by A W Hartoin
The only person I could think of to make my life worse than Raptor was my fourth-grade math partner, Alex Conway. He spat in my hair daily and kept trying to look up my skirt so he could tell everyone what kind of panties I wore. When I complained to my teacher, I got chastised for not being a team player. It cemented me as a non-team player for life. Quite the opposite of what she intended.
“Who is it?” I asked, wincing.
“Barney,” said Grandad.
“Barney?”
“You know Barney, Cranston’s son. He just passed away last month.”
I nodded, but I had no clue who Barney or his father was. Grandad and Robert turned back to the Flea, saying Barney would be there any minute.
“Don’t you notice anyone?” asked Raptor.
“I notice plenty,” I said. Like how you’re evil.
“Oh, yeah. You do know Barney, by the way.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t.”
“He works at Hunt Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Aren’t you out there every other week schmoozing with serial killers?”
Leave it to Raptor to remind me of the one other thing in my life that was worse than her. A few months ago, Dad had me go to Hunt to weasel information out of Kent Blankenship, a mass murderer. It worked to some extent and Blankenship liked me, if you could call what he did liking. He hinted that he had information on other murders and had been stringing me along for months, giving the minimum. Dad thought it was worth it if I could get even the smallest clue. I didn’t agree. Hunt was a miserable experience from start to finish.
“I don’t schmooze,” I said.
“I’ve seen you do it. You probably like that serial killer and I bet he really likes you.”
“He’s a mass murderer.”
“Whatever.”
Breathe. Don’t scream.
“There’s a difference.”
Another Harley roared up the alley and skidded to a dramatic halt. I peeked around the garage. How did Mom not hear that? She had to. Either her head was under water or she chose to ignore it. I was betting on the latter.
I turned back to the bike and I did recognize the front rider, Barney Cranston. He was a nurse at Hunt, but we hadn’t had much contact. Blankenship was insane, but he needed security more than care.
Barney and his rider got off their black touring Harley and stretched. “Miss Mercy, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“You’re not the only one,” muttered Raptor.
He held out his big hand and it swallowed mine, the dark skin callused and cracked. “This is my wife, Janet.”
Janet shook my hand, too. She was Barney’s opposite, petite, pale, and Asian. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said in a soft, musical voice that I had to strain to hear.
Raptor groaned behind me.
“Er…really?” I asked.
“Yes, Barney says you’re great with the patients.”
I frowned. I wasn’t great with Blankenship. If I was, I’d have gotten a lot more from the bastard.
“I told her about Greta,” said Barney.
“It’s a good thing that you do for her,” said Janet with a bit of an accent I couldn’t place.
That’s what they told me every time I visited, but I didn’t think it made much difference. Greta had postpartum psychosis and had killed her children. She was deemed not guilty by reason of insanity and would barely communicate with anyone. I always visited her when I endured Blankenship.
“I hope it helps.”
Barney patted me on the shoulder. “It does. Greta looks forward to your visits. She even took a walk after the last time you came.”
“That’s good,” I said. “And I’m sorry about your dad. I hadn’t heard.”
Raptor snorted, but Barney ignored her. “He looked forward to these trips. I had to come for the old man.” He looked at Grandad. “Are we ready?”
Grandad said they should go ahead. We’d hang back with Aaron. I argued and Janet took up for me. I finally got them to agree to put the Flea in the back of my truck and drive it up. It was a great idea. Riding in the truck wouldn’t be so bad. I went to get it, but by the time I got back, it was all settled and not in my favor. Janet would ride with Aaron. She was dying to hear all about his cooking techniques. Good luck with that. He wouldn’t tell me how to fry an egg.
So I squeezed in the side car and Janet got in the truck. Before she closed the door, I heard her say, “What do you think about doing a kimchi hot dog?”
I almost threw up in my mouth.
Thanks, Janet. I’m going to have to eat that.
Everyone got on their bikes and revved their engines. It was so loud my chest was vibrating.
“Ready to tear it up?” yelled Robert before taking a swig out of a flask.
