Instead, I resolutely face my bike north and keep my hand to the throttle.
It’s an eleven-hour ride to Pueblo. I know, it was only a few weeks ago that I last rode there. At first, the sun on my face, the wind cooling my body, the pavement rolling by beneath my wheels gives me the sense of freedom I need. Slowly though, I’m twisting the nut to hold the throttle in position, as my hand starts to cramp. My ass begins to feel bruised, and the loneliness of riding without companions gets to me. I can’t remember when I last made a journey this long without riding with a pack, or at least one brother for company. But that’s what being a nomad means. I knew this when I accepted.
Has it all been for nothing? Damn. My hand slaps my leg as I realise Sally’s still got me in her hold even though I’ll be eight hundred miles away.
Nope. No old lady for me. Never again. Never letting someone close to me. My one example is still controlling me. Stupid, stupid Beef. I should have made the clean break then and there. Now I’ve committed to only my hand being on my cock.
I pull over when a rainstorm gets too heavy, taking the opportunity to top both me and my tank off with fuel. Then it’s back on the road again as steam from the fast evaporating standing water starts to rise when the clouds clear.
Weary, almost in a trance I arrive in Pueblo just when the sun’s beginning to set. A clock above a store front tells me it’s six-forty pm. I get lost and have to backtrack, see a distant sign and take a shortcut up a backstreet, wondering if I’ll be here long enough to feel familiar with the layout of the roads. I’m stopped at a junction, waiting for a safe gap in the traffic that’s steadily going past, knowing I’m too tired to take chances right now, when to my horror I take in the sight on the opposite side of the road. A car, moving fast, and mounting the sidewalk.
“Get out of the way!” but my roared instruction is drowned out by the traffic. It’s as though I see it happen in slow motion. A girl, a woman, who the fuck knows, with her hand on a dog’s harness… Christ, the car’s heading straight for her. The vehicles continuing to roar past on the main road cause almost a strobe effect. My eyes can’t look away as I see the dog react, it pushes the woman, she falls…
A woman’s startled cry. A piercing, ear-splitting heart-rending scream from the dog. The squeal of brakes, the shouting. I’m off my bike and tearing across the road dodging traffic that hasn’t bothered to stop. The woman is half sitting, half lying against a brick wall.
I reach her before anyone else and appear to be the only one getting involved. The car which struck her is disappearing in the distance, hopefully someone took note of the licence plate.
“You okay?” I snap.
“My dog! Max. My dog.” She’s crying hysterically, repeatedly calling out the name. It’s when her hands start touching the pavement, feeling around her that I realise she’s blind, and that the dog who’s gone silent isn’t just a pet, it’s her lifeline.
“Someone call a fuckin’ vet!” I yell out. “It’s an assistance dog.” I stand, the woman doesn’t seem to be badly hurt, more concerned and upset than anything else. Touching her briefly on the shoulder, I then go to the canine, expecting to find it dead. It saved her. If it hadn’t seen what was going on, she’d have taken a direct hit. She couldn’t have evaded it, literally wouldn’t have seen the car coming.
The dog’s breathing. I don’t want to move or touch it. A man’s injuries I could assess, but the closest I’ve got to a dog is Grunt back in the Tucson clubhouse. I walk to a man who’s got his phone in his hand.
“You called a fuckin’ vet?” I grab his jacket.
“You’ll need to find one and take the dog to him,” a woman with her hand over her mouth tells me. She looks like she’s trying not to be sick. “Vet’s don’t come out.”
“I called an ambulance, man.” The guy I’m holding looks scared out of his wits but manages to convey disgust that I seem to care more about the dog than the woman. But I’m pretty sure the car didn’t hit her, and that the dog has the more serious injuries. I’d had a prime seat from across the other side of the junction after all.
With a wailing of sirens, an ambulance appears. The medics examine the woman and get her up.
“Max. Max. Max? Where are you, boy?”
“Ma’am, we’ve got to take you in. You seemed to have banged your head.”
“I’m not leaving my dog. Where is he? I need to go to him.”
