Both Muddy and Betty become friends with Foxy because she was a bartender at a local joint they liked. Foxy had similar taste in music, and they’d asked her if she was interested in joining their metal band.
The rest was history—at least, if you could call it a history. With almost a year of practicing together every day and no gigs lined up, it looked like The Pentagram Sisters would fade out before it they had even started.
Putting her legs down on the floor, and sitting up, Muddy leaned forward and patted her friend on the knee. “I’m sorry, Betts.”
“Eh, what did you expect?” she sighed. “It’s like a catch-22. Everyone wants you to have some experience playing in front of an audience before they’ll allow you to play at their place, but we can’t get the dang experience if we can’t ever play for people.”
“We could always just invite people to stand on the driveway,” Foxy offered jokingly, pulling out two beers from the fridge and shutting the door.
“Yeah, right,” Betty shot back, pulling her long blonde hair back into a ponytail. “The neighbors would have the cops on us so fast we wouldn’t even be able to play one song.”
“I guess you’re right.” Walking around the futon, Foxy plopped down next to Betty, handing her one of the beers.
“Thanks. I’m going to need this.”
“We’re never going to get off the ground at this rate,” Muddy pointed out, picking up her cold cup of coffee and downing it in one swoop.
Betty sighed, looking like she might just disappear into the abyss of the sagging futon. “And I’ll have to get a real job again,” she shuddered at the thought.
“Hey,” Muddy defended herself. “There’s nothing wrong with having a day job.”
“Maybe for you two,” Betty shot back. “You both have good jobs.”
“Hey, diesel engines run in the family,” Muddy shrugged. She’d gotten her nickname thanks to the fact that most of her clothes had dark splotches or stains on them. “They might as well be a member of the family.”
“What about you?” Betty asked Foxy, a sarcastic smile on her face. “Does liquor just run through your veins?”
“I wish,” Foxy huffed, tossing her red hair behind her shoulder. “But yeah, both my mom and dad were bartenders before me. It only made sense to go into the family biz.”
“Carlos is family?” Muddy jabbed.
“Hardly. I’m just saying that I followed in my parent’s footsteps after they passed.”
“Well, that doesn’t help me at all,” Betty admitted. “I never knew my mom, really, and Pop hasn’t done anything with his life besides riding back and forth across the country on his hog.”
“He can’t do that anymore,” Muddy reminded her friend. “The doctor grounded him for good.”
“We’ll see if he stays that way,” the blonde woman pointed out. “Pop has always been a free spirit. Nothing holds him back.”
“Maybe he needs a new outlet?” Foxy suggested. “Why doesn’t he get his old job at the hardware store back?”
Betty shook her head. “Riding hog wasn’t just an outlet for him, it was like a religion. The hardware store could hardly fill that void.”
Muddy nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Fox, you weren’t around when he was younger. He was always talking about entering the gates to join in the warrior’s eternal feast and dying by the sword and junk like that.”
“Was he really into fighting?” the redhead gasped.
“Naw,” Betty shook her head. “He’s a teddy bear. He might look like a tough customer, but he never hesitated to stop and help someone out if he could.”
Foxy shrugged. “I should have guessed.”
A low rumble in the distance drew the trio’s attention toward the street. “Speaking of, Pop, it sounds like he’s on his way now.”
On cue, the women watched as the old man turned the corner on his hog and came barreling down the street toward them. His long gray hair escaped the bottom of his leather riding cap and danced like a veil behind his head.
Betty couldn’t help but notice the new sense of ferocity in his eyes, and the enormous toothy smile under his mustache as he approached. It was like someone had breathed life back into his lungs again after three months of being stuck at home on doctor’s orders.
“He looks happy,” Muddy noted. “Think he’s had a few already today?”
Betty punched her friend in the shoulder.
“Ow,” the raven-haired woman cried, her voice suddenly drowned out by the roar of the motorcycle.
Pulling up the driveway, the rider revved the gas for effect and let out a hearty laugh—throwing back his head as he did.
“Hiya, Pop,” Betty waved.
Cutting the engine, he stepped off his hog and walked into the garage. “Hey, girls,” he greeted the three of them, his smile never leaving his face. Walking forward, he kissed his daughter on the forehead. “Afternoon, short stack,” he said.
“Hi, Pork,” Muddy nodded, using his old biker nick-name. “You look happy today.”
“I have good reason to be,” he proclaimed proudly. “Now hand me one of those beers.”
“What are we celebrating?” Betty asked, knowing her father well enough to see he had some good news.
Foxy took her beer, which she hadn’t even opened yet, and handed it to Pork.
“Thanks, hon.”
Walking around to the fridge, she got out another for herself.
“First things first, ladies,” he said, popping the lid of the can and taking a swig, “How did that meeting of yours go today, Betts?”
Instantly, his daughter’s shoulder’s slumped. “Terrible, just terrible.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
She could only shrug in response. “It’s no different than any other gig we tried to book.”
“Enough about our failures,” Muddy jumped in. “What’s so exciting in Pork’s life today?”
Smiling broadly and winking, he took another drink from his bottle.
“Well, what is it?” Foxy squeaked, eager for any good news.
