Lily (The Regulators Biker Series Book 0)

by Carolina Mac

  “For sure.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure that’s the one.”

  “Would you like a case for your gun?” I asked sweetly, doing the upselling bit. “We have some beauties on sale this week.” I steered the young man over to the rotating display and showed him a camo case that would fit the Remington.

  “That’s cool. Can I get that one, Dad?”

  “Might as well. You don’t want to get your new gun all scratched up.”

  “We have the ammo on sale this week as well,” I said.

  “Better get a box,” the father said.

  I slipped the Remington into the case and took it over to George and let him write up the paperwork, while I put all the other guns back into the glass cabinet.

  After the pair had left the store, George lit up a smoke and sat on his stool grinning. “You’re quite the fuckin’ sales woman, ain’t ya?”

  “I’d like to think so.” I laughed, cocking my head.

  Business was steady most of the day. At noon, I walked down the street and bought subs and Cokes for lunch. We ate on the tiny table in the back of the store that George used for cleaning guns. By closing time, George was fading, although he didn’t admit it to me.

  “Miller time,” he said. I counted the money for the float while he made up the bank deposit and we locked up for the day.

  As we trudged out to the Jeep, George said, “Good day, thanks to you, Annie.”

  “Couldn’t say that about yesterday, could you?” I said half joking.

  “Not your fault, little girl,” he said, easing his wounded leg into the passenger seat.

  Pretty much was.

  The bar wasn’t crowded on a Monday night. We claimed our regular booth at the back and Buck came over with a pitcher.

  “Heard you had a spot of trouble yesterday.” He pointed at George’s bandage.

  “A bit.” George grinned.

  “Quite a story the way I heard it.” Buck stared straight at me, eyebrows raised.

  “Can’t believe the shit you hear, Bucko. Ninety-nine percent bullshit.” George answered.

  “Think I’ll go to the ladies room.”

  My hands were clammy, and the hair was standing up on my arms, just thinking about what happened yesterday at the range. For George’s sake, I was putting on an outward show of bravado, but my insides were globs of Jell-O.

  As I came out of the stall and moved towards the sink to wash my hands, one of Kenny’s bitches came into the restroom. I recognized her face in the mirror and the look she was giving me didn’t say lovin’ from the oven. She raised her arm and grabbed my hair.

  Before she could jerk my head back, I stomped backwards onto her foot with the heel of my boot and rammed my elbow into her gut. She grunted and released her grip on my hair. I spun around and drove her in the face. The impact slammed her up against the wall and I followed, my right hand pressed against her throat. Blood was coursing down her face, her hands were shaking, and she was making a little mewling sound.

  “Don’t ever touch me again. You are fucking with the wrong woman.” I looked her in the eye until she nodded that she understood. When I turned back to the sink to wash her blood off my hands, she locked herself in one of the stalls. I dried my hands, turned on my heel and slammed out the door.

  Thank God for self-defense classes.

  “You okay?” George asked when I sat down in the booth. “Your face is kinda red.”

  “I’m great.” I smiled and filled up my glass.

  A short time later, the girl emerged from the ladies’ room and passed by our table on the way back to her booth. She was holding brown paper towels soaked in blood over her nose.

  George glanced up. “What the hell happened to that bitch?” he laughed. “Ain’t it safe to take a piss anymore?”

  “Guess not,” I said, wearing my best ‘not guilty’ look.

  George stared at me a moment, then trigged in. The grin widened on his tanned face. “That’s what I love about you,” he said, “I never know what’s happening next.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  BUSINESS was slower at the gun shop on Tuesday, but we made a few decent sales, and George seemed happy with the bank deposit. I had no idea what his financial situation was, and until he confided in me, it was none of my business.

  “Ready to rock n roll?” he asked.

  I picked up my purse and keys. “Ready.”

  George locked the store and as we walked through the alley towards the Jeep he flicked his cigarette butt into the blue dumpster. “I need to stop by my place and pick up some shit.”