“Ma’am.” I don’t know why I offer, it’s none of my business at all. But of the few people who’ve stopped, they all seem to lose interest now the woman’s got help. “I’ll stay with the dog, I’ll make sure I get a vet for him. Find out how he’s doing, then I’ll let you know. Where are you taking her?” I direct my question to the paramedic, and then mentally note his answer of the name of the hospital I’ll need help to find.
“You promise?” Her head is tilted in my direction, locating me only by the sound of my voice, hers is full of desperation as she repeats. “You really promise? You’ll see he gets help?”
“I promise.” My teeth are gritted. I’ve no reason to help. I’m tired as hell and want nothing more than a beer and a bed. But something about this situation gets to me, and I know I can’t walk away.
“Is he, is he…?”
“He’s breathing—” I start answering the question I know she’s asking in the only way I can. Then I pause. She seems to realise I’m asking a question.
“Stevie.”
“Yeah, well, he’s breathing Stevie. But unconscious.”
“He’s my, he’s my…”
“I know,” I say firmly, knowing she was going to tell me he wasn’t just a pet. “Believe me, I know.”
“I want to stay with him.”
I see the medic shaking his head, and again I find myself repeating a promise while half of me wonders why the fuck I’m getting involved. “I’ll stay with him. I’ll update you as soon as I know anything, but I won’t leave him alone.”
What am I getting myself into? Instead of drinking with brothers in the clubhouse, I’ll probably be sitting in a waiting room. That’s if the dog survives a visit to the vet. A journey which at the moment, I’ve no idea how to take.
She sniffs, loudly, making an effort to hold back the sobs which I can tell aren’t too far away. She holds out her hand in my general direction. When I grasp it, her fingers wrap around mine and squeeze. “I don’t know who you are, but I trust you. He, he’s my everything. Please do what you can to help.”
As the medic takes her arm to lead her to the ambulance, I feel a loss when her hand leaves mine.
Chapter Five
It wasn’t how I envisioned my arrival in Pueblo. I wouldn’t have been surprised, as no biker turns down the opportunity for a party, that my visit to Pal may have been sufficient for a celebration to have been arranged. Satan’s Devils don’t need much of an excuse to break out the drink.
Even if it was just to be a quiet night that would have been fine. What I hadn’t anticipated was to have taken responsibility for a Labrador retriever who’s currently lying injured or quite possibly dying at my feet. Quickly I compute my options and know I can’t do this alone. Taking my phone out of my cut, I place a call.
“Pal… Yeah, look. I’m here… Yes. But I fuckin’ need help.” I go on to explain the situation. Pal might be young, but as soon as he knows what the emergency is, thank fuck he stops asking questions and simply wants my location. Looking around, how the fuck do I know what street I’m on? I give him enough clues to guess, and he agrees to come meet me.
He pulls up with another brother on his bike, and a prospect and someone else in a truck. It’s my luck the clubhouse isn’t far away, and they arrive fast. I’m relieved help has now arrived, as my bike’s still where I left it, abandoned on the opposite side of the junction. I couldn’t move it as I didn’t want to leave the dog. I recognise Pyro as the man who’s come with Pal and nod my thanks as he immediately goes over to wheel it across the road.
“I brought Rusty,” Pal points to the man beside him. I nod, recognising him as someone I’d fought beside just a few weeks back. “He’s our medic. Thought he might be able to help.”
Wasting no time, Rusty kneels beside the stricken dog. After a moment he looks up. “He’s still breathing, but I’m no vet. Wouldn’t know where to fuckin’ start.”
“Know where we should take him?”
Rusty scratches his head. “Not had any reason to go see an animal doctor.”
Pal’s tapping at his phone. “According to Google, there’s one quite close. Whether he’s any good or not…”
“Let’s go.” Having stated my intent, I eye the dog. If it had been a man, I’d have been able to assess better how to pick him up without doing more damage. A fucking dog? I’ve no idea. All I know is my promise to Stevie, a blind woman who I’ve only just met.
Rusty’s looking at me and shaking his head as I hesitate. “Thought we were going.”
“I don’t want to hurt him worse,” I reply lamely.
