IRON KNIGHT BELLA KNIGHT Edited by NATASHA LIND Contents © Copyright 2017 - All rights reserved. 1. Deafening Thunder 2. Orientation 3. Dogs of War 4...
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IRON KNIGHT
BELLA KNIGHT Edited by
NATASHA LIND
Contents © Copyright 2017 - All rights reserved. 1.
Deafening Thunder
2. Orientation 3. Dogs of War 4. Reverberations Epilogue About the Author
© COPYRIGHT 2017 - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination.Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
1
DEAFENING THUNDER FALCON’S CUSTOM WORK
“To dream is to live!”
F
alcon tested the Harley 1978 Electra-Glide in cherry red. The engine caught, and settled into a throaty roar. He goosed it, made sure it was perfect. He turned it off, and slowly walked the bike to its finished slot. He put away his tools, making sure everything was put back in the correct place and stowed them in the garage. He went back over and washed the bike carefully, then used a leaf blower to dry it and blow it off. He used a top-of-the-line leather cleaner to gently clean the seat. He used a wipe on/wipe off wax on the chrome; buffing it in, then flipping over the towel to give it a smooth shine. He used a base coat of ultra-fine metal wax and worked it into the chrome like a pro. He checked off the bike on the tablet, moving it to “done” with a flick of his finger. He charged for the labor and moved on. He didn’t get very far with the 2002 Harley V-Rod other than taking pictures and ordering some parts they didn’t have in the back before Manny Guzman came out to kick him out of the North Las Vegas Harley Custom Repair Shop. “You gonna be here all night if you try to do that one. Hit it up
in the morning, dude.” “Will do,” said Falcon. He locked up his tools and helped Manny lock up the shop. He got on his own 2004 Harley Heritage Softail Classic in blue. One he’d bought for next to nothing and rebuilt himself while he attended school to learn how to build, take apart, and refurbish Harleys for a year when he’d gotten out of the Marines. The lights were all out, with Vegas shining in the dark. He hit up a taqueria and slammed down two fish tacos and a Coke. He finished it up with some chips and salsa and was soon on his way home. His home was a piece-of-shit. A North Las Vegas rental house a half-step up from a broken-down trailer. There were holes in the roof, the driveway needed repairs, the appliances, and furniture were all ancient. He had spent all his money on the pricey Harley school, covering what the GI Bill didn’t cover for an ex-soldier, but it had paid off. Now, he had more work than he knew what to do with, often working late into the night. After he parked the bike, hung up his leathers, and changed into shorts, he decided to work on the house. He caulked several windows and ran out of caulk partway through sealing the sink in the bathroom. He made a note on his cell phone to remind him to pick up more caulk in the morning. He cleaned out the refrigerator, and took the trash and recycling out to the street. Juan Salk from next door was playing hillbilly music loud and drinking cheap beer in his yard. Falcon waved. Juan reciprocated by giving him the middle finger, then he lit a blunt; blowing the sickly-sweet odor into the air. The dogs out back barked in a frenzy. Falcon would have gone out to buy more caulk right then and there to prevent the smell of pot from entering the house, but he figured he had the house sealed up pretty tight except for the
holes in the roof. He pulled out his alarm and set it to oh-god-thirty to go pick up the last of the roofing supplies and the caulk. He had helped a buddy with a roof back in New Orleans; then he figured he could do some patching on his own. He knew the place needed a new roof, but the owner, a ninety-eight-year-old grandma living in a nursing home, couldn’t afford it. Unfortunately, at the moment, neither could he. He’d have to make do with patches. It did rain in Las Vegas —once a year, all in the same hour, as the joke went. The dust coming in through the holes was actually, more of a problem. He listened to a baseball game as he deep-scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom sinks and walls in preparation for the caulk. He took a shower and headed off to bed. In the morning, he did his PT and went for a run. Just a few blocks away from their decrepit blocks, there were homes ranging from two-bedroom to four-bedroom cul-de-sac monsters. He wore his Marines T-shirt, shorts, and his brown hair cut, low. He had a light beard, more of stubble than anything. Ever since he’d gotten out of the Marines, he’d hated shaving his face. He showered, changed to his foot rather than his blade, ate his bananas, strawberries, and Wheat Thins, and grabbed his backpack. The neighbor in the duplex down the street was named Nova, and she was like a bomb when she got angry. Right now, her eyes were like rock, hard, green agates. Her brown hair was pulled back in a clip. She was wearing her Dollar Buys cashier’s uniform. She was standing in his driveway when he mounted his bike. “Your bike is loud, Mr. Hennessey.” “I’ve told you before, Ms. Pinner,” he said, “I have no control over when I work. I work until the boss tells me to go home.
Believe me, this is not a Harley in full throttle. It’s also cheaper than a car and uses less gas. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some caulk and roofing supplies.” “I thought you said you didn’t own the house,” she said, “it’s an eyesore.” “It would help if the roof didn’t leak first,” said Falcon. She had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “I can’t do things on your timeline, Ma’am. I have a list of priorities and neither the money or the time to do them all at once.” She huffed out a breath, “Don’t Ma’am me. My name is Nova.” “Falcon,” he said. “Falcon?” she said, “some sort of biker name?” “Some sort of Marine name,” he said plainly, “Ma’am, I don’t have much time to shop and get back here before work. So, if you’ll excuse me?” She stepped aside, and he pulled out. It didn’t take him much time to get what he needed. He had to be careful; he needed to keep paying off the cards. The GI bill only covered his education in a limited way, and expensive Harley schools weren’t actually on the list. He had to make completely sure he didn’t run up his credit bill higher than his ability to pay it off with interest. He went to the grocery section of the Wal-Mart and bought himself some pulled pork fixings, a bag of frozen tater tots and one of the frozen vegetables, and cereal, and some fruit. He zipped home, put everything away, and went off to work. Nova’s piece-of-shit Ford Fiesta was long gone, he noticed on his way out. When he arrived at the shop, he found that the parts for the 2002 Harley V-Rod had come in. He was very deliberate and methodical about removing what didn’t work and replacing
them with what did work. He did more testing, replaced all the fluids, did a final test, moved and washed the bike, and babied the chrome. He then went to the disassembled WWII Harley Courier, an Army bike. He studied the photographs of both the original and other refinished bikes. The owner wanted it in museum-quality condition. A part he had found himself at a swap meet had come in after being powder coated, and another had been chromed. He photographed the parts and put them in their proper place. There were four parts still out. He was getting excited about reassembling it and redoing the wiring. Manny came out when he was approaching another ElectraGlide some guy had found in his garage; he was having it refinished to give to his father in memory of his grandfather. Manny’s face had lit up like the sun, “Got a line on a 1977 Cafe Racer.” “You’re shitting me,” said Falcon. “You gonna let me get my hands on it?” “I’ve got to get my hands on it first,” said Manny, “some chucklehead let it rot, sitting in his garage. Some neighbor figured out what he had, and bought it from him. They’re in Pahrump and shipping it here if I can get them to come to me and not a bigger outfit.” “Great!” Manny sighed, “Getting me one of those coffin tanks if that one’s damaged is going to be a stone bitch.” “I can put some feelers out,” said Falcon, “both the Nighthawks and the Iron Knights want me.” “You let them keep wanting you,” said Manny, “to be sure which one you like more. The Nighthawks are way the fuck down the road. They’ve got their own garage. That freak of nature Bonnie they got will steal you away from me to work on their
bikes and I’ll get nothing the fuck done.” “What about the Iron Knights?” asked Falcon, choosing tools to put in his coveralls that he would need for the particular bike he worked on. “They don’t have no private garage, no Bonnie, neither. They’re cops, mostly motorcycle ones, some firefighters and an EMT or two and lots of current and ex-military, like you. You may be more comfortable with them, but they tend to take longer rides and I don’t give you much time off.” He ducked his head. “Manny, I’m a greedy bastard. I need the money!” said Falcon with a sharp smile. “Don’t go nowhere,” said Manny, “if I lose you, I’d have to hire two to replace you. Now, what the fuck are you doing standing around talking? Get the fuck back to work.” Falcon laughed and started in on the bike, “Let me know if you get the Cafe Racer!” he called out to Manny’s back. Manny waved in response. Lunch was at a taco truck owned by Manny’s sister, Esme; a woman twice as wide as Manny with an infectious laugh. Of course, most people were twice as wide as Manny because he was built like a string bean. The truck did a very brisk business because her tacos were excellent. Her truck won an award at a tasting festival. The corn tortilla tacos with shrimp and tomatillo salsa were more than amazing. The repairs took most of the day. They got a part in on another bike; a Screamin’ Eagle owned by a motorcycle cop. Some photos and assembly ensued, with two more parts to go. The parts for two new custom orders came in, one a street bike in a midnight-black hue and one a cherry-red trike. The noise was deafening as they worked. Falcon had his hands wherever they were needed, helping Bear with the wiring on a
huge touring bike or helping Manny with the street bike. Leong’s poetry-in-motion was sublime, in a no-move-wasted style. He used every effort in finishing up a classic trike in order to put together the new one. Falcon washed, dried, and waxed the chrome on that one so Leong could get started unboxing parts. Once again, Falcon wanted to be Leong when he grew up. He certainly wasn’t there yet. His movements were never that economical, graceful, or so perfectly, completely right. Absolutely no one wanted to leave. Dinner was sandwiches ordered from a deli; Falcon picked up the order and they wolfed down their food. Bear ate more than the three other men combined They kept going at it until eleven when they made an all-night KFC run for chicken, biscuits, macaroni salad, and potato wedges. At two in the morning, Manny kicked everyone out. Falcon made it home alive only because he lived fifteen minutes from the shop, and because there was nearly no one on the road at that hour. He fell into bed and didn’t have time to be upset about not getting to the caulking or the roof. Nova’s Day Nova trudged towards her car. The motorcycle maniac drove by her. He was keeping to the speed limit; she had to give him that. In that, he was like Fucking Juan. Juan Salks’ house was next to the motorcycle guy’s house. She curled her lip at the yard. It had a rusting car on blocks in the driveway and a broken washing machine on the porch. She glared at the house. The fucking stoner wasn’t there. Smoking pot was now legal, so she couldn’t nail him for that. She’d find something. She thought about the motorcycle guy as he leaned into the curve at the corner. Falcon? Named after a bird? At least Motorcycle Guy only had a Harley. A pretty one, a Softail. Blue; her favorite color.
She got in her car, an ancient half-dead Fiesta. She drove as fast as she dared to her cashier job at the Dollar Buys store. She was eying work at a casino, but competition was fierce. She needed to take off on a weekday to apply or interview if she got a bite on one of her online applications. She was fifteen minutes early. She used the bathroom, got herself a drink, clocked in, counted her drawer, and the madness began. She was bagging as she ran things through; it made it faster. She had the money or card from one person and was already scanning the next when she was done. The good thing about being so busy was that the time flew. She got her break, then her lunch, which was a sandwich from the sandwich shop next door. She finished her shift, counted out her drawer, and changed from her uniform shirt and apron into a black shirt in the locker room, and ran out to her car. She made it to the diner early. She ate an early dinner of bacon-potato soup and salad and a roll; she was ravenous and ate quickly. She put on her Cinnamon Dream lip gloss and a smile and hustled. She usually ran the counter; servers hated it because of the singles, but she tended to get tipped well because she could seat twelve and keep up with all of them. By the time Lashonda took over for her at midnight, her feet and thighs were both screaming. She had a late snack of cheese sticks, and hustled out to her car, which she had parked directly under a light. She drove as fast as she dared, parked, and ran into the house. The neighborhood wasn’t great; she suspected Fucking Juan to be dealing drugs, but she also suspected he was doing it somewhere else. He came and went at very odd hours. The dogs barked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She showered and dressed in a nightshirt, shorts, and slippers. She pulled down the ladder to the attic and turned on the light up there. She climbed up and surveyed the overflowing
piles of stuff. She opened the trunk with the dresses, and carefully hung them on the rolling rack. She dusted them, and used a hand steamer to steam the wrinkly parts. She set up a light behind the rack, took out the digital camera, and took pictures of each dress from multiple angles. She carefully photographed each one; 1950s dresses and ‘60s cocktail dresses and a gown or two. Her grandmother’s wedding dress was stunning, all satin and beads, but in a size, that was supertiny. The woman had been half her size. Granny was long since gone, died in a car crash with her third husband while coming home to Vegas from a trip to Los Angeles. She took out a pillbox hat that matched one of the dresses, carefully dusted it, and put it on the rack above the dress. She photographed the ensemble. She encased them in individual cloth garment bags from her own Dollar Buys store, returned the pillbox hat to its box, and pocketed the SD card from the camera before she cleaned its lens and put it away. She turned it off and unplugged the light, and snapped off the overhead as she went down the ladder. She washed her hands in the sink, brushed her teeth, and barely made it to her room before collapsing. She used her phone in bed to watch YouTube videos on how to sell the stuff on eBay, falling asleep as she lost her focus on how to create an eBay store. She woke up uber-early, from the barking from Fucking Juan’s house. She rolled out of bed, ate Peanut Butter Puffs cereal for breakfast, and booted up her ancient laptop. She split her screen, watching the step-by-step video on one screen and creating an eBay account with the other. She looked up the same dresses and hat and priced her stuff just below the average. She rinsed out her bowl, ran up to the attic, photographed two more dresses, and had just enough time to upload the photos and information to eBay. She dressed in her
clean, Dollar Buys uniform, pulled her hair back, put on her makeup, and headed out again. She worked late at the cashier’s job because Quilla was late getting to work. “Sorry,” she said, coming in with her money tray, “got held up at the school.” Quilla was working on her manicurist’s license. Her nails were always stunning. This week, they were magenta, with tiny silver flowers all over them. “It’s all good,” said Nova, “I need the money!” “What you doing, girl?” asked Quilla. “Saving up for a trip around the world?” Nova snorted, “Be nice, wouldn’t it?” She counted out and headed to the diner. On the way, she checked her eBay app on her cell phone when she hit long lights, dropping the phone on the seat whenever she hit a button to be sure the light hadn’t changed. She was at the long light at Charleston when she whooped. She had set the Buy It Now, bypassing the auction, for the dresses and the dress-and-hat combo at double her initial price. She had a Buy It Now for each. She dropped the phone, waited until the next light, then made herself a phone memo to ring when she got home to prepare the dresses and the hat for shipping. She’d be able to save up for the roof. She’d been told it would take six grand to do that. Then there were the cracks in the asphalt. And the list of repairs she needed to do for her tenant, Ernesta Thibaud. And she’d need a plumber, at eighty dollars just to visit the property, plus all of the washers and caulking and stuff. She needed to replace the cracked concrete pavers on the walkway, repaint the entire duplex, and probably more stuff, too. When she got to the diner, she closed the eBay app and made a punch list of all the house stuff she needed to do.
She wolfed down a grilled cheese sandwich and some corn chowder at the diner before work. She was super-quick and friendly, and quick with the coffee pot. She made better tips than she’d made all week, she realized when she counted after her shift. She ate some fries loaded with cheese, bacon, and sour cream, and headed home to take more photos. Grandma or Ma had to have something in that attic she could sell to somebody. When she got home, she showered and put on her favorite ancient red tee and running shorts. She took the garment boxes she’d gotten from work and carefully packed each dress. The hat she left in its original box, and wrapped it in brown wrapping paper and taped it shut. She went online to FedEx and used her ancient printer to print off FedEx tracking labels for all three boxes. She sent the tracking information to the buyers. Nothing else had sold, so she toddled upstairs to find something to sell. She ‘Googled’ information on the clothes, designers, and the furniture she found. It looked like some of the old trunks would pay a pretty penny, and possibly some of the old linen would sell, too. She unfolded the vintage linen napkins, placemats, and tablecloths. She put them in the washer, and let them soak overnight. She found the old iron and ironing board her mother used in a closet and left the iron on the dryer and the ironing board next to it. She was not looking forward to spending time at midnight following her shift ironing. The next day, Nova washed the linens on Delicate with half a cup of distilled white vinegar. She ate her Peanut Butter Puffs, washed them down with chocolate milk, checked eBay (active bidding but no new sales), and ran upstairs to find something else to photograph. She dusted a little side table with Pledge until it shone, and then carried it downstairs. She stuck it in the corner of the living room.
