“Testing. Testing. One, two, three,” a loud male voice boomed out over the field followed by the sound of hissing speakers.
The conversation ended. Dee and Desi stood, focusing on the man standing on the make-shift stage with something in his hand.
“That’s got to be Spider.” Dee Dee laughed.
Desi sat back down.
Ellen couldn’t tell who it was, but another man jumped up. A robotic voice bleeped. “Desi Harrington, we’re looking for Desi Harrington. Desi will you come over here?”
“Mad Dog.” Desi giggled, but stayed seated.
Next, Ellen heard Mason belt out, “D... e…s...i!” like Marlon Brando in Street Car Named Desire. “Where are you darlin’? They want you to dance.”
Mason’s plea carried across the field, the other men’s laughter trailing.
“Spider’s putting on your favorite song, and if you don’t get your sweet little ass over here, they’ve threatened to kill me!”
At that announcement, Desi stood and looked toward the stage. The thin moon spotlighted the figure of a man, pointing his rifle at another.
“Those guys are crazy.” Dee Dee shook her head. “You better get over there. They’re liable to do something stupid, if you don’t.”
Desi’s face glowed. Ellen watched her swagger across the field, obviously reveling in the attention. People began to gather around the trailer, cheering and clapping as she approached.
“Come on, this is going to be great. Desi’s a dancer at the Paradise Club.” Dee motioned for Ellen to follow.
When they reached the stage, Ellen saw Mad Dog and Mason each take Desi by the hand and pull her up. Jack, standing next to the front of the trailer, put his hand on Desi’s butt as if he were giving her a boost, but Ellen doubted Desi, needed the help of three men. Behind Jack, Muck Eye stood between two women, his arms slung over each of their shoulders
“I don’t have a hat! How can I dance to this song without a hat?” Desi hollered over to Spider, who was operating the equipment.
Eager to help, Jack handed her his cowboy hat. Desi nodded to Spider to restart the music. Joe Cocker’s, “You can Leave Your Hat On” pulsated the night. Desi’s physical refinement made her sensual moves hypnotic. Men howled appreciation as she swung her hips and tossed her head between her long slender legs. Blonde hair fell in a wild silky motion over her delicate face.
Ellen had to admit Desi was truly a beautiful woman. The raw sexuality of her dancing was mesmerizing. No wonder Mason loved her. What man wouldn’t? She studied the spellbound crowd. She thought how liberating it must be to have the confidence to dance like that and be so at peace with your body. With each seductive movement, Desi unleashed something primal in the men’s masculinity. Throbbing, sultry rhythm intensified her spell. She eyed the crowd, pointing at Mason. The moon lit up his smile. Joe Cocker roared on.
Kicking off her sandals, Desi rocked her hips from side to side as she unzipped and wiggled out of her jeans, tossing them into a corner. Turning her back to the crowd, she bent over, rocking her thonged round rump in a circular motion, fused to the rhythm. Piano keys tinkled. A soulful saxophone moaned.
Desi faced the audience, spread her legs apart, and then reached for the zipper of her hoodie. Long, manicured nails, slowly dragged the zipper tab down the length of her torso. The jacket opened, exposing the smooth plane of her stomach and half of each breast. A diamond belly button ring caught flecks of moonlight. Shimmying her shoulders to the heady beat, she walked along the edge of the trailer with high, exaggerated steps. Eyes followed her every move like cobras charmed by a flute. Male mating calls built to a crescendo. When the song came to an end, Desi bowed and flung her hat at Mason. Cheers erupted, followed by chants of, “encore, encore.”
“Only if he gets up here!” Desi shouted back.
Several men charged Mason, lifting him up on to the trailer. Ellen found herself laughing with the audience. He looked confused, but then Desi brought him a chair. He sat down and she put one foot on his lap. Tina Turner bellowing out “Private Dancer” drowned out the men’s obscene hoots and hollers.
It wasn’t long before Ellen realized Mason represented Desi’s dancing pole. As graceful as a ballerina she made love to Mason up on the stage. Her fingers languidly traced his torso. She caressed his thighs with undulating strokes of her hips, running her hands through the rich blackness of his hair. Swaying hypnotically, she removed her hoodie and reached for the stars. Her damp breasts dangled before Mason like glistening, diamond pendants suspended from a finely crafted necklace. She looked up at the sky, hair falling across her shoulders. The face of Aphrodite glowed like white marble under the moonlight. The music stopped. Silence hung in the air. A trickle of applause built to a loud climax as the crowd awakened from her spell.
