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God damn but I was pissed. Especially when the boys started up their whooping again, like a bunch of Stanley Kubrick-style apes. No one was gonna be “defiling” Bex. Unless it was me, and she was begging for it.
“At any rate, she's in a spot of trouble, and since Vicious lay his life down in the line of duty, I agreed to offer our protection. Seems a not-so-ex-husband of hers has got her number. Eyes and ears open, boys, eyes and ears. She's in the clubhouse for now, and since she has experience workin' in titty bars, I set her up over at Peach's to work the bar. She'll pull her weight, doesn't expect any free ride. Just some muscle watchin' out for her, keepin' the bastard at bay. Any objections?”
There were none, and the matter was closed.
Church started winding down not long after that, and it wasn't a minute too soon for a lot of the guys, who needed to either get breakfast, or start drinking to hold off their hangovers. Dutch called the end of the meeting, and a collective sigh of relief nearly blew out the windows.
Before I could follow the rest of the boys out, Dutch barked my name. He didn't sound pissed, but he did look tired. Like he always looked these days. That trip to Memphis didn't do him any favors, it seemed. Then again, with a harpy like Sylvia at his side, a vacation could turn ugly right quick.
Sylvia. Now, there was a woman who made you believe in the devil. She was so thin she’d fall through a crack in the floorboards, but she had this crazy beauty about her that made it clear why Dutch took a shine to her. Her bein’ half his age probably helped, too. But unlike a lot of the other old ladies in our club, Sylvia wasn’t the sociable type. She stayed in the shadows, it seemed, always whispering in Dutch’s ear while he gripped her knee like she was ‘bout to float away.
No one knew where he’d found her, she wasn’t a local girl. She just seemed to show up on his arm one day, and was wearin’ his Property Of patch the next. Over time, it was well-known that while she was reserved and whispery in public, she was a regular banshee behind closed doors. Well, you know they say the crazy ones make up for it in bed, and I guessed that was what kept Dutch from kickin’ her to the curb.
At any rate, no one had the balls to say shit about her to Dutch. We all enjoyed our balls far too much to risk ‘em doin’ something so foolish.
“Yeah, boss,” I said, approaching him.
“You wanna take the Carter girl to Peach's? I don't want her riding alone, since we promised her protection and all.”
Well, I sure as hell did want to be the one to take Bex over to her new gig. But Dutch could've gotten anyone to do it. Didn't need his main muscle to protect her from a lily-livered wannabe stalker. I guess he was trying to set us up. And that made “why?” the question of the day.
“Sure thing, boss,” I said. The question of the day could wait. Getting Bex on the back of my bike? That was an immediate issue.
Cross
Peach's Gentleman's Club was nothing to write home about, but it served its purpose for us. Aside from the stage with its greased poles, the floor was a maze of tables and chairs, the bar cutting a clear line from the door to the back rooms. It wasn't meant to attract many customers.
It was, rather, a place to launder our money, and make a little more on the side. A place for the boys to come blow off some steam – or hide from their old ladies – when needed. A place to take prospective business associates, show them they could have a grand ol' time doing business with us. And a job for the dirty video girls, something to keep them busy between shoots, or someplace for them to go after they'd passed their prime.
The proprietor, Bessie “Peach” O'Doughan, was as crusty, foul-mouthed, ill-tempered, and beloved as any patched member of the Crusaders. She ran a tight ship, looked after “her girls”, and, most importantly, had lips tighter than a bank vault. No one would ever drag anything out of Peach that she didn't want dragged out of her. And considering just how much she knew about the Crusader's dirty business, that made her an invaluable asset.
She was also a great judge of character, as proven by the way she took to Bex. As soon as she laid eyes on her, Peach was all smiles and jokes. I stayed in the back, smoking and talking to some of the old timers who killed their days at the bar, watching the titties swing. For the first time in a long time, it was easy to keep my eyes off the stage. None of those girls had a thing on Bex. Her body was the only one I wanted to look at.
Once Peach was done with the grand tour, and Bex had met some of the girls and employees, it was just a matter of scheduling. Tuesday through Friday nights seemed to work for everyone, and Bex looked downright giddy as she shook Peach's hand and came to my side.
