by Bella Knight
“You’re that good,” said Henry.
“I did it in the military,” said Shiva. “I can learn to do the same thing on my Harley. Or any one of them you give me to ride.”
“Excellent,” said Henry. “The call to Tanvi was the most intelligent thing I’ve done in a great while.” He pulled up all the information, and shared it with her. “How much do you charge?”
“What do you pay Gregory?” He told her. “I’ll take that, and five percent more for the admin work. I’ll cut that in a third if you throw in insurance.”
“Done,” said Henry.
“And more if I teach a third day,” said Shiva. “But we’ll renegotiate then.”
“Done,” said Henry. He let her into the website as an admin, gave her the keys to his digital kingdom, and showed her the financing. “I’ll have to pay you and Gregory once more, but then if it goes well, the poor man goes back to his real job.”
They ate quietly as she used his tablet to page through all of the information. She nodded twice, typed out a checklist and information that she sent to herself, and handed it back to him. They finished, washed up, and paid.
“I found an all-adult complex on the lake with a pool,” said Shiva. “I’m going to go look at it.”
“This late?” asked Henry.
She grinned. “Adult only.” She waved, and was gone.
Henry made it home, and found Damia and Inola looking at the moon and stars. He stood there at the fence and was silent. The owl hooted. Another owl answered. “Two,” he said, his voice nearly in a whisper.
“Two,” said Inola. “And different species, a great horned owl and a barn owl.”
“We have a barn owl?” asked Henry. “That would be exceptional.”
“The cave,” said Inola. There were caves on the property. He knew about the bats. They kept insects to a minimum.
“Excellent,” said Henry.
“Sshh,” said Damia. “One has a higher whoo, the other a lower one.”
They stood, listening, looking at the stars. David came out with iced chocolate and plastic mugs. From time to time, the owls “whooed.”
Mike came back the next day. He worked with Nantan all day, absolutely silently. This made the teens nervous, but Nantan told them that silence was important from time to time. He even ate lunch, soft chicken tacos with lemonade, completely silently.
Little Nico pulled aside his dad, Nantan. “What’s with Mike? He won’t talk.”
“Something happened,” said Nantan. “Do you remember when your dad died? How much did you want to talk about it?”
Little Nico’s face went still. “I didn’t,” he said, in a very small voice. “Not for a long time.” He took a deep breath. “Did something that bad happen to Mike? He went home to see his mother. Did she die?”
“Unlikely,” said Nantan. “But, he didn’t have a good time. I’ll watch, wait, and listen, just as I did with you. You spoke when you were ready, and not a minute earlier.”
“Listening is hard,” said Little Nico.
“It is,” said Nantan. “But, we must do it if we are to build connections among us.” He touched his son’s shoulder. “Those connections only become strong if we wait.” He thought another minute. “Bring the lime water he likes, or limeade, in a thermos with a cup. Be silent. Touch his arm, and walk away.”
“I will,” said Little Nico, wide-eyed.
Little Nico took his responsibilities toward Mike very seriously. He brought the limeade, and after chores, brought chicken empanadas for a snack, with sour cream as a dipping sauce. He touched Mike’s arm again, and left. He came back after his thirty-minute lesson to pick up the plate.
After a ride, Mike came back. He found Nantan in the barn, cleaning tack with Damia. “Your son is acting weird,” he said to Nantan.
“Which one?” said Nantan.
“Little Nico,” said Mike.
“Oh, he remembers being silent,” said Nantan. He stood, took the load of saddle pads out of the washer, and put them in the dryer. Nantan took out the metal polish, and went to work on the bits.
Mike pulled up a chair, sat down, and started with a cloth and the saddle soap on the long strips of bridle. “I… he… when was he silent?”
“His father murdered his mother, and then his father was, himself, murdered,” said Nantan. Nantan looked over at Damia. She seemed sanguine about the murders.
