Fight Like A Girl

by A. D. Herrick

  “Do you have somewhere we can talk?” I asked giving him a tight smile as I released his hand, uneasy at the easy pleasantries.

  “We run things a bit differently than you’re used to. Me and the boys, well, we don’t keep secrets. We like to keep everything out in the open.” He said extending his hands out widely gesturing to the small crowd of men that began to form.

  I sighed in annoyance. This club was clearly not the one I needed to be concerned with if first impressions were anything to go by. They look like a ragtag bunch of miscreants more than they did a motorcycle club. If it wasn't for the sea of bike scattered along the front lawn I would have never placed them for an MC.

  Playing along with the charade, I followed Trucker into the old dilapidated house the crew had commandeered for as their clubhouse.

  The club had taken up residence just on the edge of city limits, nestling in between Reckless Dogs and the Black Widows. The territory had once belonged to the Spiders. The Spiders had only lasted three days before they were sent out in body bags, courtesy of the Widows. If the Grim Howlers were as weak as they pretended to be, I didn’t expect them to last any longer. A week tops.

  The Widows were a ruthless group of women as the Spiders found out. They took their name seriously. Never has a man walked away without a toe tag. I admired that about the ladies; they didn’t mince words or pretend to be anything that they weren’t. I could almost predict with certainty these guys being the Widow’s next meal.

  I followed behind the nescient men, not willing to give them my back so easily. It didn’t matter how disarming they pretended to be. I wouldn’t let my guard down. There was only one person other than my mother I gave my back to and she wasn’t here.

  Slowly, the men filed in the barren room, lining up like lemmings along the back wall. It was almost comical to watch. I felt like I was walking into a classroom not the clubhouse of an MC.

  “We heard you run this place so we’ve been expecting you.” Trucker said, speaking loud enough for all to hear, once everyone had been situated.

  The men around him nodded their heads in agreement, looking unthreatening as they stood around with their hands clasped in front of them like they were in front of a firing squad.

  Taking them out would be like shooting fish in a barrel. I tried not to think of the easy marks they would make, instead, I focused on the men in front of me, studying their body language.

  They appeared open and honest, only I knew better. There were a few of the men shifting around uncomfortably, as though they had something to hide. Then again, they could just have body lice by the looks of them.

  I didn’t confirm or deny Trucker’s statement. I was at a loss for what to say. Talking to these men was like talking to a room full of children, it left me off guard. Anything I had to say would feel like kicking a puppy.

  Instead, I got down to business. “What brings you to town?” My eyes trailed across the room taking in faces of the men in front of me, committing them to memory. They were a ragtag crew. Their faces gaunt and their clothing looked like it had seen better days. I couldn’t imagine they had much by the looks of things. It made me wonder about their true interest in the move to town.

  “We came from the south end of the state, looking for a clean slate. Rumor has it you run a clean, fair ship. We wanted to seize a piece of that peace right along with you.” Trucker answered with an honest smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the already wrinkled corners with fine lines.

  I nodded my head slightly, accepting his answer but not believing it.

  “I’m not sure what you heard but I do run the gym, Destruction, in the center of the Fold. You’re all welcome to workout. It a safe harbor. Drop your issues at the door and everything will be fine.” I offered a tight smile.

  “We heard the last club that pissed you off disappeared, never to be heard from again.” The man beside Trucker spoke up.

  “Hush Rabbit.” The man beside him hissed out throwing an elbow into Rabbits side. I fought the smirk that threatened to spill from my lips. I could only imagine how one got the nickname Rabbit.

  I took in Rabbits haggard appearance. He looked like he had seen better days. His hard brown hair was long, curling around the collar of his cut. Wisps of hair were finger combed over his forehead. His dark eyes were rimmed with even darker circles. Smears of dirt and grease were smattered along his clothes and face, his beard was scraggly and in desperate need of a trim.

  I simply shrugged in response to his statement. It was true. A club or two had disappeared over the years. It wasn’t without cause and they wouldn’t be missed. But I wouldn’t elaborate to these men. I owed no one an explanation.

  “What did they do?” Another asked casting me a wary gaze.

  My eyes cut to him, leering down at his slender frame. “One of the members looked at my girl,” I growled out in half-truth causing the man to quiver against the wall.

  “Now, now. No one will be looking at your girl in this crew.” Trucker held out his hands in surrender shooting his brother a scathing look.

  “We know you’re a busy man. We’ll abide by your rules and stay out of your way. We appreciate the gym invite. Hell, some of us may even take you up on it.”

  I gave Trucker a curt nod of acceptance.

  “Any of you dealing with Marco?” I cut to the chase wanting to get this little meet and greet over with.

  Spike over with Reckless Dogs had set up the meeting for me. When I told him about my concern he jumped into motion and started making calls. It wasn't thirty minutes later and he had a time set for the meet.

  “Nah, we don’t know a Marco. Just got into town yesterday.” Trucker replied with an easy smile on his face. The lie rolled off his tongue like honey. His crew began to fidget with unease. I wasn’t sure if the lie was about how long they were in town or knowing Marco. Rabbit looked the most uneased. His eyes continued to bounce between me and his Prez. If there was anyone to watch, my bet would have been on him.

