Boneyard Rumblers

by Gina Ranalli

  Gunnar laughed yet again. “Anything we damn well want, darlin’, The world is our oyster. I sure hope you ain’t allergic to shellfish.”

  There was something about the way he said the last sentence that seemed as though it might be a vague threat, but Opal dismissed the thought immediately.

  “I love shellfish,” she said.

  “I knew it!” Gunnar sat forward again, brimming over with enthusiasm. “I fucking knew it! Do I know how to pick em, folks, or do I know how to pick em?”

  “You know how to pick em,” Walter chimed in.

  “Indeed you do,” John agree and took a long swallow of wine.

  Melosia smiled at Opal, a soft, knowing smile that Opal couldn’t quite read before opening her laptop, literally placed on her lap, and powering it up.

  Opal had no idea what Melosia might be doing but she’d noticed the woman was seldom without her computer and often had to wander away from the group in search of a coffee shop or library in order to find somewhere to charge the device.

  The men fell silent, watching Melosia expectantly. Opal watched them watching Melosia as she wondered about “the hunt.” She had a feeling she might know what Gunnar was talking about but what if she was wrong? She couldn’t very well speak up about something like that, could she? It could end up being extremely awkward, at best.

  After a minute or so of quiet, she cleared her throat and asked John how long he and Melosia had been married.

  “Forever,” he said. “Or close to it.”

  He didn’t seem to want to elaborate, so Opal dropped it, puzzled.

  Finally, Melosia looked up and smiled at Gunnar. “Next town over. Closes in an hour.”

  The cowboy hooted and rose to his feet. “Let’s go, gang. No time to waste.”

  As before, everyone but Gunnar piled into the truck while he rode behind them on his motorcycle. Opal asked no questions and no one volunteered anything and when they pulled up a couple blocks away from a bar called The Black Flag, parking beside a small park, she waited to be informed. Still, no one said anything.

  A moment later, Gunnar was beside the vehicle, his hat still pulled low over his eyes, grinning in at them. “Let’s get a wiggle on,” he said happily.

  Everyone exited the truck and stood on the edge of the park, looking down the street at the patrons leaving the bar. A few of them headed straight for the Boneyard Rumblers, all walking crookedly, weaving and bouncing off each other. Two men and a woman, laughing and carrying on. When they got to within twenty yards of the group, Gunnar stepped into the street and gave them a loud, friendly “Howdy!”

  One of the men laughed. “Who are you supposed to be? The Lone Ranger?”

  The woman and other man joined in the laughter as if this had been the funniest thing they’d ever heard in their entire lives.

  Opal crinkled her nose. Given his shoulder length, scraggly blond hair, she thought Gunnar looked nothing like the Lone Ranger and was immediately put off by this trio of drunkards. They kept walking towards Gunnar, who stood grinning manically, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “I like the idea of a Lone Wolf,” he told them as they drew closer, “but I ain’t that either.”

  The group’s laughter died as they registered the rest of Gunnar’s posse on the sidewalk.

  Melosia, showing more vivaciousness than Opal had yet to see, took a step towards them and said something that sounded seductive in Spanish, tossing her long hair to one side.

  The three strangers regarded the Latina with interest, especially, Opal noted, the men. Then their eyes ticked towards her and she gave them what she hoped was a sexy smile.

  Gunnar took all this in as a matter of course and said, “Ain’t it a shame bars close so damn early these days? Night’s young and so are we. So…” He paused to give each of them a final once over. “You look like fine folks to me. You wanna party with us?”

  The three exchanged glances and then the one who’d accused Gunnar of being a ranger said, “Maybe. What do you have in mind?”

  “You have any weed?” the woman asked.

  “Even better,” Gunnar told them and began striding towards the park, his boot heels clacking against the tarmac. Opal was amazed to see the trio begin to follow him. “We have a feast to die for.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Helena and Quinn watched the Mustang from the windows of a darkened room on the second floor of the Victorian house. She held binoculars while Quinn snapped photos from a camera with a telephoto lens. The drapes they peered out from between were opened mere inches, just enough space to suit their purposes.

  “Any ideas?” Quinn asked.

  “Not yet. A car like that though, shouldn’t be too hard to trace.”

  “The driver doesn’t look familiar either.”

  “Nope,” she agreed. “But judging by his style, he shouldn’t be hard to spot again either. If he’s trying to be inconspicuous, he’s failing miserably.”

  “Maybe he’s not trying. Maybe he doesn’t care.”

  “Could be.”

  They watched the young greaser flick a cigarette butt from the car and immediately light another.

  “One thing’s for sure,” Helena said. “He’s giving us plenty of chances to grab some DNA, if we choose to.”

  “Do we? Choose to, I mean?”

  Helena almost didn’t reply, but lowered the binoculars and said, “I don’t know if we’ll even need to. He’s making it awfully easy, don’t you think?”

  “Too easy? You think he wants us to know who he is?”

  “I don’t know.” She raised the binoculars again, just in time to see the young man start the engine of the car, his face turned slightly upwards, studying the upper floor of the house.

  “He knows we’re watching,” Quinn said, his voice tinged with sudden anxiety.

