by Layla Wolfe
She shrugged, her fork dangling from her fingers. We sat at a table at The Bum Steer downtown, apparently a bar and grill owned by the club. The public was free to eat there, but it looked as though only other bikers or lookie-loos did. “I just ask because of your job. Must be hard to maintain a relationship when you’re flying dogs around all day.”
Oh. So she wasn’t interested in me at all. My face grew hot, and I looked down at my uneaten baby back rib. My embarrassment must have caused me to lash out, because I heard myself saying, “And your job, grooming. Don’t clients ever find it creepy that you’re beautifying their dogs, yet you cut yourself in an unartistic way?”
Unity stopped chewing. She narrowed her heavily-lined eyes at me. “Unartistic,” she stated flatly. “What’s that supposed to mean.”
I pointed with my sauced-up fingers and licked them to show I didn’t care. “Your uninked arm. It’s like you couldn’t bear having an arm with no pictures on it, so you started cutting in a very boring way. What are you keeping track of?” I assumed each cut on her tally was counting something, an event that she had now racked up fifteen of.
“Sexual assaults.”
Oh, man. Her glare turned even darker. I actually shrank down in my chair and looked to that moron Wolf Glaser for help. He was no help.
He shrugged, chasing seven French fries down with a few hearty chugs of Bud Lite. He even smacked his lips before saying, “Yeah, I heard about that, Unity. Rough life. Seems like everyone associated with this club or town has been through some wringer or other.”
“What’s your backstory, Tanner? You have no ink. What’d you do before you flew dogs around?”
I reached down and scrunched my fingers into Beetle’s thick fur. He really was fucking adorable. What a wingman. Everyone within a mile radius had stopped by to pet him. People had even heard of his fame and come in from the street to view him in person. “Master Sergeant in the Air Force. Where I learned to fly. Bigger planes, of course.”
Wolf kept on. “You were only a sergeant? You seem kind of old to have only advanced that far.” Unity giggled. “Unless you’ve been doing the dog thing for a long time. Oh, I didn’t mean to imply you’re all wrinkled and shit. But you look about as old as Knoxie. Man, talk about going through the wringer. Did you know he was a porn star before he opened his ink studio? Then I guess he got too old for that.”
Unity said, “He did an amazing job of taking down that twisted Swami Shakti in Merry-Go-Round Canyon. Saved a lot of peoples’ lives.”
Wolf’s eyes were alight with the dramatic memory. “Yeah. The swami had a kielbasa wrapped to his leg with plastic tubing. Knoxie ripped it off and strangled the guy with it.”
“With the sausage?” I asked, idiotically.
“With the tubing,” Wolf said, as though my question wasn’t idiotic.
“Wolf’s right,” said Unity. “You’re too old for this shit. How long were you in the Air Force?”
“Four years. I’m still in the Inactive Ready Reserve.” I knew what she’d ask next. Almost to spite her, to match her tit for tat on the sexual assault quip, I barreled ahead. “I did ten years in the Tucker Unit, Arkansas, on a bum charge. That’s how I got to know Slushy. He worked for the Innocence Project. For me.”
Unity screwed up her lovely face. “You were innocent.” Disbelief dripped from her shapely, pierced lips.
Wolf gestured at me with a fry. “Of course he was, Unity! Aren’t we all?”
I didn’t need to prove anything to these people. Why had Ford insisted Wolf Glaser tag along with us anyway? He was a supply master in the airplane hangar, not a vital part of the club or a master interrogator as far as I could tell. Maybe Ford wanted to give Wolf more experience. That must’ve been it.
“That your man?” I mumbled, finally bringing a rib to my mouth.
That had to be Tutti Morgan. Man, if there was ever a fentanyl king, he was it. He couldn’t have been more than five foot seven, and he walked with that side-to-side motion of the vertically challenged. His silver-blue hair was tossed to one side, framing sable, silken brows. The lavender suit matched his hair, and the tie looked to be made of satin rope. If he was trying to blend into the crowd, he was failing grossly.
But did he care? I’d googled him, and he routinely gave interviews to the press. They called him the Walter White of Flagstaff. He bragged about how pure his shit was. Tutti Morgan was the original chemist to crack the recipe of the designer drug that killed Prince, and lately bodies had been showing up, some with needles still in their arms.