She looked at her mother’s crystal animals, so many, shining idly in their glass case. She carefully dusted each one, took a picture of the entire case and each individual shelf, and researched them online to price them. She was stunned to find out they were Swarovski crystal animal figurines, and that they were worth from twenty-five to two fifty a pop. She counted them, made sure there was nothing “rare” in the lot, and posted the pictures. She offered to sell them as a lot as a Buy It Now for two grand. If she didn’t get an offer, she’d divide them up and sell them individually, but that would be a pain in the ass. She took the linens out, cranked up some Bonnie Raitt, and ironed them. She took pictures, then carefully wrapped them in acidfree paper and boxed them for shipping. She put them online as well to sell as a lot. She got dressed, put up her hair in its high ponytail, and put on her makeup. She was stunned when her cell phone app dinged. Apparently, someone really wanted a lot of crystal figurines —this person lived in Pahrump and was willing to drive over with a truck and to pay an extra hundred and fifty for the glass cabinet that held the little crystal animals. She texted back, into the in-app messenger that it was fine, and the buyer immediately hit Buy It Now. She was cackling as she ran to the car. After work, she showered, then went to seek attic treasures. She took down a lovely rocking chair from the attic. It still worked; she wondered why the hell her mother had put it up there. She used a rope to lower it down the ladder. She took it to the living room, and dusted it and rubbed the hell out of it with lemon scented Pledge until it shone. She found another little glass curio cabinet, with nothing in it but dust and an old spider’s web. She took it downstairs, nearly dropping it on the way down the ladder. She cleaned it with glass
spray. She put the attic ladder back, washed up, changed her sleep shirt since it was now super-dusty and put it in the wash, and went to bed. The buyer was there at the ungodly hour of ten o’clock on a Sunday morning in a truck marked, “Brighton Antiques.” He was short and a little pudgy, with a florid face and sweaty hands. He had a shock of red hair peeping out from under a blue baseball cap. She was delighted to find that he had brought a dolly and a blanket, and a tie-down for the case, and individual boxes and bubble wrap for the figurines. He gave her cash for the glass curio cabinet; the eBay purchase for the figurines had already gone through. He paid her another one-hundred-and-twentyfive for the rocking chair, curio cabinet, and a little table. She helped him box everything up and they loaded it into his truck. She did a little dance as he drove away. She saw Motorcycle Guy on the roof of his place. She walked down to the end of the driveway. Sure enough, he was using a saw to cut away part of the roof. She thought about the six grand for the new roof. She wondered if he would repair her duplex for less. She could sell and let the new owners do the whole-roof thingy, or she could get by with repairing only the holes. She nodded to herself; Motorcycle-Guy may charge what she could afford. She decided to wait until he was done rather than dragging him off the roof to ask if he would help her. She hauled a fan up to the attic, found an extension cord to wrap around the legs of the ladder, and plugged in the fan. She set her phone to wail some women rockers, worked on emptying the trunks to sell the items inside, and cleaned the trunks themselves. She went back down and hauled up a bucket with rags and cleaning supplies to get things shipshape before she lowered the furniture down with a rope. Lunch was a plastic box of instant tortellini and some pasta
sauce, along with so much water she thought she’d float away. She took a Kiwi Strawberry Snapple drink up the attic ladder to suck on as she sorted, steamed, dusted, and photographed things. She found ‘60s dresses, ‘70s bell-bottomed jeans, and more linens. She took the linens down and put them in to soak. She ran back up the ladder, cleaned out the trunk, dusted it, and lowered it down on a rope. She put it in the Stuff to Be Sold area of the living room. She photographed the dresses and jeans after hanging them on padded hangers, and carefully encased them in individual hanging bags. She went down, swung the ladder back up, and posted the pics on eBay. She decided to see if Motorcycle Guy Named After a Bird was finished. She went out to the driveway. She saw him with some bags on his little porch. She fast-walked over to intercept him. She needed that roof done, and fast. Rooftop Adventure On Sunday, Falcon could barely move. He realized a run wasn’t going to happen. He got up, ate his shredded wheat with strawberries, washed it down with two Red Bulls, and decided to head up to the roof before the sun fried him. He covered himself in sunscreen and covered up in shorts, a very old T-shirt, gloves, and steel-toed work boots. He put on his desert headscarf and took out the roofing supplies. He put his toolbelt around him and stocked it with a claw hammer, crowbar, scraper, measuring tape, roofing nails, oriented strand board (OSB), and replacement shingles. He took the ladder out of the garage. He had bought himself a fully articulated ladder so he could get just about anywhere… safely. He went up to the top and carefully poked around to find the soft spots. He found six, most the size of his foot. He carefully removed the shingles over the soft boards. He cut in with a
portable circular saw to remove all the rotted boards. Then, he measured and cut the OSB to replace the rotted boards. He carefully installed the new boards with screws, then like a pro, he replaced the shingles. He put a bead of tar in on the underside of each shingle to be on the safe side. He kept a cooler with bottles of water and some snack bars at the bottom of the ladder and shimmied down to drink. When it hit noon, he went inside, made himself a pulled pork sandwich, and drank another energy drink. He made himself go back up to finish the job, despite the baking heat. He put in the last bead of tar, cleaned up, put all the tools away, threw out the garbage, and took a shower. He then drank two mugs of ice-cold water, then threw himself onto the couch to sleep. He woke up and caulked the shit out of everything he could find. He left the house to throw away more trash, and he saw Nova coming down the street. She was in blue shorts and an electric blue top. She looked amazing, with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her skin shone with sunscreen. “Hello, Nova!” he said. “Hello, um, Falcon,” she said, “I saw you doing stuff on the roof when I left the house. Um, I don’t have squat to pay you, but could you do the roof of my duplex?” “Trade you,” he said. “What the fuck?” she said. “I have a punch list,” he said with a smile. “A list of people you want to punch? Or a list of things you want to use a nail gun on?” “The second one,” Falcon said, “a list of things that need to get done on this house to repair it. The owner is ninety-eight years old and in a nursing home.” “Seriously? Miss Bee still owns the place?” “Absolutely,” Falcon said, “so, we both have punch lists,
don’t we?” “Yeah,” she said, “my mom left me the duplex, and I’ve got to fix it up to sell it.” “Not to rent out?” He stopped and raised his hands. “Sorry, none of my business.” “Maybe,” she said, “it’s just not where I want to live all my life.” “I see what you mean,” he said. “What about the punch lists?” she said. “We’ll keep a physical one in the house, or on a cell phone, and check stuff off. I do stuff for you, you do stuff for me. And if either one of us has an hour off somewhere there are a lot of jobs that are much faster with two people. We exchange keys, doing the little jobs alone. We just call or text first to be sure the other person has permission to be there.” She sighed, “You’ll have to show me how to do what I don’t know how to do. There’s always YouTube.” “Okay,” he said, “are you working tonight?” “I don’t start at the diner until five.” “Let’s go through each house and do a punch list,” Falcon said, “I can do your roof today or next Sunday.” “Why the fuck am I trusting some guy that rides a Harley?” He shrugged his shoulders, “You shouldn’t.” “But your price is right!” Nova said, still looking fantastic. “But…” he said, “we pay for our own materials. I can’t afford to front you, and I’m absolutely certain you can’t afford to front me.” “Okay,” she said, “and I have to do a lot more work for you than what you do for me. Roofing is expensive.” She looked at him. “You’re paying for the OSB.” “What the fuck is OSB?”
“Oriented strand board,” he said, “to replace the rotted boards.” “Now or later?” “Now,” he said, “I might as well go up there and see how much needs replacing. Let me grab the ladder.” He went into the house, put on sunscreen, grabbed his tool belt, and folded up the ladder for easy carrying. The entire duplex was exactly like a double of the one-bedroom house he currently lived in… put together and divided by a wall. He suspected the same builder. He went on the roof and found four holes, one slightly larger than his foot. He clambered back down the ladder. “I can do it now,” he said, “it’ll cost you the OSB and maybe a shingle or two. I’ve got two extra sheets of OSB that may or may not cover it.” “Good,” she said, “let’s do it!” She went in the house and put on some scruffy clothes. He came back with the OSB, the tar, and the saw. She clambered up the ladder after him. He showed her how to carefully check for soft spots and how to remove the shingles without tearing them. He measured the OSB they would need and found he would have almost none left over. She paid him in cash for the OSB and threw in another one fifty. “For labor,” she said. He shrugged and put it in his pocket. They replaced three spots; she had to leave before he finished. He came down, cleaned up using her outside water hose, and took out the trash. An elderly African-American woman exited an ancient, gray Acura that drove up and parked on the opposite side from where Nova had driven out. The driver waved, and she waved back; the driver drove off. The woman was tiny, coming up to below his shoulder. She moved slowly, but she stood straight and strong.
She had a white fuzz of hair on her head, a flat nose, and sharp chocolate-brown eyes. She wore turquoise shorts and a red print top. “Who are you?” she said, her voice skeptical. “Roofer,” he said. “About time,” she said. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, “can I do anything for you?” She brought him into her spotless duplex. He made a punch list of all the things she wanted fixed. He took notes on his cell phone. “It’s going to take a couple weeks,” he said, “and I’m not a plumber. But, I can do the caulking and replace the washers right now.” “Right now?” she said. “Absolutely! I’m Falcon. What’s your name, Ma’am?” “I am Mrs. Thibaud,” she said, “Ernesta. Been living here for twenty years. When Mrs. Pinner died, that was real bad. I know Nova ain’t got the money for fixing things. She doesn't know how little her mama done the last year. Her mama, Jean, got sick, and she was dead within five months.” “That’s terrible,” he said. “It was. And I never see Nova no more, she now got two jobs.” “That sounds tough,” he said, scanning the punch list, “let me go home. I live just a few doors down. I’ll be right back with the caulk and a wrench and some washers.” “You do that, young man,” she said. He hustled down the street, grabbed two bottles of water, drank one, put the other one in his pocket, and came back to Ernesta’s. He repaired as much of the punch list as he could; caulking, replacing washers, tightening screws on cabinets, hanging a door more plumb, and spraying hinges and locks with lubricant. While he puttered, she put on wonderful Motown
music and cooked and danced and sang in the kitchen. When he ran out of things to do, Ernesta fed him fried chicken with green beans, biscuits and honey, and a peach cobbler for desert. She told him stories of Nova’s mama, and of Nova growing up all knees and elbows. “She wanted to be a nurse, or maybe a physician’s assistant, from age seven. She was even going to school for it. Then, her mama got sick. She says it cured her of wanting to go anywhere near the medical industry.” “Sounds hard,” he said. “What do you do, young man? Roofing?” “I build, fix, and rebuild Harleys,” he said. “Nova and I are helping each other getting our places fixed up.” “Well then,” said Ernesta, “let’s work on that together, shall we?” “Well,” said Falcon, thinking fast, “you seem to be a real, good housekeeper.” She nearly burst with pride, “Yes, I do,” she said, “but not on the Lord’s Day.” “Of course,” said Falcon, “and anyway, if you could keep Nova’s house clean, she could use those hours to do the punch list with me.” “I can do your house too,” said Ernesta, “I know that house. Miss Bee lived there.” “She still owns it,” said Falcon, “I’m trying to get it shipshape without her having to pay an arm and a leg.” Ernesta smiled. “Well, now,” she said. She got up and came back with two keys on a silver keychain with a little globe attached. “This is my key, and Nova’s. Make a copy and bring this back with a copy of yours.” “Thank you for trusting me,” he said. “Pshaw,” she said, “you were a Marine. Recognize the tattoo
on your shoulder. So was my granddaughter Shelby. She’s living in Arizona now with her new husband. They’re both doctors. Up and moved to Phoenix. I’m waiting on great-grandchildren.” “Why don’t you live there?” asked Falcon. She looked away. He realized it was a stupid question, “Nova?” he said. “That girl has been through too much,” she said, “and without my rent, she can’t afford to live here.” “Let’s fix all these places up,” said Falcon, “then everyone can sell them, and be free.” “No more millstones around necks,” said Ernesta, her eyes filling with tears. She patted his hand. “Sounds good to me!” “Me too,” said Falcon. He patted her hand back. He helped her load the dishwasher, and he went home to a much-needed bed. “To dream is to live!”
2
ORIENTATION FLOW
“Sometimes you just gotta keep going.”
F
alcon could barely get out of bed on Monday morning. He did PT like an arthritic eighty-year-old. He decided a jog would kill him. He went to the garage, put on the fan, pulled out the jump rope, and did some work. He taped his hands, put on boxing gloves, and started with the speed bag. He then kickboxed against the heavy punching bag. He built up a sweat. He took off the gloves, hung them back up, un-taped his hands, and went back in. He showered, shaved, and dressed. He cooked himself bacon, scrambled eggs, and toasted an English muffin, then stacked it all into a sandwich. He washed it down with a strawberry-banana shake. The ride to work was hair-raising. Two separate taxis cut him off. He made it there alive and helped Bear with his monster bike. They broke for pulled-pork sandwiches, then he helped Leong put together the trike until more parts came in. He opened, inspected, and photographed them, and put them with the correct bikes. He still couldn’t put his other projects together due to some missing parts, so he went back to tag-teaming with Leong and Bear. Bear kept up a steady commentary, explaining
how to put the monster bike together, followed by bear-like grunts. His wire splicing was a pleasure to behold. Those monster hands had a fine touch. Leong said absolutely nothing, but watching him was like watching a clockmaker or a sculptor or chef —on speed. There was no wasted effort, and Leong wasn’t actually hurrying at all, but he was so effective and efficient that it was like the bike was materializing in front of his eyes. Another part came in, and Falcon took care of the unboxing, inspection, photography, and putting it in place. He had enough to get started on a sweet, custom, Harley Night Train, so he started on the frame and the engine. He took his time, trying to channel Leong and Bear. Manny came over with a Coke, handed it to Falcon, and looked the bike over, “Damn, man, you working on a masterpiece?” “Trying,” he said, “the other problem is that I can barely lift my arms. Spent most of the day yesterday roofing.” “What the fuck?” asked Manny, “that’s like Picasso doing finger painting. Why?” “My landlord is ninety-eight-years-old and in a nursing home. She can’t afford five thousand for a roof. Hell, the entire house isn’t worth five thousand.” “Shi-it,” said Manny, “Helping old ladies. What’s the world coming to?!” Falcon snorted, “Then the lady down the street needed her roof done, too. She owns a duplex with a seventy-six-year-old woman named Ernesta living on the other side. I didn’t want Ernesta washing away in the next rain.” “She pays you?” “About two hundred, all told,” he said. “Good,” said Manny, “now get the fuck back to work.”
“On it!” said Falcon. “Out-fucking-standing,” said Manny. For dinner, Manny ordered a ton of appetizers from the bar down the street, so they dined on chicken strips and buffalosauce chicken bites and potato skins and cheese sticks and sliders. They washed it down with Coke. At nine, Manny threw him out, “Get some damn sleep,” he said, “and come back when you can lift your arms.” Bear and Leong were long gone. Falcon stopped by Wal-Mart to get the stuff he could get there and get duplicates of the house keys; he’d hit up Home Depot for the rest —lumber, pavers, and the like in the morning. He had two punch lists, one for each house, his and Ernesta’s half of the duplex. The third list, for Nova, he didn’t have, yet. He bought the stuff in two batches, his and hers. He sent a photo of the bill and texted it to the phone number she’d given him while on the roof. He’d memorized it and put it on his phone when he was back on the ground. She texted back, “Birdman, supplies for Ernesta okayed. Will reimburse later. Nova.” He divided the stuff up among his saddlebags and headed home. The light was on in Ernesta’s house. She said she slept like a newborn, in her kind and smiling, simile analysis. He parked his Harley at home. He fished out his own bag from the saddlebags and left them on the workbench. He put on the toolbelt he needed, grabbed his toolbox, and went to his bike again. He fished out her bag, left his own bag in his saddlebags, walked over, and knocked on her door. She peered out her window at him and beckoned him in. He used her key to let herself in. “You just off work?” she said, coming out into the hallway. He shut and locked the door behind him.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, “please don’t get up on my account. Got some stuff I’ll be installing over time. Your landlord is paying for it.” “That girl works like a dog,” said Ernesta. She was wearing blue pants and a soft red T-shirt that read, “Grandmas Do It Better!” “Two shit jobs. She’s trying to get on at one of them casinos,” Ernesta informed him. “Yes, Ma’am,” said Falcon, “I’m gonna start in the bathroom if that’s okay with you.” She laughed a deep belly laugh that made him forget how tired he was, “My bladder may be the size of a pea, but don’t you worry about me, young man,” she patted his arm, “I’ll be watching my shows. Gotta love that Mark Harmon!” He laughed. He was able to fix the leak and snake out the sink pipe. He put a low-flow water flapper and seal in the toilet. He used spiral wall anchors to reset the towel bar so that it stayed put. He replaced the shower head and used CLR Cleaner on the whole sink and shower to whiten up the grout. He repaired the chips in the tub with super-fine, super-white putty. He took pictures of the tile and measured everything twice, putting the measurements on his cell phone. “Ma’am,” he said, when he cleaned everything up, “I’ll have to ask you not to take a shower tonight. I’ll come over tomorrow morning to sand and paint over the chips in the tub.” “That’s fine,” she said. “I’m doing the kitchen now,” he said. He went in and cleaned the sink trap. He removed everything from under the sink. He found two buckets and two huge rags. He laid the rags down under the sink, then put one bucket under the pipe and the other under the garbage disposal. He took out the pipe to the garbage disposal to drain it. He unclogged the
disposal drainpipe, then put the pipe back together. He dumped the wastewater outside and dried the underside of the sink. He put the rags in the laundry room. While he was there, he unplugged the dryer and cleaned out the dryer vent accordion flex tubing with a vacuum he found in the closet. He took a flashlight, went outside, unscrewed the outside of the vent, and vacuumed the other end and the louvers. He re-caulked the vent and screwed it back in. He came back in, returned the vacuum cleaner to its spot, emptied its container and put it back, then washed up in the sink. “That’s all I can do for now,” he said, “I need to replace the broken tiles, and scrape and repaint the bathroom ceiling. The leaks are gone, so that can get done. Do you want the bathroom repainted?” She smiled at him, her eyes huge behind her bifocals, “You know, I’ve always been partial to yellow.” “The tile in there is white, and so are all the fixtures. So that’s great. I can see if I can find a nicer medicine cabinet at Home Depot.” The one she had barely had room for all the medicines she took. “That would be real nice. The kitchen could be the same yellow, bring it into the rest of the house.” “Your cabinets are shit,” said Falcon, “they’re solid, but that brown is ugly and those doors were installed during the Eisenhower administration. I can price out doors and drawer pulls. That’s a lot cheaper than tearing them out. It can be done in a weekend. These are standard cabinets. They run at about fifty-five a door.” “Oh!” she said. “And the pulls, hinges, and the like. Figure it at about seventy-five bucks a door.”
