I turned toward the dressing room. Price McNealy and Randall Holderman were my new men of interest. I needed to be cautious on how I proceeded with each of them. If not, I might end up being the one cut in pieces and spread out over the Sonoran Desert.
I knew that much, and it didn’t take thirty days of fucking Price McNealy to figure it out.
6
Price
Carp studied me for a long moment. He cleared his throat. “You’re awful fuckin’ quiet.”
“He’s always quiet when he’s thinking,” Brisco said.
“Not much to think about as far as I’m concerned,” Carp said. “That Pig Pen fella’s pretty much off-limits. Doing something to him is only gonna—”
I looked up from my makeshift desk. “Nobody’s off-limits,” I growled. “Nobody.”
Carp’s hands shot up like he was being held at gunpoint. “God damn, Price,” he whined. “You know what I meant.”
To encourage an honest line of communication, we used the garage for club meetings. The large open space allowed everyone to feel at ease and unthreatened during our weekly gatherings. The last thing I wanted to do was place the men in a situation that made them feel intimidated.
My office, on the other hand, was a place where I was supposed to be able to think, preferably alone. It was rare, however, that I got the opportunity to use it for that purpose. Instead, it had become a place for the club’s confident and outspoken to voice their respective opinions.
I locked eyes with Carp and rocked my chair onto its back legs. “No. I don’t know what you meant. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Off-limits,” he said. “As in, it’s not a good fuckin’ idea to go poking around Pig Pen’s playing place.”
Brisco let out a laugh. “Hell, he poked the man’s daughter. I didn’t think poking around a little more will hurt anything.”
I didn’t need reminded of what I’d done. For the past week, it was all I could think of. I glanced in Brisco’s direction and sharpened my gaze to a glare.
“Don’t even try that shit with me.” Brisco said, laughing as he spoke. “I’m not Sailor, Shaft, or one of those other wormy fuckers. You want to look at me like that, you better be ready to throw down.”
“I’m always ready,” I said dryly. “Always.”
“You fucked her like a boss.” He rocked his chair back, clearly to mimic me. “Now, act like a Boss.”
Arguing with Brisco wasn’t something anyone could succeed at. Intimidation tactics didn’t work with him, nor was he willing to listen to anything he didn’t agree with, from anyone. Including me.
“It’d be much easier to be the boss if you two weren’t in here staring at me like a couple of lost little kids,” I said.
“We’re just trying to get your head in the right place.”
“My head’s fine.”
“I disagree.”
I laughed. “Based on what?”
He looked at his watch. “As of right now, it’s been a week, exactly. I think you’re avoiding the issue, personally.”
“Avoiding?” I lowered the chair onto all four legs. “Excuse me?”
He leaned forward. “You heard me.”
“How am I avoiding it?”
“Well, her padre is to you what Batman is to the Joker. If the Joker fucked Batman’s daughter, but he didn’t know it was Batman’s daughter, and then he found out after the fact who he’d fucked, what do you think he’d do about it when he found out?”
Brisco used analogies to explain everything. They often weren’t easy to follow, nor did they always make sense to anyone but him.
I shook my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Pretty easy story to follow.” He dropped his chair onto all four legs and let out a huff. “Like I said, avoiding the issue.”
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll answer your stupid fucking question. The Joker would rub the facts in Batman’s face. More than likely he’d use his knowledge of who the girl was as a means to taunt Batman until he lured him into a fight.”
“Damn right,” Brisco said. “As soon as he found out he was dicking Batman’s daughter, he’d probably fuck that chick like he was in a cock slinging contest. Out of spite, hatred, and just pure ‘get back’ on Batman for whatever he’d done to ol’ Jokerman in the past. What he wouldn’t do is this: he wouldn’t disappear like a pussy-assed clown.”
“Nobody disappeared.”
He smirked. “It’s Thursday night, last I looked. Heard no mention of going to that gal’s bar for dollar beers.”
