by Jamie Zakian
***
Vinny
Vinny squirmed in the passenger seat of Otis’s truck. He looked at Otis sitting tall behind the steering wheel. If only he could absorb a fraction of the strength his road captain reflected, then he’d be a fraction of a man. At least he wasn’t the only one. By the sound of Kev’s tapping foot, which thumped louder the closer they got to Satan Crew’s bar, the guy needed a double shot of strength. Vinny turned, glaring at Kev in the backseat of Otis’s four-door pickup. “Dude, stop kicking my seat.”
Otis killed the engine, and Vinny turned back to scour the road ahead of them. The truck coasted to the side of the road, creeping to a stop behind Dez’s pickup, and Vinny rolled down his window. From beyond thick bushes, music streamed from a small bar. A motorcycle rumbled over the muffled beats of speakers, and Vinny ducked low.
“Heads up, Kev,” Otis said, slouching down.
Kev lay across the back seat, cocking a shotgun.
Light cut through the trees, beaming in front of Dez’s truck. Chrome shined as a motorcycle rolled out of the driveway and turned onto the street.
Vinny sank below the dashboard, loud chops of exhaust thundering by. “Fuck,” he said, peeking his head up.
“There’s a shit-ton of motorcycles in that parking lot,” Kev said, leaning into the front.
“Then I guess you better grab two gas cans.” Otis turned, staring at Kev.
“Oh. Right.” Kev hopped out, pushing the back door to a close in a soft clunk.
“Lose the jacket.” Otis glanced around then opened his door. “You’re a walking ad for Ashby Trucking.” He picked a handgun off the seat and climbed from the truck.
Vinny peeled off his coat, taking a deep breath. His heart raced, a slight tremble invading his fingertips. It didn’t make sense. He’d done much worse than light a few fires, yet a chill crept through his insides.
He stepped into the humid night air, eyeing his crew. It only took a millisecond to realize why spiked knots twisted his chest. No Sasha. He’d never done a job without her. That’s what was missing, her energy and the smirk that told him they were unstoppable. Vinny shook his mind clear, grabbed a gas can from the bed of the truck, and walked toward Dez.
“You good?” Dez asked.
“Yeah,” Vinny said, faster than he wanted. That should’ve pissed him off. He didn’t need to be coddled, like a child, but it actually felt nice to know someone gave a shit.
Ellen shoved a jumble of chain in Vinny’s arms then tucked a padlock in his pocket.
“I want you to chain the front doors shut before you gas the bar. Got it?” she whispered, glaring up with those callous eyes.
“Got it.”
Ellen looked at Dez, and he pulled a hunting knife from his belt. They crept along the trees, down a thin driveway, Otis glued to Ellen’s side.
Vinny glanced at Kev, as if seeking a command to follow. Kev must have heard his silent plea because he nodded, gesturing for him to move.
Vinny took light steps, keeping his head low. Ellen’s arm hit his chest, rattling the chain in his grasp. He looked up as Dez skulked behind a man, his knife glinting in the streetlight. Dez dragged the blade along the man’s throat, guiding the body to the ground, and a woman jumped up from her knees. Her mouth opened wider, to scream, and Dez thrust his hand over her lips.
“Shh.” Dez lowered his arm slowly then pointed to the street with the tip of his blade.
She got maybe two steps before Ellen jammed a long knife in the side of her neck. Ellen caught the woman by the hair before she could thump to the ground.
“Idiot,” Ellen said, as quiet as one could growl. She aimed her blood-tipped knife at Dez’s face, dropping the woman in her clutch.
“C’mon,” Kev whispered, nudging Vinny’s arm.
Vinny walked alongside a row of motorcycles, trickling gas atop high handlebars and deep seats. The chain clinked when he stepped up to the front door. Laughter echoed from behind the thick wood, music all but bursting from its seams. He set the gas can down and slid the chain through both handles. In his mind, the jingle of metal blasted louder than a jet engine. He expected a horde of seething bikers to erupt from the bar and stomp his face to mush, but the lock snapped shut and nothing happened.
The scent of gasoline stung his nose, wiping the smile from his face. He glanced back, into an empty parking lot. Not a crewmember in sight, just the shuffle of footsteps around back.