She clutched her chest, “My lawd! So much?” “I know some guys,” he said, “who might be able to get something better and cheaper.” “Talk to them, please,” she said. “On it. Does Nova have an identical house?” “Yes,” said Ernesta, “exactly alike.” “I didn’t see her car. Is she home?” “Lawd, no. That girl is working like you, all hours.” “How do you know when I work?” “That Harley is distinctive,” she said, “nice paint job.” He grimaced, “Looks like I need to look at the throttle.” She laughed, “Makes the dogs bark. Of course, anything makes them bark. The wind in the trees, the sun shining on their heads!” He nodded, “True. So, can you come with me to Nova’s side of the duplex? I need to do a punch list on what she needs.” She stood, “Let’s do it!” He got his toolbox, with one hand, and held out his elbow to Ernesta. She laughed and took his elbow. He locked her door, left the toolbox on the porch, and unlocked the door to Nova’s house. Nova had a pile of furniture in the corner of the living room, gleaming with polish. She had an ancient television in one corner and a four-year-old laptop on the kitchen table. The living room needed paint but was structurally sound. The kitchen had spots on the ceiling, and the cabinetry was just as dated as Ernesta’s. The bathroom also had chips in the sink, and tile that needed to be replaced. The ceiling in the bathroom was water-stained. The bedroom also had ceiling stains. He checked under the sinks and checked the toilets. He had to do all the same things he had done in the other two houses.
“How are you doing, Ernesta? Do you need to go back home?” “Nope,” she said, “now what do you need?” “I can do the same things I just did in yours,” he said, “it will take about the same time.” “I’ll go back and get a book,” she said. He walked her over and let her back in, she grabbed a book, and he walked her back. She laid back in the recliner and read. The book must have been hilarious because he heard her laughter from inside the bathroom. He cleaned the bathtub and sink with CLR, fixed the sink and bathtub chips, replaced the toilet flapper, emptied the garbage disposal, and cleaned out the dryer vent, inside and outside the house. He changed the washers in all the sinks. He came back and sanded the patches, and left a note for Nova to cover up the chip fixes with masking tape if she wanted to take a shower or wash her hands. He washed up in the kitchen sink. He handwrote out a punch list and left it with what he had done. All checked off on a legal pad that was by the old laptop. He wrote a note that what he had done was included in the current bill. He wrote out the ideas about replacing the medicine cabinets and the kitchen cabinet doors. He signed it, dated it, left a copy of his house key on top, and went to retrieve Nova. She was still cackling over her book, “May I take you back?” he asked. “Love that Elmore Leonard!” she said, popping the recliner upright. She took his arm again, “You make that girl pay you back, you hear?” “She’ll be doing stuff at my place for me,” he said, “and now, I’m dead tired.” He turned out the lights, locked the door, and escorted her back home. He unlocked her door, and let her in.
Ernesta patted his hand, “You wait a couple days before coming back, hear? We are not in a hurry.” He smiled, “I’ll take my time.” He made sure she locked the door behind him, then he took his toolbox back home. He left it in the garage. He changed into gym shorts, collapsed on the bed, and slept a dreamless sleep. In the morning, he took a run, then ate his shredded wheat with a chocolate, protein powder, banana shake. He changed into his jeans, an Aerosmith T-shirt, and his leather vest. He headed to Home Depot and got the stuff on the list. He priced the cabinet fronts and took photos that he sent to Nova, as well as drawer pulls. He also took photos of yellows for the kitchen and grabbed some paint chips. He filled up his saddlebags with all except the lumber and the two medicine cabinets. He texted Nova to pick them up herself. He went back home, unloaded the things, and put them in the garage. He went back to the old lady’s house and Ernesta let him in. He then sanded down the filled-in chips and painted over them. He left the yellow paint chips with her. Then, he took off for work. He headed to the bike shop. He worked on the custom Night Train all day and well into the night. He made it home alive, and cleaned out his own garbage disposal and the dryer vent; he had fixed the chips in the kitchen and bathroom sinks and the tub long before. He then took a shower and crashed in bed. Cutback Nova was angered but not surprised when Jo Ellen took her into the office at the end of her shift, “Gonna cut back on your hours,” she said, “Tabitha is pregnant.” “I noticed, said Nova. It was hard not to; the woman is having twins and she had to sit in a special chair to do her work.” “Don’t get smart with me,” said Jo Ellen, “she needs more
hours before she has them, babies.” Nova stared at her, “And that’s fair… how? I don’t have medical. Tabitha does through her husband. How am I supposed to pay for that?” “You’re lucky you have a job. Many people in this economy don’t,” said Jo Ellen, “and come back two hours later tomorrow, and keep a civil tongue in your head!” Nova stood, slowly, “Please do the same yourself. I didn’t come in here asking for a lecture on something I already know. I wouldn’t be working at this job if the economy hadn’t tanked.” Jo Ellen’s jaw dropped, “Well, I never!” she said. “Never what?” asked Nova, “had someone tell you the truth?” She left a sputtering Jo Ellen behind her, went to the locker room, changed, and went to the diner. The diner was busy. Cops were everywhere. There had been some sort of training nearby, and they were all hungry. Nova clocked in early and got hopping. She snuck fries and drank a cola when she had a minute to keep going. She ate a full country breakfast, with scrambled eggs sprinkled with cheese, bacon, sausage, and a biscuit with honey on her break. She hustled more and ended up with a record amount in tips. She got home, showered, soaked her feet in hot water, and crashed right there on the recliner watching reruns of Law and Order. She woke up early and used her computer to figure how much paint she’d need for each room. She ran over to Ernesta’s, and found out she still wanted the “Sunflower Yellow” and went to Home Depot for the painting supplies. She figured an old woman didn’t want to be covered in paint, so she bought two, plastic, painting coveralls. They looked like what you’d wear to the moon. She picked up everything left on Falcon’s list, including the two medicine cabinets. She also ordered the cabinets, showing
pictures and all her measurements to the kitchen woman. The lady tried to sell her lazy Susan’s and dish racks and all that fancy stuff, but Nova cut her off. “I’m on a tight budget,” she said. That was certainly true. She cringed at the prices, but the house needed fixing up in order to sell. It was the only thing her mother’s bankruptcy attorneys let her keep. The medical bills ate her mother’s finances the same way ovarian cancer ate her insides. She knew Ernesta had a family, and that her youngest granddaughter had moved into a house with mother-in-law quarters. She couldn’t be a millstone around Ernesta’s neck, either, like the house was around hers. She knew damn well that her old friend would be on a plane to Phoenix right now if she wasn’t helping Nova by paying the rent. “Buck up, girlfriend,” she told herself, and used her tip money and a lot of her dress-selling money to buy the stuff. She hauled the stuff to the car and hoped and prayed the income from the eBay store would get the house’s punch list done before she ran out of her mother’s and grandmother’s things. She took several trips to unload the car, putting everything except one of the medicine cabinets in Ernesta’s hallway. She hauled ass over to see the Bird Named Biker Guy. She knocked on the door and called to him; no one answered. She let herself in with her key. She followed the thumping noises to the door leading to the garage. He was beating the shit out of a heavy bag. Standing and kickboxing in a style she hadn’t seen before. He had military tattoos and she recognized the Marine emblem across his left shoulder. She looked down and stifled a gasp. He also had wraparound scarring and depressed areas on his left leg; she guessed he had a lot of screws and plates in there.
Don’t be an ass, Nova, she thought. Only an asshole would point out or even notice an injury like that. She assumed it was a wartime injury. She doubted he’d been born that way. He moved so well. But then, that was another asshole of a thought. “You’re making me feel horribly guilty,” she said, “I haven’t done a damn thing on our house.” She wasn’t wearing her Dollar Buys outfit. “You off today?” he asked, not breaking rhythm. He used his knees as well as his gloved-wrapped hands in the bag. She smiled, “No, thank God. I actually have a morning off.” She didn’t explain. He was missing parts of his left leg; she was missing some hours at a job she hated anyway. The two just didn’t compare. “Weird,” he said, “you got something you wanna do?” he asked, after a particularly vicious combination. “You said there were things we could only do together.” “Do faster!” he said. He threw out another combination, “Ernesta choose the yellow she wanted?” She held up a chip, “Sunflower Yellow,” she said, “I like it too. I also picked out the cabinet fronts I like. They’re the cheapest ones. Ernesta picked one the next one up.” “Good,” he said. He stopped, took off the gloves, and hung them up. “Why don’t you start on the cracked paving stones leading up to your doors? I’ve got a crowbar. Just pull them out. I’ve got replacement ones in the garage. I’ll carry them over and we can set them in together.” He unwrapped his hands. “Okay,” she said. He walked over, got the crowbar, and handed it over to her, “Thanks,” she said, “I’ll get right on it.” He opened the garage door for her, and she walked home. She went in to eat breakfast before hauling stones. She rinsed her
bowl and glass, put them in the dishwasher, and went back out. She dropped the crowbar next to the cracked stone from Ernesta’s driveway to her house. They were round concrete, studded with stones. She went back into her garage to find work gloves. She put them on, and before she knew it, she was using the physics she’d learned in school to find exactly the right point to use the crowbar as a fulcrum to pop up a broken paver. She carefully moved it over out of the way. She found the next broken one and popped it out. Falcon put the concrete paving stones in his saddlebags and drove them over, unloaded them, then drove back and parked the bike. He put on his tool belt; selecting gloves, a mallet, a brush, scissors, measuring tape, and a small level. He put them in the belt’s pockets. He grabbed a shovel and the small roll of landscape fabric and walked over to the duplex. He took the mallet in one hand and the crowbar from Nova in the other one, and popped each one of the other broken pavers out. He did it for both her house and Ernesta’s. Nova took the crowbar back and moved the pavers out of the way. She got the wheelbarrow and used it to move them into the garage. She supposed they could be broken up and used for something else later, or thrown out. Falcon then used the shovel to dig down a little more. Then, he stole gravel from the side yard and shoveled a layer into the holes. Nova looked at the roll of white material, “What the fuck is that?” she asked. “Landscape fabric,” he said, “keeps weeds from breaking apart the pavers.” He showed her how to measure and cut it, and put it in the holes. He dropped each stone in as if the concrete paving stones didn’t weigh much. She brushed them off, he filled in the sides
with more gravel, and he whacked on them with a mallet until the bead in the tiny level sat firmly in the middle. A perfectionist at a job; Nova could get behind that. Especially, since she wasn’t paying him. She resolved to work harder to get a less shitty job, so she could pay him labor. Or pizza. Once they were finished, they cleaned up. She followed him back to his garage with the landscape fabric. Falcon said, “Let’s see the punch list.” She pulled it out of her pocket. “I can buy the paint, or you can.” “I saw a video about how to calculate that.” She showed him her calculations for the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. “Good. Get masks. Get a semi-gloss white for the bathroom ceilings and walls, scrapers, masks, rollers, and paint trays. Get a tarp or a roll of good quality plastic we can reuse.” “Already did,” she said. He stared at her, impressed. “Do you want me to start painting?” she said. “Nope. I have one hell of an ugly job for you. I’ll bring over my folding ladder. The ceiling paint needs to be scraped. Lay down the tarp first, tape it in place, use a mask, and use a fan for air circulation.” She made a face at him, “Bastard,” she said. “I know,” he said, “I’m just bad through and through.” Nova laughed. He took off his gloves, “Let’s get some Sonic. You want a ride, or do you want to follow me?” She tilted her head at him, “My mama warned me about guys like you!” “Did she warn you about Sonic?” She smiled, her teeth perfect white against her tanned skin, “No.”
“Then we drive separately,” he said. “Done,” she said. She went in, took the fastest shower possible, put on her makeup in five minutes, put on her Dollar Buys uniform, took her car, and met him at Sonic for junk food goodness. They drank fruit slushies and wolfed down honey-barbecue chicken sticks, cheddar poppers, and mozzarella sticks. The wind was hot, spinning her high ponytail around like a miniature tornado. Falcon’s hair was shorn on the sides, a light brown shading to dark blonde on the tips, waving up over his forehead. He had a hint of unshaved stubble as short as the hair on the side of his head. His nose was a ski ramp with a little jump on the end. His eyes were brown, deep chocolate, so deep in color, they were ringed in black. The muscles she’d seen… all that morning. She didn’t have to see his arms and legs and abs to know he was strong. “I hear you have shitty jobs,” Falcon said. She laughed, “You heard right,” she said, “I have a job as a cashier at a dollar store and I wait on the counter at a diner. I’ve applied to what I think is every damn casino. I need one good job, not two shitty ones.” Why am I telling him this? she asked herself. I need to show I can take care of myself. Too late —he’s already fixing my damn house. And my neighbor’s house. “I love what I do,” he said, “it’s exhausting, but it’s fun.” “Working on motorcycles all day is not my idea of fun,” said Nova, sucking on her lime slush. “What is?” asked Falcon. “Sitting on my ass all day, for one,” she said. He looked at her, “Coding, writing, editing, administrative assistant, accounting…” She was stunned when he talked about good jobs for her like
her mother had. She had promised her mother she’d go back to nursing school later; she did as her mom asked and finished off the semester first. Some of it had come in damn handy when caring for her mom. Once she saw the toll the disease took on her mother, she realized she could never watch people go through stuff like this, day after day. She knew it wasn’t all oncology; it was babies being born and pediatricians diagnosing colds and surgeons cutting out a disease. But, she’d seen firsthand what her mother had to live with. She had watched her skin turn gray and her weight nearly go down to half of what it had been. No, she’d have to help people in some other damn way. She nodded, “Most of that takes school. I tried to be a nurse, but when my mom died… I couldn’t get out of school fast enough. I hate hospitals now.” “You can be a vet.” She laughed, “That’s the most expensive school ever.” “Coding you can learn online for free.” She stared at him, “You have my attention.” “Type in ‘free coding’ into a search engine. My friend Mack did it in Germany, and Daisy did it in Afghanistan. I think it’s called ‘Code Camp’ or something.” She almost fell off the bench. Guys didn’t think that girls working at Dollar Buy were smart. She was used to people treating her as if she was too stupid to live all day long. She looked up the site. Coding meant programming… and they worked with nonprofits for free. She smiled. She could do that. She popped a popper in her mouth and searched for it on her cell phone. “Free Code Camp,” she said, “awesome!” She bookmarked the site. They finished eating, “I’ve got work,” he said, “have fun at
your jobs.” She snorted, and they parted ways. At work, Nova ignored Jo Ellen’s freezing stares. She rang everyone up with a smile. She thought about free courses in programming by some educational website called U… something or other. She’d downloaded the app. On her break, she ignored the vicious gossip zinging around her, ate a packet of peanut M&Ms and drank a lemon soda, and started a free course. Let them talk, she thought. I’m getting the fuck out of here the first chance I get. She headed out to her second job. The diner was hopping again, this time with firefighters. Nova clocked in early and asked one of the beefy men at the bar what was going on. “FEMA training,” he said, “in case of a disaster.” “Good to know,” she said and kept his coffee filled. “Be paramedics tomorrow,” he said, “then hospital staff. Two more days.” She smiled and served him his bacon and eggs, over easy. She ate pecan waffles for dinner and was able to start her course on her cell phone, using earphones in her ears. After work, she zipped home, put on her moon suit, and scraped the ceiling in the bathroom while banging out to the Bangles,’ Hazy Shade of Winter and Lita Ford’s, Kiss Me Deadly and other rocking female tunes that she loved. She nearly fell off her stepstool when Ernesta came over, giving a little scream when she saw her in the moon suit. Nova took off her mask, and both women laughed. “Gave me a fright,” said Ernesta, clutching her chest, “why you dressed in white?” “My moon suit!” she said in a laugh, leaving the bathroom and closing the door to talk to Ernesta. Heavenly scents came from a plate in Ernesta’s hand. Nova was very glad Ernesta hadn’t dropped the plate in fright.
