Wild Ones (The Lane)

by Wyllys, Kristine

I crossed my arms and stared at him evenly.

  “Cash me out. I want to go home.”

  Jax shook his head and sat down at the desk, using the computer there to pull up my sales for the day and separate my tips. When he was done, he handed me a stack of bills with a sigh.

  “Two hundred and thirty,” he mumbled and I could see that he was still upset but he was going to drop it, was already in the process of dropping it, because he didn’t like arguing with me. Mostly because he knew he couldn’t win.

  “I’m going to the bathroom. Feel free to put my prize in my purse while I’m gone.” I patted his hand lightly. “I’m fine, Jax.”

  I left before he could reply.

  Chapter Three

  It was half an hour later before Jax let me leave, and even then he tried to get me to stay a little longer. I think he was scared that trouble would be waiting for me when I walked out the door. Even if it was, I would have been okay with that. I’m sure he knew that and it was probably the reason why he put so much effort into trying to get me to stay.

  He made me promise to call him as soon as I got home and though I assured him that I would, we both knew that was a lie. I would forget as soon as I left. I always did. It felt like it took forever, but finally he graced me with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were still clouded with concern, but seeing the attempt warmed my insides regardless. I didn’t necessarily like worrying Jax, but I always seemed to and I’d come to a place where I just accepted that I probably always would.

  I hadn’t changed out of my dress, and when the chilly October air hit me, I was already dreaming of kicking off my heels once I got in the car. I stopped and savored that air for a minute, taking a deep breath and letting the smell of autumn, a mixture of burning leaves, stale beer and a faint whisper from winter fill my lungs.

  The stairs leading up to the main street were dark, but I’d walked them so many times in the four years I’d worked at Duke’s that I didn’t need a light to navigate them. I knew them as well as I knew the layout of our apartment, and maybe it was crazy but I felt like they knew me too. They knew the girl beyond Duke’s. The girl who came out there to escape just for a minute. The one who pulled her hair down and hiked her dress up a little farther before sitting down on them, letting their cold concrete bite into the backs of her thighs as she lit up a cigarette. The one who’d been pressed up against the bricks of the walls next to the dented steel door, a bouncer or bar back thrusting against her. The stairs had seen me, the real me, and they didn’t judge. They were impassive, just there to observe, no one to report back to. They’d seen me and they knew me, but in the end, I was insignificant to them, just another pair of panties and heels in the scheme of life.

  Though it was late, one o’clock by that point, the street was still packed, people lined up waiting to get into the bars despite closing time being just an hour away. It was always like that on Thursday, though I’d never been able to figure out what it was exactly that drew college kids from their dorm rooms on that particular night. I hoped to find out personally one day, however. Not that I was exactly interested in a higher education. I wasn’t. I didn’t care about majors or minors or being a part of the corporate world. I just wanted the satisfaction of saying I did it, that I had a college degree to go along with the G.E.D. I got a year or so after running in the middle of my senior year of high school.

  Instead of heading down the bar-lined street, aptly nicknamed Drunk’s Lane, I turned and made my way down the small alley between our building and the strip club next door. It opened up to the employee parking lot where I could see Jax’s Civic parked in the very back on an angle, away from all the other cars. The unhealthy obsession he had with that vehicle would have been amusing if it hadn’t been so annoying. There were days I seriously wondered if he wasn’t one step away from swearing off women and just fucking his car for the rest of his life. His fixation on it was that serious and I swore I’d seen him eyeing his tailpipe a half a second too long on more than one occasion.

  I didn’t park back there with the others. I never did, and not because I didn’t want to catch Jax in the act of finally making love to his car. I just preferred the public parking lot near the old bus stop two blocks away. The buses didn’t run anymore, but the crackheads who hung out under the shelter there didn’t seem to realize it. Or maybe they did. Maybe they just liked to pretend that one was coming to whisk them away from their demons.

