by Mandie Tepe
Jimi looked around for a clock, but there wasn’t one. Her cell phone was still in her apartment wherever the intruders had hidden it, she realized. She guessed she’d have to go home eventually—for a lot of reasons—and wished she could talk to Chance. He’d be able to pep talk her back home. Shaking off that thought, she gave herself her own pep talk. You can do this, she scolded herself. You’ve never needed a man before, so what makes you think you need one now? She sighed. Chance was just so nice to have around, so she cut herself some slack for feeling weak and needy right then.
Turning onto her side toward her sister’s bed—the foot of which was now covered in piles of Nova’s clothing—she thought of Daisy longingly. If her sister had been there they wouldn’t have had to clear her bed off because she would have just climbed right into bed with Jimi. When either of them had been upset, they had crowded into the other’s narrow bed and slept cuddled together in solidarity and sympathy. Lord, she missed her Daisy . . . probably more than she missed Chance. And that was saying something.
Her eyes moved past the other bed to the double closet doors on the other side of the room and smiled. Both of the sliding doors had been covered with a mural Daisy had painted back when they were in high school. It was a magical forest scene with little pixies and sprites peeking mischievously throughout the lush vegetation. There were two fairies sitting cross-legged on a carpet of moss in the foreground on the right-side door. They were giggling together sipping tea from flower blossom cups. One of the fairies—dressed in filmy royal purple—was taking her tea from a bright orange tulip cup. She had strawberry blonde curls and looked suspiciously like Jimi. The other—wearing vibrant turquoise blue—sipped from a pretty yellow daffodil cup. She strongly resembled Daisy with her bright ginger corkscrew curls. On the opposite panel, at the far left top, a hazy ridge rose over the forest scene. Depicted on that ridge was a group of people—mostly leather-clad knights with a few ladies looking out over the woodland in protection of the fairies in the foreground. They appeared heroic with their steeds at their backs. Their steeds, however, were not represented as strong white horses. Daisy had brushed in hazy outlines of Harley motorcycles to make clear who her heroes actually were.
Jimi’s eyes misted as she studied that mural for what had to be at least the thousandth time over the years. Even at the age of fifteen, Daisy was capable of painting a masterpiece. When Daisy had moved away, Jimi hinted to Nova that she’d like to take those closet doors and display them as the art they were at her place. She would even replace them by going to Lowe’s and buying brand new closet doors and installing them at her folks’ trailer herself. It was obvious that Nova would not be relinquishing that mural to anyone as long as she had breath in her body. It meant that much to her too.
Jimi gazed around the room at the piled up boxes and bins, bike parts, an old exercise bike that had been left on the side of a road and Nova had picked up but never used (because Pops had told her he liked her generous curves the way they were), and other junk crowded into that room. Even with so much stuff piled here and there, Jimi noticed that not one thing blocked the view of that mural. It was sacred in that house.
As she was thinking with dread about getting on with the things she needed to tackle that day, Jimi heard low voices conversing behind the closed door and down the short hallway. At first it scared her, but she realized one of them sounded like Pops. She had expected him to be out at that time of day. He would normally be somewhere partying with the MC with football playing in the background.
She rolled out of bed and tugged on a pair of her mama’s hot pink and black sweats she found left for her on the foot of her bed. Both the top and pants were way too large, but at least the pants had a drawstring. She cinched it tight and they stayed up. She didn’t normally walk around with the word “PINK” printed in large letters across her behind but, oh well. She ran her fingers through her wild hair and decided it would have to do until she could get a shower. At least she’d washed her make-up off last evening before she’d fallen asleep on her sofa and the world turned upside down. She couldn’t see the mirror on the dresser past the paper party goods Nova kept piled on top so they’d be at the ready for future Vagabond bashes, but Jimi had faith any resemblance to a raccoon would be from exhaustion and not smeared mascara. She could live with that. She figured whoever was out there was most likely one of her pop’s Vagabond brothers anyway. They wouldn’t care how she looked.
