I almost dropped my helmet. But what else had I expected? I could practically hear Benjamin Franklin telling me I told you so from my back pocket.
The smart move would have been to run. One whisper to Craig – and probably some serious groveling later – and we could have all of the cops in Crayhill here inside three minutes. Okay, so that wasn’t very impressive… But a wrench across the back of the head would keep Leo down until they put him safely in handcuffs. I could see myself – vividly – holding the wrench and standing over Leo.
But instead, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“Down to Highway 44,” Leo told me. He picked up his black helmet. “We’ll meet my friends on the way. Then we’re going west to San Diego.”
“Great,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to see San Diego.”
Not specifically, but San Diego wasn’t Crayhill and I always wanted to see not-Crayhill. And San Diego was all the way in California. I was going to see my first palm tree – on an endless white sand beach! I promised myself that I would order an overpriced mimosa as soon as we got there.
Leo swung a leg over his Packmaster and I climbed onto my Bonneville. We both put on our helmets and strapped them into place.
“Jaz!” Craig shouted.
Leo started his bike and if Craig had anything else to say, it was swallowed by the sudden roar of engines. The Packmaster revved and Leo pulled it through a tight turn, then raced out into the road. He turned south, toward Highway 44. I kicked the Bonnie to life and followed.
I rode down Highway 44 beside Leo and finally lost sight of Crayhill over my shoulder. Which was actually kind of a feat in Kansas. Despite its name, there wasn’t a single hill in Crayhill, so it took pure distance to swallow up my hometown.
I couldn’t stop checking every few seconds. Some part of me was still screaming that this was a terrible idea, and I had to convince myself over and over again that I wasn’t dreaming the whole thing, that I had finally left. But when I could no longer see Crayhill, I cheered into the dry summer wind. Leo glanced over at me, but I couldn’t read his expression under the helmet.
We rode past wide, flat fields in alternating green and gold. I smelled hot asphalt and warm earth, the sharp stink of exhaust and the sweet scent of sun-baked cornfields. Engines and the wind roared in my ears, even under the protective padding of my helmet. They were the sounds of the open road, and it was the most beautiful music in the world.
Shut up. I was allowed to be a little poetic – I was actually leaving home and it felt amazing.
Well, mostly. My Bonneville’s shitty shocks hadn’t suddenly gotten better and I didn’t own a pair of good motorcycle gloves. It was only the middle of the afternoon – less than two hours after leaving Crayhill – and my hands already ached. I felt the hard vibration of the road in my lungs and guts. It just added to the exhilaration for now, but I was pretty sure that I would be over the sensation long before dinner time.
I gave Leo a sidelong glance. He wasn’t watching the landscape streak by, but gripped the handles of his Packmaster with tension that I could see even through his leathers and helmet. Leo caught my eye and held up his hand, first finger raised.
I frowned. That was the signal to ride single-file. The highway wasn’t empty – there were trucks hauling crops and tankers full of gasoline, all mixed in with smaller cars driving through my shitty little corner of Kansas without stopping – but there was plenty of room for two motorcycles to drive abreast.
Was this some kind of macho bullshit? Maybe Leo felt some alpha-wolf need to lead the way… I didn’t know, but the man was paying me a lot of money, so I dutifully throttled back and fell in behind his Packmaster.
We crossed the southwest border of Kansas and into Oklahoma. I rode behind Leo until the sun began to set, turning the blue sky dark and purple. Our headlights cast bright blades of illumination out in front of us. Leo gestured again, this time pointing in the direction of the next highway off-ramp.
I didn’t catch the name printed on the green sign beside the road, but I didn’t care. The town we drove into couldn’t have been any larger than Crayhill. It wasn’t much more than an overgrown truck stop, but it was a new place, a not-Crayhill place. I called that a win.
Leo rolled into a shopping center parking lot and stopped under one of the streetlamps. I parked next to him, kicked out the Bonneville’s stand and rubbed my aching hands. Time to start earning Leo’s suspicious money.
“How did your bike do?” I asked.