  They were the reason I parked there, the crackheads, something that drove Jax absolutely batshit. He thought they were dangerous, and maybe they were, because desperate people usually were. I understood desperation though and so I understood them. I think they understood me as well. It was hard to tell between their shaking and rambling.

  Preach was standing a few feet away from the employee lot, under a streetlight that was bathing him in a warm glow that gave him an almost ethereal appearance, and I knew it was me he was waiting for. He always did, every night I worked, though he never made a big deal about it, never came off like it was something he planned. I could tell even before I reached him it had been a few days since he’d had his last hit, if the nervous twitchy way he was looking around was any indication. Then again, Preach was always kinda twitchy. I think it might have just been his nature.

  I was standing next to him before he noticed me, and up close, with the soft light above us illuminating his face, I could see that he was more agitated than usual. I wondered how long he’d gone and if I should offer him some money so he could get his fix. Jax would have had an absolute shit fit had he known I did that occasionally, but it was only for Preach, and only when times were desperate. For his part, Preach never asked for it, and it was why I didn’t hesitate to offer.

  I personally hated the stuff, but I also understood that at this point he depended on it, it had its hooks in him, and he had a hard time functioning in its absence. He only ever took the money if he really needed it, when he wasn’t sure when he’d get the money together himself from either panhandling or returning bottles for their deposit, and he usually tried to pay me back. They said there was no honor among thieves and junkies, but there was between Preach and me.

  “Hey, little girl,” he said and he was smiling, but it was strained. His eyes never ceased, they were constantly darting from side to side, watching for things in the shadows around us that only he could see.

  “Care to walk a lady to her car?” I asked, not commenting on the shadow scanning, holding out the arm my purse wasn’t draped over. He hesitated for a minute and I frowned at him. “You okay, Preach?”

  He visibly jerked and his eyes flashed over to me. An expression was hiding underneath the filth and scraggly beard, but it was unreadable. I didn’t like it.

  “Someone fucking with you tonight?”

  He shook his head quickly and I felt a stab of relief. The thought of someone messing with the harmless old man pissed me off. I wasn’t a fool though. I knew it happened. I had seen the evidence on more than one occasion in the form of bruises and scratches, stains on his clothes that had obviously come from things being thrown at him from the passing cars, and each time, it made me feel murderous.

  I didn’t know his real name. It could have been Carl or it could have been Jake. In the two years I had known him, he’d told me both. Once he told me his name was Gabriel and he was that Gabriel. The archangel. He used to be a preacher, so he said, and that I always believed. Sometimes he thought he still was one. Sometimes he said he was on a spiritual journey, that the Lord had sent him out to recruit men for the celestial army. I never corrected him. Never tried to talk sense into him. For all I knew, that was exactly what was going on.

  “Ol’ Preach’s just had a rough one, little girl. Hard times.” He trailed off but that was typical. Familiar even.

  “Lord sending you visions again?” I asked lightly, careful to keep my voice even. Pre
ach could be sensitive about those kinda things and I didn’t want to offend him. Plenty of others out there would do it in my place. The world wasn’t kind to old junkies. It wasn’t really kind to twenty-two-year-old servers either, come to think of it.

  “No. Not the Lord. Probably the other guy,” he muttered darkly and I could see that the thought troubled him. It didn’t matter if it was real or not. He believed that it was.

  “Need an escort?” he asked suddenly and he was smiling again, but it was slight and uneasy. I nodded and slipped my arm through his. He reeked, a mixture of stale piss, mildew and something that almost smelled like burnt hair, his sleeve damp and cool to the touch. It probably should have turned my stomach or made me feel pity, but it did neither. No matter how hard he had fallen, he was still a human, a pretty decent one, even if he did have his demons.

  Without another word, we set off, staying silent while we walked, him obviously lost in his troubled thoughts and me in my exhaustion. The doubles always took a toll on me—I was dead by the end of the night, but the money was good, good enough that I did it every week, and it earned me Friday nights off, something damn near impossible for bartenders and servers.