  Taking in their haggard appearance I would guess the being in town. They didn’t look like the kind of guys Marco would be doing business with. They were too weak. If the Widows would eat them up, Marco would have been the one to serve them on a silver platter. I felt certain these guys were not the ones G was upset by. Hell, she could take on the whole crew at once and not break a sweat. They looked that feeble.

  “I would suggest you watch the company you keep. Never know how things might turn out.” I looked Trucker in the eye, the warning clear. There was no reason to explain. He knew exactly what I was talking about; I could see it in his eyes. He may play the louse but there was a sharpness in his eyes. He knew more than he let on.

  “Noted.” Trucker replied, his easy smile still on his face. “We won't be making any trouble, I assure you.” The first real truth coming from his lips.

  “I’ll be seeing you boys around.” I tipped my hand in salute.

  There was no other reason for me to be here. These guys were clearly not the ones I was looking for. Sure they were as shady as they come but there was nothing physically imposing about the men in this crew. Nothing that would immediately call for alarm. Unless they were impeccable actors, these were not the men Marco was tied to, at least not the men G had seen anyways. Turning away, I walked out of the run-down shack.

  There was nothing physically threatening about these men but they were here for something.

  One thing was for certain, they were more dangerous than any of the other MC’s around. It wasn’t because of their threatening demeanor or large backing of firepower, neither of which they possessed. No, it was desperation. Desperation was the most dangerous characteristic for a man to have, let alone a whole crew.

  Desperation made a man do things he wouldn’t normally do. It made a man take risks no one else would take. It made a man dangerous to himself and those around him. And this crew had it in spades. It shrouded them like a pungent odor. Making me wonder what their true intentions were but
it was none of my business so long as they steered clear of my girl.

  Chapter Five

  Ginger

  Today had been probably one of the best days I had had in a long time even with all the highs and lows. It had been mostly highs and that was good enough for me. I liked to think that the highs were because of Marco and the time we spent together the night before.

  That increment of time, no matter how little, had been exactly what I needed. It was like a balm to my wounded heart, healing the fractures created by the years we spend spiting down one another’s throat.

  That feel-good moment had carried me through the night before and into the morning. Things only got better from there.

  I woke up with more pep in my step than I was used to having. Though my body ached from the workout the day before, I jumped out of bed and began stretching out my tightly wound muscles, warming the fibers as I worked through a series of yoga poses. Once I was able to move without whimpering, I dressed quickly and rushed out of the house without a second glance, afraid that if I looked back the perfection of the evening before would be tarnished.

  Stopping at the local Starbucks, I grabbed a piping hot cup of happiness, inhaling the rich dark roast. Today was the day I got to meet up with Millie about some of the commissioned pieces I had in her gallery. I was a ball of nerves both excited and nervous about what she had to say. Though I had pieces in several of the smaller galleries around town, none of them were as big as the gallery Millie owned. None of the others boast such high ranking artist.

  My meeting with Millie wasn’t until one so I took advantage of the morning by running a few errands around town and dropping off some of my smaller artwork at a few of the smaller galleries around town.

  The art I had in the four small local galleries sold decently, netting me enough free income to purchase art supplies and put enough food on the table to keep me going. It wasn’t grand money but it was something I did on my own. An accomplishment I achieved on my own merit. But Millie’s was by far my greatest achievement. Her Gallery was one of the largest in the state and boasted grand reviews from across the country. With my fingers crossed and my heart in my chest I prayed she would have nothing but good things to say about the piece, I had left with her.

  By the time I pulled up to the gallery I was a nervous wreck. My hair hung in limp strands around my face, slick with oil from running my hands through it nervously all day. “You can do this,” I repeated in the tiny flip down mirror over the driver’s side sun visor. The pep talk did little to easy my fraying nerves

  With a deep shaky breath, I exited the car. Shaking out my nerves I approached the tall sleek glass building. Millie’s was written in thick black letters across the top of the building a bold statement that filled me with pride and trepidation. Sucking in a calming breath I entered the building.

  The bold beautiful colors of the art displays put me on sensory overload as the scent of freshly painted canvases assaulted my nostrils like a soothing balm. I inhaled the sharp scent of oils and acrylics, the taste sharp on the back of my tongue. The beauty and creativity of the pieces on display slammed me in the face. It was breathtaking.

  Though I had given my pieces to Millie weeks ago I had never stepped foot in the large spacious gallery in person. I had met her at one of the smaller galleries closer to home, a sister gallery in which she had first come across my pieces. I had only heard of her gallery by name and through casual conversation at the local art store. The name Millie’s was whispered with reverence, it elite status well known among the art community.

  “Ginger, I’m so glad you made it,” Millie called out. I turned sharply to take in the tall beautiful blonde headed in my direction. Her bright blue cornflower eyes sparkled in the afternoon sunshine streaming through the plate glass windows.

  “Millie, it’s so good to see you.” I smiled thrusting my hand out for her to shake.