Grandad was ready to tear things, but he turned down the flask. He did look like he was considering it, though, and I got nervous. That wasn’t my grandad, Mr. Checklist.
I was about to intervene when he revved our engine, pealed out, and cornered on a dime at the end of the alley. It seemed like we’d left Mr. Checklist well behind and I was not loving it.
Chapter Eight
IT TOOK US ten hours to get to Sturgis, South Dakota and it was Grandad’s fault. He refused to eat the required six hundred calories at lunch so I refused to get back in the side car. He left me at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming. My cellphone didn’t have a signal and I was stuck.
I waited for a half hour, fending off truck drivers and a randy cowboy that was drunk at noon before Grandad passed slowpoke Aaron and Janet realized I wasn’t in the side car. They caught Grandad and made him go back. He thought he was teaching me a lesson. In his defense, I wasn’t alone at the station. Raptor was still there when he left. Like she was going to give me a ride. Get real, Grandad.
Between Janet and I, Grandad ate his calories and we were back on the road. I learned my lesson alright. Every time we stopped, I took the keys. Grandad wasn’t thrilled with me. It was the first time he’d ever been mad at me in my life. He was always on my side, but that was over when it was time for his first Ensure. I caught him pouring it into the sewer at the rest stop. Grandad required constant vigilance. I’d had ICU patients that were easier to care for.
I poked him in the thigh at six and yelled over the rain we’d been pummeled with for the last half hour. “Shouldn’t we be there?”
Grandad flipped up his visor and surprised me by smiling. “You ready to party?”
“I’m ready for a shower and dry clothes.”
Wallace had drooled all over me and was sleeping on her back under my feet, proving that she could drool in any position. She smelled a lot worse wet than she did dry.
“I’m ready for a drink,” he said and turned down a road past a quarry.
“Where are we?”
There were several signs for Sturgis and we kept not going that way. Just when I started to think we didn’t know where we were going, we turned onto a gravel road next to a sign that read The Ornery Elk Bed & Breakfast and Hunting Lodge. A large stone house with a matching barn sat in a copse of trees with a row of red rocking chairs on the wide front porch and flowers overflowing in their beds.
We parked next to a big truck with a trailer, holding two Harleys as the rain petered out. I pried myself out of the sidecar and set Wallace on the ground. She sniffed the split-rail fence and then barked at it.
Grandad came up and slung a skinny arm over my shoulder. “The ride was worth it. Look at that view.”
“This is where you came to sow your wild oats? A bed and breakfast?” I asked.
“We’re not animals, Mercy.”
“Obviously not.”
Barney helped Janet out of the truck and said, “Virginia makes the best breakfast I ever had.”
Aaron grabbed his duffel bag and trotted to the front door, disappearing without a word to us.
“Was it something I said?” asked Barney.
“Yes. Breakfas
t.” I unbuckled the stinky army bag from the back of the bike.
“It’s night.”
“You mentioned food. That’s enough.” I hefted the bag on my shoulder and yanked Wallace back from the fence. “It’s a post. Get a grip. Are you sure Virginia will be fine with this nut job?”
“I texted her,” said Janet. “As long as she doesn’t pee in the house, it’s fine.”
I can’t guarantee that.
“Okay.” I followed Aaron’s path and was intercepted by a six foot tall woman wearing a flowered apron and holding back a beagle straining at the end of a taut leash.
“You have to be Mercy. Welcome to The Ornery Elk,” she boomed. “You’re soaking wet. We’ll get you to your room.”
Virginia owned the B&B with her sister, Kathleen, another six-footer with a loud voice. She was out leading a hike through the hills with some other guests and Virginia gave us the tour. Virginia and Kathleen bought the house twelve years before when Virginia’s husband died of a massive heart attack. She had a mid-life crisis and decided that buying a dilapidated house in South Dakota would fix it. Kathleen thought it was a grand idea, divorced her third husband, and headed west with her sister. It took five years to make the house livable and another three to make it beautiful. To be fair, it took them three months alone to convince the raccoons and possums that they didn’t live there anymore.