“Motorcycle Man’s got me scraping the ceiling in the bathroom.” “I’ll put this in the refrigerator,” said Ernesta, “you go on, I wanna see for myself.” Nova hopped back on the step stool while Ernesta went to the kitchen, then she showed her how to scrape the ceiling. “You got me one of those moon suits?” Ernesta asked, “and one of them scrapers?” Nova cringed deep inside, “Yes, but…” she said. “But nothing,” said Ernesta, “I’m not dead yet. I can always stop when I get tired.” “You never get tired,” said Nova, “you’re like that damn, pink Energizer Bunny in those commercials!” Ernesta belly-laughed, “Just don’t sleep. You get more done that way.” She stole the moon suit and a scraper and went back to her own house. Nova sighed, hoping the woman didn’t fall and break her arm or her neck. She perked up when she realized Motorcycle Man would be getting off work soon, and would probably check on Ernesta. She finished the last corner, and used a broom and dustpan to clean up the scraped paint. She got herself out of the moon suit, and went to bed before she dropped. The next morning, she worked on her course for a little while, then watched a video on preparing a kitchen to be painted on YouTube. She put on gloves, took some spackle and a scraper, and filled holes in the walls of both her bathroom and her kitchen before her breakfast. She server herself Peanut Butter Pops with chocolate milk. She brushed her teeth and went next door to spackle Ernesta’s bathroom and kitchen. When Nova was getting up, Falcon went for a run when the day was just hinting at its later heat. He took his first shower of
the day so he wouldn’t offend the women. He got back in his painting clothes, grabbed his electric screwdriver and a scraper, and went over to Ernesta’s side of the duplex. To his surprise, Nova hadn’t left for work yet. Her car was still in the driveway. He found out why when Ernesta let him in. Nova was in the kitchen filling holes with a spackle. “Morning,” she said, “I learned how to do this on YouTube.” He checked her work, “Damn fine job of it you’re doing, too,” he said. She smiled. He helped Ernesta cover everything in sight with tarps and masking tape, and then he unscrewed the cabinet covers and piled them on a tarp outside. All while Nova and Ernesta tackled moving the furniture out of the kitchen, and putting masking tape everywhere that didn’t need paint and tarps on the floor in both the kitchen and bathroom. Ernesta flexed her muscles, looking out of the corner of her eye at Falcon. “Don’t have his guns, but I’ve got my own!” “Damn Energizer Bunny woman,” said Nova. Ernesta laughed, “That’s me,” she said. “I ordered the cabinet doors,” said Nova, “they cost a disgusting amount of money.” “They do,” said Falcon. “Been selling my mom’s things,” she said, “I got six dresses shipped out this morning and two hats and two boxes of linens. Ironing those is a bitch.” “You should let me do that,” said Ernesta, “I done plenty in my day.” Nova nearly cried in relief. There was another trunk full of the linens. She hadn’t had the heart to deal with it yet. She sold the last two lots for thirty-five a pop. Any amount of money was a help, with the money flying out on these projects.
“Thank you,” said Nova, “I sold more furniture, too. Gonna have to sell some of it as is, unless I want to refinish it myself. Figure that’s a bad idea if, as I believe, some of those things are real antiques, not just old, if you know what I mean.” “Smart,” said Falcon, “that’s how you’re paying for this?” “Damn straight,” said Nova, “problem is, at some point, I’m gonna run out of things to sell.” “I see your point.” She blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes, “Looked into some coding stuff. Taking a free online course.” “Coding?” said Ernesta. “Programming computers and phones to do stuff,” said Nova. “Excellent idea,” said Ernesta, “get you off your feet.” “That’s the plan!” said Nova. “I’ll go spray paint the bathroom,” said Falcon. The women ignored him, still chatting. He found a moon suit in the hallway. He put it on, along with a mask. He gave the ceiling a good coat of white semi-gloss, cleaned out the sprayer, then painted the rest of the room butter-yellow. He kept a fan going for ventilation. Ernesta said to Nova, “Your mama wanted you to make something out of yourself. The casinos don’t tip like they did when Sammy Davis and Old Blue Eyes were singing. Back then, if you didn’t take care of your cocktail girl or your server, that was insulting. Someone large would come over and make snake eyes at you until you did right. Now, you can make money in some places, but not real money, like the old days. Your mama was a damn good pit boss. She caught cheaters and kept the games running.” “Yeah,” said Ernesta, not trusting herself to say more. Ernesta patted her hand, “That computer stuff, that’s what a bright girl would do. Get out of here, Nova. Go and don’t look
back.” Nova wiped her eyes, “You know that my name is ‘No-va’ which means ‘doesn’t go’ in Spanish?” Ernesta patted her hand again, “Screw that shit. Get your ass out of here, girl,” she said, “today, go to work. Another day, go find somewhere there’s a good job. Get married. Raise babies.” “I haven’t done it in so long, I think I forgot how!” Ernesta dropped her jaw, then cackled like a madwoman. Stones Falcon finally finished all the base coats in the bathroom, got out of the suit, and went to say goodbye to the ladies. They were taping down the baseboards in the kitchen. “Goodbye, ladies,” he said. “Can we use the sprayer?” asked Ernestine, “I watched you last night, and Nova has a video.” “Sure,” said Falcon, “just don’t fall off any ladders. Nova, don’t you have a shitty job to go to?” “Later,” she said, “they cut my hours because Tabitha is pregnant, and she’s putting in extra hours before she goes into labor.” “That sucks!” said Falcon. “Not the pregnancy, but the hourstealing.” Nova shrugged, “More time to get this done. Bye!” she waved at him, obviously ready to have him gone. “Bye,” he said, “gmonna eat that chicken all up,” he said to Ernesta. She beamed at him. He did as he said he would do, and ate the food Ernesta had left him. He showered again and went into the bike shop. More parts had come in. He inspected and photographed them, and began the slow process of assembly on a 1969 Electra Glide. Manny came over to help, something he rarely did. “Just want to get my hands on her,” he said, “love the
Shovelhead engine and the batwings on her.” “Abso-fucking-lutely,” said Falcon, fiddling with the engine, “and she’s a beauty, and she’s gonna look amazing when we’re done with her.” “Abso-fucking-lutely,” said Manny. They completely forgot to break for dinner; the only reason they did was so that Bear wouldn’t eat all the barbecue. This time it was brisket, and amazing potato salad, and okra, and more cheesy biscuits. They ate until they could barely move. They went back to work on the bike. It went together beautifully. Falcon tried to be Leong-perfect. This was one of the best classic Harleys in existence, and he didn’t want to screw up anything, no matter how minute. Falcon didn’t notice both Leong and Bear heading out because he was so into getting things just right, with perfect welds. Manny stopped at Falcon’s station at just before ten and said, “We gotta get our hands off her. My wife wants me home at a reasonable hour, and this ain’t reasonable. And, don’t you have ladies to help?” Falcon stretched. His back popped in three places, “Yes, I most certainly do,” he said, “I left a novice and a seventy-sixyear-old woman with my paint sprayer this morning.” Manny mimed shock, “You better get over there before they go after the whole neighborhood with that thing.” Falcon stretched again. His wrists popped and so did his shoulder joint, “Be nice if they went to my house.” Manny laughed, patted his shoulder, “Go home!” “On it,” said Falcon. At Sonic, Falcon ordered a lime slushy, fantastic for his scratchy throat, and some poppers. He ate them there at a table, watching kids come up and get ice cream; there were adult sandwiches, and shakes, and kids laughing and waving to each
other in the hot desert night. He went home, changed into his painting clothes, grabbed a crowbar and a chisel, and went back over to Ernesta’s. She let him in, dragged him inside, and shut the door behind him. “Look what we did. Old! Poppycock! I’ve still got it in me!” She dragged him to the bathroom. All the tarps had been removed, the new medicine cabinet was installed, and the place had been scrubbed into within an inch of its life. The butter-yellow made the room seem bigger, somehow. “Wow!” said Falcon, “check out the seal on the medicine cabinet.” It had been installed and sealed correctly. Ernesta grabbed his arms and dragged him to the kitchen. The yellow was a little deeper here, probably a result of the light. It looked airy and cheerful. He looked up. “You did the ceiling, too?” he asked. “Just a scrape and primer and some of that semi-gloss,” she said. “Great!” “Had enough to do it without having to go back to Home Depot, too.” The door-less cabinets looked odd in the space. They had been painted inside and had liners on the shelves. All the dishes on them gleaming. “Put all the dishes through the dishwasher,” she said. “Amazing,” he said. “You can go home now,” she said, “mostly it’s all done.” “You trying to get rid of me?” Falcon asked, clutching his heart in sarcasm. “No,” said Ernesta, “but, what are you gonna do?” He knelt down and poked at the living room carpet where it met the kitchen. It was old and gray. He followed the wall to the
corner, grabbed the chisel and crowbar, and went to work pulling it up. “Look what we have here,” he said, “natural hardwood.” “Beautiful,” said Ernesta, “be a stone bitch to take up all that carpet and refinish it.” Falcon smiled, “That’s what you have me for, woman!” “Sometimes you just gotta keep going.”
3
DOGS OF WAR MAKING PLANS
“Great things happen when you least expect.”
F
alcon woke up with a start and stumbled out of bed. He put on socks and shoes, grabbed his cell phone, and went for a run. He started out slow, then blasted rock in his ears, Nickelback with If Everyone Cared, followed by Rock Star and How You Remind Me. Then Drowning Pool’s Soldiers, and Kenny Loggins’ Danger Zone. He picked up the cadence and hit his stride. He came back streaming sweat. He downed a container of water, filled it back up from the pitcher of filtered water in the sink, and went in to do a little time with the jump rope and the bags. He showered and put on his jeans, then put a utility knife, pliers, and his work gloves in his pocket, and went over to see the ladies down the street. He found them outside, with tarp on the rocks on Ernesta’s side, painting a base coat on each of the new cabinet doors. He laughed, “How are you this morning, ladies?” he asked. “Ain’t dead yet,” said Ernesta. “Damn pink bunny,” said Nova. Both women went into paroxysms of laughter. It took him
until he went inside to realize that the “pink bunny” was the Energizer Bunny from the old battery commercials. He was stunned to find that the furniture in the living room had been moved to the kitchen, and the walls had been sanded and painted a soft dove-gray. He put on his work gloves, knelt in the corner, and used the utility knife to cut into the ugly carpet and pull it up with his hands. He pulled from the back to the center of the room, then folded it over. He cut along the fold, rolled up the carpet, taped it together with duct tape, and put it to the side. He did the same with each third of the rest of the carpet. He did the same thing with the padding, except he did it in fourths. He got a bowl from the kitchen, pulled up the floor tacks, and put them in the bowl. He was pissed at whoever had covered up the hardwood floor with disgusting carpet. He followed the carpet into the closets and down the hallway. He had to stop at the bedroom; he didn’t feel like moving furniture, and he had a job to go to. He put the bowl with the tacks and his utility knife on a little table in the kitchen for later. He stole a soda from the refrigerator. He found two Strawberry-Kiwi Snapples in the refrigerator and brought them out. “Ladies,” he said, handing them out. They smiled up at him, like flowers in the sunshine. “Got most of it out, but I’ve got work. I’ll hit up the bedroom tonight.” The ladies laughed at him. He felt his ears turn red. “I don’t feel like moving furniture now,” he said lamely. “We’ll get Never Sleeps to do it,” said Nova. “Ernesta,” said Falcon, “don’t move the heavy stuff. I’ll do it when I get back.” She saluted at him. Nova laughed so hard she almost snorted the strawberry drink up her nose, which made her laugh harder. He pretended to be exasperated, then remembered
something, “You can rent a belt sander and an edger/sander from Home Depot. Rent it for two days; I’ve got to do your floor, too, Nova. And mine.” Nova saluted him; they laughed again. He gusted out a sigh and went over to get his leathers for work. Bloody women and their sense of humor, he thought in a laugh. At the shop, he worked on the Harley Night Train. Manny had been working on it before he got there; it was coming along nicely. The parts came back and the finish was kick-ass. He put the rest together, taking time on the welds. He wolfed down barbecue for lunch, then eagerly went back to work. He tested everything, step by step, then it was time for the chrome waxing and leather cleaning. He did it slowly, one step at a time. Manny came over to watch for a bit, “Called the owner,” he said, “he’ll be here in an hour.” “Chomping at the bit?” asked Falcon. “Damn right. Dude nearly screamed in my ear when I gave him the call.” The dude came over, a tall man with full leathers and a feather earring in his right ear. Falcon never tired of this part of the process. It was like giving a kid twenty bucks and sending the kid into a candy store. Or maybe it was like Christmas, with the best present ever. The owner stared at the bike, hand over his mouth. Then, he walked around it, looking at it from all angles. Then, he touched the handlebars, then stroked the paint job on the gas tank and the fender. Finally, he got on it, and fired it up. Manny and Falcon both shook his hand as he babbled about a ride he was taking it on in the morning. They said their goodbyes. “I hope you got the guy’s money before he got the bike,” Falcon joked. “That’s why God invented credit card numbers!” said Manny.
They both went back into the shop to work on more bikes. Some parts came in, and Falcon found himself working on a futuristic vision of chrome, chrome, and more chrome. The thing looked like it could literally fly into the sky. Manny came over to watch, “That thing gonna be a stone bitch to do the final prep. Take you half a day and half my stock of wax.” Falcon shrugged, “It’s the job, boss,” he said. Patriot, the cop with the real name David Manning with the Iron Knights motorcycle club, came to the shop to talk to Bear. Manny went out and picked up what seemed to be half of what Sonic had available to order, drinks and all. “Don’t get wooed,” whispered Manny in Falcon’s ear, as he and Falcon ate, “I need my slave on the job.” Falcon laughed. Sure enough, Patriot came over when Falcon returned to work on the chrome monstrosity, “Shit,” Patriot said, “you can go into orbit on this thing.” “Damn straight!” said Falcon, “I got my rocket engine in the back. Gonna install it tomorrow.” Both men laughed. “You wanna do a ride tomorrow?” asked Patriot. “Wish I could. Gotta sand two floors tomorrow to get it ready for refinishing.” “Can you put it off?” Patriot asked, his forehead wrinkling. Falcon understood his confusion. Falcon hadn’t been on a ride in a month, with working every fucking hour he could, working on his own house, and now throwing in a duplex. In fact, the ladies hadn’t done a thing on his house. This was getting to be very, very one-sided, but he couldn’t let Ernesta down. “Got me some little ladies who need me,” he said. He explained about the duplex and his own rental house with its ninety-eight-year-old owner Miss Bee, and the rental of the sanders.
“You got hardwood under your flooring too?” asked Patriot. “Yeah,” he said. “Got two guys that can get it done while we’re gone, sanding to polyurethane.” “How much?” asked Falcon. In response, Patriot whipped out his phone. He hung up the phone, typed a number into the phone’s calculator, and held it up. Manny weighed the cost versus having the damn job done by professionals. Besides, that was a damn low cost. “Done,” he said, “and not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but why so cheap?” “They’re my sons, John and Jeff, nineteen and eighteen years old. They work with me on my rehabbing business. I flip houses on the weekends. Also, you’ve done the scut work on the carpets for one of the houses, and if those ladies are as hardworking as you say they are, they probably have the other one done too.” “You buy houses, rehab them, and sell them?” said Falcon. “Sounds like a good side business.” “It can be,” Patriot said, “but you’ve got to know what the hell you’re doing and pick the right properties.” “So, you must know some real estate agents,” he said. “Could be,” he said, “plus, you’re not in the greatest neighborhood.” “Don’t I know it!” said Falcon. He gave directions to his place and the ladies’ duplex and got the club directions from Patriot. “Where we going?” he said. Patriot clapped him on the shoulder, “Only a real rider would agree to go on a ride without having any idea where we’re going. Lake Mead. Bring the ladies and a swimsuit for anyone who wants to swim. Crusher has a sidecar.”