He began making illegal narcotics in his parent’s basement in Oshkosh, Wisconsin in the early eighties. He used ancient chemistry manuals printed in Italian, riding to the buyer with crack cocaine on his Schwinn bicycle. Reading all this, it seemed like he could’ve won a Nobel prize, but something had steered him in the wrong direction. In ’93 when the DEA raided his lab he showed them his process, like Mister Rogers welcoming them to his neighborhood with baking soda experiments.
He claimed to have leaned right now, running paintball and video arcades in Flagstaff. But he was obviously still channeling fentanyl through the Bare Bones and the nightly sideshows in the mall parking lots.
He held his little hands out in the shape of Unity’s boobs. “My girl!” he said knowingly, twinkle in his eye. As he kissed her on both cheeks, Wolf Glaser looked on in awe. This loser was going to be of no help getting to the bottom of anything if he admired this chemist.
The dog wasn’t so star-struck, though. Diesel cringed from Tutti Morgan when Unity tried to hand him the leash. “Diesel, my man!” Tutti cried, grabbing a chair and trying to pet the cowering dog on the head. I took Diesel’s leash instead because he looked about to bolt out the door. Pure little Beetle just perked up his ears. He didn’t know evil yet.
“So Tutti,” said Unity brightly, “where the hell is Lavinia, anyway? Her phone goes straight to voicemail. You know she always has that thing on her, always playing with it.”
Tutti sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair. He wiped his face with his hand. “You know, we had a giant fight. She’s been having second thoughts about our marriage.” He arched an eyebrow at me. “And who’s this guy?”
“This is Tanner,” said Unity. “He runs Paws-n-Gauze, flying rescue dogs around.”
Wolf piped up. “Beetle here is a rescue dog. Tanner brought him to me from St. Louis.”
I told Tutti, “I just wanted to make sure Diesel got home safely, to Lavinia’s arms. Can’t stand it when a dog is abandoned.”
Tutti held his palms out to me as though surrendering. “Oh, there’s no abandonment going on anywhere! We had a nasty, nasty fight, buddy. You know how it is. She’s been having doubts about me, about our marriage. She yelled, she screamed, she left after scratching me. See?”
I couldn’t see, and Unity scrutinized his neck too.
He went on. “She left, and someone with California plates picked her up. You know anyone with California plates?”
Unity shook her head. “No, but there could be dozens of them at your sideshows. Where three people died last night.”
Tutti rubbed his face again. “Oh, ah. Horrible thing, wasn’t that? Were you there, at the sideshow?”
“No. I’ve got better things to do.”
Unity had me wondering what better things she did. Get inked by Knoxie? Would she fill up that wonderful blank arm of hers? Stop cutting herself? Who was sexually assaulting her, and why did it keep happening? I wasn’t interested in her. It was just my protective instincts coming to the fore.
“Listen, Mr. Morgan,” I said, impressing him with the details I probably knew about him. “I’ll just keep Diesel with me until Miss Dock is found. How does that sound? You’re a busy man, running all these businesses. I’ll take care of Lavinia’s dog.”
Tutti’s relief was evident. “Would you? Thanks so much, my man. I think she just wanted to be left alone, you know? Left alone to think.”
“But Tanner,�
�� said Wolf, “aren’t you flying back to St. Louis tonight? I thought you were just dropping off Beetle.”
I nodded tersely. “I’ll stay.” Something about this missing girl intrigued me. Maybe it was the Air Force Sergeant in me, or the task I’d been given by the club, but I wanted to see this through. Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I saw a look of combined surprise and admiration in that poor knifed and inked girl Unity.
A long-legged, determined woman entered the Bum Steer then and made a beeline for us. She wore leather riding chaps, and I’d just heard the rumbling of Harley tailpipes out front. Did this woman ride? Pure and Easy was full of shockers.
She strode directly to our table, Unity greeting her with, “Bellamy!” So this was Knoxie’s old lady, the bike mechanic. Man, she was one tough cookie. Ignoring Unity, Bellamy grabbed a chair from another table, flipped it backward, and straddled it.
“So Tutti. When’s the last time you saw Lavinia? Her phone goes straight to voicemail.”
Tutti launched into the same odd story about the fight they’d allegedly had. Unity caught my eye and jerked her chin in the direction of a side door. Everyone out there was smoking, and she wanted to, too. I resented being pulled into that poisonous atmosphere, but Unity had something on her mind.