  “Maybe.”

  “Should we follow him?”

  Helena considered the possibility. They could go out the backdoor, into the garage and take the old Honda, as the mystery man had certainly made a note of the Cherokee in the front driveway.

  “That’s probably a good idea,” she said at last. “I’ll go wake up Sam and let him know what’s up. After we’re gone, maybe he can go collect a few of those butts from the street. You head down to the garage.”

  She hurriedly left the room, not knowing for sure if she even still had her connection in the local PD, who in turn had a connection to a forensics lab. She couldn’t worry about that right now though.

  Once she’d woken up Sam and told him what was going on, she met up with Quinn in the garage. He was peeking out one of the windows in the door, taking care to not be spotted.

  “He’s pulling away now,” he said.

  Helena got behind the wheel of the red Honda Civic while Quinn lifted the garage door, which wasn’t electronic and made a good deal of racket while being raised.

  When he climbed into the car, she wasted no time pulling out into the street. The Mustang was just turning a corner about four blocks south.

  “Headed downtown?” Quinn ventured.

  “Looks like.”

  The little car chugged along quickly until the Mustang was once again in view and then Helena backed off, following at a subtle distance. Eventually, the Mustang pulled into a slot at the Starlight Inn and the Civic cruised by nonchalantly.

  “Well,” Quinn said. “Guess he’s from out of town.”

  “I’m gonna circle back.”

  She did so and then parked across the street from the motel. They watched the greaser leave the main office and head to room 4. He didn’t even glance in their direction.

  Now the watched had become the watchers.

  Quinn wrote down the Mustang’s license number and called Sam with it, who in turn said he’d do some digging and get back to them.

  Helena scrunched down in her seat, preparing to get comfortable. Quinn, on the other hand, constantly fidgeted, shifting his position, drumming his hands on his knees, bouncing his le
gs up and down.

  “You need to relax,” Helena told him.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “No plan,” she said. “Just a little observation.”

  “We can’t see anything. The curtains are drawn.”

  “Uh huh.”

  He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Maybe he’s a cop.”

  “No way. Dressed like that? Besides, he’s too young.”

  “Maybe he has a baby face.”

  “What? And he’s still wearing his Halloween costume?” Helena chuckled.

  “I don’t know. It just seems weird. I’m spit-balling here.”

  “It does seem weird,” she agreed. “I’ll give you that.”

  “You think he’s one of them?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

  “Well, if he is, we’re screwed. I mean, aren’t we?”

  “Probably.”

  “Shit!” He ran a hand through his black hair, mussing it up. “They know where we are! Where we live!”

  “They might,” she reiterated. “And if they do, we’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of it? How?”

  She gave him a half smile. “This ain’t our first rodeo, Quinn.”

  But, in truth, she thought, it could very well be his first rodeo. She and Sam had been cornered on more than one occasion but Quinn was relatively new to the operation. A young tech wiz who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed things no one outside the life should ever be subjected to. She and Sam had rescued him and he’d just tagged along for a while, like a stray puppy. It wasn’t long before they realized they could use someone with his particular skill set. So, he was part of the team now, but had yet to see any real action. Mostly he stayed at the house, manning the phone and searching the web for anything that might be up their alley, so to speak. Not to mention, keeping him close was the best idea either she or Sam could think of, as they couldn’t have him running around telling the world what he had witnessed.

  Quinn had been understandably traumatized for a good many months but now, a year after those events, he seemed to have pulled together and become an irreplaceable member of their team. Plus, it was nice for Helena to have someone besides Sam to talk to now and again.

  “I have an idea,” she said suddenly. “Come on.”

  She left the car, ignoring his cries of protest. “Wait! What are you doing?”

  He got out and chased after her as she crossed the street, heading right for the motel. She paused for a break in the traffic and kept going, talking to him from over her shoulder. “He might hear us if we try to pick the lock and obviously we can’t kick the door in. Too many people around still. So, just follow my lead.”

  Quinn objected mightily until they reached the motel, at which point he shut up.

  Helena stopped at room 2, looking up and down the row hopefully. She found what she wanted a couple minutes later when a portly, middle-aged man exited the main office and started in their direction, room key in one hand while he dragged along a piece of rolling luggage with the other.

  Stepping in front of the man, Helena smiled broadly and said, “Hi there! How are you tonight?”

  The man looked ready to dismiss her until he actually looked at her, then he stopped, his eyes scanning her face, traveling down her body and then up again. He stopped and returned the smile cautiously.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m wonderful, thanks. Er…how are you?” The man glanced briefly at Quinn, who stood awkwardly a few paces behind her, then back to Helena.

  “Great. We’re great, thank you,” she said, giggling a little, something which was completely out of character for her. “I have a somewhat strange proposition for you.”

  The man’s smile slipped a notch. “Excuse me?”

  She laughed again and reached out, touching his arm lightly. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s nothing weird. But I was wondering if you could just knock on my fiancé’s door for me? I want to surprise him and if he looks out the peephole…well, he won’t be very surprised, will he?”

  Now the man looked downright suspicious. “Your fiancé?”

  “Yeah, he’s just right there, in room 4. I’d really appreciate it.”