I was confused. His analogy, as always, made zero sense. “So, you think I ought to fuck her a few dozen times to taunt Pig Pen into a brawl?”
“Not the point I wanted to make, Price.”
“What point did you want to make?”
“I guess you need to either shit or get off the pot,” he said. “Decide what you want to do and do it.”
“I was contemplating my next move when you two came in here and flopped down,” I complained. “If you’d kindly find somewhere else to go spend your evening, I’ll get back to it.”
“You don’t look like you’re contemplating shit.” He looked at Carp. “Does he, Carp?”
“Nope,” Carp said flatly.
“What do I look like I’m doing?”
“Regretting shit.”
“Like what?”
“Like fucking that gal in the bar, that’s what.”
“I’ve got no regrets,” I insisted.
“Over the years, I’ve seen you do a lot of shit,” Carp said. “Stuff that’s made me scratch my head and ask myself, ‘what in the hell is Price doin’?’” He chuckled. “But, I ain’t never seen you do something like that. Somehow that sexy little bitch coerced you into it. In my opinion, she had motive.”
There was no motive behind what Gray did or said, other than her desire to have me fuck her senseless.
I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. “She coerced me?”
Carp nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking.” Hoping for reinforcement, he glanced at Brisco. After receiving a reassuring nod, he redirected his attention to me. “Yeah,” he said. “She tricked you.”
“She tricked me into fucking her?”
“Fuckin’ voodoo, or something,” he replied, seeming dead serious in his opinion of the matter. “Wasn’t normal, that’s for sure.”
“It’s not normal for a man to fuck a woman?” I asked in rhetoric. “That’s news to me. I must be a fucking weirdo.”
“Natural for you to fuck her in the back room,” he argued. “Maybe behind the bar in that landscaped area. In her SUV, maybe. Not against the bar while we’re all drinking beers. I say she crawled inside your head.”
“She cast a fucking spell on me, huh?” I glanced at each of them and laughed. “Bitch has to have motive, huh?”
“It sure looks like it,” Carp replied, tilting his head toward Brisco as he spoke. “Ain’t that right, Brisco?”
“Gotta agree with him on this one, Price,” Brisco chimed.
Without thought, Brisco would give his life to save one of the club’s members from harm. I knew as sure as he was sitting in front of me that there wasn’t a man more devoted to the cause. Despite his devotion, he wasn’t the most sensible person on the planet.
“You think she might be a witch?” I asked in an unmistakably sarcastic tone.
Brisco raised his hand to his chin and gave the matter serious thought. “Not in a hat-wearing, broom riding sense,” he said, meeting my gaze. “She might have some manipulative skills, though. In looking back on it, it seems like she does.” He shrugged. “Something happened. I’m thinking Carp might be right on the motive thing. She might want us in there so she can call in the Hells Angels and get us caught up in an ambush.”
“You two are complete idiots. I’ll tell you what happened.” I looked at Carp, and then at Brisco. “She accused me of having a small dick. There were two ways I could prove her wrong
. I could have showed her, or I could have fucked her. So, I pulled down her little shorts and shoved her full of dick. It was my decision, provoked by nothing other than her smart mouth. That, gentlemen, is the beginning and the end of what happened.”
Brisco sheepishly raised his hand, as if needing to ask a question of his kindergarten teacher.
I gave him a cross look. “What?”
“If she didn’t plant any weird thoughts in your head, what’s with all the deep thinking?”
“What deep thinking?”
He glanced at Carp. “Has this motherfucker been sitting here in a daze since we showed up?”
Carp gave a nod. “Pretty much.”
“Has he been looking flustered for the past week?”
“Pretty much.”
“Kinda off his game?
“Pretty much,” Carp agreed. “Yeah.”
“See?” Brisco tossed his hands in the air. “She’s inside your head.”