“You like the place, I'm guessin'?”
“Well, it's not the place, per say,” Bex said through her smile. “But I want to get back to work. I haven't had more than three days off in a row in five years, and I'm getting antsy.”
“Well, you'll be in good hands,” I said, saluting Peach from my side of the bar. “Peach always lives up to her name.”
“Aw, get out of here, Cross,” Peach said, snapping a rag in the air. “Save the sweet talk for someone your own age.”
“I think she means you,” I said, throwing my arm around Bex's shoulders, loving the way she rolled her eyes even as her smile widened.
“Don't you have somewhere else to be today?” Bex said, but she didn't try to escape from under my arm.
“I sure don't,” I said. “I'm all yours. What do you say we go on a little stroll down memory lane? See what you've been missin' while you were away.”
Bex seemed to be considering this for a moment, but the brightness in her green eyes gave her away, and she was nodding her head soon enough. Perfect.
Havin' her on the back of my Vincent was like slippin' on a pair of my favorite boots. She just fit there. But as we drove through Cutter, I was torn. Being her hometown, so she did belong here. But when you really looked at it, you knew she was too damn good for it at the same time.
All the foreclosed houses, all the cracks in the sidewalk and holes in the chain-link fences, all the trap houses and the bulletproof glass on the corner stores…it was an ugly city. No skyline to speak of. All carved into the ass-end of what was once deep Ozark forest, turned unsightly and barren by the old zinc mine. The river was the only sight worth seeing, aside from those sights that held sentimental value.
We rode out to the bowling alley where we used to tag the shit out of the balls; past the schools we both attended; along the railroad tracks to Prince's Bar, where we snuck in to see Iggy Pop and the Stooges when she was just 14. We didn't even bother going through the rich part of town, keeping to the places we knew best. The bridge we partied under with the rest of the Crusader kids. The Lipstick Lounge, another place we had to flash our fake IDs, this time to see Jay Reatard before he joined that big rock band in the sky; that was the first time we kissed.
Eventually, our tour took us along the river, towards Alson Park, where we'd shared a lot more kisses after that first one. A lot more other things, too, including some firsts for the both of us. I slowed down and parked, helping her off.
“It looks just the same, Cross,” she said with a sigh. She was right; it did. It was like Cutter hadn't changed a bit. Like she'd left, and God had pressed pause on our city, just until she came back.
“Thanks for this,” she said, turning to face me, her hair windswept and her cheeks bright, her freckles like a star map across her nose and cheeks. “It was nice, seein' everything again.”
The longer she was here, the more her accent seemed to come back. She sounded more and more like Bex, to me.
“Of course, babe,” I said. “Hasn't been the same without ya.”
She blushed, lowered her eyes. Her smile seemed to falter. In fact, that had been happenin' all day. And even before this day. I assumed she was thinking about her shithouse rat of an ex-husband. But it seemed to weight her down mightily. And whatever it was, she wasn't offering the answer up to me. I could see it in her eyes, clear a
s day, but the truth itself was foggy. She'd come to me in time, I was sure. I could wait her out.
“Listen, I gotta stop by my place, and then we'll head back to the clubhouse,” I said. I wanted that smile back on her face, I wanted her back on my bike, and then I wanted her on her back in my apartment. There'd be time for finding out what was wrong, soon enough. Once I knew for sure she'd tell me, and not just try to brush it off like nothin', the way women do. In the meantime, I was on a mission. It wasn't a holy mission, but it felt like one to me.
See, the night before, feeling her come just from my fingers, talkin' to her for hours, gettin' lost in her eyes again...it was like waking up from a coma. I had her back now. And I was never lettin’ her go. Fucking never. She was mine, always had been and always would be. Screw her husband; if he showed his face in Cutter, I'd rip it straight off.
She was going to be wearing my Property Of patch. If she didn't know it yet, she was going to know it soon. I just needed to get between her legs again, 'cause I was already in her head, and I knew for damn sure I was still in her heart.
Bex