“Crusher?” asked Falcon. “Real name’s Dominique Salazar. She’s this high,” he said, his hand on his shoulder, “and has a grip like a vice. She’s a bodybuilder. No one safer to ride with than her.” “Good to know,” said Falcon. “Do you eat meat?” asked Patriot. “Do pigs oink?” said Falcon. “Good man,” said Patriot, clapping him on the shoulder, “there’s bacon and sausage, and waffles and eggs at eight at the club before the ride,” he said. “I’ll be there, and I’ll ask the ladies,” said Falcon with a wide smile. Patriot clapped him on the shoulder again and went over to say goodbye to Bear. He made it home alive, parked the Harley, grabbed his work gloves and other pliers, and walked past Juan Salk, the idiot with the barking dogs. Salk was sitting on his porch, drinking beer and smoking a blunt. His hair and unkempt beard made it look like a brown animal was growing on his face. His brown eyes were bloodshot. The dogs were barking nonstop. “Those dogs ever stop barking?” Falcon asked. “What’s it to you?” asked Juan. “I live next door, and your dogs have literally never shut up since I moved in,” he said, “do you have a squirrel on some sort of timer for them to bark at?” Juan belched, threw a beer can on his own lawn, reached down into a white Styrofoam cooler, and popped the top on another. “Don’t give a shit about you,” he said. “That’s obvious,” said Falcon. He walked on. He found the ladies, gloves on, pliers in hand, pulling tacks out of Nova’s floor.
“I knew you’d be doing that,” he said, “and even Patriot knew you’d be doing that, and he’s never met either of you yet.” “Who the fuck is Patriot?” asked Nova, dropping a tack in a little plastic container. “He’s the one I’m paying for his kids to refinish all three floors tomorrow,” said Falcon. Nova jumped up, ran to him, and hugged him, jumping up and down and laughing like a loon. He hugged her back, laughing. “If I’d known it would make you that happy, I’d have thought of it myself!” He felt taken by her smile and her eyes. She kissed him on the cheek, then let him go. Ernesta continued to pull up staples, humming to herself. “Wait!” Nova said, pulling herself together, “how much is it?” He gave her a little less than two-thirds of the price. She clutched her heart and wavered, then stood up straight. “I sold a trunk today. Turns out it was a genuine antique. Let’s do this.” “Wait,” said Falcon, “there’s more.” “Do we get a set of Ginsu knives with it?” asked Nova, referring to a popular late-night commercial with her perfect smile, and dimples. Ernesta barked out laughter. Falcon had to wipe his eyes from his own laughter before he could answer the question. “You ladies doing anything tomorrow?” Ernesta shook her head, “Was gonna be learning how to sand a floor. Other than that, my social calendar’s free.” “I got fired from the Dollar Buys,” said Nova, “it was payday, and it was a good time for them to cut me loose. They stole thirty dollars from me for not turning in the uniform I was wearing, and I changed and handed in the uniform, then sat there in the
office until that bitch Jo Ellen Murphy gave me the money, in cash. I threatened to tell all her customers she was a backstabbing cheap bitch, too.” “Should have done that anyway!” said Ernesta. “So, no diner tomorrow?” asked Falcon. “Nope,” she said, “I’m a Monday to Friday swing-shift counter girl at the diner.” She shook out her hand, tense from holding the pliers. Falcon admired her as she stood with dust marking her face, “Both of you be ready by seven-fifteen.” “Okay,” she said, “I need to look for another job.” Ernesta stood up and came over, and rubbed her arm, “Something better will come along,” she said. “Now, let’s get this damn floor done so those nice boys can sand it down tomorrow. And get ready for Falcon’s thing.” “I’ll be at my house,” he said, “I’ve got my own carpet to pull up.” He retrieved his utility knife and went over to his own house to rip up the nasty carpet. He shuddered and went back for a mask. And maybe a moon suit. Day Off The day dawned bright and clear. Falcon got up and packed a sack with his boxer-style swimsuit, an extra shirt, sunblock, peanut butter energy bars, and a drink cooler with several blue plastic frozen bags to keep things cold. He threw in some water and sodas. He was over to pick up the ladies at seven twenty-five. At seven twenty-eight, a lady in a buggy with a dark blue helmet arrived. Adorned with a long plait of black hair poking out the back, riding a dark blue custom lowrider with a sidecar attached rode up. “Your ride’s here,” said Nova to Ernesta, who grinned like a madwoman.
The woman parked and got out. She took off her helmet and stepped forward, “Crusher,” she said, holding out her hand. “Falcon,” Falcon said, shaking her hand. He fought to maintain a stone face. Patriot was right; she cut off the blood circulation to his hand. “Nova,” said Nova, holding out her hand. Falcon caught her suppressing a wince. “You must be the Lady Queen,” said Crusher, bowing to Ernesta. Ernesta bowed her head and grinned from ear to ear, “I got me a biker name now, too!” she said. Nova laughed. “Shall we, my queen?” asked Crusher, gently taking her hand. “Why the hell not?” asked Queen Ernesta. She allowed herself to be lead to the sidecar, and she settled in, and was given a helmet. Falcon said to Nova, “Your chariot awaits.” She laughed and hit his shoulder with her fist. He gave her a helmet, one he’d bought at the shop for her. It was identical to his, red with a black full-face shield. She put it on; it fit perfectly. She flipped up the visor. “I look like a bug,” she complained. “Better than bugs in your teeth,” he said and put on his own helmet. He started it up and helped her on. She closed her face plate, then grabbed him around the waist. “Lean into the curves. Follow my lead,” he said. She nodded at his back and held him tight. Crusher fired her Harley up, and he followed him to the club. The club wasn’t far, right on the border between Vegas and North Las Vegas on a corner lot. It had a big room for meetings, a kitchen, a snack bar, lots of snack machines inside and outside,
and a women’s restroom that was twice as big as the men’s room. “Women don’t like to wait in line,” said Patriot, giving them the nickel tour. Men and women of every conceivable height, weight, skin color, and ethnicity were there. They had one thing in common —they had the same eyes, eyes that had seen some seriously bad shit. There were policemen, ex-military, some current Air Force members from the base, and some firefighters and paramedics. They rode to get away from what they had seen, to spend time with family, and to enjoy the freedom and beauty of the road. Lady Queen was treated like royalty by everyone. They rushed to get her pecan waffles with her choice of blueberries or strawberries; she picked both. Nova smiled at her friend and passed the butter and the maple syrup. They passed around platters of bacon and sausage and fat biscuits and honey. Falcon sat next to Patriot. They talked about the “rocket ship” Harley custom job he was doing. The guy on the other side was obviously ex-military, a short, Hispanic/Amerindian man with wide lips and an even wider smile. Then a beak of a nose and a shock of black-brown hair cut short on the sides. “You building a custom job in your garage?” he asked. “Falcon here works in a custom bike shop, Eagle,” said Patriot. The table got absolutely silent, “You get to work on Harleys all day? And get paid?” asked Eagle. “Absolutely,” said Falcon. Eagle slung his arm around Falcon, “Let’s fly together, my feathered friend,” he said. “Fuckin’ A,” said a wide man with coarse, red hair, a huge nose, and an enormous grin from farther down the table. Falcon acknowledged him with a nod.
“Buzz,” he said, reaching across the table to shake Falcon’s hand, “I’ve been putting together a custom bike for about five months.” “Gunny,” said the man on the other side of Patriot, reaching across the man to shake Falcon’s hand, “I see you’re a marine,” he said. “Semper fi,” said Eagle, Gunny, another man, and a woman at the table. “Fuckin’ marines,” said a man with bright red hair and startling blue eyes from the other end of the table. “Fuckin’ squid,” said Buzz, “shut your pie hole, Lucky.” The two men mock-glared at each other, then burst out laughing. Patriot sighed at all the military-branch ribbing, “Eat up, we’ve got a ride to go on. You can beg Falcon for bike-building info later.” They fell into eating. Falcon ducked his head and shoveled it in. When they were done, the ladies went off to the bathroom, “Biker Man got fawned over,” said Nova. “Boy’s not used to anyone paying attention to him,” said Ernesta, “and he’ll want to retreat into the woodwork. Don’t let him.” Nova stared at her, “That man has never backed down from anything a day in his life,” she said. “Probably not,” said Ernesta. Nova grinned at her cheekiness. She could sense it coming. “Why don’t you ask him?” She laughed to herself, “Not whether or not he’s backed down from anything, of course,” she said, “but about his life.” Nova thought a minute, “I don’t know a fucking thing about him,” she said. Ernesta nodded, “Be nice to know, wouldn’t it?” The wind was hot as they rode out towards Boulder City in
pairs in a line thirty deep. Patriot rode in front with the female Marine, a black-haired, dark-skinned beauty of a woman with a glint in her black eyes. She rode a cherry-red lowrider, and Patriot rode a huge, black chopper, with gold and red flames on the gas tank and on the rear. They were three back, behind Eagle and Gunny and Buzz and Lucky. They rode next to Crusher and Queen Ernesta. Ernesta was on the outside, sitting as nicely as she pleased, in the sidecar with a pink motorcycle helmet on her head, grinning in the wind. They made good time, opening up in the desert. They rode slowly through Boulder City proper, with its parks and shops. They headed down to the lake. Nova gasped when she saw the view, the houses walking in lockstep down to the boulders at the edge of Lake Mead. They rode around the lake to a campsite. They unloaded their saddlebags. There was a public toilet and a changing room next to some covered picnic tables, with two barbecue grills, and a fire pit. Some of them changed, and others stayed in their leathers. Many brought out camp chairs and little camp tables. Coolers materialized with beer, soda, and water. Falcon wondered who the hell had the big coolers strapped to their bikes. Lady Queen was given her own camp chair with a mesh hole for her soda can. Soon she had a circle of admirers fawning over her and making her laugh. Nova changed into a neon-pink bikini. Falcon hadn’t really seen her body; it had been covered up by uniforms and scruffy painting shirts and jeans. She had an almost-flat stomach, a great butt, and arms that showed true, definitive muscles. Not as good as Crusher’s, but he didn’t have muscles like Crusher’s, either. She had a woven top in the same hot pink over the bikini. Falcon felt his jaw hit the rocks on the beach. Patriot came up to him and handed him a beer, “Your woman
is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Falcon put his jaw back where it belonged, “She is.” He walked away from Patriot towards her, nearly in a daze, “Beer?” he said, holding it out to her. “I don’t really drink,” she said. “Coke, water, Sprite?” “Coke,” she said. He turned, gave the beer to a passing Iron Knight, and fished out two Cokes from a cooler. He brought them back to her. An Iron Knight was heading towards Nova; he took one look at Falcon and suddenly walked in a different direction. “Let’s sit,” he said, “we’ll get so hot we have to swim.” He took her to a good-sized rock. They sat, with their feet in the water, drinking their Cokes. She grimaced, forcing herself to keep her toes in the water, “That’s the coldest fucking water I’ve ever touched. You sure they didn’t pipe it in from the Arctic?” He laughed, “It’s a deep lake, over five hundred feet at its deepest point.” “Fuck me,” she said. “Not right now!” said Falcon. She ducked her head, then slugged his shoulder, “That’s not what I meant, asshole,” she said, “I grew up here, but I haven’t been to the lake since I was a kid… since my mom and dad took me. My dad hit a tree in the middle of the night when I was nine. My mom didn’t even know he was gone from the bed. Still, don’t know why he left the house, or if it was suicide or an accident. You know about Mom. Queenie over there half-raised me.” She stared out at the water, “Thanks for helping with the house stuff. I know I’m not paying you shit, not yet. I would have, eventually, if I’d kept my job.” Falcon was drawn to her voice. It made him feel good despite
the words that poured out. She took a sip of her Coke, “Who the fuck am I kidding? Mom’s death wiped her out and it wiped me out too.” She laughed bitterly, “She joked about it… ‘I didn’t set out to die during an economic recession, you know,’” she said playing a different voice, as if to quote her passed mother. “What was she like?” “She was a pit boss at the Sahara before it folded, damn good at her job. The casinos kept closing; some reopened. It was musical jobs for a while there, but Mom never batted an eyelid. Said Vegas was like that. She was the same when Dad died. She cried, was sad, but she got up and went to work the day after the funeral. Said life wouldn’t stop for her to get off.” “Sorry you lost her,” said Falcon, “she sounds awesome.” “What about your parents?” asked Nova. Falcon looked out over the deep blue of water meeting light blue sky, “Never knew my mom. My dad acted like I was hatched or something, said some little boys just don’t have mommies.” Nova visibly cringed, “Sounds like a grade-A asshole,” she said. “He was,” said Falcon, “I was an only child like you, no brothers, no sisters,” he said. Nova looked well into his genuine eyes as he spoke. Taken by them, now. He stopped, looked at her face, “I’m right about that?” She continued into his eyes, “Yeah. Mom said she tried, but nothing much happened, so she just decided we were a team. And, we were,” she said, softly. Falcon looked out over the water again, then spoke, “I worked my ass off and graduated early. I wanted to go get the hell out of where I was, a teeny back holler in Kentucky. I got the paperwork, waited till my dad was good and drunk, and had him
sign the paperwork a day after my seventeenth birthday.” He took a sip of his Coke, “They put me in an AAV, an Amphibious Assault Vehicle, kind of like a tank that can go in the water, and I did pretty well. I learned how to fix the treads, stuff like that. Found out I loved working with my hands. Studied up on Harley Cafe bikes, had to keep my buddy Corbin’s bike in tune. Saved up just enough to squeak by the tuition to a Harley custom build and repair school in Colorado. I got the GI bills to pay for it, but I had a lot of out-of-pocket expenses, including rebuilding my own Harley. Learned a lot that way.” “We’ve both had it coming and going, you know?” said Nova, leaning back against his arm. “Yeah,” he said, “but we’re digging out of it.” She sighed, “You really think so?” “I know so,” he said. “I am so sorry I’m not paying you,” she said. “You can help me fix up my place,” he said. “I certainly have more time now,” she said. He looked down into her agate eyes, “I’m going to kiss you,” he said, and he leaned down, and kissed her. She set her can of cola down, grabbed his neck, and kissed him back. It was pure passion in a French-style kiss. When he came up for air, she said, “What else are we going to do, other than bake in the sun?” He laughed, put his drink down, and stood up. He grabbed her hand, “Hot enough now?” he asked. “Absolutely,” she said. She laughed and pulled him forward. They stepped off into the water. She came up gasping, “Fuck, that’s cold!” she said, “Warm me up!” she said. He pulled her to him, “Thought you’d never ask,” he said. He pulled off the mesh thing, and she pulled off his shirt. She
pulled him so close to her that he thought she was trying to pull herself into his skin. He kissed her again, tasting cola and the brightness of the desert sunlight. He felt something like barbed wire pull itself out of his heart, leaving places still bleeding, but with the hope that they would heal. She could heal him, he realized, if anyone could. They got out of the water when her lips started turning blue. They got out, shivering, and dried themselves on the rock, watching the Iron Knights talk and laugh, some of them throwing baseballs or footballs or frisbees to each other. There were a couple of dogs chasing each other, laughing doggy laughs in the wind. Someone had dug a pit and was cooking something that smelled like heaven. “I think I’m joining the Iron Knights,” he said. “I’ve seen a lot of them in the diner. There’s a firehouse, a hospital, and a police station nearby.” She looked at them, “They look like good friends to have.” “Let’s go tell them,” he said. They hopped down from the rock. They walked, hand in hand, over to where Patriot was standing, Crusher at his side. They were talking in low voices to each other, flashing sudden smiles from time to time. “If it isn’t one of the feathered flock,” said Patriot. “Hello, brother,” said Falcon. Patriot stood tall. He reached out, clasped Falcon’s forearms. Some people near them stopped talking, and looked over. Patriot embraced him, pounding him on the back. “We have a new brother!” said Patriot, holding up Falcon’s hand as if he’d won a prizefight. Crusher came over and grasped his shoulders, and pecked him on the cheek. He held himself very still, not wanting to cause an ounce of jealousy in Patriot or piss Crusher off. She
might break him in half. Or in thirds. Eagle came over, “Feathered brother!” he said, his smile wide, “get this man a beer! What am I saying? Have mine!” He gave Falcon his beer with one hand and pounded on his shoulder with the other. Gunny came over and grabbed him by the back of the neck, “Oo-rah!” he said. “Oo-rah!” said Eagle, pounding Falcon on the back again. Falcon clutched the neck of the bottle so as not to spill the beer. Eagle turned, “Hello, sister!” he said to Nova, “you’re joining too, aren’t you?” “She doesn’t ride,” said Falcon. “Not yet!” she said, with an evil smile. Eagle whooped and picked her up, whirling her around. “Hey,” said Falcon, tapping him on the shoulder. Eagle let her go, “I’m supposed to do that, not you.” He gave the beer back to Eagle, grabbed Nova, kissed her, picked her up, and whirled her around. She screamed with laughter. They met the members of the club. After a while, the names blurred; Iron, Steel, Raunch, Ghost, Rooster, Zipline, Racer, Horn Dog, Thunder, Maverick, Ribbon, Motherfucking Princess, Needle, Ace, Carbon, Runaway, and more. They grilled hot dogs and burgers and chicken thighs in a jerk chicken sauce that made the club members moan in ecstasy. They had grilled corn and mustard potato salad, and watermelon and peaches dripping juice. They ate like pigs, washed themselves up in lake water, covered themselves up with sunblock, and laid out in the sun. They sat out, telling stories of rides to Big Bear and Lake Tahoe, the Grand Canyon and Bryce Canyon, and one mythic trip down Route 66 to San Antonio. They somehow came up with a tent to
keep Queen Ernesta out of the sun as she dozed. “My god,” said Falcon, “I’ve never seen her sleep before.” “She sleeps like a cat,” said Nova, “she’ll be up in an hour, raring to go.” And she was. They swam some more, and got back out, and back in, and back out. They dozed on the rock. They woke up when the heavenly smells from the pit got richer, and even more mouth-watering. They were digging something out of the pit. “Behold the pig!” said Patriot. “Either he’s quoting Lord of the Flies or we’re having a luau,” Nova said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, “I see banana leaves, and I smell pineapple. I rest my case.” It wasn’t a whole pig, but a mess of ribs. Various bottles of barbecue sauces came out and were put on the picnic tables. Falcon and Nova stood and stretched, and went towards the excellent smells. They went through a gauntlet of people wanting to congratulate them for joining, and several asking for detailed advice about bike repairs. Everyone woke up, including the dogs, who wanted to fully participate in any pig eating there may be. They divided the pig, opened some bags of chips and poured them in bowls. They put dip in other bowls, and passed around plates of the grilled corn. They ate until they could barely move, the dogs getting scraps under the picnic tables. They exchanged more stories. Falcon gave more advice. Eagle sat on one side, Nova on the other. Better get used to it, thought Nova. Falcon’s got a new brother. After dinner, Nova ended up sitting next to Crusher in front of the fire, sipping Cokes. Crusher asked about Nova, volunteering that she was an ex-Navy officer and an investigator for the police. She shook her head when Nova told her about getting
fired. “I’ve got a line on something for you,” she said, “it’s temporary, but it pays well, and it’s easy-peasy.” “That’ll be a first,” said Nova. Crusher laughed, “It’s at the Academy, the Police Academy. Nevi’s about to pop a baby, and she gets six weeks off. You just scan badges, and take money from the occasional visitor or newbie who doesn’t have a card yet.” “Count me in,” she said. “You got a resume?” asked Crusher. The women exchanged phone numbers and emails, and Nova sent Crusher a cover letter and a resume via her cell phone. “Thanks,” she said to Crusher, relieved to have a line on another job. Crusher patted her hand, “We’re family,” she said, “keep studying the coding thing. Work it, girlfriend. Get out of this ratrace shit. Take it seriously.” “Okay.” She smiled, “Then you can afford your own Harley.” “Be nice!” said Nova. “You’ll get there,” said Crusher, “sometimes you’ve been under a rock for so long you forget there’s light out there.” They watched the sun go down over the lake, with brilliant orange and red fading to indigo. They packed up, changed into their leathers, and went back to Vegas, the city glittering against the bottom of the valley like a glass necklace sparkling bright against the night. Crusher escorted Queen Ernesta to her door, “You need anything, Lady Queen, you call me,” she said, “I’ll call about the next ride.” Ernesta patted her hip where her cell phone was stowed in her pocket.
