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“Alright,” Jack agreed.
“He just doesn’t want to drive four hours there and four hours back,” I said.
“That, too,” Sid said, right before he slammed the door and walked off.
Which left me and Jack sitting uncomfortably alone.
“I can handle this alone, if you want,” Jack said.
“No, I’ll go.”
“Seriously, I got this.”
I narrowed my eyes as I turned to look towards him. “Why? Don’t you want me to go?”
He acted all nonchalant as he said, “I don’t care. You can go or not go. Your choice.”
“You don’t want me to go,” I said, realizing the truth.
That annoyed him. “I don’t give a shit either way.”
“Now I’m definitely going.”
“Look – you were really pissy about this being a ‘drug deal’ – ”
“I was just surprised, seeing how often you like to talk about going legit and doing the right thing. ‘Talk’ being the operative word,” I said snarkily.
He glared at me. “You go in with an attitude like that, you’re going to fuck this up.”
“I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
“Yeah. I wonder sometimes,” he said angrily, then got out of the car and headed towards his bike.
I rolled down the window and yelled, “Hey! What about the address?”
“Just follow me,” he said as he got on his bike.
“What if we get separated?”
“Don’t get separated,” he said coldly as he cranked the Harley’s engine and roared out of the parking lot.
60
We stopped long enough to grab some McDonalds and gas outside of LA. We didn’t say a word to each other the entire time. Then we drove straight to the motel.
Once we got closer to Joshua Tree, the scenery turned surreal. The strange rock formations and bizarre, bendy trees are always a sight to see.
The meeting place was a little single-level lodge out in the middle of Buttfuck Egypt. Maybe a dozen rooms all told, a real-life Bates Motel. Gave me the creeps.
When we pulled in the parking lot, the entire place was deserted – except for three Harleys in front of the last room on the strip. Two of the Harleys were standard-issue black and chrome, but the one in the middle… whoa. Tons of pink curlicues and whirls. There was a silhouette of a woman stenciled on the gas tank – one of those really busty ones you see on truckers’ mud flaps. But this one had a spiked baseball over her shoulder.
‘Pussy Power’ was written next to the mudflap girl in very feminine, flowery script.
“Okaaaay,” I murmured to myself as I parked my car.
Jack was standing by his bike as I got out, a look of weary resignation on his face.
I looked at the pink Harley again. “Your ex has… interesting taste.”