“Fuck, man.” He throws me a scathing look, and immediately bends down, huffing as he picks up the eighty or so pound dog.
The dog makes no sound or movement as he’s lifted into the air, then placed on the rear seat of the truck. That, to me, doesn’t seem to be a good sign.
“Just called the vet.” Pal’s in the process of sliding his phone back into his cut. “It’s good timing. He’s finishing up his consultations and will be ready for us.”
“He sound like he knows what he’s doing?”
Pal’s eyes widen. “How the fuck should I know?”
I have no idea what to do with an injured animal, or whether a service dog should go to a specialist hospital or not. I go to my ride that Pyro had rescued from the other side of the road and am right behind the prospect and the truck as he pulls away, glad to see he’s got the sense to move off gently. I’m surprised when two bikes fall in behind me. While Rusty’s making his way back to the club, it looks like Pal and Pyro are coming to keep me company. Can’t say I object to that. Whatever chapter we’re from, Devils are Devils, it’s good to have my brothers at my back.
“Leave him,” I instruct the prospect sharply, when he opens the back door of the truck after we arrive at the veterinary hospital. Not wanting to move Max and hurt him further, I walk inside to see if I can find someone to help. It’s only a small place. There’s a woman in scrubs at reception, it looks like she doubles as a nurse.
Her eyes widen when she sees me, and I’m not surprised. I’m a big man and I’m wearing a leather cut, clearly denoting I’m a member of an MC. It’s such a common reaction I barely register her taking a step closer to the phone as if ready to summon help.
“Er, can I help?”
“Got a dog outside. Hit by a car. Needs attention. We rang…”
“That the service dog?” At my nod she becomes all business. “Hang on, I’ll get James.” Now she knows we’re not here to rob the place, her attitude completely changes. A man rushes out of the back and passes with barely a glance at me. Within moments they’ve got Max on some sort of gurney and are wheeling him inside.
“He’s a service dog,” I say with emphasis, as the vet passes by for the second time.
“I’ve got eyes and can read,” the man who’s clearly the vet replies sharply.
Of course he’d seen that. I hadn’t wanted to remove the harness in case it was holding something vital together.
“You might have eyes, his owner hasn’t,” I snap back copying his tone. “She needs that dog to be alright. You heal him, you hear me?”
James, or whatever his name is, pauses briefly. “You think I wouldn’t do everything I can? Doesn’t matter if he’s a service dog or the family pet. If it’s possible to help him through this, I will, but I’m not God.”
“Sorry man.” Yeah, maybe I’d been a bit rough on him, but watching that accident happen? Well, it had been a shock for me. The way the dog knew danger was coming and bore the brunt of it himself. Well that takes bravery, and this biker, for one, is fucking impressed.
“I’m taking him in the back. I’m not happy with his breathing. He’ll need X-rays. It might be helpful if I know how the injury happened. Give a summary to Vera, will you?” he nods at the nurse. “Then, Vera, I’ll need your help.”
She jerks her head in agreement, then narrows her eyes at me. “What happened? You knock him over with your bike?”
“Christ, no,” I snap, disliking her attitude. Then, for the second time this evening, I explain how things went down.
Immediately her bearing relaxes, and a sympathetic expression crosses her face. “Who’s the owner?”
“Girl called Stevie. I didn’t get the rest of her name.” I tell her the hospital, where she was taken, but that’s as much as I know. As she frowns, I realise what could be an issue. “Look, I’ll pay. Whatever.”
“It could get expensive,” she warns.
Fuck knows why, I wasn’t responsible for Max’s injuries, but I’ve got some money saved and if need be, this seems as good a use as any for it. I wouldn’t want him to go untreated because of the cost. There was just something about how Max saved his mistress that got to me. Loyalty like that? Can’t be ignored. “I’ll pay,” I tell her again.
“Could be the association that supplied him might pay the bills. Won’t know the arrangements until we can talk to this Stevie. Now, excuse me, I’ve got to go back and assist James. Have you a number I can call with an update?”
