by Bella Knight
“No, I never thought…”
“Also, I’m your boss. There are sexual harassment laws in this state.”
Now Bella was pissed, “Do you think I give a shit about that? Or that you used to fuck people for money? Or that I don’t know you’re hurting? It’s in your eyes! Dammit! I just want to, I don’t know, be your bandage for the night. You’re bleeding out, Ivy. I can see it. Ace can see it. Henry can see it. Numa can see it. If you don’t want me, fine.” She turned to walk away, then turned back.
“Remember my offer,” she said, “I’ll make it only once. If you want me, ask me. I don’t beg or crawl for anyone!” She turned, walked out. Ivy heard the door slam shut behind her.
“Fuck!” said Ivy.
She grabbed her leather jacket and slid it on. She grabbed the deposit bag, turned off the light, and went out the back door. It locked behind her.
She was too late. There was nothing in the parking lot but her Harley. She got on it and roared off to the bank.
Sunday Night Crowd
Adam walked Lily to her car, “I hear that Ace is getting a bike for you,” he said, “that is good. We need more sisters.”
He pointed to a huge silver-and-black touring bike. Lily took a few steps over to get a closer look. It was a 2011 Harley-Davidson Electra Glide Classic.
“Nice,” said Lily.
Do you have a motorcycle license?” he asked Lily.
“Not yet,” she said, “when would I have time to get one of those?”
“We will come for you at eight-thirty in the morning tomorrow. The class for a motorcycle license starts at nine. It is thirty dollars.”
“Okay,” she said, wondering how she would wake up that early.
She stumbled back to her car and slid in. Adam gently shut the door for her and then walked to his own bike. He followed her home and watched from the bike as she exited her car and walked up the stairs. She got in and locked the door behind her. She took off her shoes.
“Who the fuck was that?” said Devlin. He was sitting on her Murphy bed, methodically downing a twelve-pack of cheap beer.
“One, get the fuck off my bed,” said Lily, “And two… we’re through. You’re a fucking drug addict and an alcoholic, and I can’t afford to carry you. Get the fuck out by the time I leave for work tomorrow. Lose my number. Hell, lose my name. Unless you’re calling for me to help you get into rehab, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“I can’t. I owe ten large to Little Mike. There was some product…”
“Drugs, you mean? That you what, stole? Stuck up your own nose? Lost?”
“Got jumped. Then I…”
“Bullshit,” said Lily, “you stole some drugs. You put some up your nose or shot it or whatever you did to it. Then you tried to sell some to make it up, but that didn’t work out so well, because you had some cash, and some blow, and you could go party, right? And you kept the party going until you got caught. By some people who will probably kill you once they figure out they can’t trust you, and you’re too fucked up to do anything to make it up.”
Devlin turned deadly white. She knew then that she was right, “You have one motherfucking chance to live, and that’s to go into a locked rehab. No one will find you. Hell, no one will believe it. Then, when you get out, get out. Then you need to get on a bus and get off where the bus ends.”
“You… would do that for me?” asked Devlin.
Somewhere, in the dim recesses of his alcohol-soaked mind, he knew she was right. About the hiding, yeah. He knew he fucked up. But he wasn’t some low-life addict. He was fine. He just needed another beer. He popped the top, heard that satisfying hiss. He just had to get everyone off his back, and lay low for a while.
Lily took off her jeans and shirt. She took the few whites out of the load in the washer/dryer combo. She put in soap and fabric softener. It hummed. She showered and put on a long T-shirt and shorts. She ripped the sheets off the bed and put on new ones.
“That’s your last twelve-pack,” she said, she laid down, set her alarm clock for a few hours’ sleep, and fell asleep.
The Nighthawks showed up around eight fifteen, Ivy on a gorgeous low-rider, Ace on his Softtail and Adam on his monster bike. Lily had managed to wake up at eight and ate an apple and some peanut butter, after stretching to get the kinks out. She had on her silver-black jeans, a light top, and had her leathers ready to go. When she faintly heard the bikes coming, she grabbed her leather jacket, sunglasses, and wallet on a chain that held her driver’s license and enough money for the class. They took her to class, her riding behind Ivy on what would be her bike; it was silver, but she could always get it painted blue.
