could get my patch sounded like a lifetime. I was going to be nothing
    but a slave for the Disciples to fuck with. I’ve never liked being or-
    dered around by anyone. Besides, I felt I had already proven myself to
    the gang.
    On the inside, I was ready to burst. I needed to let out my ag-
    gression, so I began fighting again. Every time there was a chance to
    scrap, I would be right there in the middle, waiting to take my shot.
    I’d go to bars, pound whiskey until I was wasted, and then take it
    out back to throw down. Some guys brought chains, while others
    had baseball bats or clubs.
    Tom Tom would look over at me and yell, “Come on now, Dog!”
    I had to fight to win every time, because a prospect can never afford
    to lose. My probation with the Disciples went on for what felt like
    forever. The guys gave me crap every day. It was only a matter of
    time before I cracked.
    Somebody heard Jimi Hendrix was in concert nearby, so we all
    rolled over to the show on our scooters. We were about to go in,
    when Hudat turned to me and a few of the other guys and said, “All
    prospects hang out here and keep an eye on our bikes and our old
    ladies.”
    I did everything I could not to lose my stuff. I kept thinking he
    was messing with us. There was no way I would sit outside in the
    parking lot with their old ladies while they went in and partied.
    Tom wouldn’t look at me, because he knew I was pissed. They
    went into the concert and left us with the scooters and the chicks. I
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    Yo u Ca n R u n , b u t Yo u Ca n ’ t H i d e
    really tried to keep my mind off of missing the show, but I couldn’t.
    It was bullshit.
    “Forget this, man. I ain’t sitting out here like some idiot.” I got
    off my bike and went into the show.
    When I got inside, I had no problem pushing right up to the front
    of the stage. Most people saw the nasty look on my face and just got
    out of the way. I needed something to take the edge off fast, so I
    walked right over to where this hippie was standing with a jug of
    wine.
    “Give me a pull off that skin flask.” He handed it right over, no
    questions asked.
    I took a long swig and then walked off in the other direction,
    still holding that flask. I could hear the guy swearing at me as I did,
    so I doubled back.
    I lifted up my T-shirt so he could see the gun I had tucked in my
    waistband. “What was that?” I asked.
    His face went blank. “Nothing, man. Nothing.”
    Two Hell’s Angels standing nearby must have been watching
    what I did. They walked over and said, “What’s your name, man?”
    “I’m Dog.”
    “Who you with?”
    “I’m prospecting for the Devil’s Disciples.”
    The Angels were cool. They slapped a bunch of different-colored
    pills into my hand before they split. I had no idea what any of them
    were, but I swallowed them down with a gulp of wine anyway. I wan-
    dered around the show like a zombie, taking people’s weed and swig-
    ging their wine. I was trashed. When the music stopped, I stumbled
    back out to the parking lot. I