Leo pulled off his helmet. He shook out the sweaty brown waves of his hair and frowned down at the Packmaster.
“Steering was a bear,” Leo grunted. “It fought me the whole way.”
Was that what had been going on? I didn’t see the motorcycle swerve all afternoon, so I guess that Leo had been able to keep it under control. Must be those big arms…
“That’s why I asked you to ride behind me before,” Leo said. “My bike kept pulling toward yours, and I didn’t want to hit you if I lost control.”
“Oh,” I answered. “Um… thanks.”
So not some kind of stupid alpha-male shit. Well, that was something of a relief, at least. But what the hell was wrong with Leo’s motorcycle? I pulled out my toolkit to check his tire pressure and alignment. Still fine.
I sat back on my heels. Too bad I couldn’t have brought a lift table and some better lights. I settled for spreading my jacket on the ground and turning on my cell phone flashlight.
“Let’s look at your head bearings,” I said. “Give me a hand.”
I directed Leo to hold his motorcycle level and steady while I found my jack. It was just a little one – small enough to fit into my toolbox – but we lifted up the front of the Packmaster. Reluctantly, I grabbed the handlebars. No electric zap this time, which was an improvement… Not that I had ever figured out why it happened in the first place.
Leo held his motorcycle while I rotated the front wheel to feel the movement of the bearing inside. Something felt wrong. The bike’s steering grated and groaned in protest, and the effort of yanking the handlebars a few degrees made sweat prickle along my hairline.
But a tight bearing wasn’t the only thing wrong. The sweat running down the back of my neck was ice cold and I had the sudden overwhelming urge to shove the motorcycle off the jack, over onto Leo. What the hell? I’m not really a violent girl and don’t let Maisie Perkins tell you otherwise. She started that fight – I just ended it.
Sure, Leo was mysterious and his glitchy motorcycle was frustrating, but neither of them was trying to steal my favorite doll. So even if I could lay them both out on their asses there in the parking lot, it seemed like overkill. It had been a weird afternoon, so I just shook the sensation off and gave the Packmaster’s handlebars another twist.
They barely moved. The bearings were way too tight, that was all. That didn’t explain the swerving and pulling that Leo had described, exactly, but maybe forcing the over-tight steering had damaged the bearing further. Wrestling with it might have carved a notch into the metal… Well, I wouldn’t know until I got in there to ease up the bearings and take a look. I let go of the Packmaster and rubbed my hands.
“I have a drift and hammer set in my kit,” I told Leo. “I can loosen up that head bearing for you. It’s not a complicated fix, but I’m tired and you’re paying me too much money to do shit work on your ride.”
“What do you need?” Leo asked. “A garage?”
“No, just dinner and maybe some sleep,” I said. “You weren’t planning to ride through the night, were you?”
Leo hesitated and drummed his fingers on the back of his motorcycle, then finally sighed.
“No, I guess not,” he answered with obvious reluctance. “My friends have to stop for the night, too. We’ll catch up to them tomorrow.”
“Great. Then I’ll take care of your bearings first thing in the morning.”
Leo nodded and we lowered his bike back to the ground. Without getting on the roa
d again, our meal options were fast food or a country-style diner, so we chose the diner. It was just at the end of the parking lot and we left our motorcycles under the streetlight – after Leo double-checked the buckles on his saddlebags, I noticed – then walked over to the diner.
It was getting late on a Tuesday night, so there were only a few truckers in the diner, loading up on grease and caffeine for the road. Most of the tables were empty and a server looked up from her coffee long enough to tell us we could take any seat.
Leo selected a nearby booth and slid into the far side, where he could keep an eye on the front door. I sat down across from him with a wince and waited for some menus.
“Are you okay?” Leo asked, frowning.
“Your motorcycle isn’t the only one with problems,” I said. “My shocks aren’t great. The Bonnie’s a rough ride and I’ve never taken it on the road for this long. My hands are kind of numb, and so is my ass.”
“I don’t think any of my gloves will fit you, but you’re welcome to a pair if you want to try,” Leo offered.