  “No problem. Just give me directions, and we’re there.”

  George had never broached the subject of where he lived or anything of a personal nature during our friendship of the past few weeks, and I had never asked.

  “My place is a few blocks from here. After I took over the shop, I picked the closest fuckin’ dump and rented it.”

  “How long have you had the gun shop?” I asked.

  “Five, goin’ on six years. It’s a livin’.”

  Following George’s directions, we arrived on a tree lined, dead-end street in front of a white frame war-time bungalow that had looked its’ best in the fifties. The paint was peeling, and the roof had patches of shingles missing. The chain link fence surrounding the postage stamp sized front yard was sagging in places and full of holes in others. The front steps had a couple of boards missing and I could picture George crashing through the splintered wood some dark night and breaking his leg. A narrow drive with grass growing up the middle, led to a ramshackle garage with one door hanging open.

  “Wait here, I’ll be back,” he said. I clued in that he didn’t want me to follow him inside. Ten minutes later he ambled out in clean clothes with a red bandana tied around his head.

  “How did you tie that bandana?” I asked.

  “With a lot of fuckin’ cursing,” he said and chuckled.

  “Where to?”

  “Your call tonight.”

  “I have steaks to grill, and cold beer in the fridge.”

  “Go for it, Annie.” He rolled his window down and lit up a smoke.

  After dinner, we lingered on the patio enjoying our coffee and the warm June evening. The scent of lilacs had been replaced by the heady fragrance of the orange blossom bushes bursting into bloom. The tulips and daffodils had run their course and my gardening crew had filled the beds with petunias, begonias and pansies in shades of pink, fuchsia and purple.

  George lit up a fresh smoke and said, “I think I’ll ride my bike to the store in the morning.”

  “Where’s that coming from?” I asked with a frown.

  “Don’t like takin’ help from anybody. Drives me fuckin’ nuts.” He scowled.

  “Your decision, George, do you think you can ride?”

  “I’ve been moving my arm around a bit, and with the pills it ain’t too bad.”

  “Try it. If it doesn’t fly, go to plan B.”

  He snorted, “What the fuck is plan B?”

  “Come back here and I’ll drive you to the store,” I said.

  “Fuck. It’s not that I don’t like hangin’ around you. Just used to doin’ things myself.”

  “You’re sick of me. I can tell.”

  “Fuck no.” he boomed. “There's nobody like you, Annie. Never will be.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  GEORGE roared out the driveway on the Eagle at seven thirty a.m. with no apparent difficulties and I returned to the kitchen to finish my coffee. The images of Kenny haunted my brain, day and night, but I didn’t want to discuss it with George. Talking about it made me relive the moment in living color. The moment that I almost lost George. I couldn’t even imagine my life without him.

  The phone was ringing as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Rusty Coulter here.”

  “Hi Rusty, how’s the paint job coming?”

  “Fantastic color. I’m lovin’ it. Doin’ the last coat tomorrow.
Can I drop it off Friday?”

  I could tell by his breathing that he was working and smoking while he was talking to me. “Friday’s fine. Can’t wait to see how it looks.”

  The rest of the day, I spent catching up on things I had neglected. I called the insurance company and added the Harley to my policy, opened all the envelopes on the hall table, threw the junk mail in the recycling and paid all the bills.

  After lunch I rang George at the store to see how he was holding up. “Checking up on you. Everything okay?”

  “Busy this morning, but nothin’ doin’ now. I’m resting and having a smoke.”

  “Rusty called. He’s bringing my bike back on Friday. Can’t wait.”

  “Maybe we’ll ride on Sunday if my fuckin’ arm can take it.”

  “I’m excited for that.”

  “Wanna meet me at Buck’s later? I should be there about eight.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  When Angel and I came home after our long walk down by the river, I hopped in the shower and dressed to meet George at the bar. My jeans felt snug on my butt, maybe I had gained a pound. Yippee. I wore a red, white and blue t-shirt with a big Harley crest on my chest. That should make George smile. Checking my makeup in the bathroom mirror, I noticed my hair was looking shaggy and needed a trim. Put that on my list for tomorrow.