“That’s… that’s rough,” said Mike. Mike folded over his cloth, and dragged the leather through his hand. “You get in your head; you forget you’re not the only one who lost… people. Buddies. Whoever.” They all sat silently as the dryer tumbled. “My mom can’t see me,” said Mike. “I’m using my GI bill to get my horticulture degree. Already got the hydroponics certificate. And accounting, running the business. Lily’s helping me with that. And our recipes. I’ve taken a course to understand dieting and macros, all that stuff people use to gain or lose weight. Those people want healthy food. Our vegetables, soups, stews are good for that. I’ve been figuring how to put specific macronutrient information with a sticker on the container, or on our website.”
They cleaned more tack. Nantan and Damia stayed absolutely silent, allowing the man to talk. Damia was busy with her chores anyway. So she found it easy just to listen.
“My mom can’t see me,” Mike said. “She tried to regulate my diet. She threw away all my chocolate, and my good gloves. She saw them as battered. They fit me perfectly. I pulled the gloves out of the trash, and bought leather cleaner. Got them back to working right. Then, I let her have it. I told her how I was an adult who had both been feeding and clothing myself for a very long time. I told her I would no longer be staying with her, and moved in with my buddy, Rick. We played video games, and I trained for a short marathon. I fixed stuff around Mama’s house, took her shopping list to the store when she asked.” He cleaned more tack. “I trained for a race, a short one, a 5k, to raise money for GIs. For their care. Like I had.” He grunted. “Or didn’t have.” He grimaced. “She followed me to the high school where I was warming up, told me I was going to kill my health. I told her I was physically fine, and that I could double that little 5k and be fine. She lit into me about how I had no idea how to take care of myself. I told her that I was a squared-away soldier now, and that I was healthy. That I ate the food I grew myself, and that I was working on my agricultural degree… and I specialized in hydroponics.”
He stared into nothingness for a while, and then came back to them. Nantan and Damia did not react, they just listened. It was obvious he needed to let it all out. Sometimes people just needed to be heard.
“She looked at me like I was crazy. She said she raised me for better, better than her son blown up in the army. She wanted me to be a lawyer. Was pressuring me to be a legal officer. I told her I had to get through basic training first, and that was six to seven years of school I didn’t want. She never heard a word I said.”
They cleaned more tack. “Did she listen to you this time?” asked Nantan.
“No,” said Mike. “Not a word. Still wanted me to date Jenny Hardrow, and Jenny’s been sweet on Jake Williamson since high school. Jenny finally got the guts to ask him out, but since she doesn’t have a ring on her finger, so my mom thinks I should date Jenny.” He blew out a big breath.
“Some people do not have ears to hear,” said Nantan.
“So, I listed all her crazy, and walked away,” said Mike. “I told her I owed her for all she did for me when I was injured, but, looking back, Rick was there every day. He was a fantastic friend. He drove me to rehab appointments, doctors. An attorney; I had to sue for some of my care. She didn’t do that, he did. She acted as if she did it all, and used it to control me. Rick just used it to help.”
They finished off the smaller tack, and Nantan brought over the saddle. They all went to work on it.
“Rick says he’s damn glad I’ve got my shit together. He says my mom’s always been a controlling witch, but he didn’t want to ru
n her down to me. He says he gets why I was suicidal, and had to leave to find my own path. He says he’s damn glad I’m here.” And then, Mike was finally able to cry. Damia went over, and patted his back. Nantan scooted over his chair, brought him a clean rag, and let Mike cry it out, his hand on Mike’s opposite shoulder.
“Does Rick need a job?” asked Nantan.
“No,” said Mike, after he had wiped his face with the clean rag. “He’s a teacher at the high school.” He laughed. “Coaches the track team. We ran the 5K together, came in second and third, me being third, but I got the most money for the vets. Turns out asking for money while wearing a blade leg is rather effective.” Both men laughed.
“Well,” said Nantan. “You can stay here. Do what you’re doing. You’re helping me spend time with my kids.” They all went back to finishing off work on the saddles.
“I am?” asked Mike. “That’s good. I like coming up with new recipes, like the acorn squash spaghetti. And the gazpacho; a cold soup is perfect for hot days. And the salsa. We make darn good salsa.”
“We do,” said Nantan. “I really like your macros, it’s a great idea. It will help the ones doing that sort of thing.”