  We had traveled a block with another block to go when Preach stopped suddenly, causing me to be pulled out of my reverie and glance ahead of us. If I squinted my eyes, I could just make out the bus shelter and there wasn’t nearly as many people there as there usually was. I wondered where the others had huddled, if the cops had come by and run them off, forcing them to move on. I glanced over at Preach, these questions on the tip of my tongue, only to see him shifting his weight from one foot to the other in an anxious two-step. As if he sensed my gaze, he stepped in front of me, looking everywhere but my face.

  My scalp prickled and something like unease skated up my spine as I narrowed my eyes, considering him.

  “Preach?”

  “Hard times, little girl.” And still, he wouldn’t look at me, refusing to make eye contact.

  “Has been for a while.”

  I decided that maybe he just needed to be left alone. Needed to work out whatever it was that was tumbling around in that head of his. We could talk on Saturday when I worked again. Maybe by then he wouldn’t be the jumpy, troubled creature standing before me.

  I was moving to step around him, my arm raised to pat his shoulder, something physical to let him know I wasn’t turning my back or giving up on him, I was just ready to go home, when a blinding pain slammed against the back of my skull. It caught me off guard and I stumbled, my arms reaching out instinctively to grab Preach to catch myself from falling. Only Preach wasn’t there. I was groping air before my knees hit the pavement, and my outstretched hands were clutching gavel, my face inches from joining them.

  I had no idea what had just happened but I was scrambling back to my feet almost immediately, my brain racing to catch up, to sort through the disorientation. Had I fallen? Had someone thrown something at me? Thank God I managed to protect my face. I felt a sharp tug on the strap of my purse and I jerked it in toward my body without conscious thought, reacting on almost forgotten memories.

  There was wailing and I gritted my teeth, thinking it had better not be me, but it continued. I was shoved forcefully to the side, biting my lip in the process, my ankle twisting in those godforsaken heels. A grunt slipped out past my lips before I could stop it, and the wailing reached a fever pitch, stars exploding in front of my eyes as my brain bounced against my skull once, twice. The third time it was the ground that rushed up to greet me, its embrace harsh and unforgiving. Somewhere nearby, or maybe far away, there was a shout, maybe two, and something was biting into my arm, a stab of dull pain, before it was gone. Footsteps raced away from where I lay panting and maybe groaning.

  I was pain and it was me. There was no separating the two of us, so intimately were we intertwined. I was angry, but it was a low roar compared to the shrieking voice of hurt raging in my ears.

  I was trying to stand when suddenly there were hands on me and I jerked away from them, ready to fight because flight wasn’t an option and it was for pussies anyway. A voice, soft and vaguely familiar, was saying “Easy” in a way I’m sure was supposed to be calming. I blinked rapidly and a wicked scar filled my vision, causing me to sag, only to straighten with a gasp when I realized the weight of my purse was no longer there.

  “My purse!” I croaked as Crew Cut clutched my arms, pulling me to my feet with a steady grip. It was agonizing, my knees wanted nothing more than to buckle underneath me, but I forced myself to push it down, push it back, because my purse was gone and my entire fucking life was in that purse.

  “You’ll get your pocketbook back, darlin’,” he assured me and I think there was concern in his eyes, but it was hard to see because gray was everywhere and threatening to overtake me.

  “I need it,” I insisted and there was gravel in my voice. It matched my hands and knees and maybe my head, as well.

  “Turner’s getting it.” He pulled me toward him, tucking me in to his side, supporting my weight, but not enough for my ankle to not complain loudly.

  “Turner?” I didn’t care. I didn’t care who Turner was or what he was doing to get it, so long as he brought it back with everything in it. It was mine and I didn’t give up what was mine easily.

  “Did you know them?” another voice asked and I didn’t know that one. I squinted, trying to make out the owner. It was one of the four, but he was wearing a ball cap pulled so low I couldn’t make out his features.

