Breaker

by Alexis Abbott

  “What?” she asks.

  “Trying to decide whether to bring you in with me or leave you out here,” I say.

  “What, do you think I’ll run?” she asks, frowning. “I need you to help me find Moxie, remember? Why would I run?”

  This puts me in an interesting position, for a reason I wasn’t expecting. On the one hand, what she’s saying isn’t entirely accurate. If she really wanted to make a run for it right now, she could still find a cop, say the right things, and get some help finding Moxie without me. I haven’t gotten to know everything about Kate as a person, but I can tell she’s clever and persistent. She’s the kind of person who I reckon could make anything happen if she put her mind to it, and I wonder how aware of that she is.

  But that’s not what’s giving me pause. It’s the fact that I don’t think she’s lying. I’m no psychic, but I can pick out people’s tells for lying pretty easily, and I don’t sense any dishonesty in Kate. I think that if I leave her here, she really won’t run off.

  “Fine,” she says, “I need to use the bathroom anyway, so I’ll come in with you if it’ll make you feel better.”

  I chuckle. “Well, if you’re volunteering.”

  We climb out and approach the club, and it looks vaguely familiar to me. It’s more or less one big box-shaped building that could be mistaken for a warehouse, and it might have even been that at some point long ago. Now, it sports a single door front entrance that’s covered in posters and stickers of various kinds, but there’s another doorway around the back.

  The place looks locked up still, and I figure it probably won’t open for another few hours, but there’s a car in the parking lot, so there must be someone home. I step up to the back door and test it, and sure enough, someone has turned the deadbolt and used it to hold the door open. It swings inward, and I hold it open for Kate with a curt nod to usher her in.

  The interior is about what I expected, too. With all the lights on, the place’s ambiance is ruined, and all the industrial interior design is on display, from the exposed brick wall to the exposed infrastructure in the ceiling to the dirty stage where shitty bands probably get up and belt out some off-tune covers on Fridays.

  It’s exactly my kind of place.

  “Is anyone even here?” Kate asks.

  “Yeah, and we’re closed!” a voice shouts from the back, followed by some irritable-sounding footsteps. A tall man with a short beard and large, dark eyes steps out from a hallway leading to what I assume is the back offices, and I’m surprised when I recognize his face.

  “Connor?” I say, raising an eyebrow and grinning. “You’re kidding me, what are you doing here?”

  “Breaker!” the big guy says, face brightening up. “Holy shit, man, how long has it been?”

  Kate watches, perplexed, as the two of us approach each other and meet in a tight embrace that only lasts a moment before we check each other out and laugh.

  “Too long, apparently,” I say.

  “Are you another one of Breaker’s buddies?” Kate asks cautiously, glancing between us.

  “Not the kind you’re thinking of,” I say hurriedly, because I know Kate is worried that this guy is another one of the bikers from my club. “Connor’s a friend I know though another friend. You get to know a lot of people on the club scene when you’re riding between towns as much as we do.”

  Connor probably doesn’t know the first thing about Kate’s involvement with the club, and frankly, that’s for the best. The guy is a bartender who bounces from place to place in the same area, and that means that he’s the kind of guy everyone wants to be on the good side of. He has the laid-back personality for it, too, and all of that works to our advantage right now.

  I never thought I’d be looking to Connor as a welcome advantage, but considering the past 36-ish hours we’ve spent not able to catch a single break, I’ll take what I can get.

  “Okay,” Kate says, a little relieved. “Then, do you mind if I use your bathroom, Connor? The club’s bathroom. You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, sure thing,” he says, nodding in the direction of the restrooms while I make my way over to the bar and lean back on it, crossing my arms and watching her go. Once the door shuts behind her, Connor looks to me with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile on his face.

  “It’s not what you think,” I say, chuckling yet quiet enough that there’s no chance Kate can hear me from the bathroom.

  “Really? The way she looks at you, I think she might want it to be,” he teases, and I roll my eyes. “Anyway, what’s up? I don’t remember you as the type to show up before opening. Everything okay?”