The house was gorgeous with foot and a half thick stone walls and original woodwork that Kathleen had discovered in the barn and spent years restoring. A labor of love, Virginia called it, and the love showed in every crevasse.
Virginia led me upstairs to a cozy room with two beds and I lost the love. “Um…why are there two beds?”
“You’re sharing with your sister.”
“Sister?”
Floorboards creaked behind me. “You must mean me,” said Raptor in full glare.
Virginia glanced between the two of us, her ruddy forehead creasing at the animosity.
“We’re not sisters,” I said. “We’re…”
“Yeah, Mercy. What are we?” asked Raptor.
Archenemies.
“Friends.”
I had to say it. Virginia wanted me to say it. She wasn’t the kind of person who understood rancor and revenge. Sometimes, you can just tell. Our lovely hostess showed us the room’s amenities, which did not include a TV, clock, or phone. We’d stepped back to the 1880s. It would’ve been cool if Raptor hadn’t stepped back with me.
Virginia left and I put a bed between me and Raptor.
Please don’t hurt me.
“I’m just going to unpack and take a shower.” And run away.
“Did you know about this?” Raptor hissed at me.
“You think I want to share a room with you?”
Her voice went up an octave. “You don’t?”
What is happening?
“Uh…I—”
A sharp knock rattled the door and Grandad came in. “Having fun, girls?”
“A blast,” I said.
Raptor scowled at me.
She’s going to kill me in my sleep.
“Let’s go get that drink,” I said.
“I thought you wanted a shower,” said Grandad. “We can wait.”
Visions of Psycho passed through my head, but I agreed.
An hour later, Grandad was back, all smiles and saying, “Come on, Raquel. It wouldn’t be a party without you.”
Dammit!
We got back on our bikes, except for Aaron, who was talking venison with Virginia, and we rode into Sturgis as dusk settled.
I expected the worst, somewhere between Sons of Anarchy and Animal House. I got neither. We rode through town on the main drag surrounded by expensive bikes that were so loud I felt like I was being assaulted. Other than my hearing loss, the bikers were polite, slowing down for pedestrians and complimenting each other on their bikes, helmets, and wives. Raptor and I were the youngest people I saw, except for the girls hawking tee shirts at the myriad of shops lining the street. Everybody else was in their fifties at least, which made sense, I guess. I didn’t see a bike under thirty grand. Those bikes weren’t for transportation. They were for fun and there was lots of fun on that street. The whole town was having a reunion.
Grandad’s bike got lots of attention. I guess you don’t see vintage BMWs with sidecars every day and the bikers dug it. They liked Wallace, too. She stood with her paws on the side of the car, accepting praise and pats.
We passed the dealer areas for Harleys, Indians, and Victorys and parked on a side street. We walked the strip and then went over to a blocked-off street packed with bikes of every description. To my surprise, there were plenty of BMWs and Indians with a couple of Triumphs thrown in. I’d assumed it was Harleys or else, but nobody cared. We saw bikes that were customized completely in wood, ones with weird handlebars that Grandad called “ape hangers”, and incredible paint jobs that must’ve cost thousands to do. Robert, Barney, and Grandad knew a surprising amount of people. The vets were out in full force, wearing their patches on black jackets and hats. Barney wore his dad’s jacket with a big POW patch on the back. I asked if his dad was a POW, but he gave me a funny look and said no.
Grandad didn’t wear anything to designate him as a vet. He never did, even though he served three tours in Vietnam. Most people liked to point out their service, but not him. He said he’d rather forget than remember, but he always remembered his friends if not where they’d met.
After dusk, Raptor and I started getting looks. Grandad and Robert started getting nudges and winks. Raptor looked over her shoulder and, for the first time, she didn’t look at me with hatred. “What’s that about?”
“You don’t want to know,” I said.
Robert asked Grandad, “What time are we meeting Big Mike?”
“Nine.”
“Can we eat? I’m starving,” I said.
