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Turning down the correct dirt road and finding no waiting headlights was a bad sign. Had the new buyers been spooked? Did they think we weren’t coming?
Piercer and I sat on our motionless bikes, peering about for any cars headed toward us.
Nothing in sight but trees glistening in the moonlight. The only sounds were from happy frogs, crickets trying to regain the night, and two rumbling Harleys.
“Shit,” I groaned, concerned this was going to piss off our father—the president of our club. I tried hard to be a strong VP, but somehow, I always failed, according to Dad.
Never being enough to please him was exhausting, hence my preferred numb state of mind. Not feeling made it tolerable to stand on my incapable feet and stare up at the figure I’d never compare to.
Over his idling engine, my brother read my mind. “Don’t worry about another vote. He won’t get the majority. Just like he didn’t yesterday.”
I exhaled out any emotions on the matter.
Piercer tried to lighten the mood by joking. “Maybe our buyers are crawling with the watermelons?”
Like a moth to a front porch light on a dark summer night, my mind refocused on … fruit. All negative thoughts of Dad and my inadequacies had faded in an instant, my hunger returning with a vengeance.
Trying to hide the fact that my mouth was pooling again, I casually replied, “Only one way to find out.” Before Piercer could convey that he was only making fun of the waitress, I turned my bike around.
His jaw hung in astonishment as he watched me ride past him.
“Cabron!” he shouted in Spanish, calling me ‘fucker’ while quickly putting his bike in gear.
Making sure I drove fast enough to get a strong head start, I searched for a side road we had passed on the way to deliver the guns. I struggled to see, the only light coming from a few cars and lights. And since the rest of the small town was pitch black—due to an evident shortage of streetlights—one could only assume we had driven past the infamous dance.
I didn’t need lights on poles to guide me as I was being lured in by something else. And like a stupid fish chasing a baited hook, clueless of the impending danger, I let it.
Finding the side road, my heart thundered, competing with my rumbling bike.
Within thirty seconds of driving, my suspicions were confirmed... This event wasn’t quite the shebang the waitress had described, but a decent number of cars were in a dirt parking lot made up of, well, dirt and some lazily strung rope that hung from one large stick in the ground to another. Standing by the barely-existing barrier was a young man, maybe fourteen, wearing a Tractor Supply ball cap.
He was full of smiles as I pulled up to him and stopped. He greeted, “Hello, sir.” Then his smile faded into regret. “So sorry for the inconvenience, but this year we do have to charge for parking.” As if he wasn’t convinced himself, he coughed while peering to the ground. “For maintenance fees an’ all.”
As my brother pulled up behind me, I again regarded the pathetic rope that was a far cry from a ‘high maintenance’ parking lot.
Smirking, I told the parking attendant, “I see. The charge?”
The young man in cowboy boots sighed with more regret. “One dollar, sir.”
It took much effort not to laugh at the minimal entry fee while I pulled my wallet from my back pocket. “I’ll tell you what.” I opened my folded wallet—that I never chained to my jeans because I thought it would be fun for someone to try to rob me—then handed the guy twelve bucks. “One dollar for my fee.” I thumbed behind me. “One for his fee.” I put my wallet away while adding, “And ten for you for doing such an excellent job.”
Eyes wide as if I had gifted him a hundred, he said, “Wow, thank you so much!”
He happily waved Piercer on through as I searched for a parking spot.
Pulling up next to me, Piercer’s expression was full of frustration. “What the fuck are we doing here when we have shit to do?”
I was already dismounting and sliding my keys in my front pocket. “One little ‘crawl’ can’t hurt.”
After Piercer turned off his bike, music seeped into my ears. I couldn’t tell what it was, but something about it made me feel like a baited fish.
Piercer raced to keep up with me. “But we don’t even know what a ‘crawl’ is!”
Because he was interrupting the intensifying mystical draw, I snipped, “Man the fuck up, and hide your fear. It’s embarrassing.”
Above us were strands of hanging lights guiding us to the entrance where another teenager stood. This time a girl, already looking sorrowful for having to charge us.
Coming to a stop in front of her, I held up a hand. “I totally understand. What’s the fee?”
