by Jane Brooke
But, bidness calls. Time to take care of it.
“Later, Betty.”
He turns, long strides past Sue ignoring her. Poor Sue, Mandals web is strangling her already.
Billy moves to Speedos table, leers at the Indian and sits. Mandals face goes from warm and fuzzy, to iceberg cold.
Sweep, sweep, her NASA computer is sucking it all in. Oblique Prime Numbers, Alpha Rhythms everything crashing down along the bar before her tired eyes.
Trip, troopers, broken car, puppy, Sue, Billy, Arvin, guy in the barn, staring Indian cowboys, fat Mexicans, killers soon arriving, nothing missing her cursor as she feels a sense of dread overcome her.
Stomach rumbling, she can’t eat, knowing if she does she will puke.
Beer bottle, in her hand, lips, she can get drunk, maybe, always, window, facing the barns, Mava and
Art outside covered in moonlight.
Mandal stands, peeks, Mava with a plate, tinfoil on it, peck on Arts cheek, Art swoons, walks off. Mava crosses the expanse, disappears inside the barn, plop back into the chair. Mandal groans, deflated or air.
One of the bikers vomits, plate of food spills, beer bottle shatters. Billy, Mexican, wiry Ronnie Gee and Arvan pow-wowing with the fat Mexican and is this really happening blisters through her fizzled out brain.
Mandal looks at the dead eyed Indian lolly gagging behind them with his fist punched under his jacket.
That fist still hasn’t budged.
Ronnie Gee, distracted by a pretty thin blond over in the corner starin’ at him, looks at Billy who is drilling mercury switches into his brain. Billy’s eyes are telling him, don’t go there.
Ronnie Gee, ain’t a scared a no man. Well, when sober he’s a scared of Billy.He stands, weaves to the bar and slaps a twenty down. He barks at Sue for a Bottle a Jack, two glasses, no please.
He leans against the bar on his elbows chewing Copenhagen, leering and now real interested in the prettiest gal with white hair he’s ever saw.
Mandal, has had enough, barely able to eat, get it down her long neck, she finishes her beer and Billy’s beer. She feels nothing but fatigue, panic and insanity as she keeps peeking at Billy and the animals he’s talking to.
She is waiting for a Hydrogen fire ball to sweep over the bar.
Standing, she braces herself against the chair. Her head spins. A moment passes as she begins to walk towards the door. Her mind is spiraling, she leans against the wall, digs out a cigarette, lights it with her Zippo, re-calibrates her mind, inhales, exhales, turns and stumbles toward the door.
A hand, strong, covered with grease, tattoos, grips her arm, twists her and slams her into the wall.
Ronnie Gee, drunk, stoned, leering, almost drooling, bottle of Jack in his hand, two glasses too, grinning through the few remaining teeth he has left at her grins through black teeth.
“I been watchin’ ya...YA new around here, ain’t ya?” Holding the bottle of Jack Daniels to her eyes, he slurs the words, “Ya want some Jack?”
Looking at him, in horror, revulsion, he wipes his face with his tattooed forearm, grinning.
“No...No thank you...”I’m on my way out.”
Caution, she warns her mind, 38 in the boot, knife, 44 under the bomber jacket, ready, locked and loaded.
Maybe, just maybe the time to use them has come.
“You was lookin’ my way, wasn’t ya?” Blood shot eyes, putrid ash tray breath; she winces as he waves the bottle, “Right unfriendly to say no to Jack...What? Ya teasin’ ole Ronnie Gee? Don’t like teases... not a-tall.”
Panicking, she gives her arm a tug. No give, vice grip, he’s stronger than he looks, her thought process reverting to an angry violent one. Her hand gliding towards her boot, the knife; she’ll slice his fucking liver out if he does not back off.
He presses against her, wheezes. “Come on sugar cup, maybe ya and me get to share some time tagether?...Ya, like that?”
Hand, near the boot, cuff rises, about to pull out her buck knife, cut him; bad cut him.
Then, an even more powerful presence arrives and “THWACK.”
A pool cue whips Ronnie Gee across the back of his legs. He screams, bottle, glasses, shatter on the floor as he crumples to his knees. He turns, looks up, Billy, cold, smiling, Arvan standing next to him; he has his own Pool cue and he is way ramped up.