The Nighthawks stayed with her in two-hour slots, each one enforcing what the instructor said. During lunch, they brought her the best damn pulled pork sandwich she ever tasted.
“You’re real quiet,” said Ace, “you okay?”
“My brother is a dumbass,” said Lily.
“What kind of dumbass?” asked Ivy.
She laid out the problem with her brother to them. Ace nodded, taking it all in, “Don’t worry about paying for rehab. The Nighthawks will take care of it.”
Adam sat quietly. He knew damn well the club didn’t have enough money to send some little punk to a locked thirty-day rehab, but he could trust that Ace and Ivy had some way he couldn’t see. Ace made some calls and took her house key.
“He’ll be locked up by the time you get your license!” he said, smiling at her. Ace and Gregory left.
She rode her bike for the first time, Ivy her coach, slow and patient. She learned every part of her bike, and the basics of riding —stopping, starting, turning and leaning, signaling, how to stay safe on the road where drivers were not looking out for motorcycles, and where conditions like precipitation and ice could kill. Ivy rode with her, helping her learn.
She passed the written test without even breathing hard. She was scared shitless of the road exam.
“What if I fail?” she asked Ivy.
“Then I failed in teaching you, and it is my mistake, not yours,” she said, “then I will teach you in a better way or get a better teacher for you.”
Ivy’s humility stunned her. She took a deep breath, and when it was her turn, she did everything right.
They had a pancake early dinner with crisp, maple bacon and fat sausages at the clubhouse to celebrate Lily’s brand-new license. Lily met a sea of names, Henry and Numa, Gregory and Katya and a girl with a hoodie over her faced named Elena. Then Selena, and her sister Nina, with kids on their hips, others being picked up and played with, passed from arm to arm. Tina, who couldn’t stop talking about some teacher certification test she was going to take. Then she, Adam, and Ace went to work… Ivy already having left after wrapping up some pancakes and stuffing in some bacon like a taco, hugging everyone, and taking off.
The Sunday night Dirty Rock crowd was less head-bangy and more rock ballad. The dancers were off, and only Starr was there with Lily. Older men and women, in their mid-thirties to those gnarled by age but still willing to rock showed up, including members of some of the riding clubs. They stuck to beer with the occasional whiskey chaser, the women dragging the men onto the dance floor. At times the outside was louder than the inside, as bikes roared in and out of the lot. Several impromptu rock jam sessions happened and, despite her exhaustion and her raw, aching feet, Lily danced with some of her more energetic customers as she filled orders and brought beer to tables.
There was a lot of laughter, roaring out over the music and the bikes outside. Old friends met and joked, and told stories about this ride and that ride. Lily picked up snippets of epic trips to the Grand Canyon, to the Great Lakes, and to the redwood forests of California, across what was left of Route 66. Then to New Orleans to help rebuild after Katrina, to Georgia to eat peach pie, to South Carolina, to Galveston, and then Texas or to see the ocean and tell stories of other epic rides. The best routes and stops were exchanged. Digital and physical maps were pr
oduced and argued over. Tourists came and went, a little stunned to be in a biker bar, but soon they were listening to the stories, too.
By two Lily could barely move. Ivy turned down the music, stood on a table, and raised a glass. Lily looked down as Ace put a shot glass full of something in her hand. She sniffed it. It was water.
Everyone held out their glasses and became absolutely silent, “Remember the fallen!” she said and drank.
“Remember the fallen,” said everyone at the bar and the tables, and they all drank.
Then, in ones and twos and threes and tens, they carried their glasses to the bar, leaving them upside-down, and walked out. Lily went over to the bar and left hers upside-down too. They cleaned and did side work, and were finished less than half an hour later. And then they all trooped outside.
