Mercer: Prophets MC

by Laura Day

  “No, and that’s what I’m saying to you. I’ve been doing porn makeup and hair for so many years now. I never see them do a shoot in just one take or with the leads picking and choosing positions like you two did. No one said a word after you two started going. We just let you guys do your thing. That is special. Don’t expect that for every time.”

  “It was all him,” she muttered under her breath as she examined the strands of her hair.

  “It was you, too. You looked like a pro. I’ve never seen it look more natural. Did you really cum four times?”

  I saw her smile. It crept up on her face starting at the corners of her pink lips and then lifting at the corners. She gave a hint of her teeth as she nodded emphatically. Her face turned a soft rosy red as she coyly looked back down.

  My dressing room was empty as I quickly grabbed my helmet, jeans, and t-shirt. After getting dressed, I ran downstairs towards my motorcycle parked out by the door. I normally hated riding after doing all-day shoots, but I needed to get this out of my system and the open road and the free air was just what I required.

  The sun was still shining down on the road as the strip grew closer into view. Whenever I saw the neon lights and the painted signs, it took my breath away for just a moment – just as it did when I first drove into the city six years ago. I wanted to follow that path today as I made a quick turn towards The Lion’s Head.

  It was only two when I arrived, yet the parking lot was full of pickup trucks and bikes of all styles. Men were standing outside, smoking a cigarette with a buddy as they refused to say a word. I nodded my head at them as I entered into the dark and damp smelling dive. I made out the sound of the jukebox that was playing Johnny Cash’s cover of “Hurt” over the noise of clinking glasses and running water.

  Max stood behind the bar. He was still the same after all these years – bald head, flannel shirt cut up at the arms, and tattoos lining his neck and chest. I put down a five dollar bill as I pointed to a bottle of whiskey. He silently poured me a shot before taking my money to his cash register. As he turned, he lowered himself towards me and said, “The boys are here, Hill and the gang. They’ve been looking for you since the last time y’all were here.”

  His eyes darted towards the back room. A sign said “Storage,” but anyone who had been in The Lion’s Head knew the back room was reserved for Max’s more VIP clients – the groups and clubs that run Vegas’ underground. I spent many nights in that room, held up, strung up. I wasn’t planning on going back, though, at least not tonight.

  I shot my whiskey quickly, turning my back towards the room in hopes of not being spotted. The sooner I could get out of here, the better I’d be. I left Max a couple bucks for his trouble as I headed back out towards the door. I only made it a few quick steps before a hand grabbed me by the shoulder, returning me back to my seat.

  “Well, if it isn’t Wilder, boy! How you been man?” Hill was eager and excited, but his words were slow and disjointed. It was as if he were trying to piece his mind back together as fast as he could.

  “I’m good, Hill. I’m just heading out.” I gave him my hand, hoping he was doped up just enough to let me pass without argument. “I’ll see you soon, right?”

  “Like hell you’re going anywhere. Get on back there with us. We’ve got some talking to do.” He spun on his heel, knocking himself down on the wooden bar. “Max! Max! Grab us another bottle. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

  I groaned as Max obeyed, passing a bottle of golden liquid over the tabletop and to Hill’s waiting hands.

  Hill kicked the door in with his foot, laughing as it swung wildly. “Look, boys, who's here! It’s our good friend Wilder. Someone pour him a drink.”

  Orlando reached out an arm to embrace me tightly. He was already stoned and out of it. I could tell by the way his eyes seemed to focus in and out on the lights and the movements of everything else but me. He stood up from his place at the leather sofa. Another man handed me an over-poured glass. I had no choice. I was in it now.

  I listened as the guys talked about their prospects and their clients. Business was booming in Sin City. It always had been. The men were diversifying soon, though. Cocaine wasn’t doing much for the tourists looking for something different, something dangerous. I knew what was coming next, but I still clenched my jaw as Orlando spoke to himself as if no one could hear him, “Horse. We gotta start moving our supply of Horse.”

  Instantly, my mouth began to water.

  “Orlando’s got a point, man. Black Tar is in with the celebs and high rollers. We got a whole market waiting for us.” The man in the seat across from me was ticking, his head bobbing awkwardly from one side as his mouth struggled to not tremble with the rest of his body.

  Hill, who was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room like a shaman ready to start a meditation, raised his arms towards the air. He conducted the room, requesting everyone chime in on their opinion. No one disagreed. No one tried to argue. He got to me, and I was at a total loss. So, instead, I nodded my head and looked down at my arms. The old marks were still there even after a year of being out of use.

  Hill stood up and walked towards a black duffel bag tucked beneath the matching lounge chair. He pulled out bags from a small, hidden pocket and tossed it to each of the dealers. “This was a trial, boys. Each of you gets one dose. I got needles for those who need it.”

  The men stood, congregating around him like bees to honey as he handed out white sterile packets with needles and latex rope. Each clenched to their bit of heroin as if it were precious cargo. But I didn’t join them. I placed my packet on the couch where I sat and tried to sneak back out the door.

