Harlem stepped through the barely-there door of the clubhouse. Not much had changed since he got locked away almost ten years ago. Gore had tried to get him out earlier, but they'd been careless and young. The evidence was ironclad and he had to do his time.

At least he could show off a few new prison tattoos on his back. Old and new faces welcomed him. Cheers and the smell of sex and booze flooded the air. He took a deep breath and grinned.

After catching up with some of the older guys, Harlem collapsed in a chair next to Gore. The President was sipping on an entire bottle of whiskey.

"Welcome back, shithead. Good to have you back." The two men shook hands.

It felt nice to wear his Spades jacket. The original patch had a new one next to it. The passage of time was unpreventable.