AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I have go buy a suitcase,” I reply, which is true. I’m not going to fly all the way across the country with just my purse.
“We have your grandmother’s suitcase in the attic. You can use that one,” she says, the whining in her voice making my grit my teeth.
“Mothballs,” I reply, and then I’m out the door.
2
Savva
It’s not the heat, it’s the dust that gets you out here, and after spending the weekend in Las Vegas with my boys, the long sprawl of the desert feels like the Dust Bowl during the Great Depression.
I’m looking forward to a drink. I don’t normally take my whiskey on the rocks, but I’ve lost so much sweat from the sun beating down on my leather jacket that I’d drink mud if it had a few ice cubes in it. I know Angus restocks his ice daily, so it shouldn’t be an issue.
It’s just getting there that’s the problem. Out here, the only place to stop for gas is owned by the Triple Six Angels, and while I’m not normally bothered by biker gangs, they jack their prices up so high that I’d rather fill my motorcycle up with my dehydrated piss than support their extortion.
Thankfully, I filled my tank before we left Vegas. I think Pasha even has an extra cannister of gasoline in his saddle bag, and Angus should have a supply in one of his storage units out back. I’ll always find a way to avoid the Triple Six Angels’ station.
I roll back the throttle as we approach Smoke, Steel, & Whiskey, pulling a cigarette from my pack and slipping it between my parched lips. I’m itching for a fix, and since I know I’m getting a drink soon, I’ll allow the smoke to aggravate my throat. Out here, you get used to rough conditions.
The wind takes the effort out of smoking, burning down my cigarette so fast that I barely get a few puffs from it before it’s rolling down the asphalt behind me.
Greg pulls up beside me and points to the horizon. Normally, I’d be able to tell we’ve arrived at the bar before I can even see the building. There’s usually a cloud of dust around it at all hours from traffic, but today, there’s nothing. It’s just the lonely brown rectangle in the distance.
As we get closer, I notice there isn’t a single motorcycle or car parked out front. I check my watch. It’s four in the afternoon, prime time for people to start coming in. I wanted to have a chat with Angus before rush hour, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone here.
Odd.
The hairs on the back of my neck stands up when Greg, Pasha, and I roll into the parking lot. It’s a ghost town. There isn’t a single person in sight, and the lights inside the bar are off. What’s going on?
I park directly in front of the building, signaling for Greg and Pasha to hold back while I check the front entrance.
CLOSED.
The red sign on the door hangs by a thin metal chain, swaying in the breeze. I touch it, pulling back my hand as I find the metal to be scalding hot. It must’ve been hanging up all day.
Angus didn’t come in this morning, and if he did, he never opened the bar for business.
I knock on the door and then try to peer inside, cupping my hand over the glass and searching the inside for movement.
Nothing.
“What the fuck, Angus,” I growl, lighting up a cigarette and turning to Greg and Pasha. “Nobody’s here.”
“Well, I could’ve told you that,” Pasha says, stepping off his lime-green Harley and crossing his arms. “The sign says that they’re closed.”
I’m tempted to ash my cigarette in his eyes. “Today is payday. He’s not weaseling out of this one. We’re going to have to go find the bastard.”
“Maybe he’s sick,” Greg says.
“I don’t give a fuck what he is. Money owed is money owed. You pay what you’re supposed to, and if there’s an issue, send a goddamn text or something.” I pull out my phone and check it, but there’s nothing from Angus. The last message I got from him was a month ago.
“Shit,” I grumble, dialing him up.
I hold my hand up to Greg and Pasha and turn around, putting the phone to my ear. If Angus knows what’s good for him, he’ll pick up.
But before I even have a chance to think about what I’m going to say to him, I hear a cheerful female voice on the line. “We’re sorry, but the number you’re trying to reach has been disconnected.”
Seriously? If he was late on the payment, I’d give him more time, but trying to make a run for it will get him killed. If you borrow money from the Russian Bratva, you pay it back in cash…
