Ropes

by Jack Davenport

She huffed. “Fuck you very much, asshole.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No, I will not excuse you, or your behavior. I did not need your help out there and I do not appreciate you inserting yourself into my business.”

  “First of all, I think it’s crystal clear that you absolutely needed my help. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly,” I said taking a step closer. “You’d know, and very much appreciate it, if I were to actually insert myself into your business.”

  “Ropes, I’ve made it clear to you on several occasions that I’m not interested in being your backseat bitch,” she said in a low, controlled tone. “The fact that you’d choose this moment to hit on me, weakly, I might add, is just one of the many reasons why I would never let you anywhere near my business.”

  I fully admit that my line was cheaper than usual and ill-timed, but Devlin was usually a good sport when I fucked around with her like this. She’d been on my radar since the day she’d started at Sally Anne’s. I happened to be here on her first night and didn’t think she’d make it to the end of the shift. She didn’t know how to pull a beer tap or make change and looked like she’d rather be anywhere but here, but she could handle herself in a room full of bikers and that was most important. Plus, she was the only one who had ever figured out how to work the ancient relic that Sally Anne called a cash register. She’d picked it up at an estate sale because it looked cool, but until Devlin came along with her magic touch, it had been the most expensive paperweight the bar had ever purchased. She was clearly smart, capable, and she was without a doubt, the sexiest woman I’d ever seen. My draw to her was undeniable and I couldn’t help myself from teasing her whenever she was around. I felt some sort of compulsion to annoy her as if we were kids on a schoolyard.

  However, Devlin was no little girl, she was all woman, and right now she wasn’t playing games, she was truly angry.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said, trying to reset the conversation, but it was too late. Devlin was set to chew my ass, and I was gonna have to stand here and take it. Normally I’d have split long ago, but I wanted to get to know her, so if this was what it took to have her undivided attention for a few minutes, I’d suffer through it.

  “I understand that your club owns part of the bar, and that you guys basically have the run of the place, but from what I understand, all business decisions are to be made by Sally Anne herself. We were in the middle of a business negotiation, so you should have stayed out of it,” Devlin said.

  “I should have stayed out of it? You said it yourself, business calls are to be made by Sally Anne. Is your name Sally Anne?”

  “No, but I was speaking for her… on her behalf,” Devlin replied defiantly.

  “On her behalf? She was standing two feet away from you. Couldn’t she speak?”

  “Of course, but these guys were sitting in my section and they were talking about the Magic Lady, and everything kind of escalated from there. Troy made an offer, and I just kind of went for it.”

  “On Sally Anne’s behalf?” I asked.

  “She gave me the nod!” Devlin exclaimed.

  “The nod?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that the ‘steal second base’ nod, or the ‘mafia hit’ nod?”

  “The, ‘I trust you to handle this’ nod, jackass.”

  “It looked like you were trying to run the deal and were getting your ass handed to you,” I replied dryly.

  “What the fuck do you know?” she shouted back at me. I was clearly not scoring any points with her, but I was now very curious as to why she was so invested in tonight’s events and had a feeling I was going to have to push Devlin’s buttons a little if I had a chance at getting a glimpse into her mind. What the hell did I have to lose?

  “Clearly, I know a hell of a lot more about business negotiations than you do,” I said with a smile.

  Devlin didn’t return the smile, but paused before asking, “Does that pinball machine really belong to you?”

  “It did, before I donated it.”

  “Strange.”

  “Why is it strange for a person to own a pinball machine?”

  “It’s not,” she replied. “It’s odd for a twenty-something-year-old biker to own a twenty-thousand-dollar pinball machine. It’s even weirder for that biker to park something so valuable in the corner of a bar.”

  “Like I said before, there’s a lot that goes on around here that you don’t know the first thing about.”

  “Why are you called Ropes?” Devlin asked, completely changing gears.

  “Why do you want to know about that now?” I asked, perplexed at her new line of questioning.