  GEORGE was sitting in his regular booth when I arrived at Buck’s. He looked up and grinned. “You’re late.”

  “Am not,” I said, sliding into the booth.

  He chuckled and poured me a glass of beer with his good arm.

  “How were the sales today?”

  “Not as good as Monday, but still better than last week. I’m happy.”

  “As long as you’re happy, George.” I smiled.

  “Nice shirt.” George looked towards the door and a frown replaced his smile. “Cops.”

  I turned my head to see two men in uniform walking towards Buck at the bar.

  “What the fuck do those assholes want?” George said, mostly to himself.

  “I guess we’ll find out.” My stomach did a flip and my hands were visibly shaking. I put my glass down on the table and sucked in a breath.

  “Don’t go there, Annie. Relax.”

  The two men had a picture in hand and were systematically going from booth to booth asking questions and scribbling in their notebooks. As they zeroed in on our table, I thought I might pee my pants, hurl, or experience both bodily functions at the same time.

  “I’m Officer McNiff and this is Officer Pirelli.” They flashed their identification. McNiff was short and stocky, about five eight with rusty colored hair. Pirelli was taller, thin and bald.

  “Either of you seen this guy around?” Pirelli placed a black and white, eight by ten glossy of Kenny on the table right in front of me.

  Don’t lose it, girl.

  I studied the photo for a moment before speaking. “Doesn’t he work at the Harley store?’ I asked, my voice sounding a little husky.

  “He does, but he hasn’t reported for work all week. His father filed a missing person’s report this morning.”

  “Probably shacked up with some filly,” George mumbled. “He’s done that before.”

  “You know him, then?” asked officer Pirelli.

  “Seen him around. Quite a ladies man, I’ve heard. Fuck ‘em and forget ‘em,” George said lighting up a smoke.

  “I could charge you with smoking in a public place,” said McNiff, pointing a finger in George’s face.

  George stood up, looked down at McNiff and snarled, “Bring it.”

  There was a loud scraping of chairs on the wooden floor and the shuffling of boots as the boys trigged into what was going on and stood at the ready.

  “Next time,” said McNiff, threatening George with a shooting gesture. They moved on to the next table and I made a trip to the ladies’ room. By the time I returned, they had finished questioning all the customers and had left the building.

  “What do you think?” I asked George.

  “They’ll never find him. Case closed.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  THE doorbell rang as I was pouring cream into my coffee. Rusty was standing on the porch with a cigarette in his hand. He was about five-nine, muscular build with huge tattooed arms. His dark auburn hair flopped into his brown eyes. His jeans were splattered in a myriad of paint colors of many, many bikes.

  “Wanna come out and take a look, Portia? I’m lovin’ the color,” he said, beaming.

  “I do,” I said, following him onto the driveway.

  He rolled the bike backwards off the trailer and the scratch marks were completely gone. The color was a shade darker than the original, but deeper and richer.

  “I love it. That’s the HiFi Turquoise?”

  “I had some in stock. A lot of people still in love with that color.”

  “I can see why. You did a great job, Rusty. Looks brand new.”

  “Thanks,” he smiled and turned to walk back to his truck.

  “Wait a minute, Rusty. What do I owe you?”

  “It’s been taken care of.”

  “How could that be?”

  “You have friends in high places,” he said and laughed as he jumped into the cab of his truck and turned the key. “Enjoy.” He gave me a wave and was gone.

  What the hell? George. I was just climbing the porch steps to go in and give George a call, when Homeshine pulled into the driveway.

  Shit. It’s Friday.

  “Hi, girls.” I held the front door open while they brought in their mops and cleaning caddies. Angel tried to squeeze out the door while they were trying to get in past her and everyone was wedged in the door frame giggling.