Billy is pure and unequivocal doom. Ronnie Gee knows it.
Ronnie Gee goes to say something. Billy, edgy, but having a good time, grins, fist gripping, re gripping the pool cue.
Arvan, unleashed, can’t wait.
Mandal just watching, wouldn’t miss the show for anything as Billy seethes.
“Well, well. Iffin’ it ain’t Ronnie Gee, causin’ mayhem like usual.”
MAYHEM? Mandal is impressed
Perfect for Billy, for he’s all worked up from thinkin’ too much all night; perfect testosterone release.
Ronnie Gee, hands in front of him, silently pleading, Billy snarls. “Ya fucked up, buddy.”
Ronnie Gee struggles to stand.
Fast ball, first swing, cue stick cracks him in the forehead.
His head splits open, blood explodes, his head jerks. Arvan, steps in, cranks a vicious WOMP with the cue into his ribs.
“THWACK.”
Ribs break.
Mandal watches and appreciates pure violence.s Game in full swing. The pawns will die to save the queen.
Ronnie Gee sprawls out, moaning in pain on the floor, his face, covered in blood. Instantly, at Speedo’s table his crew stands, Billy’s two thugs, at another table stand, alert, tension, show down, maybe, the place is ready to incinerate.
Billy looks at Speedo.
Nothin.
They understand one another and Evolution as well.
Speedo reaches out a hand, draws them down, Ronnie Gee is getting just what he needs, Speedo knows it and he hopes they don’t kill him. Bu, you never know; after all it is a violent world.
“Ya okay, Betty?” Billy asks.
“He’s drunk, Billy. No harm done.” She says, hoping a homicide does not transpire thus, bringing the cops into her life
She is so self absorbed. Having your finger digits snipped off, cam make a girl like that.
“No harm, huh?...I hate men who ain’t no gentlemen to a lady.”
Moans, gurgles, Ronnie Gee claws his way up Billy leg. Billy looks at him, seethes and, then whispers. “Ya fucked up asshole.”
EXPLOSION
Billy kicks him off his knee. Ronnie Gee grins through blood soaked teeth. Billy cracks him across his mouth; the last remaining teeth are gone. Then in a ferocity unimaginable, Mandal winces as Arvan, Billy go haywire, slashing him with their pool cues.
“CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.”
Fingers break, WHACK, more ribs splinter; they go crazy, kicking him, smashing him with their pool cues.
Because Ronnie Gee is one tough customer, he starts to crawl towards the door, trails of blood behind him, all the time the boys whacking the shit out of him as he crawls out of the bars door.
Speedo stands, his Indian, crew behind him. They follow Arvan, Billy, Speedo, Crandal Bear Feather as
Billy’s two men linger along waiting for their call if needed.
Speedo and his crew stand and watch standing next to two brand new black Ford F-100 pick-up trucks, watching as Ronnie Gee pukes up blood and vomit.
Billy, Arvan, and now Mandal, eyes stark, watch as the eye of the hurricane, all of it, seems to stall in the melee.
Sue arrives, feeling glee. The sinewy, grease biker is one of her least favorite people and Billy has done the right thing.
Mandal presses against the bars wall, Sue leering at her, not a happy girl seeing her.
Mandal smiles,
averts her eyes, opens them, just watching the broken, bloodied man writhing on the ground. Basically, short of murder, Billy knows, though a tad extreme, the beating is over. Looking over at Speedo, Billy casually says. “Ya knowed he done deserved that, Speedo!”
Speedo, nods, patiently waits for permission to scoop up the remainders of the broken man.
Billy nods as Arvan pats his hand with his bloody cue and has a big grin on his face. Billy peeks at Mandal, wanting to impress her. He digs his boot heel into Ronnie’s hand, ripping it up. Ronnie lets out one more groan as he passes out.
Smiles from Mandal and scowls from Sue and grins from Billy as Billy nods to Speedo telling him that it is time.
Speedo, whispers to his men. Bear Feather never budges and shows no emotion at all as Speedos men sweep Ronnie Gee up, load him in the back of one of the pick-up trucks.
Crandal Bear feather opens the pickups door, sits behind the wheel, staring stoic straight ahead.