  “We’re looking for someone who was here two nights ago,” I say. “A friend of Kate’s. She was here too.”

  “I thought she looked kind of familiar,” Connor says, nodding thoughtfully. “Can’t say I remember any faces from two nights ago though, sorry.”

  “Not to put on any pressure, but we’re struggling hard to find anything,” I say, frowning.

  “Okay, what did she look like?” he asks, crossing his arms.

  “Blonde with curly hair, sounds like she was dressed for clubbing. Probably goes out like this a lot, but I don’t think she comes here often. Probably looked out of place, like she belongs in the kind of bar that college kids spend time at and just ended up here.”

  “That… might be familiar, but I see a lot of girls like that, I’ve gotta be honest,” he says, shaking his head. “There isn’t exactly a lot to do in Stonedale, locals go wherever they can.”

  “She was with a guy she met here,” Kate says suddenly, emerging from the bathroom and getting both our attention. “Tall guy with light hair that’s kind of scruffy, blue eyes, ratty clothes, too much body spray. He had kind of a distinct smile, his mouth was kind of big.”

  My eyebrows go up, and I’m impressed by how much detail she can remember about her friend’s date. It’s not just impressive that she was able to memorize that much about him after seeing him once in a dark club. It shows that she was probably watching out for her friend, paying attention to the guy she was with in case he turned out to be dangerous.

  It’s a shame Moxie apparently didn’t think to return the favor. I’m starting to get an idea of their dynamic, and it makes me sad to know Kate seems to be the type to give more than she gets out of her friendships. Maybe I’m just reading into things too much, but the kid has a good head on her shoulders, and I don’t like knowing that she’s not being treated well.

  “Now that rings a bell,” Connor says, stroking his beard.

  “Yeah, actually, it does,” I say, crossing my arms and meeting Connor’s gaze. “Sounds a lot like Mitch Pratley.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Connor agrees, and Kate blinks a few times, looking between us.

  “What does Mitch Pratley mean? Good or bad?” Kate asks, almost hesitant.

  “Mitch is a groupie for my club,” I say with a deep sigh. “He’s a hanger-on. Groupies hang around us like remora on a shark because they all want to become prospects—that’s someone who could be a member after getting vetted.”

  “So… Mitch is close to the club?” she asks. Her tone is remarkably calm in front of Connor, and I can’t help but admire her for it. “Do you think he could hurt Moxie?”

  “Hardly,” I snort. “The guy’s got spirit, but he’s a punk, and his dad’s a straight-laced judge to boot. Can’t be bought. We won’t touch him with a sixty-foot pole, and I think he knows it deep down.”

  “He couldn’t hurt your friend,” Connor agrees, shaking his head. “He’s a pussy trying to act out for Daddy’s attention. My guess is, he’ll settle out when the judge sends him to some ivy league college. The worst your friend might have gotten is a disappointing night. But if you’re looking for her and they were together, I can point you in the right direction.”

  “Really?” Kate asks, eyes widening.

  “Easy,” Connor says, pointing eastward. “You know that big place with the ugl
y statues out front people make fun of? That’s Mitch’s dad’s house, and he bought his boy his own place right next door to the left. Orange sports car parked out front, can’t miss it.”

  “He leaves it parked outside?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  Connor just rolls his eyes in response, nodding, and we chuckle.

  After a firm handshake and a few fond farewells, Kate and I leave, and I try to shake the thought that among all the other things I’ve come to know in this part of the country, I probably won’t be seeing Connor ever again after this morning.

  “So, you know the place we’re headed to?” I ask as we drive down the road a few minutes later.

  “Yeah, you can’t miss this place,” she says. “The guys in high school always had a running dare for each other to see if they’d be brave enough to egg the place. We all knew it was a judge’s, though, so I don’t think anyone ever went through with it.”