Ace locked the door. Lily counted her tips and was stunned to find them larger than the last two nights combined. She handed most of it to Ace. Both Adam and Ace followed her home.
When she entered her apartment, her couch was back to its normal state, the sheets that had been on it were cleaned and folded. There were no beer bottles in the house, no cigarette butts on the windowsill or, it seemed, on the tiny balcony. She locked the door, kicked off her boots, and hung up her leather. She went to throw away some paper she found in her pocket and found that the recycling had been taken out.
“My god,” she said to herself, “they’re elves.”
Devlin Goes to Rehab
Devlin had been awakened by a key in the lock. His sister was keeping weird hours. He fumbled for the last of the beer, finding all the bottles empty. He was furious with himself, knowing he had told himself to keep one for the next day.
Two men entered, one the size of a mountain, one small and wiry. Both had tattoos peeking out from under their leather jackets.
“What the hell?” said Devlin.
“I’m your sister’s boss,” said Ace, “and this is Adam. Do you remember Dr. Banerjee?”
“Doctor Who?” said Devlin, having trouble righting himself, let alone standing up.
Ace laughed, “No, not him. I don’t have a time machine. Do you remember what the doctor at the clinic said about your going to rehab?”
Devlin tried to focus, failed, “Wha? Kind of. She said I had a drinking problem,” he said, indignantly.
Then, he got up, lurching. The big man lifted him and dragged him to the sink, where he was noisily sick. The big man got one of Lily’s lime waters out and stood there glaring at him until he tried to choke it down.
While that was going on, Ace took a recycling bag out and filled it with bottles. Then, he did something with the sheets on the couch. Soon, the washer hummed.
Devlin finally began to focus, “Hey. Lily said something last night. About… about hiding out there. Waiting out Little Mike.”
Ace snorted, “Little Mike won’t forget. And neither will his sister.” He sighed, “let’s go. Rehab awaits.”
They waited while he puked again. Ace cleaned out the jar of cigarette butts on the minuscule balcony and policed all the butts Devlin had thrown and missed. They went in the regular trash.
Ace glared daggers at Devlin, “I happen to know that Lily is wildly allergic to cigarette smoke. That’s part of why she likes Vegas. Smoking inside bars is illegal here,” he dropped his voice, “you want to explain why you would be trying to make your sister sick?”
Devlin looked confused.
His voice got even lower, even more menacing, “There are wooden deck chairs on that deck. You could have burned down the whole building.”
“What the fuck you know about it? About anything? She’s my sister!” Devlin was terrified and trying not to show it.
“As long as you’re a danger to yourself and everyone around you, no, she isn’t.”
He smiled at the mountain of a man next to him, “She’s our sister. And we will protect her from anyone that hurts her. Even you.”
“I’m not hurting her!” Devlin’s voice came out as more of a squeak.
“Bullshit,” said Ace, “Little Mike doesn’t forget. And neither does Leticia. How long do you think it will take them to figure out the name of your sister? To find her? How long do you think they’ll hurt her when she refuses to talk, refuses to give you up?”
Devlin tried to pump himself up, but he found himself shrinking, quailing. Both the little dude and the big dude were glaring at him now.
In a small voice, he said, “I said I’d go.”
Ace snorted again, “Yeah, right. When? After your next bender, or the next one?” he shrugged, “it’s no use talking to you. Adam, take him.” Devlin lunged for his shredded backpack.
Ace got to it first. He pulled out fifty bucks, “Bet this is Lily’s money,” he said.
He took it out and put it under her pillow. Then, he took out two joints, badly rolled. Then he pulled out the clothes, filthy with dirt, blood, urine.
“I’ll burn these,” said Ace, “the Salvation Army has better clothes.”
“Nooo.”
He kept going, finding two baggies of crystal meth, “what do we have here?” Devlin lunged. Adam nearly snapped his neck keeping him in place.
“I think this is part of the stash Little Mike and Leticia are missing,” he searched the filthy pockets, finding a key, “what’s this to?”
Devlin refused to answer. Adam pulled Devlin upright by the neck. Ace got in his face.