  I shook my head and the movement was like white-hot needles piercing me all over.

  “You were talking to one,” he insisted.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw, suddenly realizing why Preach had been acting the way he had. That fucker. I wasn’t going to give up his name though. I wasn’t ratting him out to a bunch of strangers. Because I knew Preach and I had a feeling that was where the ghostly, tortured wailing had been coming from. Even if it wasn’t, it was between him and me. Not them. Never them. We didn’t know them, they didn’t know us, and they didn’t get to be involved there.

  “She said she didn’t know,” Crew Cut said sharply and Ball Cap didn’t reply.

  I kept my eyes squeezed shut, my stomach doing a slow roll, and I almost giggled, wondering what their reaction would be if I suddenly puked all over them. I was swaying, or Crew Cut was, and the rocking was giving me motion sickness. I almost giggled again, overcome by the urge to ask for a Dramamine.

  I wanted so fucking bad to lie down. Right in the middle of the street. I didn’t care. Cars could drive around me if they needed to get by.

  I didn’t know how long we stood there, or if I was even standing anymore, or how my head had grown so fucking heavy before I realized that our trio had grown. I cracked open my lids, immediately met with the sight of Dark and Brooding gazing at me, my purse hanging from his fist by a pathetic broken strap. His face was thunder, his eyes lightning, a silent snarl on his lips. He was glaring at me and I couldn’t tell if it was me that caused the murder in his rigid stance or the ones he’d wrestled my purse from. Maybe a little of both.

  I stared dully back at him, wanting to say something witty but drawing a blank.

  “Karma,” I finally said, but it was a slur.

  He arched an eyebrow, not in the playful way that Jax always did, but hard. Angry. Like his expression.

  “I got paid back. Knocking you in the head?” My words were mush and I wondered if my bottle of Jägermeister had been smashed, its contents spilled all over the inside of my purse.

  “I don’t believe in karma.” The gravel in his voice matched mine. “I prefer to do my own paying back.”

  I blinked at his words and it took real effort to not give in and let my lids stay closed.

  “You put ’em up to it?” I mumbled. God. I was tired.

 
“If I wanted to pay you back, I would have done it myself,” he replied and I nodded because I believed him. It didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to see that about him.

  I let my eyes slide close and gave in to my knees’ incessant determination to buckle. Crew Cut’s arm tightened around me at the same time Dark and Brooding said “Sugar” sharply. I raised one hand and waved it weakly in his direction, shooing him away.

  “I’m good,” I slurred. “Thanks for the help, boys. Next round’s on me.”

  “She needs to go to a hospital,” yet another voice piped up, and even though I felt muddled, I was alert enough to protest that, albeit wobbly.

  “No. No hospital. I just need to go home and drink my purse. I’m fine.” I attempted to grin but it felt more like a grimace. “Really. You guys were great. Go on...going on. Just give me the purse and we’ll all be on our ways here.”

  “Bullshit. You need a doctor.” I was pretty sure that was Dark and Brooding that time, but I couldn’t be positive. They kept at it for a minute or two, each taking a turn to encourage or flat-out demand that I see a professional, but I wouldn’t give in. They must have finally sensed it was a dead end because the next words that registered came from Crew Cut next to me.

  “Fine. How are you getting home?”

  “Driving,” I answered, but it was more of a sigh, not a word at all, and I let myself drift, too tired to feel anything close to victorious over getting my way.

  The next thing I knew, I was being jostled, then was no longer upright. Through a wall of cotton, I felt a hard warmth beneath my cheek, and the scent of soap and something dark surrounded me.

  “Which car is yours?” The low growl told me it was Brooding above me.

  “Red Cougar. Ninety-something. Somewhere.” I frowned and licked my lips. Even they hurt. “Second row?”

  And then I was floating, only it was jerky, and the hands gripping my side and under my knees weren’t gentle. Which was fine. I was more comfortable that way.