“Got your digits right here,” she laughed, a beautiful, bright sound. Crusher bowed to her, “Lady Queen,” she said. She touched Nova’s hand, then Falcon’s, “Goodnight, Nova, and Falcon. Sweet dreams.” She put her helmet back on and was gone. Queen Ernesta went into her house, still laughing. “You must be exhausted,” said Nova. “Not every day you get a new family,” he said. Nova kept his hand in hers and drew him towards her. She kissed him, lightly, then harder. She said nothing, and just walked towards her door, his hand still on her. He stopped at the door, bent down, and kissed her, “Are you sure about this?” he asked against her lips. “Fuck, yeah,” she said, “let’s not dance around this. I want you in my bed, I have a box of condoms, I want you to spend the night with me, and I want —no, I demand that you cook breakfast for me in the morning.” “Damn, Nova,” he said, “Ernesta may be the queen, but you’re the motherfucking princess.” She laughed into his mouth, “Damn right. And don’t you ever forget it,” she said. They ran their hands over each other, they explicitly kissed in the doorway. She got the door open and flicked on the light with the back of her hand. She got it shut behind them, and turned around. They both stood stock-still, staring at the floor. It was beautiful; a soft red, glossy under the light. “Is it safe to walk in?” Nova finally said. He bent down and touched it, “It’s dry. I’m shocked. They must have put three layers on.” She turned to him, kissed him. She looked into his eyes, “Wanna christen it?” He gaped,
stunned, then laughed into her mouth, “Nova, you are your name. An explosion!” They kissed with cause, taking off clothes and draping them over furniture. They drew couch cushions and blankets, placing them onto the floor. He kissed her neck and ran the tips of his wanting fingers over her breasts. She squealed and screamed, then broke away from him and ran down the hall. He thought he’d done something wrong. She ran back, foil packets in her hand. She threw them down on the blanket, keeping one in her hand. “Come here,” she said, grabbing the belt of his jeans and pulling him close to her. “Mhm.” “Too many clothes,” she said, unbuttoning his jeans. They kicked off their boots. He found her bikini bottoms and pulled them down. She kicked the material into a corner. She grabbed his ass; he grabbed hers. Once again, he felt as if she was trying to crawl into his skin. He kissed her until he ran out of breath, found the foil packet in her fingers, then took it away from her, tore it open, and rolled on the condom. She pushed his fingers away and finished rolling it on. She grabbed his balls. He gasped and arched his back. She shoved him down. He laid under her on the couch. She put herself down on him, and they faced each other, moving slowly, their hands on each other’s hips. He arched and she screamed into his mouth, and they came in shuddering gasps. She collapsed over his shoulder. He was more than good; she was perfect. When she was able to move, she dragged him into the shower. They washed each other, slowly. He slid to the bottom of the tub. She turned around, flipped the switch from bath to
shower, and flipped the switch to hold in the water. They slid over each other in the water, basking in the warmth. She shut off the water. And he laughed when he realized she’d carried a condom in with her. She tore it open, rolled it on him, and rode him in the water, his hands on her hips. They came together, riding the wave, in unison. She threw the condom in the trash, washed them both off, and dragged herself out of the tub. He stayed there, floating; unable to get up, as she dried her body, then blow-dried her hair. He turned his head, watched her every move. She dragged him out of the water, drained the tub, dried him off, blow-dried his hair, and dragged him to her bed, just a mattress and box springs. “Sold my mom’s bed,” she said, “and I had the couch when I was a kid. It pulls out.” He kissed her then, soft and slow, and drew her to him. He held her close. She fell asleep, her head on his. He felt her breathing slow, and he followed her into sleep. Confrontation Falcon realized where he was when a hand grabbed his crotch. He inhaled sharply when the hand found his balls and started stroking them. He bent his head down, kissed her, and drew in another hissing breath when the fingernails of that hand lightly scraped his cock. He twisted his fingers in her hair, careful not to pull. She reached up with her other hand, and stroked the edges of her fingernails down his face, then she grabbed his hair and pulled; just enough to pull his head back. She used the tips of her teeth on his neck. She let his hair go, and used the edges of her teeth and the tips of her nails on his skin, tracing lines from his neck to his crotch, moving agonizingly slowly. At the same time, she traced his cock and balls with the edge of her nails. He moaned, and carefully
stroked the sides of her breast with one hand while tangling his other hand in her hair. He let go of her hair as she went farther down. She used her teeth to gently scrape the sensitive tip and sides of his cock. Nova took his cock in her mouth, making him cry out and arch his back. Nova held Falcon still by pressing down on his hips with her hands, slightly driving her nails into the skin. She created her own rhythm, and he followed along. He came in a bright burst as she removed her mouth from him. She went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Somehow, he made it upright and staggered into the shower with her. He dried his body and dressed while she re-dried her hair. He made pancakes and scrambled eggs and toast and bacon. She braided the front portion of her hair through with a silver cord, sat down, and sighed. “What are you doing this morning?” he asked her. “I’m going over to your house to work on your punch list,” she said, “I’ll see if Queen Ernesta wants to go.” “Do you think she got any sleep?” She sorted, “We didn’t. Why should she?” He laughed, “I’ve got work, but I can help you with the punch list,” he said. “I may get called out on a job, but probably not today,” said Nova. “Crusher is looking into one for me. It won’t be long term. It’s covering a woman who’s going on pregnancy leave.” “Excellent!” said Falcon. He fist-bumped her. “What about the diner?” “Later,” she said, “when I’m waiting for paint to dry or caulk to set or something I’ll work on my coding course.” He held out his fist, and they did another fist bump. They finished, and she rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher while he rode his bike the short distance to his own
house. He changed his boxers and shorts, put his swimsuit in the washer, and checked out his punch list. He laid out all the tools they would need and found three separate projects —taping off the bathroom for painting, scraping and lightly sanding the ceiling in the bathroom, and cleaning and decluttering the laundry closet. He went over to Ernesta’s for the tarps, masking tape, moon suits, and scrapers. Ernesta wasn’t there; he assumed she had caught up with Nova. He was correct, and by the time he made it back, both women had all the stuff out of his laundry room except the actual washer and dryer and were throwing some things in a garbage bag and were wiping down others. Falcon kissed Ernesta on the cheek, earning a pleased laugh, “Good morning, my queen,” he said. She swiped at his arm, “Go on, you. That work ain’t getting done by itself.” “Yes, Ma’am,” he said. He got everything taped off for painting, then brought in the scrapers and moon suits. He didn’t suit up himself; instead, he went to the garage. His own tools were labeled on his homemade shelving. The area where his bike was stored was clean, with tools to change the oil and tune the engine. The rest was a mess of ancient boxes. He sent a text to his ninety-eight-year-old landlord, Beatrice Elvira Simms, or Miss Bee, asking him for permission to go through the house and throw away, sell, or donate everything not being used. He sent another text explaining Nova’s sales of things in the attic, and how it may be profitable for her, too. She had a cell phone and had the staff at the nursing home read her messages and send texts for her. The first box held baseballs and gloves, and an ancient,
warped badminton set, and a set of those horrible lawn darts that had gotten so much media attention for injuring kids. He fished out the lawn darts and put them in a garbage bag, along with a glove that was falling apart and a baseball losing its stuffing. He wrote what the box contained on a sticky note and taped it to the outside of the box. He got a text back in all caps, “USE YOUR BEST JUDGMENT. THANK YOU. MISS BEE.” He sent back a text, “On it. Thanks.” He emptied three boxes and labeled one “Trash,” one “Donate,” and one “Sell.” He lined the Trash one with the trash bag. He didn’t see anything he could sell, so everything ended up in Donate or Trash. He went back in and found the ladies putting on moon suits. He explained to Nova about the three boxes. “Excellent system, young man,” said Ernesta, “I think we need to do that in all three houses, in every room, while cleaning at the same time.” Nova nodded, “I’ll sell Miss Bee’s stuff on eBay. Ship it, too. But she didn’t keep as much as my mom did, as far as I know.” “Have a great day, ladies,” Falcon said, giving each a peck on the cheek before they put on their masks and moon suits. At work, Falcon decided to change his system. He moved toolboxes and extra inventory around, so he had enough room to work on two bikes at once. He moved the futuristic chrome one over and began banging it out. He stretched and took a break to eat a massive pork sandwich with cornbread and a side salad. He started putting together one of the customs that was missing parts; a Sportster 1200 that would eventually be in blue and purple. He switched back to the chrome monstrosity, finished a weld, hit a wall, and switched back to the other bike.
Manny came over; he was intrigued, “I get it,” he said, “you go as far as you can with one, and then you switch to the other one.” “Or, I get bored,” said Falcon. “You need anything from me to make this system work better?” asked Manny. “Absolutely,” said Falcon, “I want my toolboxes in between so I can get to them no matter where I am; they roll, so I’m good there. I want a welding station on the right, a workstation in the middle, and enough floor space back in the corner so I can spray black powder. That’s simple enough to do, just time-consuming. There’s a fan back there, but powder coats would stink up the shop some. The really tricked-out stuff I don’t know how to do yet, so we’ll still have to send it out.” “I like the way you think,” said Manny, “If no one else has an objection to the smell, and I improve the ventilation, we can do the really basic painting here. The rest we can set up over the next day or two.” “Let’s do it,” said Falcon. Surprisingly, Leong grunted (at least, that’s what Manny thought) and Bear was fine with it. “Would save us time!” said Bear. “He can do shit for me, too.” Manny ordered some heavy-duty driers and more ventilation, and Falcon went back to work. He didn’t stop off at Nova’s place on the way back in. He figured she’d hear the bike and text or call if she wanted to see him. He was bone tired. The new system needed work to become more efficient; even Leong was intrigued. But, he felt wiped out, barely able to move. He was delighted to find his large plastic garbage cans full, the recycling overflowing in boxes and three boxes left in the
garage. The floor had been swept. It looked like a good space. He went into the house, took off his boots, and hung up his leathers. He ate a power bar, washed it down with water, took a shower, threw the washcloth and towel into the washer, put on boxers and shorts, and fell into bed. He was awakened by horrifying sounds of screaming coming from next door. He slipped on his middle-back, concealed-carry holster and slipped in his Sig Sauer P288. He grabbed his cell phone, and the digital camera he’d seen sitting on the kitchen table and slipped the cell phone into the pocket of his shorts while slipping on running shoes. He slipped out the back door, turned on the video camera to Record Movie, put it on top of the wall, and vaulted the back wall next door. The stench was awful, of blood and refuse. Juan Salks was beating and kicking a dog, and it was screaming. “Stop!” Falcon bellowed. Juan acted as if he hadn’t heard him at all. Falcon ran over, grabbed him, and hit him in the stomach, one-two, hard. Juan bent in half. Falcon swept his legs out from under Juan. The man’s hair was stringier than usual, and his black torn tee and shorts and ancient Nike shoes were stained with the dog’s blood. Salks laid on his side, clutching his middle. Falcon scooped up the dog and ran towards the gate. He kicked it twice, and the lock popped. He ran out and ran towards Nova’s house. “Nova!” he bellowed when he got closer, “car! Nova! Car key! Now!” Nova ran out of the house, wearing a yellow camisole with ruffles along the bottom, pink running shorts, and sandals. She saw him running to her with the dog, and she ran to her car and unlocked it. She opened the back door, and Falcon ran up and slid in, dog and all. Nova shut the door. The dog was still crying
piteously. Ernestine opened the door, “What in God’s name…?” “Lock my door!” yelled Nova, sliding into the seat. She put on her seat belt and backed out. “Go out and go right,” said Falcon, “saw a twenty-four-hour vet about five blocks down on the right. They’ve got two doors, one marked ‘Dog’ and one marked ‘Cat.”’ She took the corner a little too fast, “On it,” she said. She pulled up and braked in front of the Dog door. She hopped out and opened the back door. She ran up to the door and hit the “Ring For Emergency Services button.” “Hello?” said a sleepy voice. “Got a bleeding dog here, screaming,” she yelled into the grille, “open up!” The door snapped open, and she opened it just as Falcon barreled through it with the dog. A vet came out, and wordlessly opened the door to the back. The vet was speed dialing an assistant, “You’ll have to help,” she said. Her mop of curly red hair was held back with a clip. The hair clashed with her pink scrubs. She looked bleary-eyed until she saw the dog. “That’s no accident,” she said, grabbing a portable x-ray machine, “what the fuck happened to the dog?” Nova looked at Falcon and stroked the dog’s head. Falcon said, in a flat, grim tone, “Caught the next-door neighbor beating it to death.” Nova sucked a breath in through her teeth, “Fucking Juan Salks. Druggie. Has dogs barking night and day. Never seen a single one.” “Wash your hands in the sink,” said the vet, to Falcon, “let’s see if we can save this girl. Then, we’re calling the police and the
SPCA. The dog abuser guy needs to be in prison.” Falcon ran over to the sink and started scrubbing his hands. The vet injected the dog with something, and the screaming subsided to whimpering. “Chow mix, probably about two years old, not spayed or neutered, she’s a mess,” she said. “Christ,” said Nova upset to see the state of it. The vet pointed to a box of gloves, “Hero guy, whatever your name is, put on gloves. We’ve got to get her stabilized and into surgery.” “He’s Falcon, and I’m Nova,” said Nova. “And I’m Mary, Queen of Scots,” she said, looking at the dog’s eyes and teeth, her hands sure. They both stared at her. “Sorry, just stone cold furious. Mary Baum.” “What do I do, Mary?” asked Falcon. “Exactly as I say, no deviation. Military tat, good, you’ll take orders.” They had a horrific half hour getting the dog stabilized and medicated. It needed to have its leg set, and the dog was shaved for surgery until the lab tech ran in, dressed in blue scrubs, and went directly to the sink. She was short, with fine delicate features, the exact opposite of Mary’s bulbous nose and flat lips. “Sorry, was way across town,” she said to the vet. “Ashanti,” she said, “thanks for the assist, but I’ll take over from here.” Falcon threw away his gloves and washed his hands again. They backed away, out of the room. “On your way out, write down the address of the perpetrator,” the vet called out, “there’s a pad on my desk just outside that door. Then call the police and leave a message for the SPCA. I’ll be following up after surgery myself.”