“This fight is completely fishy to me. Lavinia would never in a thousand years hit him. For one, he’s way too scary. For another, she’s a Navajo girl. Sure, she’s brash and opinionated. She speaks her mind. And you know what? It’s weird she didn’t reach out to anyone.”
“Who’s her best friend?”
“I’d say I am. Then Bellamy, a couple other girls from Sinaloa, maybe some from the elementary school where she works in the office.”
“And sideshow people? She attends those, right?”
Unity shrugged. “Yeah. I keep telling her it’s childish and dangerous, but she likes to live dangerously, I guess. Witness her marrying that craptastic douche Tutti.”
I nodded. “He does seem like a pretty big craptastic douche. Well, why don’t we work together? I like finding missing women just as much as missing dogs. Let the Bare Bones deal with firing that peckerhead, because I surely don’t want to be around for that. Let’s find Lavinia Dock.”
Man, that grin that spread slowly over her pierced lips was divine. She had shapely features, a shapely bod—everything about Unity was shapely. She was a smoke show, hands down. I wondered which biker had claimed her. “Good. You’re a good man.”
I always felt awkward being praised, so I said, “And why are we stuck with this Wolf Glaser character? He owe the club something?”
“Sort of.” Unity giggled, and that was even prettier, with those diamond studs embedded in her dimples. “I think they want to get Wolf away from this threesome he’s been having. The other guy is the Bare Bones’ chief accountant and CTO and they don’t want any more feuds.”
Wolf Glaser? Involved in a threesome? “Ha,” I said. “That’s kind of humorous to imagine.”
“Oh, it is, believe you me. Once in awhile they still get into a fight, and I mean a physical altercation, in the middle of nowhere. They’ll be at the Farmer’s Market and start beating each other over the head with a bunch of zucchini.”
“A handful of beets works better,” I said. I worked in the prison galley for a couple months and someone had brained me with a fistful of raw beets. I shrugged. “Well. Wherever you are, be there totally.”
I meant whatever worked for Wolf was fine for his spirit, but Unity really perked up when she heard me.
She had a Zen quote, too. "If you miss the present moment, you miss your appointment with life.”
What? This diminutive human canvas was familiar with Zen Buddhism? Maybe she read that quote on a poster.
I was trying to stuff down my admiration for her when Wolf Glaser busted onto the smoky patio carrying Beetle awkwardly in front of him, his fluffy legs hanging down straight like some kind of modern sporran. Did this guy not know how to carry a puppy? I remembered I had more training to do—human training, that is. I had to instruct Wolf in how to best handle Beetle and be satisfied that he knew the ropes.
“Tanner, I just had an awesome idea. Or should I say ‘pawsome’?” Grinning goofily, Wolf made Beetle wave at me. “Slushy’s office is just a few doors down, behind the Hip Quiver. Why don’t we stop in and give our thanks for this amazing dog?”
“Good idea,” said Unity, stubbing out her cig. “I’ll go upstairs, freshen up, and meet you at Slushy’s. Then we can find Lavinia’s friends, see who was at the sideshow, stuff like that.”
I hadn’t known that Slushy’s office was so close. So Unity took Diesel—I guess she had a tiny deck off the back of her little apartment above the biker bar—and Wolf and I proceeded three storefronts down Bargain Boulevard.
“Put Beetle down,” I told him. “He can walk on a leash.”
“Oh, he can? You’ve got to tell me all the stuff he can do.”
“Well, he was a bit late coming to the party on the basics seeing as how he couldn’t walk, he swam. But he knows sit, down, stay, heel, leave it, and OK.”
“Can he do a high five? I want this lil’ guy with me 24/7. I might even get a sidecar like Bellamy has.”
We had to go through the Hip Quiver archery range to get to Slushy’s office. A lawyer with only a few high-profile clients didn’t need a high profile office, that was understandable. But we had to pass by a shooting line of geardos with so much equipment swaying from their belts by carabiners, they were all hanging cracks. We walked alongside a glass case displaying archery accessories while Wolf waved to Kneecap, a Bare Boner I’d seen at the hangar. He must run the place. At last we came to the glass door of Aaron McGill, Criminal and Patent Attorney.