  “Never mind why I want to know. I just do,” she replied.

  “Jesus, you’re a bossy one, aren’t you?” I retorted to which Devlin scowled. “I’m called Ropes because that’s the name my club gave me.”

  “I understand the concept of earning a club name. I’m asking how you got it.”

  “Why are you being so hostile to me?” I asked softly.

  “I’m hostile because I’m pissed at you,” she replied, looking puzzled.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “What do you mean? Yes, I am. I just told you I am. I’m angry at you, that’s why I’m yelling,” she said, the volume level of her voice rising.

  “Go out with me.”

  “What? Didn’t you hear everything I just said? I’m pissed off at you and I’d never let you near me,” she said, now looking utterly puzzled.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Not what?”

  “Pissed off at me,” I replied smiling.

  “Stop saying that!”

  “Let me take you out tomorrow tonight and I’ll tell you why I’m called Ropes, and why you aren’t mad at me.”

  “I don’t date clients,” she said.

  “Clients? This is a biker bar, not a law firm. You’re a waitress for Christ’s sake.”

  “First of all, that’s the second time you’ve used the Lord’s name in vain, and I’d ask that you not do it again in my presence, and secondly, I’m not a waitress, I’m a tattoo artist.”

  “A tattoo artist. Really?” I asked, ignoring the odd religious sentiment.

  “Yes.”

  I suppose I wasn’t too surprised, given the large amount of ink Devlin had on display, but I had no idea she was an artist herself.

  “I’m waitressing temporarily, but I developed my dating practices while moonlighting at tattoo shops. As a rule, I don’t date people I work with, co-workers or clients.”

  “Well, then, lucky for you, I fall somewhere in between,” I said smiling but once again, got nothing in return. “Come on, Devlin, work with me here. I’ve been asking you out for months and you always shoot me down.”

  “That should have been a clear indication as to how I feel about you,” she replied.

  “See, that’s the thing that’s bugging me. You always say no, so why is it that I always feel like you want to say yes?”

  “Because syphilis is rotting your brain?” she replied without missing a beat.

  I was trying desperately to keep my cool, which had suddenly become very difficult. This was the funniest shit anyone had ever said to my face and I could not let myself laugh. I turned away to keep her from seeing my struggle.

  Suddenly, from behind me I heard, “Okay.”

  I whipped around, shocked at Devlin’s sudden change of heart.

  “We can go out tomorrow night, but I’m picking the time and place, meeting you there, and I’m paying for myself,” she said, without a hint of warmth.

  “Sounds romantic,” I replied cheerily. “I’ll give you my number…”

  “I’ll get it from Sally Anne,” she said, and swung the office door open wide. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight then. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I said as I exited, but still very confused by the entire interaction.

  “Can’t wait,” she said unconvincingly, turning around to give me a chees
y double thumbs up sign.

  I needed a drink even more than when I’d walked in but thought it best if I got the fuck out of Sally Anne’s place before Devlin changed her mind.

  * * *

  Devlin

  Mental illness ran in my family, but it wasn’t until that very moment that I’d ever worried about the health of my own brain. But, insanity was the only possible reason as to why I’d agreed to go out with Ropes. What else could explain how I’d come into the office to give him a piece of my mind, and instead walked out with a date? No, not a date. It couldn’t be a date. I must make that point very clear to him.

  Sally Anne was on me like white on rice the moment I stepped out of the office. “You okay, sugar?”

  “I think so, I’m not really sure, actually. No, I don’t think I am.”

  “Everything okay between you and Ropes? He didn’t do anything that warrants an ass kicking did he?”

  Sally Anne was very protective of ‘her boys,’ but if any one of them got out of line in her place, they were gonna hear about it. She was tough as nails and didn’t take shit from anyone but was also nurturing and genuinely sweet. Likewise, from what I’d seen, the Burning Saints were about as good a group of bikers you’d ever want to come across. They were tough and scary guys, but some of them, like Ropes, were warm and made me feel safe when I was around them. That was one of the main reasons I took this job in the first place, to be in a safe environment. A biker bar may seem like an odd place to feel safe, but after what I’d been through, I truly felt like there was no safer place for me to lay low while I earned the cash I needed.