“One tiny bit of pasta is the same as six zucchini in carbs,” said Mike. “I can talk to the guys I do weights with at the kickboxing gym.” He grinned. “Those bast… guys are trying to get me to do kickboxing with my blade leg. I talked to a physical therapist. He said that with special straps and padding, he thinks I can do it. But, I must be careful not to damage the stump.”
Damia smiled. “You should meet the Valkyries. They will teach you to fight in a new way.”
Both men looked at her. “I should,” said Mike. “I surely should.”
The next night, Mike went to work out. He did weights first. He then taped up and went after the bags. A woman was there he’d never seen, with the hugest black eyes and her hair in braids. She had on black shorts and a black cami top. Valkyrie, Mike thought.
He went over to her. “A little girl said I should ask a Valkyrie to help me fight in a new way.”
She looked him up and down. “Mike,” she said. “You work with Henry.”
“I do,” said Mike. “And you?”
“I’m Shiva, his executive assistant, and I’m going to take over teaching Gregory’s part of his classes.” They touched gloves. She looked him up and down. “I can teach you, but it may be irregular. I also ride Harleys to where they belong. I’ve been thinking of cutting back, but it will take time.”
“I work a lot,” he said. “Especially in summer. We’ve started making sarsaparilla. A soda made from a vine. And root beer. We’ve got ourselves some sassafras trees. We’re also looking at file powder, for gumbo. And we’re experimenting with mead, a honey beer.”
“Well, maker of food, spices, and drinks,” said Shiva. “Let’s teach you how to kickbox with a blade.” She looked at his leg. “For now, let’s just use the knee, shall we?”
“We shall,” he said. They went after the heavy bag as if it was trying to kill them.
Afterward, he took her out for gumbo at a Creole place he knew. They talked, laughed. He told her about the military. She told him about wandering California on a Harley. He told her about his failed attempt to build Harleys. She told him about her failed attempts to work at mainstream jobs.
He took her to Dirty Rock, and they danced. He got her outside, onto her Harley, and followed her in his truck to her place out by Lake Las Vegas. It was quiet, nearly silent in the desert night. She stripped down to her underwear, and jumped into the pool. He stripped down to his boxers, slipped off his blade, and jumped in with her. They kissed. She tasted of spices, cloves and cinnamon, with a hint of honey, like the best mead in the whole world.
They dried off while laying on the plastic beach chairs, and looked at the stars. When they were nearly dry, he put his blade back on, and dressed. She took him up to her room. She had only a queen mattress on the floor, and a single lamp, and a few sheets. She helped him take off his blade again, and stripped him. She rode him, slowly, gaining ground, as he got stronger and stronger, and then he stretched himself into her, blessing the Universe that he’d had a condom in his pocket, ready to go when she was ready.
She clamped down on him, and took his lip in-between her teeth. She rode him, up and down. He lasted longer than he thought possible, his fingers flying over her gorgeous coppery skin, his lips caressing the chocolate tips of her breasts. They were small, and fit perfectly into his hands. She came twice, bucking and moaning, until he came in a rush. She got wet wipes from the bathroom, and cleaned him off. They laid there; twisted a single sheet half-on and half-off of their entwined bodies.
“Don’t fall in love with me,” whispered Shiva, stroking his arm, his back. “I am Shiva, destroyer of worlds.”
“Too late,” said Mike.
“Some people can’t see their own guilt. Those people need to be separated from the rest of us, so they don’t rub off on others.”
5
Highway to Hell
“If someone wants to die, keep talking, and listen with all your heart.”
Pomp’s voice was down low, growly. He got up and ran out of the taco place. Star ran out after him, then Sayan went out too. “Yeah, it’s Pete. How long can you drive until you run out of gas, or, wait, have enough gas to turn back?” Pomp went toward his bike in long strides.
Star texted inside, and Sayan said to Gregory, “Road trip.”
“Fully authorized.” He handed over a corporate credit card. “Take a plane if you need.” Sayan got up and ran out.