Mason rose and kissed Desi with a long hungry kiss. Ellen’s stomach twisted in a knot. The people surrounding her made her claustrophobic. Deep yearnings seeped into her consciousness, shaking lose an emotion she thought had died. Lust rattled her bones. She wanted to be kissed like that. Not able to turn away, Ellen watched as Mason released Desi and helped her gather her clothes. Jumping off the trailer, he landed in the midst of men who patted him on the back. He turned to the stage and held up his hand for Desi. Music played, but people began to scatter in various directions. Some women lingered to dance on the stage.
Ellen realized she stood unguarded. Dee Dee had gone over to the flatbed to talk to Spider. Now would be the perfect time to make her escape. Not wanting to call attention to herself, Ellen walked as quickly as she could toward the farmhouse.
Reaching the narrow path to the barn, she heard voices up ahead. The black night made it impossible to see more than a few feet. Cautiously, she moved forward. Murky figures shifted. Voices grew louder, more distinct. Drunken men argued. She stumbled on an embedded root, falling to the ground. She caught herself with her hands. Her big toe throbbed and her burn caught fire again. She lay on her stomach, not breathing, afraid the men had heard her. She listened like an exposed rabbit for any signs of detection.
“I fucking better never catch you around my old lady again, Apostle. You’re a punk!”
“Do you always let your woman play strip poker with other men, Squinch? Scarlet’s a whore and you’re a stupid pussy for putting up with her!”
Ellen crawled to a patch of shrubbery and peered through the tangled branches. She recognized the young man as Apostle from the card game. An older man, short and stocky, wearing a leather vest and do-rag stood crouched, ready to fight. They circled each other. The stranger had his back to Ellen. His back patch displayed a bandit on a motorcycle. The top rocker read Highway Men. Sweat ran down Apostle’s face. The man called Squinch lunged at Apostle, knocking him on his back. His body hit the ground. The thud nearly caused Ellen to scream. She slapped her hand over her mouth.
Diving on top of Apostle, Squinch snarled. “Who’d you call a pussy?”
He slammed his fist ferociously into Apostle’s jaw. The sickening crack of bone or teeth made Ellen nauseous. Apostle grabbed Squinch’s throat. Squinch struggled to pry his hands away, but Apostle, his face red from the strain, held on. He tried to roll Squinch to the ground. A knee to his groin had Apostle reeling and he let go. Squinch got up on his knees, coughing and gagging.
Again they attacked like wild dogs. The sound of fists striking bone and blood spurting from torn skin, paralyzed Ellen. She looked around, trying to figure out how she could get out of there when she saw Squinch reach toward his back pocket and retrieve a long shiny knife.
She shot up and ran toward the tents. Ellen didn’t know what propelled her adrenaline, fear, panic? She had to find Mason and fast.
CHAPTER five
Ellen’s heart roared in her ears as she ran down the dark path. The slick soles of her sandals, slid on the dew covered ground. She kicked them off. The shiny blade of the man’s knife still flashed before her. He’s going to be dead, before I find Mason. Oh God, pl
ease let me find him.
Coming upon the campsites, she stopped at the first tent. A group of women sat by a fire. “Have you seen Mason--I mean Rambo?” she gasped.
The women shook their heads.
“What’s up sister?” one of them asked.
“There’s a man… with a knife….” Ellen grabbed her knees, trying to catch her breath. “I’ve got to find him.”
Elbowing her way through the crowds, Ellen forced herself to keep moving. She frantically scanned the tents, trying to remember where Dee Dee was camped. Finally, Ellen got a glimpse of Dee’s red hair.
“Dee Dee,” she tried to yell, but it came out barely above a whisper.
Pushing forward, she recognized Mason’s rifle bouncing across his back, the steel barrel reflecting bits of moonlight. She halted, took a deep breath, cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed like a mad Siren, “Mason! Dee Dee!”