Speedo nods at Billy.
Deal sealed. Speedos nod tells Billy that they are on for tomorrow night.
In the two pick-up trucks Speedo sits next to his Indian who is still staring straight ahead. Bear Feathers eyes tick at Billy.
Billy grins and says. “Fuck you, you red asshole.”
The Indians, cheeks tick. He is an angry injun and, then eyes straight ahead. Now is not the right time to put an arrow in to Billy’s chest and, then take his scalp.
The trucks fire their engines up, tires spin in the dirt, dust kicks up, they back up, in a roar the tires throw up dirt, dust, crush to the asphalt, turn, black rubber burnt in the road and, then careen down the highway.
Sue, proud, her boy knowed how to take care of bidness, sidles up, hand on Billy’s butt, Mandal watching.
Billy forgets, doesn’t protest until he remembers Mandal, those lips wrapped around a beer bottle. He slaps her hand away, seethes at her. “Bar needs tendin’. See ta it, later.”
Stone faced, she sees Billy peek at the blond. Her blood feels like fire ants in her temples, ready to seep out of her eyes. Turning, she walks real close to Mandal, who is rigid. Eye contact, blues against blue;
Two-female predators facing off.
Mandal smiles, lowers her eyes. Christ she would love to rumble with the lovely, sexy Sue. Now is not the time.
Billy, feeling Arvan there, whips on him, says. “WHAT?”
Depletion of testosterone completed, everyone seems to calm.
Arvan, much like Sue doesn’t need any more pain, understands Billy’s bar code meaning.
Arvan nods at Mandal, all friendly like. Mandal, little smile, nods back as Arvan turns and walks back to the Quonset Huts. Once there he turns, stares at Billy staring at Mandal. Next to him is his brother’s
Chopper as well as his own.
He may be stupid, but the choppers are works of art, which he built from scratch.
Chrome, leather, carbon fiber and steel are testaments to his talent.
Jason Cox is not the only gifted artist in the Cox clan.
Ideas, roam Arvan’s mind, as he feels his ire growing, for he feels he is at the braking-point what with his brothers violence towards him. He swallows his hatred of Billy. He turns, looks at the De Ville. There is now a plan growing in his primal mind. A simple plan mostly dealing with a girl with white hair and multiple homicides.
Billy turns, looks at his Betty, and asks. “Ya okay, Betty?”
Finishing lighting a cigarette, she exhales the smoke. She is on edge on how she should play him.
“You almost killed that guy, you and your brother.”
Guffawing, Billy slaps his muscled leg, laughs.
“That, sheeet, Ronnie Gee is a tough ole boy, take a mess more beatin’ than that. He don’t knowed nothin’ unless it drove home with a good whoopin’.” He chuckles, “Hey, Betty. How’s bout a beer?”
Ready to stuff her cigarette out in his forehead, for it has been a strange night, she groans, no pretend, she is exhausted, gushes through a plume of smoke.
“Like I said before, Billy. I’m wasted, would love to get together with you tomorrow...You okay with that?”
Her blue eyes pierce into his Cerebral Cortex, bending it, just like Uri Geller does with a kitchen spoon.
“Okay, cowboy?” Finishing the final word as if it is a promise to fuck him blind and one she really, really, wants to keep.
He gets her drift, grins.
“Sure, Betty. Ya get yer beauty sleep; tamarrow is sweet, fer sure.”
He says to a habitual liar that hasn’t been honest a single moment since she set foot outside of the womb.
She turns, at the door, turns back, gets all sweet and lovely. She sets the con, just a little deeper.
“Billy...You’re just so wonderful. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
She peruses her lips, sends a little air kiss his way.
Billy grins as his mind starts to overheat, the wiring not installed right to begin with and, then she is in the bar and out of his sight.
“Fucking doll.” He whispers as he thinks.
Dump Sue. Kill Arvan, Mava and Art too, it’s a big desert. Make a bunch a money, spend the rest of his life with Betty, maybe in Houston, doin’ somethin’ fun.
He ain’t quite clear what that fun would be, but if the bulge in his Levis met anything at all, he figures it would be a real hoot.
