Bad to the Bones

by Layla Wolfe

  But Knoxie didn’t have a chance even to fume with rage, for some overly serious guy with creases down his face so deep they looked like scars entered. He held his fists out as though they gripped bombs, silencing the women without even one word. Knoxie turned his wrath on the creased guy, sending swords of hatred out through his eyes.

  “What’s going on?” asked the guy.

  The helpful girl said, “Swami Bodhi. This man is here with a personal delivery for the Outlaw Prophet.”

  That pissed off Knoxie even more. Everything these people said and did pissed him off. It just went so against the grain of everything he’d been taught to call a sick loser like Shakti an outlaw. Knoxie used his best cum factory game face to say, “Yes, a direct shipment from Sinaloa.”

  Swami Bodhi softened a bit when he saw the dope. “That’s fine, but no one can interrupt him when he’s meditating.”

  Something occurred to Knoxie. “Bodhi? Might you be the infamous Bodhisattva, the healing doctor?”

  Of course this flattery got Knoxie everywhere. The guy stepped closer to Knoxie as though expecting to be worshipped. Knoxie saw that he fiddled with a prescription pill bottle in his hand. “Yes, that’s me. Why is this particular shipment so personal?”

  Once he had the confirmation that this idiot had been raping Bellamy and was even fake “engaged” to her, Knoxie just lost it. He knew that to be a successful—and true—outlaw, one had to be able to maintain one’s cool in moments of stressful negotiation.

  He must not be one of those people.

  Tossing the pissy heroin onto a couch with a flick of the wrist, Knoxie hauled back and led off with a quick jab to Bodhi’s nose. He followed with a lightning uppercut to the solar plexus. The guy was so unprepared for the assault, the pill bottle went flying, his neck snapped back, and he made a loud “ooph!” as the air was jolted from his lungs. Knoxie put his entire body into a satisfying overhead punch that brought the asshat crashing to his knees. It was ironic that he looked as though praying while a river of blood coursed down his throat.

  Knoxie towered over the twatwaffle, feeling supremely victorious and macho. The women huddled together, their eyes wide like innocent deer. He intoned meaningfully, “That’s for Bellamy…Asanga. You think you can just throw her away like she’s a fucking used blowup doll. Well, you running her off like a rabid raccoon was the best thing that ever happened to her.” Standing tall, Knoxie glared about the room at the intimidated women. “You fucking chicks should be ashamed of yourselves, letting this happen. She was one of you and you just sit there and take it, even assist. Tell Virginia that her sister is fine and well, no thanks to any of you whackamoles, and we’re fucking coming back to save her, too.”

  Seeing as how a dude wearing what looked like an angora sweater, fuzzy cap, and an eye patch was now standing at the hallway entrance, Knoxie decided to blaze. Detouring only to sweep up the prescription pill bottle in his hand, he strode back the way he’d come as the holier-than-thou Ed Wood floated forward, moaning,

  “Have you been afflicted, my communitarian? You lash out at others due to some blackness, some existential loneliness in your soul.”

  Knoxie wheeled around in the doorway. He had both pistols hidden in his waistband, but that sort of solution would ultimately be no solution at all. He pointed a furious finger at the sick swami and roared, “You! You are the fucking reason so many poor women don’t even know the difference between abuse and real, genuine, loving fucking! You should be fucking imprisoned for the things you do, not celebrated and admired, you deviant asswad!”

  By then, though, Knoxie heard running boots coming down a couple of other hallways. Bodhisattva was being helped to his feet by a few women as another sweetbutt barked into a hand-held radio.

  “Code African violet! daimyo to their stations! Loose outsider at Wang Cho House. Code Boysenberry!”

  Knoxie hot-footed it back down the hallway. The last thing he heard was Shakti calling out remotely, as though Knoxie were on some distant lighthouse.

  “I haven’t forsaken you, my son! You need to gaze into the candles and give total effort and you will be redeemed!”

  Knoxie passed by the bologna-loving daimyo, who just stood there with his mouth hanging open, one last bite of gluten-free goodness in his hand. Knoxie hit the back door like a magnum round, barreling down the back ramp. He seemed to reach the Safeway truck in three bounds, heaving himself into the cab.

  “Qué está pasando?” asked Rafael groggily, apparently just woken from a nap.