  “You think he’s messing around with another girl, huh?”

  Helena looked taken aback. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. It’s just that he doesn’t know I’m in town. He’s here on business and I just really missed him and thought, what the hell, I’m gonna drive down and see him.” She laughed good-naturedly.

  The man eyed Quinn again. “Who’s he?”

  “My brother,” she said quickly. “He kept me company on the ride.”

  “Is that so?” The man was clearly skeptical. “I don’t want to get into any trouble. Sorry, lady.” He started to move past her.

  “I’ll give you fifty bucks,” she said, serious now. “All you have to do is knock and stand there a second.”

  The man thought about it momentarily, started to shake his head and Helena said, “A hundred bucks. Please? It would mean the world to me. To us.”

  Sighing heavily, as if it were a huge burden, the man finally broke down. “Okay, fine. Keep your money. I used to be a romantic myself back when I was your age.”

  Helena forced herself to let out a little squeak of gratitude and the three of them moved down to room 4, with Helena and Quinn standing to either side of the door, out of view of both the peephole and the window, should the greaser decide he wanted to look out.

  The man knocked enthusiastically and waited.

  There was no answer.

  He knocked again.

  A gravelly voice from within the room, said, “Yeah?”

  The man looked at Helena for guidance. She waved him on, still forcing the smile.

  “Uh…” The man cleared his throat. “Be a sport, buddy. Open up.”

  “What the fuck?” was the reply.

  The man shrugged, giving Helena an apologetic glance before starting to walk away. He only got a few steps and then the door swung open.

  CHAPTER 6

  Already annoyed by his conversation with Bliss, Justin Cash peered out the peephole in his motel room door and saw the fat guy and decided, fuck it, it the coast was clear, he was gonna eat the fucker. Drag him right in, close the door and chow down.

  But when he opened the door, the man was no longer there. Instead, a tall, pretty brunette stood in the doorway, all smiles.

  “Hiya, handsome,” she said and shoved him hard. Taken by surprise, Cash stumbled backwards, arms pin-wheeling madly for balance. That was all the time they needed.

  The woman came into the room with a younger guy wearing dark-framed glasses and what appeared to be a suit without the jacket. White shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a buttoned gray vest, brown slacks and dress shoes. The woman was dressed more reasonably in a black trench coat over a white blouse and black pants tucked into what may have been riding boots.

  The man quickly shut the door behind them and then the woman was holding a blade to Cash’s neck. He hadn’t even seen her pull it out. She was that fast.

  Of course, he recognized her, despite not ever having seen her up close. She looked shockingly like her father with a little bit of her mother thrown in for some ethnic flair.

  “Do you know what this is?” she asked him, all pretense of friendliness vanished as though it had never been there.

  “Whoa,” he said, raising his hands. “Whoa there, Miss. I think you might have the wrong guy.”

  He was stalling, naturally. He had to get that blade off his throat or-

  “Do you know what this is?” she demanded, eyes flashing with green fire.

  “It’s…uh…well, it seems like it’s a knife, Miss. Are you robbing me?”

  “You know damn well who we are,” the skinny guy with glasses spoke up, leaning in close enough to sprinkle Cash with his spittle. “Quit fucking around.”

  “Hey, I’m not fucking around, honest. I just don’t know what yo
u two want with me.”

  The woman-Helena-pressed the blade against his throat, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

  “I’m not fucking around either,” she said.

  At that point, Cash couldn’t control his reaction. His kind was purely instinctual when it came to self-defense and as much as he might want to play it cool, his body had its own way of reacting.

  What had previously passed for cheek bones punched through the skin of his face, the horns curling up towards his forehead while a double row of boney protrusions torn his T-shirt vertically from the top of his chest to his lower abs. His limbs lengthened with such speed that Helena leapt back to escape the reach of his arms, his fingers elongating and tapering off to vicious razor-sharp claws. His feet did the same, the leather of his boots audibly creaking. His jaw bulged forward to accommodate the wicked fangs that sprang forth, dripping bloody saliva, and his eyes rolled back in his head. When they rolled forward again, they no longer appeared human. Instead yellow orbs with black slit pupils fixed themselves on Helena.

  Cash snarled with pain and rage, the urge to lunge at his uninvited visitors nearly impossible to resist.

  Nearly impossible.

  He saw their fright, but there was no surprise to be registered from either of them.

  Helena darted towards him, the silver blade thrust forward, sliding into his left side, just beneath his human ribcage.

  The pain was blinding and he fell back but still did not attack. He could have ended them at any moment, but chose not to.

  Pulling the blade free, Helena was clearly confused by his passivity. She was prepared to fight and seemed almost disappointed that Cash was not advancing. The man with the glasses just stared, color rapidly draining from his face.

  Cash held his clawed hand to the wound, black blood gushing forth over his fingers and dripping to the carpet with a muffled plip plip sound.

  “What are you?” Helena whispered, her eyes wondrous.

  A silly question. She knew what he was. She just didn’t know who he was.

  The pain had begun to subside. He was already healing from the knife wound and for that he was grateful but his eyes stayed on the blade. He wanted to avoid any further interaction with it, if possible.