Vinny grabbed the gas can, dousing the wood beside the front doors. Guilt never showed up. He backed away, splashing the landing, and didn’t feel shit except relief.
Kev jogged from behind the building, and Vinny followed him to the street, trailing a stream of liquid death.
“I got the whole perimeter,” Kev said through pants. “And they’re in the trucks.”
“I’ll light it up.” Vinny pulled a zippo from his pocket, gliding his thumb along its smooth case. The ignition of a diesel engine gave off a loud click right before the motor roared to life. Not many people knew the little quirks of a semi-truck. Most people didn’t spend countless nights watching big rigs roll in and out of a gravel lot, but he did. So he held his breath, waiting for the key to turn and the ignition to click.
He flipped the lighter’s lid open, his fingers moving on their own, as if his body had sensed a shift in the air. The ridges of the flint wheel dug into his thumb. Then he heard it. Cl-Click. Vinny lit the zippo, motors whistled, and he dropped the lighter. Flames shot out in front of him. Heat radiated from the ocean of fire, but it couldn’t penetrate the icy shell that coated his skin. The solid doors banged against the chain before a blaze rose up, consuming his view.
Headlights shined through smoke, large stacks towering above flames. Vinny tore his eyes from the firestorm and bolted toward Dez’s pickup. Screams cut into the night, mixing with the growl of fire. The sound stuck in his ears, even after he drove away.
Vinny’s eyes bounced to the rearview mirror. He was counting headlights when an explosion filled the dark sky with orange light. He cringed, the shudder of the explosion making him slump. A tiny piece of filth wormed its way into his gut, but he ignored it and looked back at the mirror. In the flash of streetlights, Vinny could’ve sworn he saw Ellen grin. He pressed down on the gas and took a deep breath. The crackle of flames and shrills of terror faded under the hum of tires. He sat up straight, the way Otis would, the way Sasha would, and led the convoy onto the freeway.
Chapter Eighteen
Sasha
Sasha stood at the front gate, long after Candy left. It wasn’t until a ray of sunlight gleamed off the shotgun in her hand that she turned back.
The double barrel thumped her shoulder with each step as she walked up the hill. Restless jitters crept in with the sun’s rays, assaulting her joints. The road called, its silent invitation luring her like a siren’s song. She should get ready, load the cab with necessities. One didn’t need much to traffic slave people. Guns, ammo, more guns, knives, brass knuckles, and enough pre-fabs to smoke the whole ride home. Half that shit she already had stashed somewhere on her body, so she was already off to a good start.
In the light of day, a fresh coat of black paint shined on her father’s semi. The sparkly decals lay in shreds on the dirt, stopping Sasha short. All trace of Ashby Trucking had been stripped from the rig and painted over. Rage came quick, and the windows of the clubhouse looked awfully appealing to her fists.
On the first step of the porch steps, a stupid idea hit Sasha. By the second step, she’d convinced herself the idea was pure genius. She loosened her balled fists and strolled through the open front door. There was something that would hurt her mother much more than broken glass, something that bitch would run for when she got back.
Sasha opened the top drawer of her mother’s desk. Her fingers slid along the sides, and she lifted. An insert popped out like a tray, revealing a secret compartment. The baggie of cocaine tucked within gleamed like a snow log.
“That’s a l
ot,” Sasha said, holding the packed bag in front of her eyes. If she took this, she’d be sorry. Her mother would find every way to make her sorry.
“Fuck it.” Sasha shoved the bag in her pocket, grabbed all the weed in sight, and put the desk back in order.
Her smile all but carried her from the clubhouse. She hurried to her room, clearing a space on her nightstand. After cutting herself out a fat line, Sasha started rolling joints. Hell, she might even throw some powder into the spliffs.
***
The twenty-second joint landed on the pile when a rumble shook the floor. Sasha peeked out her window, watching puffs of black exhaust rise into the air as semis pulled into the lot behind the garage. Vinny jumped out of Dez’s truck, his eyes shooting straight to her room.
