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2
Dallas “Onyx” King parked his motorcycle at the curb of the clinic. He needed to get a checkup from Red, whether he wanted to or not. Limping his way toward the front, he pulled opened the heavy glass door and walked inside.
Preacher Girl sat behind the receptionist desk, the glow of the newly married on her smiling face.
“Hey Preacher Girl. How ya doin’ today?”
“I’m good, Onyx. You?” The sweet wife of Hack beamed back at him, still absently turning the ring on her left hand. She may be a kid, not quite drinking age, but the sweet Preacher Girl had endeared herself to him.
“I’m good. I’m here for my appointment with Red.”
“If you have a seat, we’ll get you back in a few.”
He nodded and went to the chairs to sit. His leg was killing him, or what was left of it. His prosthetic needed to be adjusted or what he really feared was that he needed a new one and it had to be made. Waking up after he’d lost his leg had been one of the worst days of his life.
“All I’m saying isyou can’t dance to it, so what’s the point,” Dallas told his rookie partner as they turned to patrol the Compton neighborhood in LA. “Life is about finding joy.”
“Is it now,” Officer Nettles replied in her usually droll manner.
“Besides, you’re a kid, how do you even know who Pearl Jam and Nirvana are?”
“Well I might not be old enough to have seen The Beatles in concert—”
“Ouch,” he replied, holding his hand to his chest. “It’s the criminals that are supposed to fire on me, not my partner.”
“I can respect the classics,” she replied.
“The fact you call them classic hurts my soul,” he replied while keeping an eye out for any dangers only to see a relaxed day with kids playing a game of football in their yards. At least, they weren’t playing in the street. That concrete was rough on a kid trying to go out for an over thrown ball.
“Yep, sorry your high school—”
“Junior high, heck I might have been still in grade school when Kirk Cobain died,” he rebuffed trying to remember whenSmells Like Teen Spiritcame out. It wasn’t that he didn’t listen to grunge and the whole Seattle scene, but it couldn’t be a person’s only go to music. You’d throw your neck out with the prescribed dance. Forget metal, grunge is the real headbanging music.
“Alright, what should I be listening to?” she asked.
He turned on the radio spinning the dial. LA had a radio scene for sure. You could find anything and everything. Moving past the Spanish, talk radio, current hits he landed on K-Earth and their classic station. The first few beats were starting from The Jacksons hitBlame it on the Boogie.
“Hey,” she said pointing to a box in the road and he pulled to the side. “We got debris.”
“I got it,” he said turning up the song. “Now watch this. People will be coming out of houses to dance with me.”
He shuffled his way toward the box, sliding and flipping from one side to the other. An older woman came out of her house laughing and clapping from her porch. He splayed his hands when they sang ‘sunshine’. Clapping on the beat as Nettles shook her head with a bright smile on her face.
A slight breeze swooped down the street and the discarded box moved a bit before he could reach down and pick it up. All he could think later was it was his guardian angel flapping her wings because if he’d have bent over instead of performing a spin move, he would have died. Instead, a loud blast made his ears ring as the discarded box exploded sending shrapnel in every direction.
Searing heat erupted up his left leg as he flew backward into the middle of the street. Head slamming on the hard pavement added stars to the ringing in his ears from the concussive blast. The song now a muffled beat in the distance as he rolled his head to see the woman gone from the porch and Nettles kneeling by his side. One hand on her radio, the other drawn with her gun swooping around the area as if someone was near and actually going to take credit for this.
Red walkedout with a chart in his hand. “Onyx. Come on in.”
He got up and followed his club’s President and doctor to a waiting exam room. Onyx preferred seeing the man in a leather cut than his long white doc coat. Because who the hell wanted to see a doctor? Hell, anything in the medical profession had his stomach turning. Nurses, Physical therapy, the damn vampires that took his blood. Of course, now that Preacher Girl did that as well as being the receptionist, he tried to not call her that. No reason to piss off her husband, his SEAL training kept him on an even keel most days,mostbeing the operative word when it came to the man and his wife being the tipping point.
After sitting on the table, he hiked up his left pant leg. “This prosthetic has been bothering the leg lately. I was wondering if you could look at it?”
“Boots and pants off,” Red ordered.
“Awe, Hollywood lied when he said I was easy,” Onyx replied as he hopped down and immediately regretted the action as a shot of pain went from where his knee used to be through to his hip.
“Are you more of aPour Some Sugar on MeorPonytype of guy?” Red crossed his arms, his hard jaw clenching.