Incapable of arguing with such idiocy, I looked away. Gray was in my head, no doubt. It wasn’t a spell, the product of manipulative thoughts, or coercive tactics. Having her tight little pussy clenching my cock felt absolutely fucking amazing. Shaking that memory was nearly impossible.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Nevertheless, I had to do something to prevent Pig Pen from showing up on the club’s doorstep. There were two options. Regardless of how I looked at it, I came up with the same answer, over and over.
I gazed blankly through the office window. A college-aged couple walked out of the donut shop, laughing.
“It’s not what you think,” I said under my breath.
“It’s always the same with you,” Brisco complained. “When you’re thinking, you don’t ever let anyone know what it’s about. On this deal, maybe you should. Don’t need the red and white rollin’ up in here waving pistols at us, I know that much.”
“No more thinking on this one, fellas.” I shifted my attention from the donut shop to Brisco. “My decision’s made.”
“What are we gonna do?” Brisco asked.
“We?” I shrugged. “Nothing. I made this mess I’ll clean it up.”
He scowled. “What are you going to do?”
“I think it’s best nobody knows. That way, ” I stood and stretched my arms over my head. “You can claim you don’t know.”
“I’ll claim I don’t know either way,” he replied. “I’m good at acting dumb.”
“No argument from me on that statement,” I said with a laugh. “But. If you don’t know and you claim you don’t know, you’ll be telling the truth. After listening to you two barf out lies and inaccuracies for the past thirty minutes, telling the truth will be a nice change of pace for you.”
He rubbed his temples. “You’re gonna keep fucking her, huh?”
“Sure sounds like it,” Carp said.
“Sure sounds like it,” I mimicked. “You’re like a fucking parrot. Repeating everything this big bald-headed fucker says. Pretty much, Brisco. Pretty much, Brisco.” I alternated glances between the two men. “We’re done discussing this.”
Brisco smirked. He peered beyond me, toward Carp. “That’d be a “yes” on the fucking.”
I shot him a look. “According to who?”
He stood. “When someone asks you something you don’t want to answer, you give an answer, but it’s not the answer. Most people hear what they want to hear. I’ve been around you enough to hear what you’re not saying.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Whatever I do, you can bet it’s what’s in the club’s best interest.”
“I guess we’ll soon find out, won’t we?” He looked at Carp. “You ready to go get a beer?”
Carp stood from his seat. “Sure.”
Brisco faced me. “What about you?”
“I’ve leave you guys to it,” I replied. “I’ve got some shit I need to take care of.”
Brisco glanced at Carp and tilted his head toward the door. “Ten bucks says he’s going to Maggie’s.”
“Not interested.” Carp laughed. “That’s a sucker’s bet.”
7
Gray
The stranger raised his empty glass and tilted it toward me. “Can I get one more?”
I flashed a smile. “Sure.”
Frustrated beyond measure, but hoping to hide it, I filled a glass and slid it in front of him. “So, what prompted you to drive from Portland to Esqueda?”
He pushed the empty glass to my side of the bar. “My brother and sister-in-law live there,” he said, nearly laughing as he spoke. “Go figure. Hell, three years ago, neither of them spoke Spanish.”
By my guess, he was in his early thirties. Wearing khaki pants, a sleeveless sweater, loafers, and a long-sleeved shirt, he was dressed like a sixty-year-old high school principal. His skin was as pale as a dead man’s, and his hair was fire-engine red. Mexico seemed like an odd place for him. Ireland was more like it.
Wearing a look of indifference, I lowered the dirty glass into the sink. “What prompted them to move there?”
“No comment,” he murmured.
I laughed. “Say no more.”
He glanced over each shoulder. “I can’t believe you’ve got dollar drafts and there’s nobody in here. If this place was in Portland, it’d be packed.”
Since Price declared the bar off-limits to the Rebels, I’d been struggling to survive. “I should be busy,” I said, expressing more frustration with the tone of my voice than I intended to. “I’m not for a reason. Long story.”
“I’d like to get to Tucson by ten,” he said, raising his glass to his lips. “Finish the story by the time I’m done with this beer, and I’ll listen.”