“I may just have a gig for you girls.”
CHAPTER 3
* * *
“You bought a bar?!” Betty exclaimed, standing up.
“Yep, used my life savings and finally invested in something,” Pork informed them, his smile never fading the entire time.
“You invested in a rundown dump downtown,” his daughter asserted.
“No, it’s a bar,” he pointed out, “and it’s going to make us some money.”
“Pop, you don’t even know how to run a business,” she groaned.
“You didn’t expect me to just sit around until I rotted away and died, did you? Not like all those other people my age. That hardly sounds like a warrior worthy to enter the great feast.”
“I know, I know, but what about Carlos?”
“What about him?” Pork asked, taking a seat in a tattered lawn chair.
“I don’t think he’ll be very happy about someone opening another bar in town. That’s competition, you know.”
“Oh, who cares?” he huffed.
“Carlos might.”
“Probably not,” Foxy chimed in, shrugging her shoulders. “He’s pretty laid back.”
“You’re not helping,” Betty muttered.
“And a bar is a bar,” Pork added. “People always need a good drink, what does it matter if it’s on Carlos’ side of town or mine?”
“Now there are sides?” Betty groaned.
“Besides,” her father asked, sipping his beer and raising a bushy eyebrow, “Why are you so concerned about what Carlos thinks, anyway?”
“No reason,” she spat out, turning slightly red.
“Come on, Betts,” Muddy tried to persuade her, “This will be good for him. Have a little faith in your old man.”
“I will not, I will not,” she protested, folding her arms.
Pork rolled his eyes, taking the last drink from his beer. �
�While you ladies sit here and bicker, I’ve got some planning to do.” Struggling slightly, he managed to push himself up out of the chair. “If you need me, I’ll be in the house.” With that, he walked off and disappeared through the inside door.
Groaning, Betty slumped back onto the futon. “I give up.”
“He seems happy to me,” Foxy noted, “and I really don’t think Carlos will mind. If anything, he’ll be happy for your dad.”
“If only.”
“Seriously, Betty,” Muddy added, her voice taking on that familiar scolding tone, “You were just saying how you were worried about your dad being tied down, worried what he might try and do if he couldn’t have his freedom.”
“Yeah, not something like this.”
“This is good, don’t you see?” the dark-haired woman continued. “Your dad has found a healthy outlet to better fill his life. This could be a really good thing for him.” She paused a second and looked her friend in the eye. “And you.”
“Me?” Betty questioned. “How does this help me? He spent our life savings on an old rundown building.”
“Correction,” Muddy shot back, “He spent his life savings.”
“Yeah, Betts,” Foxy chimed in, “it really is your dad’s money. You can’t blame him for wanting to do something with it after all these years.”
“Oh, what do you two know?” The blonde-haired band member pouted like a little girl.
“We know that you’re worried you’ll have to get a real job like the rest of us if you can’t ask your dad for help.”
Betty harrumphed knowingly. She was caught in her selfishness once again. She might be the passion and creativity behind the band, but she certainly wasn’t the logical one. That role belonged to Muddy, who was sort of like the big sister of the trio.
“Hey,” Foxy exclaimed, clapping her hands and standing up from her spot on the futon. “I just had an excellent idea. Why don’t you work with your dad at the bar? That way you could keep an eye on things while also making some money—at least until we get a gig.”
Out of the three of them, Foxy was the most hopeful and imaginative one. It only made sense, because she was the youngest, but she brought a sincere freshness to the group.
Betty didn’t respond right away.
“Foxy, that’s a great idea,” Muddy agreed. “Betts, your dad is going to need help getting the place ready to open. He would adore having you around, I’m sure.”
Betty shrugged, a smile tugging at one side of her mouth. “I guess you’re right,” she agreed. “I’ve always sort of wanted to try working in a bar.”
“Heck, you guys could make a real family business out of this thing.”
“And I could even teach you about bartending,” Foxy offered.
Finally sitting up straight and regaining some of her maturity again, Betty sighed contentedly. “Thanks, girls. You always know how to put me in my place.”
“And make you feel better,” Foxy added.
“You’re right. You’re both right. Tomorrow morning, I’m going down there with Pop to get things ready.” She beamed.
“It’ll give us our first gig, too,” Muddy reminded her.
“Yeah, you’re right. I think this will be fun.”
CHAPTER 4
* * *
The next morning when Betty got out of bed and headed into the kitchen, she was surprised to not find her father in his usual spot at the yellow, linoleum table. Most days, Pork would already have a pot of coffee brewed and would be sitting there watching the miniature TV on the counter—turned to some station with a western.
Pork fancied himself sort of a modern-day cowboy and firmly believed in frontier justice. While he wasn’t necessarily a violent man, he would hardly let a “charitable” opportunity pass him by without doing something about it.
Betty remembered one time when she was a little girl, and she was along for one of his rides, her father had overheard a man verbally abusing his girlfriend. Pork had stepped in and only needed to give the jerk a single look. With that, the message was communicated loud and clear and the man ran off.
Her father’s morning routine of coffee and a western had become a staple in the house, and a staple of her father’s personality.