  Knoxie dumped the keychain in Rafael’s lap, grabbed one of the daily logs filled out by Stuart Grillo, and wrote on it furiously in block letters with a Sharpie.

  “Vamos a la guerra con estos fanáticos religiosos,” Knoxie said all in a rush, shoving the crumpled log into the filth-encrusted neckline of Presención’s shirt. We’re going to war with the nutjobs.

  Leaping from the cab, he made a mad dash for the Suzuki rice rocket he’d earlier seen parked in a covered spot. Making sure it was in neutral and the kill switch was off, Knoxie squeezed the clutch and hit the start button.

  By this time, the daimyo had finally swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and was standing at the back door waving his AK around threateningly. Knoxie had the feeling these guards weren’t too experienced. Most of the ashramites seemed to come from the world of white collar professions—they were the ones with the money that Shakti wanted to corral.

  “Hey, you!” shouted the daimyo. “That’s my bike!”

  The rice rocket’s engine sprang to life, much quieter than Knoxie was used to. He felt sort of ridiculous as he started off down the gravel drive. He felt like a teenager forced to ride his little brother’s stingray bicycle. He really wanted to flip off the guard—and the absurd one-eyed “master” who was peering out from behind the guard’s arm—but he needed one hand on the bike, and one to brandish his own piece at them.

  “We’re going to bury you, swami!” he bellowed. “You’re in The Bare Bones sights now!”

  That’s what he had written on Stuart Grillo’s daily log. “LOVE, THE BARE BONES.” The cartel might think he was a member of the hated Cutlasses, but the Bihari whackamoles sure as hell would know who to watch out for.

  Knoxie Hammett had irrevocably joined their ranks as a Prospect now, had left their calling card, and there was no going back….

  CHAPTER NINE

  BELLAMY

  Knoxie didn’t get to Madison’s house until about six in the morning, but I didn’t sleep.

  I wavered between feeling silly, stupid, and wrenched with emotion. Incident after incident kept rushing back to me, things Shakti had done that had seemed acceptable at the time. Now, they seemed like the heinous acts that they truly always had been.

  Why was I getting a sudden window of clarity? Madison thought it was being away from the compound, seeing her shrink—twice now—and talking to “normal” people like her. Maybe. But I kept seeing Shakti’s face, looming like a chortling circus clown with that damned eye patch, urging me to “embrace my submission” and to “give total effort!” while being penetrated by other ashramites I barely knew—the guy who sliced the deli meat, the guy who organized mail, the guy who fixed appliances.

  And more and more I saw Bodhisattva’s face. I realized he was one of “them,” people who actually wanted to control me with their pseudo-therapies. I “should” marry Bodhi to enter into a master-disciple relationship because…uh, why exactly? I had been at this shtick longer than Bodhi. He only arrived a year ago from India where he’d been wandering, seeking, after losing his medical license. Why would he be my master? Screw that.

  “So you don’t really want to marry this guy?” Madison asked me now. A good friend, she was sitting up with me on bar stools at the kitchen island while Ford got some rest. I really had been quite the burden on her, I knew. I owed her a lot.

  “No! Not at all! I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t a true marriage consist of actual loving
feelings toward the other person?”

  “Of course!”

  “Not only do I not have loving feelings toward Bodhi, I have no feelings whatsoever! Course, that could be my borderline personality. I can’t feel emotions about anything. But Madison…” I leaned closer to her, although no one else was in the spacious house other than Ford and Fidelia. “This must not be true. Because I do feel something for Knoxie.”

  As expected, devious triumph spread over Madison’s face. She sat upright with the victory of righteousness. “I knew it! That’s why you were crying out for him! He’s a fantastic guy, isn’t he? Nicole did wrong by him, although I can’t say as I totally blame her. A girl should be able to expect more than frozen dinners for her kids, and even their rental house was falling down around them. Still, that’s no excuse for her cheating. But he’s stepped up to the plate, Bella! He really has. I’m probably making him sound like a broke loser. He’s making more money now than he ever did—”

  “Acting in porn films.” I didn’t disapprove of that profession, not at all. Shakti would probably say it was a noble way of keeping your chakras open and grounded, while pounding a lot of skanks. I just looked at it as a way to make money, and it was legal to boot. But somehow, when it came to imagining Knoxie arching his sweetly inked, broad, muscular back over some hoe who was probably thinking about her manicure, well, that irked me. I didn’t know how and in what way, but it did. It just raised my hackles, as my dad used to say.