  “No.” I sighed. “Ropes is fine.”

  “Fine doesn’t begin to describe what that boy is,” Sally Anne rasped. “If I were ten years younger, I’d have taken him into the office myself.”

  “Sally Anne!”

  “What? Do you play for the other team, sweetie?”

  “No, it’s not that. I brought him into the office to yell at him, not to jump his bones.”

  “Yell at him? For what? The way he saved your bacon back there, I figured you were in here on your knees giving him a proper thank you,” she said with a chuckle.

  “You are a horrible person,” I replied.

  “Maybe so, but I grew up salmon fishing with my dad, so I know when a fish is on the hook, and you’ve got that boy by the gills, Red.”

  “He asked me out again,” I said.

  “Of course, he did. He’s not an idiot. Look at you. The two of you would have supermodel babies.”

  “Babies? Slow down there. It’s just a date, or not a date.”

  “You said yes?” Sally Anne squeaked in delight, clapping her hands together rapidly like a little girl.

  “Yes, but only to get him off my back about it. I think. Honestly, I don’t know why I said yes.” I huffed.

  “Because you want him to take your little red kitty to the pound.”

  “Stop it!”

  “You want him to drive his boat all the way to the Bonerville Dam.”

  “I swear to you, I’ll quit this job tonight.”

  “You want to dance the horizontal mambo with him.”

  “I’m suing for sexual harassment. This is a hostile work environment.”

  Sally Anne guffawed with laugher as I walked away shaking my head. The rest of the night was uneventful. We closed the place up a little early and got out of there just after two in the morning. I walked Sally Anne to her car before climbing into mine, which was nestled in its usual spot, backed against the cyclone fence.

  I turned the key to the first position in the ignition and the sounds of La Boheme flooded the interior of Ben, my beloved Volkswagen Thing. I’d had him since art school, where I’d also fallen in love with classical music.

  Puccini’s masterpiece was my all-time favorite opera, and I remained parked in the darkness for several minutes, eyes closed, as the music washed over me. A welcome stress reliever after a long and bizarre day. When the piece ended, I flipped on my headlights and jumped in my seat. Troy was standing directly in front of my car.

  I’d heard a lot of talk about the ‘fight or flight’ instinct within every human, but there’s a third option that often goes unmentioned, freeze. I was frozen stiff. My hands felt as if they were glued to the steering wheel and I could barely breathe.

  Troy stood motionless, hands at his side, as the car’s headlights cast an eerie shadow across his expressionless face. His greasy hair was matted to a sweat-covered forehead. He looked like he was in some sort of fugue state.

  After what felt like an eternity of staring into the face of my would-be killer, I found the strength to loosen my white-knuckle grip and I honked the horn, giving him one short blast. Troy didn’t move a muscle or even blink.

  I tried again, this time laying on the horn, and after a few moments of the blaring noise his facial expression finally did change.

  He smiled.

  I looked to the left and right of me, but mine was the only car in the parking lot. Sally Anne must have driven off while I was decompressing. Not her fault, she probably thought I was right behind her, but I wasn’t. I was alone and about to be serial murdered in the parking lot of a biker bar. Worst of all, I was going to die with the knowledge that my mother had been right all along.

  Troy finally broke his silence. “I don’t like lying bitches.”

  “I don’t like creeps. Get the fuck away from my car,” I managed to squeak out the words.

  “Or what?” was all he said.

  “I… I’m going to call 911,” I said, grabbing my purse from the passenger seat.

  Troy slammed his fist down on the hood of my VW Thing. “I don’t like liars and you’re a dirty liar. We had a deal, bitch!” he shouted as I scrambled to find my phone.