Her frenzied voice reverberated through the cacophony of conversations, shushing the crowd. People turned and gawked. She saw Dee Dee stand and look in her direction. Ellen jumped, waving her hands above her head.
“Rambo, Mad Dog! There she is!”
The men turned and then forced their way through the bewildered throng, Dee Dee trailing.
“Where the hell have you been?” Mason scolded like a parent upon finding his missing child.
Dee Dee wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
Mad Dog’s deadly eyes interrogated her. “Did someone try to hurt you?”
“No, no, you’ve got to follow me…. He’s going to kill him…. He has a knife….” Ellen breathed heavily, sharp pain stabbed her sides. She grabbed Mason’s hand, pulling him along.
“Dee, get Spider and the guys; tell them we have trouble,” Mason called over his shoulder. “Where are they, Ellen?”
“By the barn. Oh, Mason, he’s probably killed him by now!”
Mad Dog ran alongside. “It’s Apostle and Squinch, isn’t it? Fuck! I knew something like this was going to happen.”
When they reached the two men a crowd had formed a circle around them. The front of Apostle’s denim vest was sliced in half, but his attacker didn’t appear to be giving up.
“Thank God he’s still alive,” Ellen murmured, sinking to her knees.
Mason watched Squinch swing his knife in a slicing motion then suddenly change tactics and stab at Apostle until Squinch backed him up to the side of the barn. Sweat rolled down the cornered man’s face, his chest heaved. Apostle swung with his right, missing his target. More determined now, Squinch raised the knife above his head and brought it all the way back. Mason aimed his M-16 and stitched a five-round burst around the two men. The shots exploded the night, ripping up sod and spattering pieces of the earth like shrapnel. An aftermath of dust floated around the men.
“Gentlemen,” Mason called out in a calm, detached voice, “I think I know what started this, but it ends here and now! And you,” Mason pointed the rifle at Squinch, “drop the fuckin’ knife, or I’ll cut you in half!”
Apostle looked down at his ripped clothing, his eyes wide. He made a move for Squinch, but a couple of bystanders grabbed him by his hair, pulling him out of harm’s way. Squinch stood deadly still. He pointed the long blade in Mason’s direction. He shifted his weight.
“Oh, you think you’re such a bad ass standing there with a machine gun,” Squinch sneered.
Mason kept his eyes riveted on the man. Obviously drunk or high or both, Squinch didn’t know not to pick a fight with someone aiming an assault weapon at him. Mason pushed the magazine, released the button, and the magazine fell to the ground. Next, he pulled the charging handle back and out, popping the cartridge from the chamber. Maintaining eye contact, he laid the gun on the ground.
“Come on, ole man, put the knife down. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
Mason waited. Squinch showed no sign of relinquishing the weapon. Mason sighed.
“Well, brother, looks like you’re just aching to get your ass kicked. Okay, let’s get this over with. Get ready to dance!”
Mason crouched, cautiously moving in. Squinch’s knife whooshed past his ear. Adrenaline and rage tightened Mason’s throat. His heart thundered. Taking a step back, he positioned himself like a field goal kicker and swung his leg high. The steel-toed end of his boot struck Squinch’s chin with vicious force. Squinch’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed, pitting Mason’s face and T-shirt. The knife dropped into the wet, shimmering grass.
Squinch teetered and then fell to the ground with a hard thump. He moaned, clasping the sides of his head. Mason walked over to the prostrate figure and squatted. He accessed the damage. Squinch’s chin was split wide open and a few teeth looked broken, but he would be okay in a few days.
“Why’d you make me do that, Squinch? If you would’ve put that knife down, you’d be partying now.” Mason sighed. “Dumb bastard, you’re the one paying for the shit your wife started.”
Mason rose.
“Get him the hell out of here!” Mason shouted to a couple of the spectators wearing the Highway Men’s insignia. “And find Scarlet. Tell her she’d better take care of him, or I’ll come looking for her.”
The men jerked Squinch to his feet. Blood trickled down in his beard; his eyes began to swell. They put one of Squinch’s arms around each of their shoulders and walked slowly towards the tents.