All great schemes sometime have glitches and now one of those small mars on Billy’s oligarchy, in the guise of Doc Earl over by the Air Stream is revolving in circles, staring at the moon and might be one of those glitches.
Back to bidness.
He knows it time to work, with the Doc.
So groaning, he begins to walk towards the spinning Doctor Earl, knowing it is time to get to bidness.
As he walks, he actually feels tired, a rare thing and though even strong giants with epic dreams need rest at times, now is not that time.
Back to work he goes.
He forgot about Jack and that fucking bean stock of his.
Filth
WALKING through the bar, she simply cannot deal any longer with the madness; hers and everyone else’s.
She feels like she is trapped in an insane asylum. Past Sue, who is ready to get it on, no flirts, no eyes and out the back door she scoots.
She moves to the wooden porch, next to her room, darkness, Moon beams, a lighter flashes, smoke spirals from her lips. Trembling hands, a twisted wrist, watch blinks back, its 2 AM.
She closes her eyes and, then from nowhere her mind ignites as if orchestrated by some horrific conductor’s baton. She remembers parts of the moment that changed everything; horrid moments of her past.
She can smell the blood and cordite as she seems to remember that there were gaping bullet holes, horror in the wife’s eyes, the child cowering, petrified, silent eyeballs, filled with awe, wonder and struck terror.
Within the moment, her body pressed against the wall of a Texas Motel room as she shudders, and cannot take it, her horrid memories. She falls to her knees and vomits into the dirt. Some memories are best left in a graveyard that she had once created.
Saliva, used up food, spills down her chin as she dry retches. She is wasting way, thinner than ever.
“Why cannot she eat? Fuck.” She wheezes, “That’s a no brainer.”
She thinks that she remembers her past. Perhaps they were dreams, nightmares, not real and she is sleeping.
But, what if they are real? What if she had done the unthinkable, to break Tony’s balls, not that long ago?
She thinks she had done those unforgivable things and she had done them with a handgun?
And, if it had been real, was she really capable of such things, such horrendous deeds all performed by an Angel o
f Death.
A beautiful white Angel holding a hand gun with fire flaming out of its’ tip and that could never be forgiven for what it had done.
Hands, knees, pressed into the dirt, she dry heaves, again and again, some filth gutting out of her; it seems not to want to end.
Maybe, it wasn’t her? Maybe it was her uncontrollable brain? Again creating someone else, perhaps like when she had paid for and had been ganged raped by the black men in a Jamaican prison. Perhaps it was that girl, the bad girl, the insane girl, the evil girl that had done what she is seeing shadowed in her brain?
She stands, moves onto the porch, leans against the wall, she closes her eyes, tasting the acidic taste of her own bile in her mouth. She opens her eyes, glances at her watch, she GASPS. It now winks back at her: 3 AM. Swallowing, she panics for a moment ago it was 2 AM. Her throat constricts, where did the time disappear too?
Tears begin to falls down her cheeks, lips trembling, body shaking, time, again lost. If she cannot control that, how will she survive? She begins to weep.
More time, almond eyes stenciled in grief, in consternation, madness. She is moving further into the abyss of insanity. There is nothing she can do about it. She silently screams in her mind, almost bursting her eardrums from her silent bellow of grief and pain.
“NO, no, I’m here. Right here.”
She hyperventilates, whispers, fingers trace along her faded scars, Technicolor clips of memory burst again through her gifted brain. She shudders, she moans. “Oh Please God, forgive me.”
A last thought before a blink, once, twice of blue eyes, shes back, alive from another torturous epic journey into thought. She is stoic, pushes air in her lings, she is probing again, the world she loves. Lust, pride, cruelty, artistry, within this moment she knows she will do anything to survive.
Pressed against the wall, she gazes out at the rusted steel corpses of the junk yard. A “Clink”, of metal hitting metal draw’s her eyes towards the field of wrecked cars. From their center, from nowhere, Billy, Doc Earl appears, mystically. A pinch of the arm, a blink, she stares, another “Clink” then they are gone.
She shakes her head, where did they go? Wheels of curiosity are tilting her brain. A horse whinnies, she pushes her body into the dark, to the end of the porch, turns, watches as a cloaked figure and resembling a 15th Century Benedictine Monk limps from the barn.