“Will do,” said Falcon. Falcon found the desk and the pad and scribbled Juan’s address on it. They went out to the car. The back seat was smeared with blood, “I’ve got to get the video camera,” said Falcon. “What? What camera?” asked Nova as she got into the car, suddenly dead tired. Falcon went around the car and got on the passenger side next to her. “I recorded my arrival, with him beating the dog. I hope the camera is still on the wall.” “Let’s do this,” said Nova, driving back to the duplex. Nova parked the car and shushed Ernesta when she poked her head out of her door. Falcon ran back to his own house, went inside, ran through it, ran out the back door, and was at the high fence in seconds. The camera was still there. He leaped up and grabbed it off the wall. It was still recording; he turned it off. He ran back inside, locked the back door, threw some clothes and socks and two plastic bags in a duffel bag, and threw the camera in the bag. He locked his front door, and ran back over to Nova’s house. Ernesta had tea on and was exclaiming at Nova’s story, and patted her on the back as Nova cried. “Shower,” he said, taking off his bloody shoes and putting them into one of the plastic bags. He took the duffel with him to the bathroom. He stuffed his bloody clothes into the other plastic bag and tied it off. He showered, dried off, and put on more shorts. “Nova called the police,” said Ernesta. “Good.” Ernesta had Nova’s ancient laptop in front of her, “I’ve uploaded the video file, and sent it to them myself, to you, and to Nova. I also sent it to that nice lady, Crusher.” “Good idea,” said Falcon.
He took out his phone, texted Patriot with the details, then entered his email and forwarded Patriot the file. They watched the file. Nova cried all over again, and Ernesta’s eyes were moist. Her voice shook with anger, “Boy needs to be taught a lesson, be beaten within an inch of his life. Maybe he’d stop picking on those weaker than he is.” They watched Juan roll over, stand up, puke into the bushes, and go back into the house after Falcon streaked off with the dog. “At least he didn’t go abusing any more of them,” said Ernesta. They fast-forwarded through the video; Juan stayed in the house. Everyone was silent for a long moment. Then, there was a pounding at the door. “I’ll get it,” said Falcon. A very young cop was at the door, all clean-shaven and blonde, “Someone called to report a disturbance?” “The lady inside did,” said Falcon, “you can take your hand off your gun now. The disturbance was two doors down, next to my house. The violent guy seems to have gone to bed.” “How do you know?” asked the female cop coming up behind him. She was short, with wavy hair ruthlessly pinned into a bun, and a hard face with even harder eyes. Nova walked up to the door, tears still swimming in her eyes, “We have a video to show you,” she said, “then I think you’ll be wanting to make an arrest.” The cops watched the video, until five minutes after Juan went back in the house. The young cop looked like he was going to hurl. “We could take you in for beating up the guy on his own
property,” said the female cop, “but there’s not a jury in the world that would convict you. Glick,” she said to her partner, “call the SPCA and leave them a message. They won’t answer until eight or nine. Then, we have an arrest to make.” “Do you want my clothes and shoes covered with the dog’s blood? And, we have the name of the vet that’s treating the dog,” said Falcon. “Can’t hurt,” said the cop, “I’m Officer Davis,” she said, taking out a notebook, “and you are…” “Falcon, Nova, and Ernesta,” said Falcon. Davis began to ask questions and write in her notebook. After the cops left to arrest Juan Salks, Ernesta brought over her “stories,” which were two novels. She camped out in the recliner. Falcon held Nova all night. She would wake, cry, wipe her face, and go to sleep again. At six, he gave up on either of them getting any sleep. He helped Nova to the shower, and Ernesta made them both French toast and honey and bacon. They managed to eat. The vet called at six thirty and said the dog was out of danger and it would be several days before she could be released. “Can we adopt her?” asked Nova. “You’ll have to ask the animal shelter, but I don’t see why not,” said the vet, “I’ll put in a good word for you. The cops came by and took pictures of my x-rays and the dog. I hope the bastard goes down hard.” “We do too,” said Nova. Ernesta stood, and began cleaning up the dishes. Nova rose to help her, but Ernesta said, “Sit back down, girl. This house gotta get ready for that dog, don’t it? You’re not finished with the attic or the punch list, and that dog doesn't need any hammering or sawing or painting or nailing. We have work to do today, so we’d better get to it.”
Nova wiped her eyes and stood up, “I’ll get the boxes,” she said. “I’ll get the punch list,” said Falcon. Falcon went into work once Nova was able to work on something without crying with rage and horror. Patriot met Falcon at the shop. “Crusher woke me up this norming with her beating the shit out of a speedbag,” he said. “She actually broke it. I’ve never seen her that angry. Thanks for that,” he said. “That was Ernesta, not me,” said Falcon, “I sent you the video so you would know what was going on.” “I think Crusher called everyone —the arresting officers, the prosecutor, the SPCA.” He clapped Falcon on the shoulder, “There were more dogs back there. Two of them had to be put down, they were in such bad shape. The puppies got cleaned up and immunized and dewormed, and they’ve already been adopted. Two more had surgery.” “Damn,” said Falcon, “I think Nova wants to adopt them all.” Manny came up, “Patriot told Bear, and Bear told me about the dog, man. That is some fucked up shit.” “It is,” said Falcon. He turned back to Patriot, “Where are the other dogs?” “The same vet you took the first one to, from what Crusher told me,” Patriot said, “I’ll text Crusher, and get them to release all the dogs to you and Nova when they’re ready.” Falcon sighed with relief, “Nova would really like that. Thank you.” Patriot took out his phone, typed a few sentences, and put it back again. “Anything for a brother,” said Patriot, and clapped Falcon on the shoulder again. “Damn,” said Manny, “that guy’s gonna find a way to steal you away from me, I just know it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Patriot, as he winked at Falcon, “I see you’ve moved stuff around. Is Manny making you work double?” Falcon’s world stumbled back towards normal as he showed Patriot what he was working on, and began a difficult weld. The dogs needed time to get better, and so did Nova. So, he realized, did he. “Great things happen when you least expect.”
4
REVERBERATIONS RECOVERY
“Healing takes time, that’s surer than the sun rising each day.”
S
omeone —Falcon never found out who, but he suspected Ernesta or one of the cops—released the video. Juan Salks was branded, “The Dog Beater.” Camera crews videotaped in front of his house. Falcon ignored all requests for interviews. Ernesta gave several, and Nova gave two. The vultures eventually found somewhere else to roost. Nova walked around whitefaced; her natural grace replaced by short, jerky movements. She cried from time to time. Over the next several days, Ernesta bugged Nova about everything —the punch list, getting her class done and anything else that niggled her. Nova finished one thing and started another —and selling everything in the attic or donating it. Finally, Nova told her to go back to her own damn house and do her own punch list. Falcon followed her out, on his way to work, “What was that all about?” he asked. “Girl’s got gumption,” said Ernesta, cackling, “she just needed it brought up to the surface.” “You’re the queen!” said Falcon.
They went on a ride to the lake again, this time with only Falcon, Nova, Ernesta, Eagle, Patriot, and Crusher. They set up tents at a campsite. They did the dead pig thing, grilling up ribs and corn and eating them with coleslaw and a bag of cheesy biscuits. Ernesta got her chair and was relentlessly waited on by Eagle and Crusher. Nova and Falcon swam, and held each other, and mostly didn’t talk; just held hands. Eagle brought a ukelele. Eagle and Ernesta got into a singing duel, their voices separate, then blending. Crusher and Patriot also had a private walk and a long swim. Crusher explained to Nova after a dinner of grilled chicken and burgers that the cashier job didn’t start for two weeks. “Thank god,” Nova said, “I need time bonding with the dogs when they come.” “Them dogs are going to be the most spoiled critters on the planet,” said Ernesta. “Nova already bought some dog toys.” They spent the rest of the time near the fire talking about nothing. Ernesta stayed by the fire, giggling, while Nova and Falcon went out to “their” rock to sit and talk. They laid on the rock and looked at the stars, holding hands. “You think I’m crazy for adopting the dogs?” asked Nova. “If you didn’t, I would,” said Falcon. “Can we live out here?” she asked. “Yes,” said Falcon, “but it’s pricey and it’s a long way to work.” “I need another job,” said Nova, “and if you tell me to study harder, I’ll kill you.” He put on the prissy, self-important voice of a snotty teacher. He pretended to push glasses up the bridge of his nose, “You should complete the class,” he said. She laughed, her voice ringing out over the water. They laid
there for a long time, snoozing on the rock. Finally, they went to the tent they shared. They kicked off their sandals and crawled into the tent. Falcon took his time taking off her bikini. She took off his shorts. They giggled like teenagers, touching and sucking and stroking and licking each other. He pulled out a condom and rolled it on. She rolled over him and rode him, slowly; tightening on him until he thought he would scream. They came explosively and cried out into each other’s mouths. She pulled wet wipes from her bag and cleaned them up. They held each other, using long strokes and kisses to drive each other toward the brink again. She rolled on a condom, then placed her horny body on him again, and drove herself to him as if she intended to break him. She clawed at his shoulders, and he came, hiding his grunt in her shoulder. She cleaned them up again. They put their clothes back on — bikini for her, shorts for him. He cradled her in his arms, the sleeping bag enfolding them both. They got back early, and he went back to work. He finally finished the nearly-all-chrome bike. Manny had been right; waxing it took far too long. He had to stop and work on the other bike first just to give himself a break from all that waxing, before finally finishing it. The chrome rider was a woman with black hair, black eyes, strong brown arms, and a hell of a cocky attitude. She wore a silver jacket and a silver helmet over black jeans. She got on, revved it up, whooped for joy, and rode out in a cloud of exhaust. “There goes the Silver Surfer,” said Manny. They both laughed. Falcon started on what he called the “Fire Breathing Dragon bike.” He did the black powder spray job himself. The dragon
paint job wasn’t back yet. He put together as many of the nonpainted parts as he could. The Sportster 1200 was coming along nicely. He picked up takeaway from Sonic on the way back; slushy drinks and buffalo wings and loaded fries. He parked the bike and walked over to see Nova. He generally split his nights between her house and his; sometimes they were both exhausted, and sometimes he was doing his punch list. He was right; Nova was up. She had her feet in hot water and her laptop on the kitchen table, banging out a class. “Food!” she squeaked and pounced, sloshing the water. “Hard day at the diner?” asked Falcon with his sexy smile. “Med students,” she said, “a passel of ‘em. Then a lot of cops and paramedics; a few firefighters. A lot of them were from the Iron Knights. They told me to hang in there.” She flashed a bright smile, “They refused to sit anywhere other than the counter, and they tipped me very well. I’m pricing painting the outside of the duplex. Stucco is, apparently, a bitch to paint because it has a textured surface and it sucks up the paint.” “Wouldn’t know,” said Falcon, “never painted the outside of a house.” “Gotta pressure wash it first, too, so I’ll have to rent one. Then, I gotta seal the holes with caulk or sealant. Also, need a sprayer or a lamb’s wool roller to paint it, and a masonry brush for the edges.” “Mmm,” said Falcon, finishing off a honey-barbecue chicken piece. “You talk too much!” said Nova. “Mmm,” said Falcon. She threw a napkin at him. After dinner, Falcon cleaned up. He pulled up a chair. He kissed her neck, then took her feet out of the water, dried them, and rubbed them.
“Omigod,” said Nova, “you have forever to stop that.” After the feet, he rubbed her calves. Since she wore shortshorts and a pink tank top that said “Vega$” in black, he had easy access. He kneaded up both legs as she listened to videos and typed notes, and groaned when he hit a tight spot. He worked on her back, and she shoved out her chair and hunched over so he could reach her lower spine. She finished, closed the laptop, and spread her legs. He massaged her thighs, then took off her short-shorts. She groaned. He pulled a condom out of his shorts and dropped the shorts and his boxers on the floor. “A well-prepared man,” she said and groaned as he picked her up and took her place on the chair. She rode him slowly, her moans quiet, not frantic. She came, moaning, breathing hard into his neck. He came right afterward. He carried her to the bathroom and washed them both in the shower. He took her to bed and fell asleep as soon as he held her in his arms. In the morning, Falcon went to Home Depot and bought the pressure washer and the paint she said she wanted; a dove gray, and white for the trim. For the hell of it, he bought a deeper gray for his landlord’s home and added twenty percent to both orders just to be sure. He regretted leaving Nova alone with a pressure washer. He was damn sure she’d be sexy wielding it. Nova took to the pressure washer like a kitten to feathers on strings. She made sure all the windows were closed and that any cracks were circled before the wash, then she went for it, in a bikini top and short-shorts. Falcon groaned and regretted having to go into work. The Dragon Bike and the Sportster 1200 paint jobs both came in. He took his time on both. He cleaned the seat and the chrome and rolled it out. The owner of the Sportster was a huge guy with
jeans, cowboy boots, and a Texas plate for the bike. “Moving down to be with my sons,” he said. He walked around it, stroked the seat, and touched the handlebars. He put on his brain-bucket helmet, sat down, turned it on, revved it, and was gone in a flash. The Dragon Bike looked amazing, fire breathing out of its nostrils, with metal dragon hands clutching the front wheels, the tail coming to a punched-out point on the rear. The scales shading from sapphire-blue to purple and then to indigo, with gleaming edges of red on the tips. Patriot came over to visit with a kid, a Goth boy of about seventeen. He was dressed in boots with chains, black jeans covered with studs, and a black T-shirt with a bright red Morbid Angel logo on it. He had a shock of blue hair and piercings on his eyebrow, nose, and lip. He had tattoos on every bit of skin, from his hands up to (and including) his neck. “This is Mael,” he said, “he used to be Mark, but whatever.” He came closer, and said, “What the fuck!” and Manny and Bear came over. “Rad!” said the kid, “death dragon.” Manny stared for a long time. He walked around the bike, seeing it from each angle. Finally, he said, “Bad-ass bike, bro.” Bear nodded, “Great work bro,” he said and bumped fists with Falcon. “You sure this is what you want to do?” Patriot asked Mael. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” said Mael. “Not every bike is this cool,” said Patriot. “Wanna use my skills,” he said. Patriot snorted, “This ain’t automotive, boy. These are custom Harleys; best of the best. You fuck up here, you ruin someone’s bike, their ride, and their life on the road.”
“I can do it,” said Mael. “Don’t fuck up,” said Patriot, “and our deal is, finish the fucking online GED program and take the test in two months.” “I can do it in one,” Mael snorted, insulted. “Doubt you’re that smart,” said Patriot. Mael snorted, “Yeah, right, old man. Get the fuck out of here.” He picked up a cloth, “what do I do, Sensei?” he asked Falcon. Falcon raised an eyebrow at Patriot. He picked up the can of spray wax, “Wax on, wipe off, just like the movie,” he said. Manny glared holes at Patriot, “Apprentice program? What apprentice program?” he hissed. Patriot grabbed his elbow and pulled him away. Falcon caught himself from laughing as Patriot said in a low growl, “You won’t let us have Manny. Training a kid is the next best thing.” Mael liked working the wax in. Falcon showed him how to take the dragon bike out to the front and stand back, arms folded over his chest, as the owner saw her new bike for the first time. She was a dark-skinned, dark-eyed beauty in full black leather. From head to toe, carrying a full-face black helmet. When the taxi dropped her off, Falcon thought Mael’s eyes would pop out of his head. She narrowed her eyes and stalked the bike like a tiger stalking prey. She stalked around it twice, both directions, before laying a reverent hand on its spiky head. “Sapphire,” she said, bowing her head. She got on the bike, and roared away, without saying a word to anyone in the shop. “What the fuck!” said Mael. “The bike was made for her? She’s a dragon angel.” “That,” said Falcon, “is why we do what we do. For that moment. You fuck up, that moment is ruined.”