  “None of that, my dear.” She waved away my hand encasing me in a quick firm warm hugs. Shocked I hugged her back, not knowing what else to do. I had never been a toucher. This type of contact was almost foreign to me, especially with a stranger.

  “Come back to my office we have much to talk about.”

  Without further hesitation, I followed her through the gallery. Millie’s office was as lively as the woman herself. The walls were a bright white adorned with gorgeous bold colorful artwork. The carpet in the room was just as white making the sleek black granite desk stand out. It reminded me of an inky oil slick in the middle of snowy tundra. It was breathtaking.

  “I’m so glad you could make it today.” Millie smiled offering me a seat in a slim black modern chair that sat in front of her desk. The seat was as uncomfortable as it looked forcing me to perch on the edge in fear of sliding off. Pasting a smile on my face I waited expectantly for her to take a seat, ignoring the way my toes curled in on themselves in my black Chucks, as though by doing so they could hold me upright in my seat.

  “Here is your commission's check. All of your paintings sold.” Her eyes widened with excitement as she handed over the slim pale blue check. Gingerly I reached across the expanse of her expensive desk and took it from her hands.

  My eyes widening comically as I struggled to count the zeros on the check. Three thousand dollars for four paintings. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Th-thank you. I can’t believe it” I stammered out still amazed that my paintings had brought so much money.

  “Oh believe it, my dear. You have the talent. This is just the beginning.” She smiled warmly.

  “This is simply amazing, Millie.” I gushed out excitedly glancing between her and the paper in my hands, my brain unable to comprehend the figures staring back at me.

  Sure most people would scoff at the measly change but to me it was everything. Me, Ginger Hart, a poor girl from the Folds, with absolutely zero training, had made three thousand dollars off her art. Art I never thought would sell. Art I made for the sake of making expecting nothing in return. Sure I placed it in galleries hoping it would sell but never did I expect to make so much.

  “I’m so glad you’re happy. We have so much to discuss.”

  “Let’s hear it.” My face hurt from smiling so wide but I couldn't stop it if I tried.

  “We have several interested buyers that would like to see more of your work. They loved the edgy gritty feel of your paintings. We’re looking to sell at least twenty more.” She beamed brightly at me as she explained the work being requested. She smiled as though this were nothing new in her world. Perhaps it wasn’t, but to me it was everything.

  “Twenty?” I gasped clutching my hands to my chest. The small sliver of paper in my hands crumbled in my iron grip.

  “Will that be an issue?” She asked. Concern latched onto her face creating fine lines around her eyes and across her forehead.

  “No. No, not at all. I’m just surprised.” I reassured her. Still taken aback that my paintings had sold at all. I couldn’t believe it. She wanted twenty more paintings from me. Twenty.

  “Great. We would like to see them in here as soon as possible. Your work is great. You have a wonderful eye for finding the beauty in places one would simply bypass as waste. I see you going places Ginger. I really do. I really want to be the one to help you get there. I see so many wonderful things in your future.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you. Thank you so very much.” I whispered in awe. “I’ll have them to you soon.” I smiled up at her in reassurance.

  “Perfect. Just let me know when you have most of them ready so we can start getting things set up. I’d like to do an entire showcase just for you. I think it would be an amazing opportunity for you to really be seen.”

  Millie went on about the type of work the buyers wanted to see. The most demanded request had been for grungy paintings showing the inner city, unfiltered. The belly of the underground is what Millie called it. “Inner city grunge was one of the most popular themes in the art world right now.” She had touted.


  I simply nodded my head, still reeling from the fact that I was being asked to create more art. I never in my wildest dreams expected to be asked for more work let alone hear my name in the same sentences as the phrase ‘high demand’ or ‘showcase’.

  What Millie was asking for was a cakewalk. I could paint the streets of the Folds with my eyes closed. The fact that she wanted me for a showcase - unbelievable.

  Though the art requested provided no challenge to my artistic creativity, it paid well and would open the doors for me that I never thought I would experience. A well-paying gig while living in the Folds was something you didn’t look down your nose on, especially after earning three grand, two of which would easily go toward new art supplies. So instead of complaining, I accepted the commission and began plotting my next series, mentally playing down the excitement in the meeting as to not get my hopes up. Hopes were dangerous.

  The meeting with Millie had put me on cloud nine.

  My commission check from the set of painting Millie sold was been one of my biggest yet and it filled me with so much pride. I wanted nothing more than to pick up my phone and share my joy, only there wasn’t anyone to call. That thought hit me like a cinder block to the chest, stealing my breath. I felt the sliver of cracks begin to spider along my tender heart.

  Retail therapy.

  Those two words said it all. There was nothing a little shopping didn’t cure. At least that’s what I told myself as I left the gallery and pointed my car in the direction of the closest art supply store.

  It took no time at all for me to fill the back of my car to the brim having spent nearly my entire commission at the art store, buying up canvases and supplies for my newest commissioned series. With each tube of paint and stark white canvas, I convinced myself this was really happening. With each item placed on the counter, I imagined the gritty streets that would take up residence on the tight white squares. As the cashier ran up my purchase I mentally calculated how much money I would have to store away for my own studio, imagining myself taking that next step toward freedom.