I’d promised I wouldn’t leave him, or at least not until there was news. “I’ll wait.” Before she can attempt to throw me out, I walk to a hard-plastic seat that’s far too small for my ass but ignoring that, sit. Then I fold my arms and stare back at her with determination.
She doesn’t argue. Well, it’s not like she could move me. Her eyes flick to the door, then, with a shrug that suggests her canine patient is more important than any protest, she disappears after the vet.
I hadn’t noticed Pyro and Pal come in. They squeeze themselves into seats one away and to either side of myself. I look from one to the other as if I’m watching a tennis ball bounce between two rackets. “You don’t have to stay.”
“No worries.” Pyro stretches out his long legs, putting his arms over the backs of the seats to either side of him.
“Not got anything better to do.” Pal folds one leg over the other.
It’s Saturday night. Okay, so Pal’s got an old lady, but Pyro looks like a party type of man, in a beer and pussy type of way, of course. I suspect that they’re both lying. It warms my heart they intend to keep me company.
“So how was the journey, Beef?” Pal asks when the silence becomes too heavy.
“Fuckin’ long. Good to start with, but after a few hours I could feel my age.” My back twinges as I’m speaking, and I lean forward and reaching back, try to rub a few kinks out.
“You’re not old,” Pyro scoffs. “Look about my age.”
“Thirty-seven,” I tell him, feeling every minute of it. It’s the first time I’ve relaxed in hours, and the ride has caught up with me. “How old are you?”
“Told you. Your age or thereabouts. Thirty-six.”
“Christ, you two are ancient.”
Leaning over I scuff Pal’s hair. “You’re just a baby.”
He swipes my hand away. “I’m twenty-one.”
“You even start shaving yet?” Pyro leans forward, peering around me and looking at our companion as if trying to see for himself.
“Fuck off.”
I smirk, glad they’re waiting with me. Hanging around here isn’t much different than being in the waiting room of a hospital. The smell of disinfectant seems to permeate every breath that you take until you feel your lungs are coated in it. Worrying about a diagnosis, having nothing to do, and feeling useless you’re unable to help. It’s damn ridiculous, but I’m willing that dog behind the closed door to come through. I hope the girl’s okay too. I feel for her, but I don’t wa
nt to call the number she gave me, not without any news.
Pyro leans forward and takes a magazine off the rack, something about dogs from the cover, I think. Pal gets up and goes to read the notice board.
“Christ! Have we wormed Bitch recently?”
“What the fuck?”
Pal’s turned, looking green. “If not, she could have those growing inside.” He points to a rather disgusting picture of internal parasites. “Or fleas. Hell. Never knew they looked like that.” A blown-up photo is displayed in full view. “Fuck, might ask that nurse when she comes back if we can buy some shit for her.”
“That’s why they do it,” Pyro says sagely. “Show you all that shit so you spend good money.”
“Bitch?” I can’t remember seeing a dog in the clubhouse.
“Club cat.” Pal’s answer is more puzzling than illuminating.
“Club pain in the ass you mean.” Pyro doesn’t look impressed. He raises his hand which has scratch marks on it. “She got me last night. Anything up there about declawing, Pal?”
Now I recall seeing a massive feline last time I was in the clubhouse. It had been sitting on a couch. Alone. Perhaps the state of Pyro’s hand shows why no one had gone near it. “Demon’s worried about her now that he’s got a kid to consider?”
“Yeah, Prez might be impressed if we go back with some shit to sort her out.” Pal still seems intent on studying the various leaflets.
“There is that,” Pyro says as he idly flicks through the pages of the magazine he’d picked up.
We fall into silence. As it would be with my brothers I’d left behind, it’s companionable rather than awkward. A clock on the wall ticks away the minutes, but no one appears from the back to give us an update. When the door finally opens, it takes me by surprise.
I stand. “What we talking about, Doc?” I’m holding my breath in case he announces the dog is dead.
“Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m James Ransom. We don’t stand on ceremony here, so call me James.” Now he’s lost that sense of urgency, he seems to be an affable sort. Slightly younger than me, with sand coloured hair, cut short. “Max is doing well all things considered, but he’s got a long way to go until he’s out of the woods.”
Devil's Due: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #3 Page 4