Once through the door, she noticed the aroma of burnt bacon as she made her way to the kitchen. Her pops was standing by the coffee pot. It wasn’t one of his brothers sitting at the table, though. It was the officer that had taken her statement in the wee hours of that morning—Detective Xavier.
Jock moved closer to her, blatantly gauging her mood on the way. “Jimi baby,” he greeted her.
“Hey, Pops,” she said as she leaned into his hug.
“Detective Xavier came by with news. I was gonna come in and see if you were awake.”
Jimi looked toward the detective, “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not at all. I just got here.”
Jock grabbed the mug he’d just poured and slid it across the table to Xavier before glancing back at Jimi. “Want some coffee, baby?”
“What time is it?” she asked looking toward the broken clock on the stove. Years after it quit working, she still did that.
“Little after one,” Xavier offered.
“Wow,” she murmured.
Jock opened the oven door, grabbed a dishtowel and pulled out a foil-covered plate. “Kept some breakfast warm for you.” He peeled back the foil exposing—as the smell advertised—burnt dried-out bacon and three rubbery fried eggs.
Jimi knew he’d cooked it for her himself because the bacon was burnt and she never in her life had eaten three eggs in one sitting. She smiled at him. “Thanks anyway, Pops, but I think I just need the hard stuff.” She moved to the ‘fridge, pulled out a can of Coke and popped the tab. She took a big slug and dropped into a seat at the table.
Jock began to fret—well, as much as a badass biker is able. “Your mother said I should feed you as soon as you woke up. Promising her that was the only way I could get her to go on into work for awhile.”
“I’ll eat in a little bit. Maybe we can order Chinese or something. First let’s hear what Detective Xavier has to say.”
“Right,” Jock muttered.
Xavier hid a smile behind the mug as he took a sip of also-burnt coffee that had apparently been in the pot for quite awhile. It was no worse than what he’d get at the station, though. He studied the father and daughter and could honestly admit that he was surprised. He hadn’t known what to expect going to the home of a local biker at a trailer park that was largely inhabited by members of his MC.
The Vagabonds—and the trailer park, for that matter—was not unknown to the CPD. The members didn’t generally get into serious trouble, but there were occasional domestic situations, drunk and disorderly infractions, brawls (both neighborly and of the bar variety), DUIs, and things like that. He’d hauled Vagabond members in himself back when he was a patrol officer. But seeing Jock taking care of his daughter—in much the same ways Xavier would take care of his own in a similar situation—was a reminder that, at heart, people really weren’t all that different . . . even if their outer trappings were.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
“So, they’re all in custody but the DA is still working with the investigators to decide exactly what they’ll each be charged with. Since the ringleader is seventeen and he’s the one that shot you, it’s pretty certain they’ll charge him as an adult.” It was Monday afternoon and Jimi was stretched out in the recliner beside Axel’s hospital bed.
He’d been moved from ICU that morning onto the post surgical wing. She had seen her cousin in ICU the previous afternoon, but he’d been so out of it she hadn’t been able to fill him in on Detective Xavier’s
update.
After her visit with Axel on Sunday, she had every intention of going home but the police still had both her and Chance’s apartments taped off and were combing both for as much evidence as possible. Nova and Jock were thrilled to have her spend another night. Isla had shown up that evening with some of her own clothes and toiletries to loan to Jimi.
Jimi had gotten up Monday morning and arrived at work in keeping with her usual schedule. Her co-workers had attempted to shoo her out, insisting she take the time to recover from her traumatic weekend. She was determined to take advantage of the distraction being in her office would bring. It was a short day for her anyway, so she’d planned to spend the afternoon with Axel, now settled in a more comfortable room.
When she’d arrived, Zip had gone home to shower and get some sleep. He’d been at the hospital since the wee hours of Sunday morning when they’d first brought Axel in. It appeared the constant traffic of Vagabond support was on hiatus that afternoon as everyone was back at work. For now, Axel could enjoy a quiet visit with one of his favorite cousins until his MC and their women began coming around again that evening.