“You little shit. Your sister could have gone to prison. Prison! Because of you, you little fucktard… had this garbage in her house. What. Does. The. Key. Go. To.”
Adam flexed his fingers. Devlin rushed to answer despite the fingers around his throat, “Storage locker.”
“Where?”
“The health club on Nellis. Near the bottom. Right past the last casino.”
“Which health club?” asked Ace. This time, his voice was oily-sweet, terrifying Devlin even more.
“The Get Fit Fast club. Their backdoor sticks. Can get in after they close at eleven.”
“Take him,” said Ace, “if you want to live, you will go with us very, very quietly. You will…”
Adam squeezed Devlin’s neck in just the right place. Devlin passed out.
Ace made sure he was still breathing, “Okay,” said Ace, “let’s get this piece of shit into rehab. Then, let’s talk to Little Mike.”
He searched all the clothes and bag again, then put them all in a trash bag, and washed his hands thoroughly. He threw the bag in the dumpster on the way out and called Dr. Banerjee.
Dr. Banerjee was quite helpful about calling the rehab. It was a pink stucco building that looked like all the other pink stucco office buildings on the street. They took Lily’s car and unloaded Devlin into a waiting gurney.
Then, they took a side trip to the health club. Adam distracted the ladies and a man at the desk, asking about the upper weight limits on their weightlifting equipment. Ace came in with a duffel he’d found in Lily’s trunk, and went into the locker room. He made sure no one was in there with him and opened the locker. The paper bag inside was filled with plastic baggies. He swept the bag into the duffel, locked the locker, left the key in the lock, and walked back out. Adam followed soon afterward.
“This is not my kind of club,” he said, “I like our gym.”
The Nighthawks tended to go to a boxing club that also had weight machines, not to a traditional health club.
They went back to Lily’s place, dropped off Lily’s car, and picked up their Harleys. They couldn’t find Big Mike, but they did find Leticia. She was leaning against a wall watching some young guys and girls on the corner with every tone of human skin —white, black, brown, golden, even one with reddish skin. They walked in circles until a car approached, then one would drive up and a window would roll down. One of the guys or girls would lean into a window, then lean out, and then the car would drive away.
They cut through the alley next to Letitia’s vantage point and parked just before en
tering the street. They took off their helmets, and Ace took Lily’s duffel out of his saddlebag. He fished out the paper bag, and put it back. They walked over slowly, hands at their sides.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asked, raising up on the balls of her feet.
“We’re a local club. Another side of town,” Ace said.
Adam stood next to him, looking menacing, “We don’t want to compete. We heard about a little problem you had, some product going missing.”
Leticia glared at them, “That little motherfucker Devlin…”
“That little motherfucker Devlin crossed us one too many times. He won’t be coming around anymore. He did give us some information we think is valuable to you when he was… screaming.”
Adam had to try not to laugh. The little piss ant had, in fact, been screaming, but not for his life. He just didn’t want to save his own life, or the life of his sister, by going to rehab.
“What you want?” Leticia said, her braids clacking.
Ace knew that as a danger sign. She bobbed her head when angry, like a snake, and he knew damn well about both pistols and the knife in her boot.
“A future favor. We think that you will agree when you see what we found.”
“What?!”
He handed over the paper bag. She took it, looked inside, then smiled broadly, “Yeah, we can do blindness. What you want?”
“A favor,” said Ace, “it will be something like a request for some information, or maybe a call to someone, or maybe I take you somewhere for a little while, an hour or two, so you can freak someone the fuck out.”
Leticia laughed, a bitter sound, “That Mount Charleston you got there, he is good for that.”
“Yes,” said Ace, “but he can be only one place at one time.”
She nodded, “Right.”
He turned to go, then stopped, “I almost forgot,” he took two baggies out of his pocket and the joints, hiding them in his fist, and gave them to her, “I want nothing of yours,” he said.
“Don’t want nothin’ of yours,” said Leticia, palming the bags and the spliffs, “we got our own drugs and guns.”