Chest heaving, Mason picked up his rifle and then inserted the magazine. He pulled his bandana from his pocket to wipe the blood and sweat from his face, then remembered Ellen. He surveyed the scene. Most of the crowd had gone back to the party. He checked the fence line and saw Mad Dog’s silhouette bent over a figure lying in the grass. Ellen? Mason rushed over; he knelt opposite Mad Dog. “What happened to her?”
Mad Dog looked up.
“Rambo, you’ve got a whole lot of style, but while you were doing your Clint Eastwood impersonation, I think you damn near killed our damsel in distress. Just what the fuck were you thinkin’ back there?”
Mad Dog shook his head.
Mason didn’t answer. He tapped Ellen’s cheeks. “Wake up! Wake up, Ellen!”
Panic caught in his throat. He slipped his arm around her back. She felt so cold. He lifted her limp torso off the ground, her head wobbled. His other hand came round to support it. He should take her home--borrow someone’s vehicle and drive her to Milwaukee--but he couldn’t. It would make him look weak to these men. Mason swiped his hand over her pale clammy face. Her eyes shut, cheeks smeared with dirt, and lips slightly parted, he wanted to kiss her so badly he physically ached. He leaned forward, bringing his mouth to her ear.
“Wake up, Ellen!” he begged in a whisper.
Mason laid Ellen’s lifeless body back on the grass, smoothing back her tangled hair. He took off his vest, covering her torso. He noticed the dirty gauze bandage on her ankle had come loose, exposing the blister, her feet were bare and the sweat pants she wore were torn at the knee, stained with blood and grass. He looked around. “We need some water--something cold to snap her out of it.”
“We’ll have to carry her back to the tent. Dee has a first aid kit. Maybe she has some smelling salts.” Mad Dog said as he stood up and began to pace.
“Give her a couple more minutes.” Mason tapped her cheeks again. “She’s been on the brink of fainting all night. You should’ve seen her face when I looked into the car.”
“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen her face when you shot off that fucking rifle.” Mad Dog kicked the ground. “You know what I’m thinking, Rambo? I’m thinking she was right after all. We shouldn’t have brought her here. We should have let her stay in her car.”
“Whatever you do Mad Dog, don’t tell her that.”
“I was married, remember? Rule number one of a married man is to never admit to a woman she was right. But after tonight, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about seeing Ellen again, unless she’s pointing us out in a police line-up.”
Ellen moaned. Her eyes fluttered open. The men hovered. She attempted to sit up but winced and then lay back down.
“Come on, Ellen, try to stand up. Mad Dog and I have got you.” Mason reached his arm around her back, supporting her as she stood.
“I feel so dizzy, I must be dehydrated or something.” she groaned.
“You’ll be okay when we get you back to the tent and you can sit down for a while,” said Mason.
Mason pulled brittle pieces of grass from her hair. Relief swept over him like a hot, soothing shower. His shoulder muscles relaxed. He retrieved his vest and put it back on then wrapped his arm around Ellen’s waist.
“You’re bleeding,” Ellen mumbled.
She drew her hand to his beard, delicately touching the open gash with her fingertips. She held her bloodied hand close to her eyes, studying it like it didn’t belong to her.
“She’s right, Rambo. Ole Squinch must have been trying to give you a shave with that bowie knife. Doesn’t look serious. Dee should be able to patch it up.”
“Did you kill that man?” Ellen’s eyes searched Mason’s.
She made him ashamed. He looked down. “No, I didn’t kill him.”
“He probably broke his nose though and my guess is Squinch is going to be seeing his dentist real soon.” Mad Dog smirked, flipping his gun strap over his shoulder.
“Come on, put your arms around us and we’ll help you walk back to the tent. Where are your shoes?”
“I don’t know.” Ellen looked down at her bare feet. “But don’t ask your girlfriend if she can lend me a pair. She hates me.”
Mason nodded. He knew Desi’s nature all too well. They moved slowly down the path, the long night had taken its toll.
“When I get back to the camp site, I’m planting my ass in front of that fire with a bottle of Jack and not moving until we have to go back on security.” Mad Dog sighed.
Movement in the long grass stopped them short. From a nearby tree, a barn owl hooted, followed by the rustle of feathers as it flew after its prey. A tall figure stomped towards them. Spider blocked their path.
The Word of a Liar Page 5