Sasha jolted back, turning away. Vinny’s stare seemed cold, arctic, when it found her. Normally, she’d call him up here. They’d smoke a bone and do a few of her mother’s lines, but it didn’t feel right. He’d probably ignore her anyway.
A pout fell onto Sasha’s lips, and she wanted to slap her own face. She grabbed a jean backpack stuffed with fully loaded handguns and packed the tiny mountain of joints into the front pocket.
Morning hit like an iron fist when Sasha opened her door. She doubled back for her shades then trotted down the stairs. Dez walked her way, but she kept her head down. Today, she’d operate on the assumption that if she couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist. It nearly worked, until she rounded the now dull black semi and glimpsed her mother’s face.
“Perfect,” Sasha said in near silence.
“Heading out already?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah. Traffic’s gonna be a bitch.” Sasha bumped her mother aside, reaching for the semi’s door.
“Hey.” Ellen clutched onto Sasha’s arm, yanking. “What’s with the ‘tude? And yes, our run went great. We are all okay. Thanks for asking.”
Sasha ripped her arm back, fighting to keep it at her side. “You stripped the decals off daddy’s truck, slapped on an ugly flat black.”
“I had to.”
“Right. ‘Cause you wanna erase his memories from this place.”
“No, so you wouldn’t be spotted on the road.” Ellen moved closer, sliding the sunglasses from Sasha’s eyes. “It killed me to do it, but I have to protect you. You’re my baby girl.”
“I…” Sasha pushed her glasses back up, hiding the shock that swallowed her guilty stare. “I got pissed and took your blow and a bunch of weed. It’s in my nightstand, top drawer. I’m sorry.”
Ellen snickered, her head shaking. “Of course you did. Go on, get.” She waved her hand, taking a step back. “Call me once you dump the cargo and clear the city, okay?”
Sasha nodded, climbing into the truck. Shame forbid her from speaking or tearing her gaze from the steering wheel. She turned the key, that old motor chugging and whistling with power. After stashing guns around the cab, she grinded the shifter into first. Airbrakes burst and metal rattled. Soothing sounds that reminded her of childhood, of a freedom that came with ignorance. She could never return to that place of imagination and wonder, but when the pavement glided by, she could pretend.
The truck eased down the slope, past the clubhouse, but Sasha kept her eyes ahead. Just beyond the front gate, wide open road beckoned. Her leg twitched, wanting to barrel down on the gas, when Vinny stepped out of the trees.
Sasha hit the brakes, rolling down the window. Vinny climbed up the side of her truck and poked his head inside.
“Hey.” His grin lit up the cab as he slouched on the windowsill.
“Hey.” Sasha leaned toward his icy blue eyes, soaking in a warmth she thought would never burn again.
“Careful out there.” Vinny ran his hand through Sasha’s hair before climbing off the semi’s step.
“My finger’s on the trigger.”
Vinny couldn’t see it, but Sasha’s palm rested atop the revolver in her lap. She flashed a smile then drove from the lot.
***
Dez
The edge of the clubhouse porch provided a great view for Dez. From here, he could watch his brother flirt with Sasha and Ellen sneak up the garage stairs. The shit that went down on this compound was enough to make one miss the simplicity of prison life.
“Hey, Dez,” Kev called out from behind him.
Dez tore his gaze from Sasha’s taillights and looked at Kev.
“Is it cool for me to go home now?”
“I don’t know,” Dez said, waving Kev off. “Why you asking me?”
“You’re the sarge. You’re supposed to know when shit’s safe.” Kev squirmed, wood planks creaking under his boots. “So…is shit safe?”
Dez glimpsed Otis move into the doorway and lean against the threshold. For the first time, Dez wished Sasha were there. She always had some smart ass shit to say. He always knew what to expect with her.
“I’d say we have at least twelve hours before Satan’s Crew can regroup,” Dez said. “If they can regroup. I think you’ll be all right, but keep a gun close and listen for the phone.”
“10-4.”
Kev got into his pickup truck, and Otis stepped onto the porch.
“It was right,” Otis said, creeping closer to Dez, “to burn those fuckers alive. They’d do it to us.”
“I agree.” Dez turned to stare Otis in the eyes. “I would’ve agreed from the jump, if anyone bothered to ask.”