  Just a fifteen-minute drive later, we slowly roll by the manor in question. I have to admit, I can see why people wanted to egg this place. It features a circular driveway with the most obnoxious palm trees lining the place that I’d ever seen, wafting in the breeze like this was Bel Air or something, but the real kicker was not one, not two, but three separate gorilla statues that looked like they had been arranged in no particular order in the yard.

  “I…” I stutter as I stared at the place.

  “Yeah, I think they’re like that so they look like they’re ‘in the wild’ or something,” Kate says.

  “Holy shit,” I chuckle as we pull to the next house over and come to a stop at the curb.

  Sure enough, the orange sports car is sitting outside, and I look to Kate, who locks eyes with me.

  “I can handle this,” Kate says. “If this Mitch guy answers the door, he’ll react better to me than he will to you.”

  “I know you can handle it, but I can’t let you go up there on your own,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Come on, you’re not my dad,” she protests, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at me.

  “You wish,” I say, winking at her as I open the driver’s side door, and I watch the color flush to her cheeks as she gets out.

  In truth, the main reason I want to go with her is because there’s a small sliver of a chance word has gotten out about Kate. Mitch isn’t capable of much, but on the off chance he heard about what happened and wants to impress Buzz, he might try something stupid, and I want to make sure I have Kate’s back.

  We approach the front door and ring the doorbell, and as we’re standing uncomfortably outside, I notice Kate is still wearing my leather jacket just before the door opens.

  Mitch stands there in sweatshorts and a sports team tee, blinking at us with a hung-over expression, but he brightens up at the sight of me.

  “Oh shit, hey bro!” he says, lifting his hand to give me a high five, but I just give him a curt nod, and he plays off the gesture as if he was covering his mouth to cough.

  At the same time, a short woman pokes her head out from behind Mitch, and a moment later, who I can only assume is Moxie steps out from behind him and waves to Kate with an excited look on her face.

  “Oh my god, girl, where have you been?” she gushes as Kate rushes forward and hugs Moxie, to her surprise.

  “Holy shit, Moxie,” she breathes before stepping back. “What happened the other night? I’m so glad you’re okay, I was worried sick! I… lost my phone,” she says, glancing back at me briefly.

  “It’s no big deal, I’ve just been here,” she says, nodding at Mitch affectionately. “Mitch, this is a friend of mine, Kate, I think they’re just stopping by.”

  “Oh. Alright,” Mitch says, nodding and glancing between me and Kate and trying to keep his cool. I had to admit, I wasn’t the biggest fan of groupies. “Just uh, come hit me up if you want to play some video games or something, Breaker, yeah?”

  I give the faintest shadow of a nod to get Mitch to beat it, and he vanishes into the house, leaving the three of us together.

  “Is that what you ditched me in the fucking biker club for?” Kate whispers with a deadpan glare at Moxie, who shrugs in response.

  “Looks like you did alright for yourself, sis,” she says in her defense, smirking while giving me a long and blatant once-over. Kate’s face reddens, and I can see the impulse in her to step between the two of us. I can’t help but chuckle, and Kate pinches the bridge of her nose.

  “Kate’s just had a long day,” I say.

  “I just had no idea if you were okay,” she says, looking at Moxie with an exasperated look on her face.

  “Well, I’m good, don’t worry,” Moxie says more sincerely. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. You make it sound like something bad happened, is everything alright? Was there like a fight or something? Give me the details!”

  “No, but-” Kate starts to say, and in an instant, I react.

  My arm lunges out and wraps around Kate’s waist, and I pull her close to me, pressing her hips to mine and forcing her to look up at me with wide, surprised eyes, so close that I can feel her breath on my face.

  “It’s not polite to share all our dirty details, sweetheart,” I growl with a wicked smile, and her mouth falls open. She takes a breath to protest, but even though her friend is right there, I lean in and stop the words from coming from her mouth with a single, long kiss that takes her by utter surprise.

  Because this is how it needs to be now. No telling. No stories. No connections. We’re each other’s dirty little secret now, and I’m going to make sure she keeps her mouth shut.