  “Now, don’t badmouth the Triple Exposure. It’s generated lots of coin for lots of people. I really meant his new work for the club. I’m not sure what it is exactly that he’s doing. Old ladies never do. But whatever he did today for the club, it impressed everyone so heavily that he’s now patching in. Ford said he handed him a cut with a Prospect patch. They’ve been trying to get him to patch in for years. Ford and Knoxie were in the same SEAL division, you know. Knoxie’s been a hang-around forever. Oh, I can’t wait to start calling him ‘Flip’ when he earns his road name!”

  I actually giggled then, the best I’d felt all day. Maddy’s cheerful demeanor allowed me to venture, “I’ve got to admit. He is extremely handsome. Not that I spend a lot of time thinking about it. But you’ve got to give him credit for sculpting his body like that. It’s like a work of art. It’s like he’s trained each tiny muscle, and inked it to match.”

  “Oh, Knoxie is a true work of art, Bella. I love the Mayan mandala on his right bicep. Sweet.”

  While Madison was getting carried away with her visions of Knoxie’s muscles, I saw headlights sweeping down the access road. The only lights coming up that road would have Ford’s house as their destination, so I rose from my stool. My heart actually started racing, that’s how nervous I was, like a senior waiting for her prom date.

  Maddy moved around the kitchen. “Here, have some coffee.”

  “I don’t want any damned coffee,” I said irritably.

  She set her cup down with a sigh. “Look, Bella. Whatever Knoxie did yesterday, he did for you. For some reason you’ve gotten under his skin.”

  I scoffed. Secretly my heart soared to think I might’ve gotten under Knoxie’s skin. “I’m a project for him.”

  Maddy shrugged. “Maybe. But what’s wrong with that? You need help, so accept his help.”

  “Did he go up to Bihari yesterday?”

  Maddy’s face told me that yes, Knoxie did, but she wasn’t about to spill. “I wouldn’t know. You can try asking him.”

  By now the roar of his engine approached Maddy’s driveway, cleaving the incredibly still nighttime desert air. She padded in her slippers to the foyer to let him in.

  I fidgeted. I was used to the bracing air of the high Merry-go-round Canyon, so to me, Mescal Mountain’s lower altitude was warm. I was wearing only a form-fitting nightgown—yellow, no less, to be daring by throwing off the shackles of purple—but I was warm. I opened the sliding glass door that led to the expansive deck. On warm nights the lit fire pits turned the deck into a Martian landing zone, and damn, did the Illuminatis have some kick-ass parties. Or I should say, The Bare Bones did. I squinted out at the distant buttes, the rusted red layers of ancient sea water, the layers of yellow sandstone just being revealed by the rising sun. I literally knew those buttes, having lived in them as a teenager. I was intimately familiar with the geology.

  I started having tons of misgivings about what I was doing.

  What a colossal asswad I am. Why did I sob, cry for Knoxie? I barely know the guy. He saved me once. How many times do I need him to save me again? Waking him up at midnight, sobbing for him to get his ass out here? What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Knoxie erased all my fears within seconds.

  He came striding onto the deck. From yards away I could see the knitted brows, the concern in his face. The rich golden hue of the sunrise bathed him in an unearthly glow that suited him. It seemed like it’d been weeks since I’d seen him and my heart literally skipped a beat. He looked even manlier in the black leather cut that I would rarely see him without. This one had a patch to the right on the chest that said “FILTHY FEW.” That must be some nickname for The Bare Bones. “Bellamy! What the fuck’s going on? I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I was, ah, a bit tied up.”

  Tied up? I pictured Knoxie acting in a BDSM segment of a Triple Exposure film—or, worse, doing a bit of rope torture on the side, in his apartment. Instant jealousy speared my chest. “Oh, no problem. I just had…a sort of a panic attack. I had some revelations that I wanted to share with you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Knoxie stood intimately close to me, leaning against the deck rail. “Lay it on me.”

  This was very difficult for me to give voice to. “It suddenly hit me, Knoxie. A lot of that stuff you were saying is true, about Swami Shakti, about Bihari in general.” I was looking at his boots, but suddenly I looked up into his eyes. “I don’t ever want to go back there.”