  As I slipped out, Orlando, again, caught me by the arm. He might have been stoned, but he was cognizant of what I was trying to do. He warned me with his low, dark voice, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You know what Hill will do to you.”

  I walked back to the bag holding my spot on the throne. One of Hill’s men handed me a syringe with a peeled back label. So many parts of me wanted to shoot up with the rest of them, to erase the pain, to numb the high I still had after my encounter with the new girl on the shoot, to continue pushing back the memories. I looked back down at the needle, sharp and new, ready to inject, and I took a deep breath. Sometimes temptations were worth giving in to.

  Chapter 5: Raw Footage

  Sirens rang out in the distance. I knew I should wake up, but the thought of Kylie’s eyes lingering in a blue lagoon somewhere in the distance held me hostage to the couch I was resting on. Still, the piercing noise grew louder. Kylie’s eyes were fading and I was being dragged back to a memory of what it was like always running from those sounds of police sirens chasing me, hunting me down.

  I slowly shook myself awake, forcing my eyes to open. They were heavy, weighed down from the day before. I looked around, expecting to see a room full of the guys I left with half slumped over their chairs. But the room was empty. All that was left in this seedy, rundown apartment was me and a bunch of used needles, tin foil, and empty bottles of hard liquor. No sight of the men. They knew better than to wait around.

  I sat up and reach for one of the vodka bottles. My throat was killing me, but there was nothing left but a few stubborn drops to quench my thirst. As I stumbled towards the kitchen, trash crackled under my feet. The place hasn’t been decent in years, I thought. Well, at least not by someone who actually lived in this apartment. Now it was basically a drug den for Hill’s gang and people like me who keep getting sucked back into it.

  As I sucked down some water left in a plastic cup, I studied my arm. I saw the old marks, pale and some purple. The veins around them looked tired and bruised. Each scar and little pinprick was associated with a memory that was too hard for me to think of and too distant for me to actually remember if I tried.

  Even last night was a blur, but I felt different. In my head, I remembered the guys handing me a needle and some tar, but me refusing. At one point, I worried they’
d hold me down, but I convinced Hill to let me stand guard and drive sober. I stuck to the drinks instead as the rest of the men shot up around me. Once we made it to the safe house, I drank my weight in liquor, knowing it was the only way to stop my hands from shaking and giving in to the daemons I ran from.

  At one point, I crashed. Too much vodka, whiskey, and beer would do that to you. Only Hill remained awake, chuckling to himself as the visions continued to come in and out, slowing his brain. I remembered my eyelids closing as he approached me, standing over my place on the couch. He had said something to me, but I was too far gone to comprehend or to pay attention. All I wanted was to find myself wrapped in Kylie’s arms, to feel her skin pressed against mine, to feel the weight of her breasts in my hand.

  The sirens grew louder, and I became aware of where I was and what was happening. I needed an escape that wasn’t through the front door. I didn’t have time for that one. I ran as fast as my shaking legs could take me to the back of the small apartment. There was a back exit leading to an old metal fire escape. I was only four floors up, but the height got me instantly. I held on to the bar as I shuffled down a flight of stairs. The sounds of boots kicking in the apartment’s front door pounded behind me.

  Everything was screams and shouting as I got desperate. As soon as I landed on the third floor, I spun myself over the rail, jumping down off the fire escape to the concrete parking lot. My legs buckled underneath me as the blow of the fall hit hard on my boots. Still, I steadied my balance and took an account of my body. No breaks. No sprains. I could run, as long as my throbbing head didn’t slow me down.

  I wove through the parked cars, most clearly abandoned for years, their tires long gone, their windows broken through, some spray-painted over with gang signs. I hid behind an old Jeep as I watched a team of police dressed in head to toe black, their guns pointed in front of them, survey the lot.

  I’m not getting caught again. I’m not going back there. I was promising myself that this wasn’t going to be my end. I had to get back to my home. I had to get back to work.

  As I waited out the cops, I planned the rest of my escape. The only way out of the locked parking lot was coming from the entrance the police just came through. There would be backup, for sure, nearby. But it was my only option. I scanned the cars for something, anything that could pass. A red, 1990s car caught my eye, no graffiti, two low (but not flat) tires, and the hood was still in place. It was my best bet by far.

  I lowered myself towards the ground and scooted towards the car. The cops were still manning the fire escape, waiting for the all clear from above. It gave me just enough time to reach into the hood, pop it, and play with the wiring. The car started up immediately. I ran towards the door, opening it in one swoop. The cops on the escape turned my way, startled from the sound.

  “It’s just me, officers.” I waved up my hands towards them, as if I'd been there the whole time. I motioned towards one of the apartments where the lights were on inside. “I need to get to the grocery store for my lady. Can I get out of here, or should I wait?”

  One of the men wearing a Kevlar vest on the outside of his uniform said something to his partner before nodding in my direction. I got in the car and pulled out of the space, praying to God that this car would hold up at least a few more blocks. I managed to get it out of the lot and into the alley. Four cop cars lined the gravel street. I waved from them as I slowly passed. I was down the entire length of the street before I saw a cop waving wildly at me, yelling at me to stop.