  Personally.

  Kate

  Six Years Later…

  Ugh, the time is passing so slowly, the clock on the wall in the breakroom at work might as well be turning counter-clockwise. I sigh and flop over into one of the cushy, stark-white mod chair in the lounge, staring up at the ceiling. I am so beyond bored. I feel like this day has lasted a thousand years. I usually do enjoy my job, but on days like this when there are no bookings, I feel restless and antsy. I cross my legs and lean back in the chair, swivel idly from side to side as I listen to the seconds ticking on the wall.

  In the floor-length mirror across the room, meant for helping the masseuses to keep their uniform perfectly spotless and wrinkle-free, I gaze at my own reflection. In the past six years since I hightailed it out of my sleepy hometown of Stonedale, a lot has changed. In a lot of ways, I’m nothing like the shy, reserved, sheltered girl I used to be back then. I just passed my twenty-fourth birthday a couple months ago, bringing me closer and closer to what I’m dreading will become a quarter-life crisis.

  I can’t think of any other explanation for the way I have been feeling lately. I’m no longer content to waste long swaths of my days off curled up on my secondhand sofa in the tiny living room of my six-hundred-square-foot apartment, watching TV show reruns in my pajamas and ordering chicken lo mein delivered to my house. The weekends I used to spend traipsing happily through the endless stalls and vendors of the local Casper Flea Market have begun to lose some of their sheen.

  Hell, even here at work I find myself zoning out and forgetting to keep up a calm conversation with my clients as I squirt warm, fragrant oil on their wound-up, tight muscles and use my small but dexterous hands to gently massage the pain and stress away. It used to be my favorite part of the job; just getting to interact with strangers on a personal level. In a lot of ways, being a masseuse feels kind of like how I imagine being a shrink must feel. People come to me in pain, under enormous stress, desperately looking for someone to coax their aching bodies back to life again. They come here in search of some relaxation, of two smooth, masterful hands to rub the pain away and two ears to listen to the bevy of complaints they’ve been lugging around like dead weight for weeks, months, even years.

  Those were my most exciting bookings: the newbies.

  I take such great joy in feeling years and years of built-up tension start to slowly melt away under my fingertips. It m
akes me feel powerful, like I possess some kind of magic that can help people find their lust for life once again. Maybe that’s just my wild imagination blossoming in too many directions at once. Maybe it’s a little romanticized. But at the end of the day, I have learned to really enjoy my job and its strange, unexpected little perks. Of course, the pay and the tips I often receive aren’t half-bad either. But it’s the personal connections I can make with my clients that keeps me coming back to the parlor to do it six days a week.

  Still, even that magical feeling has been muted lately.

  I’ve found myself strangely less interested in the personal anecdotes my customers share with me. My mind often just strikes out on its own, wandering far beyond the usual safe territory I’ve built up in my head to protect myself. After all, there are things in my past I am still too afraid to poke at just yet.

  Maybe someday.

  But not now. I should still just be grateful for the life I’m leading, especially considering how dramatically worse it could have turned out that fateful night six years ago.

  As I sit here, wrapped up in my own thoughts, I am suddenly interrupted by the clack-clack-clack of sharp stiletto heels against the laminate wood flooring. I sit up straighter and try to look alive, thinking it might be my scowly manager, Rita, coming to tell me off for wasting time. Not that there is anything else to do right now anyway. But to my relief, it’s not Rita who comes walking into the breakroom. It’s my work-buddy Caitlyn, or Cat for short. We first bonded when I began working here two years ago and realized how similar our names are. Kate and Cat, two peas in one oil-slicked pod full of soft, New-Agey music and the potent scents of incense.

  She’s a little older than me, so I’ve kind of thought of her as my big sister, which has been a comfort to me since I had to cut off all contact with my own sisters, brothers, and parents years ago. She’s more sarcastic and savvy about the world than I am, so the dynamic often fits.