  A huge wave of relief swept over Knoxie’s face. He pointed at the deck, spun around in a small half-circle, looked at the heavens above to give thanks. “About time! Damn, woman! I thought I was going to have to give you some serious deprogramming drugs or hold you against your will to get you to see that! Course, then I’d just be as bad as them. So? What’re your thoughts?”

  “Well, what Shakti did was wrong. Penetration…that’s no therapy. He’s barking up the wrong tree. He’s using the wrong methods.”

  Knoxie couldn’t resist snapping, “I’ll say!”

  Maddy shuffled onto the deck, thrust a cup of coffee at Knoxie, and shuffled back indoors. My voice sounded more sincere now, more confident. The words flowed easier, now that I had Knoxie’s encouragement. “I’m not saying people should ignore traumatic events that happened to them. What I’m thinking is…why keep reenacting it over and over? That’s like tearing a Band-Aid off…over and over. There’s no reason for it. It’s not serving any purpose. Like that claustrophobic guy we entombed with cushions. Wouldn’t let him out for nearly an hour. When we finally removed the cushions, we thought he was dead. We thought we’d smothered him. Of course we quickly found out he’d just passed out from fright, he was still breathing, but I’ll never forget Shakti immediately racing to his cell phone, and it sure sounded like he was talking to a lawyer.

  “I was brainwashed, Knoxie! I admit it now. I am not a rape victim, so why was this “therapy” even enacted on me? Even if I was a rape victim, wouldn’t that be ten times worse? No, no, they’re equally bad either way. No woman should be penetrated without her express consent. At least, that’s what Maddy’s been telling me. I think it’s finally sinking in, Knoxie. I think I finally feel it. Of course, I don’t know much about ‘feelings’ so it’s hard for me to tell…”

  Knoxie took me by the shoulders then. I was thrilled by his touch, and instantly realized that I didn’t recoil from him. That meant that I’d been recoiling from the touch of men for who knew how long? Maybe well back into my teens, when I’d made out with boys out of boredom
or a sense of obligation. The idea they’d give me something, take care of me. “Correction, Bellamy. You weren’t a rape victim. Not until you threw your lot in with those doomsday preppers or whatever the fuck they’ve got going up there. Now? You’re damaged and abused, and I’m not surprised that you’re not even aware of it.” Straightening up, he looked at the faraway plateau rim where off-white limestone of crushed seashells and old fish bones was just being highlighted by the sun. “It’s a temptation, when you’ve seen or endured things you don’t want to see or endure ever again, to retreat back into yourself, to numb your feelings, to pretend you don’t care. I went through that in the SEALS. Ford went through that. Every combat vet has been through that. What you went through at the hands of those loonies, well, I don’t blame you for zoning out, for not knowing which end is up, right from wrong.”

  I didn’t want him to stop touching me. He had folded his arms across his stomach, the bitterness of his memories shadowing his beautiful features. I touched his arm lightly. “But I’m starting to feel again, Knoxie. Memories are coming back to me. Not pleasant memories, but maybe things I need to remember anyway.”

  Knoxie looked sincerely at her. “In the correct perspective, yeah. Madison said you tweaked when you saw them pushing up on each other in Ford’s office. You tweaked because it brought back memories you finally realized were negative. Scary for you.”

  “Exactly, that’s what set me off. Boy, I could never watch any of your films, could I?”

  Knoxie seemed a bit ashamed, strangely. He waved me away. “Not that I’d want you to.”

  Oh, I might want to, all right. I was already planning on asking Maddy to download one of his videos. “I remembered one time Shakti shouting that I needed to be an obedient wife while encouraging Bodhisattva to bang me, like a football coach. I remembered him yelling, ‘Anyone who is in a positon of authority to you, you have to surrender to. Even if you know you are right, you have to surrender. Only if you are ready to drop your ego, your judgments, your intellect, can you gain enlightenment.’ Yelling that he would shape me, mold me into the perfect servant. Well, I never caved. I wasn’t moldable. I never truly gained this ‘enlightenment’ he claimed I would reach. I tried pretending I had, but I don’t think I ever did. He matched me with Bodhisattva because he feared and also belittled women. That was supposed to goad me into enlightenment.”