  Shit. Shit! Shit! I pounded my hands against the steering wheel in defeat as I pulled the car over and lifted my arms up above my head. The officer approached the driver’s side, his hand on the gun in its holster. But to my surprise, there were no others following him. He was alone and walking towards the door without hesitation. I rolled down the window as he shouted to me, “Son, that taillight of yours is out. I’m not going to give you a ticket or anything, but go get it fixed when you can. Got it?”

  I smiled wide, flashing my teeth at him, “Yes, sir. Thank you for letting me know. I don’t drive this old beater too often.”

  “You be safe, got it? That apartment you’re living in isn’t in the best shape. Some seedy characters living around you may make it even more dangerous. Stay out of trouble and move out as soon as you can.” He was sincere. I had met cops like him – decent guys just doing their jobs, but they were certainly few and far between. I reached out my hand to shake his before driving away once more.

  This time, I made the turn and headed back in the direction of the Lion’s Head. I ditched the car about three blocks away on a residential street and then walked it back towards the bar. I breathed a huge sigh of relief to see my red Harley still in the same place I left it.

  As I saddled up, I spotted Max, just exiting his car. He was dressed in the same flannel shirt, a black apron tied around his wide waist. He shouted at me, his arm raised, “What the hell happened to you, kid? You look like shit!”

  “You know exactly what happened, Max. Hill got to me.” I fidgeted with my helmet, trying not to look up to him. Max had known me a long time, long enough to know my story better than most. The way he looked at me with disappointment in his eyes pretty much said it all.

  “Please tell me you didn’t.” His arms were raised up in complete disbelief and disappointment. He was the one who got me sober last year. He forced me to come to terms with what I was doing to myself and the lives I was destroying. I still remembered the first time he pulled me into the office, screaming and hollering at me about needing to make a change. He threw me an apron and told me to work it off. I spent the rest of the night alternating between the bathroom, the bar, and the office as I fought the withdrawal. I did that routine for almost two months before I was ready to go back to porn.

  “I didn’t shoot up, if that’s what you mean. I managed to get out of that.” I placed the helmet on my lap as I turned back towards him, “I’m not going down that path anymore, Max. I’ve got bigger fish to fry, worse things to focus on.”

  He looked up towards the bar and then back again in my direction, “You know where to find me if you run into that shit again. I ain’t afraid of Hill or the dealers.”

  “You should be. I heard them yesterday talking about dealing heroin.” I listened to him as he scoffed and kicked a rock out of his direction. “Hopefully they don’t come around your bar too much after that.”

  Max walked away without another word. He was the kind of man who knew when enough had been said and kept it at that. I appreciated that type of person. Working in porn, you rarely meet someone truly introverted. Kylie was my first. She kept her head down; she was exactly what she presented herself to be. The cover matched the story – at least I hoped it did.

  I revved up the bike and pulled myself to the turn. I could turn right and go home and sleep it off. I could slip back into the dream where Kylie stared at me from a distance, all knowing, all wanting. Or I could turn left and do something about it. I could see her in person, experience her again for myself.

  I chose left, towards Daniel’s studio. Bright Bodies Studio was located in a sterile office building, twenty stories off the ground. I had been there once before, the day I signed my contract with him for forty films. But I still remembered the process, the parking lot, the receptionist with the bright red lips and the too short skirt.

  When she asked me if I had an appointment, I lied and told her yes. She stood up, tugging at her pencil skirt from behind. I stole a few glances as the fabric continued to ride up her leg. Daniel certainly had a type. Busty, tan, and out of place looking. I could instantly see why he hired the girls he did.

  I listened to the girl as she announced my name. Daniel resisted, both going back and forth on what to do with me. I was unexpected. It wasn’t on his calendar. I'd gotten her in trouble. Still, he walked out of the office, his hands on his hip as he approached me. “What are you doing here, Wilder? I’ve got no time before I need to get to the
club.”

  “I need to talk to you. It can’t wait.” I was insistent. I needed to know more about Kylie, and I wasn’t going to leave until he gave me what I wanted.

  He turned silently, back into his office. I followed at his heels, shutting the door quickly behind him. I took a look at the office. It was modern, sterile, cold. It was nothing what I expected. It was full of white furniture, white desks, silver and chrome accents. Some books on filmmaking sat on a twisting bookcase. And the window was covered with a white velvet shade.

  He sat in a silver and black lounge chair, leaning back as he asked, “So what do I owe this pleasure, Wilder?”

  “I want to work with Kylie again.” I just spat it out. I knew what I wanted and that was more time with her.

  “That’s not going to be possible.” Daniel was rummaging through some papers sitting in a black folder. He pulled one out and studied it before adding, “She’s only booked for eight films, and I’ve already planned out the stories and booked the guys. Too bad we can’t have her on permanently. She obviously has some chemistry with you…and those tits. Man. Perfection. You don’t get that natural look with these other girls.”