I saw no harm in telling him an abbreviated version of the truth. I needed to talk to someone about my frustrations, and he was my only option.
“I wanted this place to be a biker bar,” I said. “So, when I opened it, I rented that sign out front and spelled out the words ‘Maggie’s Place’, ‘Biker’s Welcome’, and ‘Now Open’. Nobody came, and I mean nobody. So, I added the words ‘Dollar Drafts’. The next night, a local bike club saw the sign. They liked the cheap beer, learned to like me, and loved the bar. They came in pretty much every day of the week. They brought in some of their friends and the occasional club hang around. It worked out pretty good for all of us.”
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Cops busted ‘em? They’re all in jail?”
“Nope,” I leaned onto the edge of the bar. “Rival club came in last week and claimed this territory as theirs. If the other club comes in now that they’ve been warned, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “It is what it is.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it?”
“Not really.”
“So that’s it?” he asked. “You’re just supposed to starve to death?”
“Hopefully, I’ll build a new customer base. I’ll get creative with the sign. Maybe run some cool specials.”
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news.” He leaned forward as if preparing to tell me a secret. “Once a bar is labeled a biker bar, it’s branded for life. Civilians—or whatever we’re called—don’t want to walk into a biker bar. If there would have been motorcycles in the parking lot, I wouldn’t have stopped, I can tell you that much.”
He was right. After a year of seeing nothing but motorcycles in the parking lot, a local wouldn’t consider stopping in for a beer, no matter how attractive I priced my drinks. Right or wrong, most people feared bikers. Common citizens had no desire to mingle with one-percenters if they didn’t have to.
“I’ll continue to cater to bikers,” I said. “Maybe I’ll sponsor a bike night. Hopefully, it’ll bring in the local riders—you know, the ones that don’t ride with a club.”
“That might work.” He checked his watch and his glass. He was nearly finished. “Do you serve food?”
The jars of savory
snacks I offered were on the shelf behind me. I gestured to them with my thumb. “Pickled sausages and pickled eggs. I have a kitchen, but it needs some work.” I smiled at the thought of one day getting it in order. “Maybe one of these days…”
He gulped the remaining beer and raised the glass. “Good luck to you, kitchen or no kitchen.” He pulled a few bills from his wallet and placed them on the counter, under his glass. “I’ll stop by on my way back to Portland and see how things are going.”
“I doubt anything will change,” I said. “How long are you staying?”
“Hard to say.” He hopped off the barstool and stretched his arms like a soaring eagle. “Maybe a month. I’m self-employed. Hell, I can work from my brother’s place, so there’s no real reason to leave. It’ll probably depend on how hot it is.”
“It’ll be 115 degrees, but it’s a dry heat,” I said with a laugh.
He raised his arms and gestured to the stains underneath his armpits. “Yeah, so is this.”
I gave him a nod and a prayer. “Have a safe trip.”
After he left, I cleaned the bar and wiped the tables, although I really didn’t need to. Upon returning to my position at the beer taps, I surveyed the empty establishment. The striking absence of any sound was depressing.
I worked hard to achieve my goal of being a bar owner. Now, by some strange twist of fate, my hard work was all for not. I wasn’t an emotional person. Hell, I couldn’t recall the last time I cried. I wondered if I forced myself to shed a tear if I’d feel better about the situation.
I balled my fists, clenched my jaw, and tried to force a tear from my eyes. Nothing came. Eventually, I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The sound of my frustrations filled the room. The anger diminished. After the last breath of air escaped me, I laughed to myself. I had no idea screaming could be so therapeutic. While I relished in my newfound state of mind, the cowbell clanged.
I looked up. Recognizing Price’s silhouette brought a whirlwind of emotion. Joy. Sexual tension. Frustration. Regret.
Anger.
“Thanks for killing my business, asshole,” I snapped. “I changed my dollar draft night to suit you and your cronies. Oh, and I let you fuck me. Yeah. There’s that, too. What do I get in return? Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.”
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