“Sorry, honey. I forgot,” said Grandad. Some guy nudged him and said something in his ear. Grandad nodded and they both laughed.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He thinks you’re my girlfriend.”
I was afraid to ask, but I did anyway, “Did you tell him that I’m your granddaughter?”
“Heck, no. I’m cool.”
“Grandad!”
He and Robert laughed. Raptor looked pissed at me, like it was my idea.
“You’re creepy,” I said.
“Not in this world.”
“Why would he believe it?”
“I told him I’m an internet millionaire,” said Grandad.
“Why would he believe that?”
“Why wouldn’t he? He was on his fifth tequila.”
Robert slapped his thigh. “Hot damn. I’m gonna use that internet thing, too.”
“Grandpa!” exclaimed Raptor.
“Nobody cares, sweetheart.”
“I care,” she said.
“Don’t be such a square.” Robert steered us across the street to a dimly-lit bar called The Rack and Ruin. He knew right where he was going, up to the second floor to a huge square table with a Reserved sign on it. Raptor sat in a shadowy corner, looking miserable, and I resolved to be the good one. The waitress gave us menus and said their specialty was deep-fried steak. Shudder. Barney said I had to have it and Janet apologized. I told her it was fine. Nothing a margarita couldn’t cure.
Robert flagged down the waitress and she took our drink orders.
I asked for a strawberry margarita.
“I’ll have a rum and Coke,” said Raptor.
Janet said something in her soft voice. The waitress couldn’t hear her and Barney leaned over to his wife and then said, “She’ll have an iced tea and I’d like a boilermaker.”
Robert nodded. “The same.”
The waitress looked at Grandad.
“Chardonnay.”
She blinked. “I’ll see if we have it.”
Grandad grinned at her, his dimples deeply etching his thin cheeks. “Than
ks, sweetheart.”
She grinned back. “You old dog, you.”
“You know it.”
The waitress hurried off and the band on the stage below began a new set with “Ten Feet Tall.” They’d flipped it to a country version, complete with a banjo.
“Chardonnay?” I asked.
“I like chardonnay.”
“You’re a wild man.”
A huge hand clapped down on the table. “Ace was always a girl.”
“Big Mike!” everyone shouted and jumped up to greet a guy that rivaled Tiny in size. He dwarfed Grandad as they shook hands and clapped each other on the back. Raptor and I watched the reunion from our seats. Big Mike was nothing like Grandad, Robert, or Barney. He wore well-worn leathers with a vest that showed off his beefy arms covered in tattoos, artfully done to cover scars. I glanced at Raptor. She saw them but averted her eyes. My eyes wouldn’t avert. Big Mike had a great face, a face that told a story that I really wanted to hear. His grey hair twisted in frizzy ringlets down to his broad shoulders. A forked beard reached halfway down his chest and framed a wide mouth with a set of teeth that needed some serious work. His smile extended to his eyes and creased his face with deep grooves.
After the hugging, he turned to me and Raptor. “You must be the famous Mercy.” Big Mike’s attention flowed over me like a warm, comforting light. I caught a grimace from Raptor out of the corner of my eye. Big Mike saw it, too.
“And the beautiful Raquel,” he said, extending his glow to her and she beamed up at him. I’d never seen Raptor look like that. She was beautiful. Her usual scowl ruined it. “Big Mike, how are you doing?”
They hugged and Big Mike said to Grandad, “I just saw Jerk the Jackass.”
“We can’t lose that guy.”
Robert said, “Calvin bites it, but not that guy. Jerks have all the luck.”
“I don’t know how lucky he is,” said Grandad. “But maybe it’s better.”
“Not them. Those two are everlasting,” said Big Mike.
Everyone laughed and more people crowded around our table. None of them was familiar to me, a rotund man with red cheeks and deep bags under his eyes named Hal and a couple, Steve and Jeanette. They were blond and could’ve been twins instead of married with matching military paraphernalia. They wore hats, tees, and jackets. Jeanette had MIA earrings and Steve had tattoos on his neck naming battlefields from multiple wars. Elbows went wild as they jostled in to greet the rest of the group.