It was heartening to see old Slushy again. I’d grown quite fond of the guy, as he seemed to work tirelessly for my release from Tucker. Sure, we finally had cut and dried DNA evidence to exonerate me. But a lesser lawyer could’ve ruined that, too. You really had to pound away relentlessly at The Powers That Be to get a brutal rape conviction overturned. After what Unity had said about the sexual assault, I was glad she was freshening up in her apartment. Even a false charge left a bad taste in many peoples’ mouths.
Slushy didn’t see us at first. His combed-over hair seemed thinner than the last time I’d seen him, but he still wore the seafoam green button-down shirt paired with a burnt umber tie. He’d told me once that you had to maintain a professional image, even if nobody was going to see you that day. I must’ve listened to him, because I always wore the T-shirt of Paws-n-Gauze to let people know who I was off the bat. I didn’t dress it up with a lot of do-rags with a lot of logos.
He was occupied, though. It sounded like he was on the line with tech support.
“God damnit, Steve! I click on the drop-down arrow and you know how you usually slide it to select the color you want? Well, it won’t let me! I know it’s working fine on your side. Of course it is. You’re the ones who invented this Mongolian clusterfuck of a website. I want Desert Sand, not Foliage Green!”
Slushy noticed the puppy first and smiled. He petted the soft little head as the dog nosed around his keyboard for crumbs. His other hand still tried to manipulate the mouse. Then he saw me, hands buried in the pockets of my army green pants, looking a little greyer but no worse for wear. Slushy’s jaw dropped, and he snapped, “No deal, no dice, Steve! Shot at and missed. Shit on and hit.” And he slammed the phone down.
“Well if it isn’t old Tanner ‘Leatherstocking’ Principato! If my fucking eyes don’t deceive me! And Wolf, this must be the dog Tanner brought from the ol’ Chess Capital of the World.”
Wolf frowned in consternation, so I said, “Yep, sure is. I want you to know I finally kept my word to you. Took a few years, but I did.”
We shook hands. “Well, makes sense ‘cause you were busy protecting the life and limbs of your average American twatwaffle from the dangers of the Reds, or whoever we’re currently at war
with.”
“Diaper heads,” said Wolf distractedly. He’d taken Slushy’s seat and was messing with the computer. I supposed if it was okay with Slushy, who was I to interrupt?
Slushy frowned. “Diaper heads? Do we say that around here? No, in the delicate world of a color-blind lawyer who wants to see justice meted out equally to all, I’d say Tanner here was protecting us from our enemy. We can call them human land torpedoes.”
Wolf, eyes glued to Slushy’s screen, made a lip fart. “Human land torpedoes? How’s that better than calling them Johnny Jihads?”
“Look,” I said, settling down with Slushy into the two upholstered chairs that faced his desk, “I’m going to stay a few more days to track down this missing girl, Lavinia Dock, bride of a guy named Tutti Morgan. You know him?”
“Oh, yeah, I was afraid of this. All day long I’ve been getting calls to look into prosecuting him for those sideshow deaths last night.”
Wolf piped up. “That why you were ordering camouflage seat covers for your SUV?”
Slushy yelled over his shoulder. “I’m going camping at Red Rocks, you assclown!” Composing himself, he faced me. “But there’s a huge conflict of interest seeing as how Tutti works for the Bare Bones, my number one client.”
“Maybe not for long. Don’t repeat my words. But I accidentally busted into a meeting at their hangar today where they were discussing firing Tutti.”
Relief washed over Slushy’s face. “Were they? That would be most advantageous, Tanner. The Bare Bones want to stick their dongs in a hornet’s nest, that’s up to them. But I always wind up getting sloppy seconds. And lots of the people I talked to today also mentioned how they can’t get ahold of Lavinia. I’d rather come down decisively on one side or the other of this.”
Wolf called over. “What’s Bikers Against Child Abuse?”
Slushy swiveled his entire torso this time. “What the fuck are you looking at? Get off my computer!”
“I fixed your seat cover problem by hacking into their website and repairing their dropdown box. You’re right—it was screwed. I couldn’t finish your order, though, ‘cause I don’t know your PayPal login. You want Desert Sand, right? Then I noticed you have a virus—the ol’ You’ve Got Male bug. You know, maybe if you stopped looking at sites like Village of the Rammed or Oklahomo! you wouldn’t get these bugs.”