I shook my head. “Thanks, but your hands are like twice the size of mine.”
Leo nodded and then stripped out of his jacket, laying it over the green vinyl booth seat. He smiled a little self-consciously as he peeled off his fingerless riding gloves, too, and tucked them into one of the pockets. Leo folded his tattooed forearms across the tabletop. Red and orange ink flames curled around his left wrist, up to the wheels of a bike of a similar make and model to his own. An armored figure rode astride the motorcycle on his bicep, with a few gleaming details picked out in white ink. The helmet had a flaming plume on top that disappeared up under the sleeve of Leo’s black t-shirt.
“You’ve been working on bikes for a while, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, pretty much since I could lift a wrench,” I answered. “Just for fun when I was little, a way to spend time with my mom and dad. But it wasn’t like I could go to college, so guess what I ended up doing for a living?”
“And you seem good at it,” Leo said.
I arched an eyebrow. “Uh, you’ve barely seen me work. And I have no idea what’s causing your engine surges yet.”
“I’ve been to see a lot of mechanics over the years,” Leo said. “Most of them would have made something up by now.”
“Ever had to bring one on the road with you before?” I asked.
A bit nervously, I have to admit. Leo was a criminal, after all, and I had nightmare visions of some other mechanic duct-taped to a chair somewhere back in Chicago. Leo smiled, though.
“Nope. This is a first for me, too,” he said. “My uncle always told me that a buck spent on maintenance was worth a hundred in repairs.”
I nodded. “Smart guy. Your uncle’s right.”
“He usually is.”
Our server finally strolled over with a couple of menus, then brought us some drinks – coffee for me, cola for Leo – and took our orders. The diner did breakfast all day, so I asked for a skillet full of eggs, bacon and potatoes. My lunch was only half a candy bar and now I was starving.
“So why are your shocks so bad?” Leo asked when the server left again. “Seems like a good place for a little bit of that preventative maintenance.”
“Money,” I answered with a shrug. “Up until this afternoon, I couldn’t afford new shocks. I only have the Bonneville at all because the owner skipped out on the bill and Craig let me work a bunch of unpaid weekends to buy it.”
Leo nodded his understanding. He obviously had plenty of money now, but it was just as clear that wasn’t always the case. Leo’s money was stolen, and I doubted he was about to start investing it in prudent stock portfolios. His bank account probably spent as much time in the red as mine… If Leo even had a bank account. I didn’t want to ask him about that, though.
“Well, I have to move fast, and I need you to make sure my Packmaster can do that,” Leo said. “That means we need you to be able to ride fast, too. How do we get your Triumph some new shocks?”
“In this place?” I asked, gesturing to the diner window and the narrow street outside. “We don’t. When we ride through a bigger town, I can pick up new springs. I should be able to swap them in without much trouble. How soon I can do that depends on where we’re meeting your friends. The uh… the Knights of Hell, right?”
I glanced down at Leo’s tattoos. He caught my look and then nodded.
“Yeah. The Knights are heading toward San Diego, too, but they shouldn’t be more than a town or two ahead of us. I’ll give Audrey another call tonight and find out.”
Now it was my turn to nod. I was just Leo’s mechanic for this trip. Where we went and how fast was up to him. Unless Leo actually tried to get me to do anything illegal. I couldn’t imagine any crime that he might involve me in, but what the hell did I know? This morning, my biggest dream was finding some out-of-date motorcycle shocks online.
“My friends will ride as slow as they can to let me catch up,” Leo said. “But they can’t stop to wait for us.”
Yeah, I had kind of figured out that part. Chances were somewhere around a hundred percent that every rider in the Knights of Hell wore that rattlesnake patch, too. The mark wasn’t unlike a diamondback’s rattle, I supposed – it was a warning. Leo was dangerous and no matter how much cash he paid me, I couldn’t forget that.
Literally… it was like something was shouting in the back of my mind to get the hell away from Leo Valdis. I willed that voice to shut up and took another drink of coffee. I was so amped and jittery that I doubted I needed any more caffeine, but it gave me something to do.