  “Hi, Mrs. Talbot,” Stacey said when she managed to sidestep the dog.

  “Why don’t you call me Portia, doesn’t make me sound so old,” I laughed. “I’ll take a coffee out to the patio while you girls do your stuff.” I called Angel off greeting detail, and we went into the back yard. Once I set my mug down, I called George.

  “Gun shop,” he answered.

  “Hey, you.”

  “Oh, oh, what the fuck did I do?” George asked.

  “You know what you did. I didn’t get a bill from Rusty. Why’s that?”

  “He owed me one. Nothin’ more to it.”

  “You didn’t have to waste a favor on me. I was happy to pay him.”

  “I know. I wanted to.”

  “Thank you, George. That was unexpected, but a lovely gesture.”

  “What the fuck are you sayin’, Annie. When you talk like that, I get all fucked in the head.”

  “Sorry, just trying to say thank you, from the heart.”

  “That’s better. How’d it turn out?”

  “Gorgeous. I love it. I’ll ride it over to the store and show you.”

  “Don’t even think about it. When you ride for the first time, I want to be there in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “Just, in case,” he said, letting out a big breath.

  “Hey, I drove your bike and that Screamin’ Eagle is bigger and heavier than mine.”

  “Yeah, and I was sittin’ right behind your little ass in case you dumped.”

  “So true,” I laughed.

  “Customer, call you later.”

  After the Homeshine girls finished, I made a salad for lunch and toddled upstairs to take a nap. In the middle of a beautiful dream about the cabin surrounded by trees in autumn colors, the phone rang. Groggily, I pressed talk.

  “You sound sleepy,” said George.

  “I was taking a short nap.”

  “Short?” he said and snorted. “It’s ten to seven. I’m leavin’ for Buck’s. Do you want to meet me for a cheeseburger?”

  “Holy shit, I’ve been asleep for hours. I’ll be up all night.”

  “I can handle that,” George chuckled.

  “Give me half an hour,” I said, heading into the bathroom.

  I chang
ed into tight black jeans and a black tube top and threw on a short hot pink jacket. To complete my ‘fitting in” look, I pulled on knee high black leather boots. With this outfit on, I’d be sure to blend at Buck’s.

  When I walked through the door into the smoky blue cloud, I heard a whistle.

  Wow, I’m right on the money.

  George glanced up as I got closer to his table, his mouth turning into a full on grin. “Lookin’ fuckin’ hot tonight, baby girl.”

  I smiled, pleased that he liked the look. “Thanks. Must be all the sleep I had.”

  George let beer trickle down the side of my glass while I held it for him. I was staring into his dark eyes wondering if he knew how much I needed to be near him, when I moved the glass and he almost spilled. “Hey,” he said with a smirk.

  “How’s the arm feel today?” I asked.

  “Better. I can work with it now. No sweat.”

  “When do the stitches come out?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve got scissors. I’ll do it myself.”

  I frowned. “Do you think that’s a good idea? Maybe a doctor should do it.”

  “Done it lots of times, I’m a doctor.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You wish.”

  Before I could think up my next come back, Sheila arrived at our table.

  “You guys know what you want?” She tapped her pencil on her order pad while she chewed a wad of gum and blew a bubble.

  “Two cheeseburgers with fried onions, fries on the side, and another pitcher of Coors for the lady,” he said with a laugh.

  “Cause I drank my first pitcher already,” I said, handing Sheila the empty.

  While we waited for our food, George went over to shoot a game of pool with one of his buddies. I was watching them from the booth and didn’t notice when one of Kenny’s girlfriends slipped into the seat across from me.

  “Hey, bitch,” she snarled with her lip curled up like Elvis. “I’m gonna get you for what you did. You won’t even see it comin’.” She hopped up and went back to her own table before I had a chance to say anything.

  George saw her leaving our booth and came over. “What did that ho want?” he growled.

  “She wanted to scare me.”

  “Did it work?”