“Pop?” Betty yelled, wondering if maybe he was in the bathroom. Walking back down the hall, both the bathroom and his bedroom door were open. He was in neither.
Heading back into the kitchen, she finally spotted the note on the fridge.
Betts, I left early to head to the bar. Here is the address if you’re interested.
The address was listed below that.
* * *
After washing her face and slapping on a little make-up, Betty threw on her jeans and leather jacket and walked out the door. She’d decided to stop by Carlos’ on the way there.
As usual, Pork had taken his motorcycle when he’d gone out, leaving the old beater truck for Betty to drive. She didn’t mind driving it, but sometimes the gear shift would stick, making for some very interesting situations on the road.
That morning, however, she didn’t seem to have any problems and made it safely to Carlos’ bar without so much as a hiccup. Pulling into the tiny lot, she spotted Foxy’s little economy car in the back. That was a good sign, it meant she could probably get a free cup of coffee without having to make it herself—which is exactly what she’d hoped.
The building was small, looking more like a shack than a bar, and stood on the corner of a normal suburban neighborhood. A large wooden sign hung over the door and had the word Carlos’ Lounge painted across it.
Stepping out of the truck, she headed inside through the backdoor. “Morning,” she announced, entering the storeroom. The distinct smell of coffee wafted up from the desk in the corner where a pot sat with the orange light on. Walking over, she picked up a disposable cup and filled it with the dark liquid and took a sip.
“Oh, hey, Betts,” Foxy greeted, poking her head through the swinging doors from the bar. “You’re up early.”
“Too early,” she admitted, “I’m meeting Pop over at his new joint, but decided to stop by here first.”
“For the coffee,” Foxy titled her head sideways and gave her friend a knowing look.
“And to talk to Carlos,” she informed her. “Is he in?”
“Isn’t he always?” Flipping her hair, she stepped back through the swinging door. “Carlos,” she yelled. “Betty’s here to see you.”
“Tell her she has to come out here,” came a gruff voice. “I’m wiping down tables.”
Foxy’s head reappeared through the door. “He wants you to come out here.”
Betty sarcastically rolled her eyes. “Alll riiiight. If I must.” Smiling, she walked out to the bar area and spotted him sitting at one of the tables drinking a cup of coffee.
He was a dark-haired man with the goatee around his perfectly formed mouth. He wore a tight-fitting black t-shirt over muscles that would make most men envious.
“Hey, you’re not wiping tables,” she accused him.
“I know, but I’m going to be soon,” he told her, smiling.
Walking over to where he sat, she bent over him and kissed him on the lips. They had been dating for around a month now and her father still didn’t know about it. Betty wasn’t sure how Pop would take the news.
Sitting across from him, she sipped on her own coffee.
“What’s up, Betts?” her boyfriend asked.
“Did Foxy tell you?” she raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her friend who was washing glasses behind the counter.
He sat up from his lackadaisical slouch and leaned menacingly on the table, his brow furrowed seriously. “You mean the fact that your father is betraying me by opening a new bar, and my own girlfriend is helping?”
“I knew you’d be upset,” she groaned.
He burst out laughing, the scowl vanishing from his face. Slowly, he leaned back into his original position. “I’m only joking, Betts. I’m not mad at al
l.”
“See?” Foxy pointed out. “We told you he wouldn’t care.”
“Hey, I already have Muddy’s constant logic and criticism. I don’t need you doing it, too.”
“I’m just telling you how it is,” she shot back.
“I think this is good news,” Carlos noted. “After all, weren’t you worried about your dad going stir crazy not being able to do his cross country rides anymore?”
Betty shrugged. “I suppose. I’m just not sure about him spending all his money on this thing.”
“Eh, he’s getting up there in years. Let him have his fun.”
“I just don’t want him to hurt himself pulling late hours or trying to lift something heavy,” she shrugged.
“That’s why he’s got you,” Carlos pointed out.
“You expect me to handle this on my own?” she gasped.
“No, of course not. Your Pop will probably hire other people, too, when it comes down to it.”
“So, you’re not upset at all?” Betty asked again. “I mean, this is competition for your place.”
“Look, my place is a tiny little joint where people stop for a quick drink. That’s what it’s always been. It’s not a night club or anything.”
Betty couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Fawkes, Arizona, doesn’t even have a nightclub.”
Carlos nodded. “It’s a small potatoes kind of town, but that’s how I like it.”
“You would,” she shrugged. She had too much of her father in her. She couldn’t stay put too long and preferred going out on the open road, traveling and seeing new people and places.
“Anyway, by the sound of it, maybe your pop’s bar will be more of a sit-down type of experience. Heck, maybe he’ll even have room for a pool table.”
“Honestly, I have no idea how big it is. I haven’t been there yet, and Pop hasn’t told me much about it.”
“Well, what’s the address?” Carlos asked. “Maybe I know it. I’ve worked a couple different places around here before I opened shop.”
Digging into her pocket, she pulled out the napkin with the note and the address scribbled on it. “Here it is,” she offered, pushing it across the table. “I think it’s downtown somewhere.”
THE BIKER AND THE BOOGEYMAN (The Cracked Mirror Series Book 1) Page 2