I ran my hand over the scarred wooden tabletop of the diner booth. This could have been any table in Crayhill, but it wasn’t. Despite the longest, strangest day of my life – and my sore butt – I was very, very glad that I had accepted Leo’s offer.
Our server appeared at the table like the patron goddess of food and I almost grabbed the skillet right out of her hands. She blinked at my enthusiasm as I began devouring heaping forkfuls of scrambled eggs. She dropped off a little pitcher of creamer for my coffee, too, and I stirred some into the mug.
Leo watched me demolish my dinner with a faintly shocked expression. I guess he had never seen a half-starved mechanic before.
“So… what’s in San Diego?” I asked between mouthfuls. “Or are you just going there because it’s not Chicago?”
Leo grinned. “Like it’s not Crayhill?”
“Hey, I’ve got nothing against Chicago.” I held up my hands. Well, one of them – the other was occupied grabbing a strip of bacon. “I want to go there someday, too.”
“Chicago’s a good city,” Leo said. “I grew up there, but I spent every summer down in San Diego. To get away from things at home.”
A shadow flickered behind Leo’s dark eyes and I guessed I wasn’t the only one at the table who wanted to run away from home. I was curious… but didn’t risk pressing Leo. It didn’t seem smart to poke a rattlesnake and besides, Leo didn’t owe me any answers – he was the one paying me. I just needed to get him to San Diego intact, and then collect the rest of my thirty thousand dollars.
“Yeah, I get it,” I told him.
“And San Diego’s as much my home by now as Chicago,” Leo said. He smiled at me again, but it didn’t look as easy this time. “That’s where my uncle lives. What about you, Jaz? Where are you going?”
“San Diego, apparently,” I answered.
“What about after that?” Leo asked. “How far do you want to go?”
“As far as I can get.”
After dinner, Leo picked up the check and paid in cash. I considered arguing with him, but Leo was the one with buckets of money. Until we got to San Diego, I had only the five hundred dollars in my wallet to see me through. And maybe to buy some shocks for my bike.
Besides, as Leo counted out the money, my cell phone rang and the screen lit up with my dad’s picture. I took a couple of steps back from the register, but Leo was still watc
hing me from the corner of his eye as I answered.
It was both of my parents, in fact, each speaking louder and louder to make their questions heard over the other. I covered my eyes with one hand, but I smiled. They were just worried.
“I told you I’d call when I could,” I pointed out. “But I’m fine. Really. It’s a short job on the road. I’ll be back home as soon as I can, and I’ll phone to let you know where I am. Okay?”
It took a few more rounds of reassurance that I was safe and that the money I left for them was legit, but after Leo had been waiting a few minutes, I was able to hang up and grin sheepishly at him.
“Parents,” I said.
“Did you tell them where we are?” Leo asked.
“Uh… no,” I answered. “Was I supposed to or something?”
Leo shrugged in noncommittal answer and I followed him out into the parking lot. We drove – carefully – down the street to the only motel in town and Leo bought a pair of rooms, also in cash. Finally, I groaned inwardly.
“I… really should pay for my own motel room,” I said.
After all, I hadn’t actually fixed Leo’s motorcycle yet and a motel room – even a crappy one – was way more expensive than highway diner food. But lodging was going to eat through my remaining money fast. Maybe Leo could deduct the cost from my pay once the job was done…
“Call it traveling expenses,” Leo said. “Don’t worry about it. Trust me, Jaz, you’re the one doing me a favor.”
I didn’t feel great about it, but I shrugged and wondered if Leo was feeling a bit guilty for stealing me away from my home and family – even though I had jumped at the chance. I didn’t want to take advantage of his generosity, but neither did I want to screw up this one opportunity to actually earn some good money.
We walked our motorcycles down the single row of motel rooms. We stopped in front of two of the doors and Leo handed me one of the keys. I thanked him – hey, just because this whole adventure was weird as hell didn’t mean I couldn’t be polite – grabbed my toolbox and shouldered my backpack.
400 Horsepower of the Apocalypse Page 3