He shifted painfully in his bed before pushing the button on the control panel that raised him up slightly. “So the Tyler kid’ll just get a slap on the wrist for cooperating,” he commented, his voice raspy from intubation.
“He’ll serve some time in juvie, but I don’t know how long. I’m just grateful he went to the police and gave them what they needed to catch the others. Those kids were scary.”
Axel studied her. “I’m sorry you went through that, cuz.”
“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault . . . and you got worse than I did.”
“If I had called the cops from my pad instead of barreling in like a moron they’d probably have been caught without everything going south the way it did.”
“Don’t do that,” Jimi said soothingly. “How could you have known what would happen? Besides, I opened my door when I shouldn’t have, so I’m not such an Einstein myself.”
Axel shook his head. “That’s only because you heard someone—me, come to find out—in trouble.”
“Here’s an idea . . . let’s both cut ourselves some slack,” she grinned.
He studied her for a moment. “You talk to Chance? Does he know his place was hit?”
“No. He’s in the field, so I couldn’t let him know even if I tried.” She admitted, “I haven’t been back home yet and don’t have my phone anyway.”
“You haven’t had it since that night?”
“No. Those kids hid it in my apartment and I haven’t been back to find it.”
“You’ve been without your cell for over . . . what? . . . thirty-six hours?” he asked in disbelief. “And the world’s still turning? You haven’t expired because you’re without your lifeline? The president hasn’t declared you a disaster area?”
“Shut up,” she laughed. “If you don’t I’ll start throwing out your flowers,” she threatened good-naturedly glancing around at the alarming number of floral and balloon arrangements that had been arriving all day.
“Please,” he scoffed gruffly, “you’d be doin’ me a favor.”
Jimi grinned. He could bluff all he wanted, but she could see how touched he was behind that badass veneer whenever the volunteers brought those gifts in.
A soft psst came from the direction of the door and she turned to see Isla’s top half leaning through it. When she caught Jimi’s eyes, she gestured for her to come out to the hallway.
“Come on in, Isla,” Jimi invited.
Her friend’s face seemed to blanch and Jimi thought she heard Axel grumbling under his breath. Surely—after everything that had happened—the two of them could be civil to one another for a few minutes.
Isla approached slowly. She cradled a small—approximately eight-inch square—container made of reclaimed wood and filled with a lush variety of succulents. It was elegantly rustic and suited a badass biker like Axel perfectly . . . much more than the brightly colored flowers already filling the room. Jimi moved to the middle of the floor to meet Isla, who shoved the arrangement into her hands.
Jimi announced, “Look, Axel . . . Isla brought you flowers.”
“Great,” he groused. “Just what I needed. More flowers.”
Jimi noticed Isla’s eyes flash, but her friend reigned in the snarky comeback she would normally blast him with. As Jimi set the flowers on a bedside table near him, he side-eyed the succulents with interest taking the sting out of his words.
Jimi addressed Isla, “I didn’t know you were coming by.”
“Nova called and asked me to pick you up. Her shipment at the store is late and she has to wait around for it to arrive.” Isla glanced at Axel. “How are you feeling, Axel?” she asked politely.
“Like someone drilled three holes in me, someone else cut me open and made away with pieces of my internal organs, and yet others are holding me here against my will,” he bit out. “You?”
Isla’s bright blue eyes flashed again before frosting over, but she only responded with, “Well . . . I hope you’re feeling well again so they’ll cut you loose soon.” She turned her back on him. “Jimi, I just wanted you to know I was here. I’ll go down to the cafeteria for coffee until you’re ready to go. Take all the time you want. No hurry.”
“Thanks. I really should go retrieve my phone and car so people can reach me and not have to chauffeur me around. I’m beginning to feel like a burden.”
“Of course you’re not a burd—”
Axel interrupted Isla, “Cuz . . . if the cops have released your place, you need to go home so you can get back to feeling safe being there. They caught all those kids so there’s no reason to worry.”