“Just keeping you on your toes.” Otis knocked Dez on the shoulder then strolled off the porch. “You’ll thank me later, brother.”
Dez snickered, reaching for the pack of smokes in his pocket. “You headed out?”
“There’s a feisty redhead I got a hankering to see. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Long after Otis left, Dez waited. His cigarette burned down to the filter and still no Ellen. Five minutes of pacing at the bottom of Sasha’s steps should’ve done the trick, but no. That woman and her games. He was done playing.
The pound of heavy boots had to announce his presence, yet Ellen looked surprised when he opened the door.
“Can I help you, Desmond?”
Ellen sat on the edge of Sasha’s bed, and Dez fought the urge to toss her off.
“I’m crashing here for a little while.”
“Oh, really.” Ellen stood up, biting back a laugh. “This is my place. I let Sasha stay here. No one said anything about you.”
“What’s your angle?”
“Huh?”
Dez shut the door, leaning against Sasha’s dresser. “If you just tell me what your plans are for me, I’ll do it. No complaining. It’s the lies and tricks I’ll fight, not you.”
“Okay.” Ellen picked a fallen joint off the ground, popping it in her mouth. She leaned back on the bed, gesturing for him to join her.
The moment Dez’s ass hit the mattress, Ellen busted out with, “I want you and Sasha hitched.”
Dez almost jumped back to his feet, but the aroma of a freshly lit joint clutched his body to Ellen’s side.
“I…” Dez hit the joint two, three times. “Yeah, maybe. Sometime down the line, I could see us—”
“Sasha’s a big-ole dyke. You do know that, right?”
“That’s stupid. She likes—” Dez stopped himself. Not even Ellen would appreciate being told her daughter loved cock.
“Trust me,” Ellen said, snatching the joint. “She’s had her hands down little girls’ pants since she was ten. Don’t get me wrong, she’s been with lots of guys and she did fuck your brother, but her eyes always stray to them girls. Until you breezed back in. Now her eyes are always on you, following your every move like a schoolgirl high on puppy love.”
“You’re seeing shit.” Dez slanted his head and stared at Ellen. “When I look into her eyes, all I see is hate. It’s cold, just like your stare.”
“You’re wrong. About her, not me.” Ellen snuffed out the joint in the ashtray and took Dez’s hand. “You can tear her away from herself, make her forget everything she th
ought was important.”
“I don’t wanna break her.”
Ellen got up and walked across the room. “Then you’ll have to put her down.” She opened the door, glancing over her shoulder. “You’re the sergeant.”
The door slammed shut, leaving Dez alone with the scent of weed and vanilla. Little buttons clicked inside his mind. Each one triggered another thought until a switchboard of flashing lights erupted within his brain. Sasha’s eyes did wander every time a short skirt traipsed by. He never questioned it before. Everyone else around him did the same. He did the same. For Sasha, though, it was different. And the beating…Ellen said she’d caught Sasha where her hand didn’t belong. They all thought Sasha stole drugs, money. Not a feel.
Dez flopped back on the bed, a long breath sinking his chest. A gay, right in front of him. He should’ve seen it, but he didn’t want to see it.
It would have been easier if Sasha just loved his brother. Then they could duke it out. High noon in front of the clubhouse, and just like in the old westerns, the victor gets the girl. A fantasy. Dez dropped his head onto the pillows, breathing in a lungful of Sasha. The thought of her hands on another person’s body, any person, turned his stomach. If she wanted him and only him, it wouldn’t matter, but he wouldn’t force her to change who she was inside. Not for Ellen, the club, or himself.
Dez closed his eyes, and Sasha’s curves popped into his mind, luring him to the brink of sleep.
***
Otis
Otis pulled into Candy’s driveway and killed the engine. Glass shattered from within the house as he stepped out of his pickup, followed by a low shriek. He rushed to the door and burst inside. Candy’s mother froze, like a strung-out deer in headlights, her fingers coiled tight in Candy’s hair.
“Let her go, Betty.”
“What the fuck, Otis? This ain’t none of your business.” Betty twisted Candy’s wrist and yanked down.