  Shit! Once again, I’d left my phone in my locker.

  I stopped rummaging through my bag and looked up. Troy was now panting, practically foaming at the mouth, his eyes locked on mine.

  “What’s the matter, doll? Lost your phone?” He walked over to the driver-side window and licked it.

  He fucking licked my window.

  “You’re gonna be my magic lady now.”

  I screamed and laid into the car’s horn once again, my eyes instinctively shutting tight. When I finally looked up, Troy was gone. I glanced over my shoulder, then side-to-side, but could not see him anywhere. I took my hand off the horn for just a moment to see if I could tell where he was but could only hear muffled voices and grunts.

  From the driver’s side window, I could see someone in a Burning Saints’ club kutte straddling Troy, who was pinned to the ground, flat on his back. Whoever the Saint was, he was relentlessly raining down punches from on top and didn’t stop until Troy was a motionless lump.

  As he stood and turned toward me, I could now see the Saint was Ropes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, breathless from the beating he’d just delivered, his hands dripping with blood.

  “I… I think so.”

  “You need to take off before the cops show up. Someone may have heard your horn and called them already. I’ll take care of this and check on you in just a bit. Drive straight home and don’t stop for anyone.”

  I was so rattled, I didn’t even respond. I simply put the car into drive and sped off toward the freeway.

  Ropes

  “HEY, FUCKWAD, IF you don’t want to bleed to death in this parking lot, I’d suggest you stand up and get some medical attention, pronto.”

  Troy had just regained consciousness and began moaning in pain.

  “Quit making that sound right now before my boot heel puts you back to sleep,” I said.

  I collected what I could find of Troy’s teeth and put them into my kutte pocket before leaning down and stuffing a one hundred-dollar bill into his bloodied mouth, causing him to writhe in pain. “This is a little something to go toward your dental bill. Now, get the fuck up and call one of your loser minions to come take you to the E.R,” I s
aid, before wiping the blood from my bruised knuckles. Nothing felt broken, but my hands were gonna feel like shit in the morning.

  I walked to my bike and got on before adding, “When I told you earlier to stay away from Sally Anne’s place, you must have thought I was joking. I don’t hear you laughing right now, so I’m going to assume you now know that I was being deadly serious. Next time, I’m just gonna be deadly. Stay away from both my bar and my woman. If you even have a single thought about Devlin, I’ll know it, and I’ll come for the rest of your pearly yellows.”

  I cranked my bike and made sure I sprayed as much gravel as possible on Troy as I sped off in the direction Devlin had driven. I didn’t even take the time to put my helmet on. I carefully pulled my phone out of my pocked and dialed Sally Anne, who picked up right away.

  “It’s late. You okay, sweetie?” she asked.

  “Everything’s fine, but I need Devlin’s address right away,” I shouted over the roar of my bike’s engine.”

  “Doesn’t the booty call usually come after the first date?” she asked with a raspy chuckle.

  “It’s not that. I really need it, Sally Anne.”

  “Hold on, let me get it for you,” she said, and returned a few moments later with the address. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  “Thanks Sally Anne, I’ll talk to you later,” I said, ignoring her question, and hanging up.

  I got on I-5 North and headed toward Vancouver, a suburban town in southern Washington, which was just across the Columbia River from Portland. Sally Anne’s intel led me to the Happy Pines apartments, and I showed up on Devlin’s second level doorstep to find her porch light off. I tried to peek into her front window, but no signs of movement from inside. I gently tapped on the front door and whispered, “Devlin, it’s me, Ropes.”

  No response.

  I tried again, this time a little louder. “Can you hear me? It’s Ropes. Are you okay?”

  Nothing.

  I raised my volume to almost speaking level. “Devlin are you—”

  Her door swung open, “Would you shut up? You’re going to wake my neighbors,” she whisper-shouted, and pulled me by my kutte, catching me off guard and causing me to stumble through her doorway.