“I know.” She bit her lip. “I don’t know why I’m nervous about it. Maybe part of it’s because neither you or Chance are there close by.”
“You’ll be okay there without us. You have Roscoe right next do—”
“Someone talkin’ ‘bout me?” Roscoe asked as he shuffled into the room.
“Hey, Roscoe!” Jimi and Isla chorused with smiles for the older man.
“Roscoe,” Axel rasped.
“Hey there, son,” Roscoe greeted, approaching the bed and studying his neighbor carefully. “Looking better than you did yesterday. You’ll be back on the job site with your boys in no time.”
“That’s not what the docs are saying,” Axel grumbled. “Looks like I’ll just have to supervise them from afar for awhile,” he sighed.
Axel ran his own roofing/contracting business. His crew didn’t do huge jobs, but they had a good reputation and were able to keep busy most of the year. He didn’t want to think about how big a hit his business would take while he recovered. If he could at least keep booking enough work to keep the crew busy, none of their families would be hurting going into the holidays. It appeared that he wouldn’t be able to be up on those roofs or on those home renovation jobs with them which was a depressing thought. He loved working alongside his guys.
Roscoe was quiet for a few moments. He held up a plastic shopping bag. “I brought you some snacks. If they won’t let you eat ‘em now, you’ll get to them later. Candy bars, snack cakes and chips and stuff.”
“Thank God you didn’t bring more flowers,” Axel declared.
“Axel,” Jimi snapped, “that’s mean. People went out of there way to send flowers an—”
Her cousin sent an embarrassed glance toward Isla. “I know, I know, Jimi. Sorry, duchess. It’s nice and everything, but it’s beginning to feel like a mortuary in here.”
He might have been apologizing, but he still could not let go of the derogatory “duchess” moniker. Isla scowled, but she didn’t respond.
Roscoe changed the subject. “I brought a travel-sized checkers set too, Ax. You feel like a game?”
It was apparent he didn’t, but he didn’t want to disappoint Roscoe. “We can give it a try,” he said.
Roscoe dug it out of the bag and
began to set up the board. “You ladies mind if I have a little private talk with Axel for a bit?”
“Oh . . . umm . . . sure, Roscoe. We’ll head on out,” Jimi answered in surprise. She moved over to kiss her cousin’s cheek. “Call if you need anything,” she bossed.
“How am I supposed to do that? You don’t have your phone,” he quipped.
“Right,” she said in chagrin. “I’ll get it . . . eventually.”
“You come on back home, honey,” Roscoe said. “The police took the tape down and we’ll take care of you ‘til your man comes back home. All of the residents are worried about you and it’ll set ‘em at ease when you’re back. Everyone is anxious to see you.”
“Thanks, Roscoe . . . but I can think of some that might not want me back,” she fretted. “The Tylers surely wouldn’t want to run into me at the mailboxes.”
“I don’t think the Tylers blame you for anything. But even if they did, it appears they won’t be around the Crosswinds much longer.”
“What does that mean?” Jimi asked.
“Scuttlebutt is that Anita left for in-patient rehab this mornin’ and Ben put in his notice, so he’ll be movin’ on while she’s getting treatment and Shad’s servin’ his time.”
“I wonder what the owners will do for a manager,” Jimi mused.
Roscoe shrugged. “I’m sure they’re already working on a solution to that.”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Jimi made it as far as the Crosswinds Apartments’ parking lot, but hesitated getting out of Isla’s car in a way that told her friend she wasn’t quite ready to go home yet. Isla went upstairs for her, knocked on Mrs. Wilson’s door to borrow the spare key Jimi had entrusted to the older woman and entered Jimi’s place just long enough to grab her handbag.
They convoyed over to TwistFusion so Isla could treat her friend to dinner at her boyfriend’s restaurant. Aaron was working the dinner shift and came out of the kitchen when he heard they were there, insisting he was treating them to a four-course tasting menu. He acted like they were doing him a favor by letting him try out some new recipes on them, but they saw through it for the kindness it was.