Thandie gave her boss a long look. He waved his fingers. She threw money on the table, drained the last of her Coke, and ran out.
Wraith stared at Gregory. “I’ll keep track of this op.” She finished her last taco, and licked her fingers. “Once I understand what it’s all about.”
Specialist “Rooster” Barch looked at their Spider and their Gunny. “I have no doubt you will. I’ll work doubles until further notice.”
“Me too,” said Yuki.
“Why didn’t you go?” asked Wraith.
“I can’t do what they do,” said Rooster Barch.
“What he said,” said Yuki. “Besides, you’ll need us.”
“And a lot of clones of us,” said Rooster.
“Clones would be good here,” said Wraith. They all clinked glasses.
Thandie flashed the credit card. Pomp took it. “Buddy,” he said. “Jerry. Suicidal. On the list. I got him moved up to third, but they’ve just got a new group in, and that’s…”
“Six weeks, maybe two months,” finished Wild Bill. “We get it. Suicidal, for how long?”
“Since he got back, but he’s talked about it for three days straight.” Pomp looked out of his mind with worry.
Thandie got it going on. “Plane. Where?”
“Alabama,” he said.
“We lose six a day there to suicide,” said Wild Bill. “We’ll ride, take the fastest route.”
“Buy a bike there, and ride it back,” said Thandie. “Fully authorized.” She stared at him as he threw himself on his bike. “Go go go!” she said. He roared out, and they roared out after him.
Thandie had the route planned out. She’d been planning to visit her pregnant sister in Birmingham, Alabama. “Follow me. I-40.” They got on the road, and went out in a Harley roar.
The company card bought a business-class trip for Pomp. He sent a text to Frank, I’m coming. He waited until the plane took off, and bought a Harley-Davidson Road Glide touring bike. It had some miles, but it looked to be in perfect working order. He put it on the card. He figured he could sell it when he got back, help Jerry learn to build another one, and give it to him. Once he got a handle on that sweet ride, he’d want one of his own. Or he would work for Desert and hire someone else to build one. He sent a pic of the bike, in gold and black, to Jerry’s brother Frank, a sometimes-working fireman who was also trained as a paramedic. J
obs were scarce, budgets cut. The library closed, the kids had to bus nearly an hour to the elementary school.
Frank was terrified. His brother used to be huge, a mountain of a man. But money for food was spare, and Frank had three kids. Food went for them first. Now his brother had gray skin, his hair was turning white but he was only twenty-six years old. Jerry had worked in the lumber store, right up until it closed. He’d walked miles to the diner, washing dishes, until it closed, too. Jerry had stopped eating, and he still had a service weapon.
Frank now sat with Jerry, and showed him the bike on his phone, and said, “Pete’s coming. And he’s bringing a bike for you.” Jerry moaned, and said nothing.
The riders on the road took it fast. Thandie led them, and they followed behind. She got her headset running, and Wraith barked out, “Report.”
“Pomp has his good friend Jerry ready to commit suicide. He’s on our list.” Thandie led them around a truck, and got them safe in the middle lane on the 515 to Boulder City. They let the throttle out, letting the Harleys roar. “He’s third, but they just got a class in, and Jerry can’t wait six weeks.”
“Understood,” said Wraith.
“Pomp’s on a plane. Send someone to get his bike out of short term parking.”
“Done,” said Wraith. “I’ll find out where he parked.”
“Good,” said Thandie.
They rode all night. They stopped at a rest stop in Kingman, Arizona, and bought waters and sodas. They merged onto the I-40.
Pomp texted Wraith, giving her the exact space number at the airport. He got off the plane at Charlotte, and he took a cab to find a coffee shop where he could have coffee and a meal. He had two cups, and took a cab back to catch his commuter flight to Birmingham.
He took a cab to the dealer, just outside Birmingham in Jasper on the I-22. He checked it out with his mechanic’s eye, and it was incredible to ride. He quailed at paying five figures for a bike, but he knew it could sell for more in Vegas. He headed out for the wide place in the road, Rudon, Alabama, where an exhausted Frank was still talking, trying to keep his brother Jerry alive.