Mael nodded, his blue hair bouncing, the skulls on his hands tightening, “Downloaded that,” he said. “Shall we work on the Shirukan?” he said. “It’s a black Harley street racer.” “Let’s do it!” said Mael. After work, Falcon felt twice as exhausted after teaching Mael than he did running two bikes at once. He almost didn’t go over to the duplex, but he felt the need to hold Nova. He got in with his key. He took off his boots and hung up his leathers. He walked into the kitchen, downed a glass of water, and decided against a shower he wasn’t sure he could stand up in. He found that his space in the bed was taken up by a very large chow mix, head in a cone, leg in a cast, stitches and staples showing ugly in the light on shaven fur. Nova was sitting up in bed, her computer on a lap desk, the dog snoring next to her. “Shh,” she said, “don’t wake the baby.” He tiptoed over, kissed her hair, smiled at the dog, left the bedroom, and crashed on the recliner. He was just too tired to walk back to his own house. He woke up in the morning to the smells of sausage and bacon. He made it into the kitchen and was startled to find Ernesta there. “She’s a new mother,” said Ernesta, “she’s got to keep her strength up. She’s taking two days off the diner to be sure the baby’s okay.” “The dog have a name?” asked Falcon, sitting down at the table. “Talon,” said Ernesta. Falcon had to laugh. He left everyone to their own devices and went home to start on the attic. His house looked much better after being pressure washed. He found it empty, as the women had been there before
him. He found a pile of Sell in two boxes in the living room, with a sticky note that said, “eBay” on each one. He assumed Nova was taking care of that. He looked at his punch list. One of the only things left was repairing the cracks in the driveways. He needed both selfleveling and regular caulking sealant. The self-leveling caulk was for a horizontal surface, the regular caulk for slopes. He went out with a chisel and a hand vacuum and cleaned out the cracks in both driveways, then went back out with both caulks and a caulking gun. He sealed all of them. He went back over all of them to be sure the cracks were completely filled. Falcon then went by with a chisel to smooth out the caulk. He went to work and was surprised to see Mael staring at Leong’s every move. “Just watch him,” he said to Mael, “he’s a true master of how to move.” He got the deliveries on his jobs and went about inspecting and photographing them and putting them with the right projects. Mael came over to watch him. “So, you have pictures of other bikes like the one you’re restoring, and you have artist sketches if you’re making a custom bike?” “Absolutely,” said Falcon, “it’s gotta be perfect. We do restoration work that is museum quality. Hell, all of us have bikes we restored that are actually in museums or Harley shows.” “One day you’re gonna die,” said Mael, “might as well have done something right before you do.” “Fuckin’ A,” said Falcon. They fist-bumped. “I usually have two going at once,” said Falcon. “There’s an XR1200 that has almost all of its parts. The paint job on the gas tank and behind the seat is going to be blue with licks of red
flames. We don’t do custom work like that yet.” He showed the kid how to unbox each part, inspect it, take pictures, and to start to put the bike together. He showed him how to use the jack, to put the frame and the engine together, and showed Mael how to make his first weld. He was, even more, bone tired when he got back. He gave up on seeing Nova. He was too tired to stand, much less fight a very damaged dog for bed space. He took off his boots and leathers, put his clothes in the washer, changed into shorts over his boxers, and rolled into bed. Shooting He was awakened by a roar. He didn’t know what it was, then he heard Nova’s scream. He had pocketed his cell phone and the gun in its in-pocket holster, and was running to slide into his shoes when he realized he was already out the door. He ran down the street to the duplex, then swung around to the back. The dog, Talon, was in a frenzy inside the house, crying and barking. Nova was silhouetted against the light of the back door, a baseball bat in her hand. “Get the fuck off my property!” she said. “You stole my fucking dog,” said Juan Salks. He was over the property line, in her back yard. “I adopted her,” said Nova, “after you damn near beat her to death.” Falcon crouched and came forward, whisper-silent. Ernesta came out her back door, and she had a snubnosed .38 in her hand, “If you think we’re going to let you hurt that dog, you’ve got another thing coming. Now, get the FUCK off our property.” She brought the gun up and pointed it at Juan. “A little old lady with a pea shooter,” Juan jeered. He laughed. It sounded off; ugly, and a little slurred. He’s high on something, thought Falcon.
Falcon worked his way a little closer, then stopped. If he went any farther, he would be out of the shadow, and he didn’t want to distract either woman, especially the one with a gun. Juan wavered, then took two rushing steps forward towards Nova. Ernesta’s first shot hit him high on the shoulder. He spun a little. Her second one went wide. Falcon kept his head down. The third one hit his throat. Arterial blood sprayed out. His eyes went wide, and he fell. “Don’t shoot me, Queen Ernesta,” said Falcon, his voice calm and clear. “You ladies stay right there. Ernesta, please holster your weapon, or put it on that little table there. Ernesta, please call 911 and say you shot an intruder, and Nova, please go back in and comfort Talon. The dog will probably break its leg again.” He heard the gun go down on the table, and Ernesta began talking into a phone. Nova went back inside, and the dog blessedly stopped shrieking. Falcon moved a little closer, out into the light. He looked right into Juan Salks’ eyes. They were dilated, but they focused on Falcon’s face. “I don’t know how you got out of prison,” said Falcon, “I want you to know that nothing in the world can save you now, no matter what. Know also that I am going to enjoy watching you die.” “You. Fuck-en,” said Juan’s lips, but nothing came out of his mouth but blood. His eyes grew glassy, staring off into nothing, and he didn’t breathe back in. “I’ll be right back,” said Falcon to Ernesta. He jogged back to his house, put his gun away, and jogged up the street to Nova’s house and swung around the duplex to the backyard. He texted Patriot, and also texted Manny that he wouldn’t be in the next day. He then called 911 himself,
describing exactly what happened, then hung up as he heard sirens. The first two officers took in Ernesta standing next to her little table, the gun clearly visible. Falcon was leaning against the wall in front of Nova’s back door. The dead man was clearly not supposed to be there. He was wearing nothing but boxers, and there was a .45 near his right hand. His pupils were also extremely dilated and his skin was an ashen gray. They called Homicide and started taking statements. The first Homicide cop had long, stringy, bleached-blonde hair coming out of its pins. She had narrow, suspicious, hardblue eyes and more attitude than a Marine instructor. She went over every detail of each statement. There was a hulking black cop who looked at the body, making many notes in a tiny notebook, and then at the gun, making more notes. A third cop came up, a black man with the lithe grace of a born athlete; a runner perhaps. By this time, Falcon had moved inside Nova’s house and was sitting on the floor next to Nova, his arm around her. She was sitting on the floor with Talon’s head in her lap and was stroking the dog’s head. “I’ve got to call the vet to be sure he hasn’t re-broken the leg,” said Nova, “he heard that horrible man coming, and he still tried to protect me.” Tears were freely flowing down her face. “Ma’am, focus,” said the blonde cop, “what happened when the man came into your yard?” “I’ve told you that two times already. He yelled about me giving his dog back. I adopted the dog after he nearly beat Talon here to death. There was no way he was getting him back.” “That’s not what I asked, Ma’am,” said the cop, her tone making “Ma’am” sound like an insult. “Please only answer what I ask.”
The smaller black cop came in, “Detective Morrey, please go back to the station and type up all your notes,” he said, “then get started on all the paperwork.” “I’m not finished interviewing the witness,” said Detective Morrey. She made “witness” sound like “criminal.” “Detective Morrey, leave the premises and go make your reports,” said the man, his voice lower, each word carefully enunciated. “In a minute,” she said, pretending to rifle through her notes. “Immediately,” said the detective. Morrey finally heard the very dangerous note in his voice. She snapped her notebook shut, stood, and moved out the front door, her back stiff. “I apologize. Trust me, she’ll regret her behavior,” said the detective, after the angry cop had shut the door behind her with a snap. Nova felt relieved she was gone. “I’m Detective Jackson, and I’ll be out of here in two minutes, I promise. Just nod like a bobblehead if I’ve got the sequence of events right.” “Okay,” said Nova. He took out a notebook, “First, Mr. Juan Salks, the most hated man in Las Vegas for beating that same dog right there, comes over here at three in the morning to get the dog back. He threatens you, Ms. Pinner, and won’t leave the property after being told to leave.” Nova nodded. “Then, your neighbor, Mrs. Ernesta Thibaud, comes out and also tells him to get off the property.” Nova bobbed her head yes again. “So, then,” the detective continued, “you, Mr. Falcon Hennessey, were slipping up the side to tackle him, but then you
saw Ernesta’s gun, and wisely decided not to get in the way or distract her.” It was Falcon’s turn to nod. “Then, the most-hated Juan Salks tried to rush you, Ms. Pinner, and Miss Ernesta Thibault popped him two times with a .38.” “Three,” said Falcon, “one of them missed. I ducked, so I didn’t see where it went.” “Three,” said Detective Jackson, making a note, “and then, you, Mr. Hennessey, told the ladies to call 911 and to go inside. Then you ran back to your apartment, probably to put away a gun.” “I have a concealed carry permit,” said Falcon, “but, I didn’t draw it, and I didn’t want to get shot.” “Good idea,” said Detective Jackson. “Then, the cops started showing up.” Both Nova and Falcon nodded. Falcon’s phone vibrated. He took it out and looked at it, “There’s an off-duty motorcycle cop outside with a vet and a portable x-ray machine for the dog,” said Falcon. “Patriot says some bleached-blonde cop won’t let him in.” The detective sighed and stood up, “That woman,” he said, his voice low and dangerous once more. “I’ll go let them in the front door. I know Patriot. You’re supposed to vacate the premises when there’s been a shooting. Let’s get the dog checked out first, though.” The vet was fast and thorough, a man in dark blue scrubs with a flat face, a hawk nose, deep brown eyes, and gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. “He didn’t re-break anything,” he said, giving her a shot for her soreness, “she needs quiet and rest.” “We need to move her just down the street,” said Falcon. “I’ll get the gurney,” said the man. “I’m Doctor Silas. I’m an
emergency pet vet. Bring all her toys and bed and food. She needs to feel the familiar.” They all picked her up, including the detective, and put her gently down on the gurney. Falcon and Patriot got the dog things and followed the vet, Nova, and the gurney down the street. Ernesta packed a duffel for herself and one for Nova, stuffing Nova’s computer and cord and mouse in on top of the clothes, and had Patriot carry them for her to Falcon’s house. “We need one of them blowup beds,” said Ernesta to Patriot, “Falcon’s bed is too high.” “I’ll text Crusher,” said Patriot, who whipped out his phone and sent the text, “anything else you need?” “Go back and get breakfast from my refrigerator,” she said, “these all gotta eat.” “Will do,” said Patriot, pocketing the phone. Ernesta got Falcon’s bed. Patriot rushed to put clean sheets on the bed for her once he fetched bacon and eggs, sausage and milk, and cheese and orange juice from Ernesta’s refrigerator. Then he hauled over to Falcon’s house with the detective’s permission. Crusher arrived with the blow-up bed and a compressor, grumbling about the cops in her way as she tried to get to the house. She’d had to take the sidewalk in places. They blew up the bed, made it, and moved the dog onto it. The vet left, after giving the dog one more shot to help her rest; they all thanked him for coming, and Patriot paid the man. Nova laid down next to the dog, cradling her in her arms. Falcon thanked Patriot and Crusher and hugged them. There was more back-slapping, and the Iron Knights left. Falcon grabbed a sheet and a pillow and took the recliner. Just before he was about to fall asleep, he heard Ernesta say, “Thank you for the new gun.”
He pictured her in the dark, holding the gun he’d left on his nightstand, and laughed. “Healing takes time, that’s surer than the sun rising each day.”
EPILOGUE
“Keep on dreaming and live as free as the wind under a falcon…”
T
alon, the chow mix, and Jersey, the black lab, stood in the water, confused as to why their feet were cold. They ran out and chased each other very slowly. Their various injuries were healed, but they moved cautiously nonetheless. They were both inexplicably terrified of the poodle that one of the Iron Knights had brought. They were both gaining weight, but they both were sporting ugly scars. Nearly all the Iron Knights kept treats in their pockets for the Hero Dog, Talon, who had tried to protect her new owner from the terrifying old one, and for Jersey. Nova, Falcon, and Ernesta knew the truth; the dogs owned Nova, not the other way around. Crusher found out that the wrong Juan had been let out of jail. Two people got fired over that snafu. No charges were ever filed in the death of the, ‘Most Hated Las Vegas Person,’ Juan Salks. They were on a special trip. Both houses had sold, even with the death in the duplex property line. Juan’s house had been taken over and condemned by the city when they found some meth fixings in the basement. It was flattened, and the clean, empty lot next door made the other two lots sell well.
They were on a ride to Arizona to drop off Queen Ernesta at the ‘mother-in-law quarters’ behind her son’s house. She was excited; her daughter was pregnant, and Ernesta was proud that she had a new grandbaby on the way. She was going to be a great-grandmother! She told anyone in the Iron Knights who would listen, and their rental truck held both worldly goods, and gifts for the new baby. So, their first leg would end in Phoenix. The second leg would end in Tucson. Nova got her front-end coding license, which meant she could code websites and apps. There was a Tucson web design company that needed a hot new programmer —and Nova was ready to go, and Falcon would follow her anywhere. Without question. They ate the last of the chocolate-caramel wedding cake. The justice of the peace, noshing on barbecue and cake at Lake Mead with the rest, got his money from Falcon, and he rode off in his pickup truck. Manny was heartbroken. Falcon gave him the name of the school he’d graduated from. A new mechanic was on the way to take up the slack; a female by the name of Rev. And Manny, Bear, and Leong were in a clot around the bride and groom, ready to go back to Vegas. The Iron Knights were packing it in; the fire was doused and everyone was saddling up for the ride. Mael watched from across the beach as Nova handed Falcon a little bag. He kissed her and opened it. He held up the shirt over his head and roared. People looked over and roared with him. Mael knew what it said; he’d had it printed: Iron Knight’s Baby Daddy printed in white on a black shirt, a picture of a pacifier underneath. Nova accepted hugs and held up her fingers —five, for five weeks pregnant. Everyone kissed the bride and hugged the groom, both of whom were wearing their bike leathers. Falcon
took off his leather jacket and put the T-shirt on, then put his jacket back on, puffing out his chest as people slapped him on the back. Manny, Bear, and Leong gave Falcon one last hug, then walked back to their bikes. They put on their helmets, and headed out in a Harley roar back to Vegas and the shop. Mael called the dogs over and wiped them down with a towel. He got them into the back of the used truck that Falcon used to haul Harley parts around. He checked the tie-downs holding the moving boxes on the bed of the truck, then he climbed in to drive. He’d elected to follow Falcon, his Harley sensei, who let him play death metal in the truck and who helped him pass his GED. He was eighteen, and ready to start a new life free from Vegas and a mother that screamed at him and didn’t understand a word coming out of his mouth. Falcon had already been hired at a new shop in Tucson, with Mael in tow. And both of them would be learning custom paint jobs with a sensei there. Mael turned on the motor, made sure the dogs were comfortable in their doggy baskets, put on some Morbid Angel to scream to, and then put the truck in gear. He honked, waved, and joined the line of Harleys heading out. Falcon got back on the bike, “Come on, baby,” he said, dangling his keys. One of the keys was to their new apartment, a two-bedroom midway between the motorcycle shop and the web design company. Mael had already found death metal fan friends to crash with much closer to the shop. Nova went over and gave Falcon a big kiss, and nibbled his lip with the edge of her teeth. “Let’s ride,” she said. She put on her helmet and got on her brand-new Harley Dyna Low-Rider in black with whirls of silver; Falcon’s first custom
paint job. They revved up and followed the line of Iron Knights climbing up the hill overlooking Lake Mead, on their way to Arizona and to their new lives. Dogs and baby in tow. “Keep on dreaming and live as free as the wind under a falcon…”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bella Knight writes what she loves--romance, Bad Boy Bikers to Hot Rockstars to sexy Sports Romances. She feels the love from her Las Vegas home from her rescue animals and her various love interests. She is constantly reading and writing, and she also leaves the animals with friends from time to time and hops on planes. She enjoys life to the fullest. Other books written by Bella Knight Ivy velvet - Nighthawks Motorcycle Club series book 1 Sweet Revenge - Nighthawks Motorcycle Club series book 2 I adore my readers and love connecting with them socially. Facebook Twitter Pinterest My Blog Instagram Youtube