“You don’t get on a bike without a helmet. Never. Too many things could happen, even in that short stretch of highway. That highway don’t care. It doesn’t care that you were only going to be riding for a couple of seconds. The highway is an unforgiving bitch.”
“Jesus, Gabe. He didn’t even get up over twenty miles an hour.”
I had this conversation a lot. The guys were used to it. Unfortunately, I’d been witnessed two motorcycle wrecks in my time, and neither one ended well for the individuals that were on them.
“You see that guardrail right there?” I asked her.
She turned, and looked at the guardrail. In addition, I noted that Jack, James, and each of the officers did as well.
“I witnessed a wreck one time with one of those. Want to know what happened? The guy was going just over thirty miles an hour and hit an oil spot. His bike went one way and his body went towards the guardrail. The side of his head hit the guardrail. Split his head open like a watermelon falling to the ground.”
“Not that this isn’t interesting, but shouldn’t you be doing something with those two?” She motioned towards to the two boys on the ground.
When Ember pulled up with James, she’d dismounted, both officer’s attentions had immediately zeroed in on her. She looked like she’d just been fucked (which she had been). Her hair was windblown, cheeks flushed. Her shirt had ridden up exposing some of the smooth skin at her belly. Now that she’d brought up their inappropriate behavior, they were all business.
“They seriously hurt?” the young officer asked.
“No, just a little banged up. These little assholes deserve this and more, they almost ran my girl and me off the road. I had to use some creative driving to get away from them before they made road kill out of us. We’re lucky to be alive right now.” I said and then started in on my explanation.
The officers listened to the whole explanation, took the kid’s explanation as well, and then gave them a seat in the back of the police cars. Each one in a separate car. With handcuffs.
Tomorrow was going to be a busy day for them; I’d be making sure of it.
Chapter 9
"Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker.”
-Die Hard
Ember
“Get that out of my face.” Cheyenne said to me.
“It’s not in your face, it’s in my hand.”
“Get what’s in your hand out of my face.”
Both of us burst out laughing.
“Do you both ever stop? That’s all I fucking hear. If I have to hear penis, penis, penis, vagina, vagina, vagina one more time, I’ll shoot myself.” James said petulantly.
Sherlock Holmes and Varsity Blues were only two of the movies that we constantly quoted. We were both goody two shoes in high school. All we did was watch movies and eat in front of the television. We didn’t party, we didn’t stay out late, and we didn’t do anything illegal. Well maybe not too illegal, but still. They were lucky we watched movies; we could have been having sex with half of Kilgore’s population like the rest of our senior class.
“Penis, penis, penis.” Janie said.
James head whipped around and glared at us as if it was our fault. Not once today had we even said anything from Varsity Blues. He’s the one who said it. Sticking my tongue out right back, I turned my head back to the computer and started pointing out the bike helmets that I liked.
I’d gone back the next day to find it, but when I did there wasn’t much left but a shell. The straps had chew marks, and no padding was left where your head went. I still haven’t heard the end of that one.
“She’s three, James. What exactly do you expect when you say something that is so easy and catchy for her to say?” Cheyenne asked.
He’d been with her for a year now, and he still found himself flabbergasted at the stuff she said and did. Just last month she’d tried to take a shit on the potty at Lowe’s. While Cheyenne and I were busy laughing our asses off, James was running in the opposite direction. We’d calmly taken her down once we’d gotten ourselves under control, and then took her to the actual potty. She still never figured out why you couldn’t go since there was a potty right there that she could use.
“I like that one. The one with the skull. Do you think he would let me wear it?” I asked the group in general.
“He’ll be happy as long as you have a helmet, dimwit.” James grumped.
Throwing my ruler at him blindly I said, “Order it.”
Cheyenne one clicked it, and that was that.
“You know, he said to pick one up at the Harley shop today.” James said helpfully.
“I didn’t like any of those, loser. Plus, this will be here tomorrow by one in the afternoon, guaranteed.” I replied.
“Doesn’t help the fact that he will want you to have it for tonight when we do that rally for the local schools.”
“I’ll wear Cheyenne’s. Since she’s not allowed on the bike anymore.”
“I am so going on the bike. Get your own helmet.” Cheyenne said.
“No you’re not. Sam said so, and we both agree. No more bike for the pregnant chick.” I said, nodding to James with my head.
“Harrumph.” She grouched.
“Speaking of which, we need to go ahead and get some hotel rooms. Gabe left me his card so we could charge them on the company account. Let’s go ahead and get that over with since we’re already here.” I advised.
Thirty minutes, 4 websites, and six hundred dollars later we had six rooms for two nights. The town of Tulsa was going to be insanely busy, so we booked our hotels about forty-five minutes from there in a small town called Bixby. We probably weren’t the only ones to think staying an hour drive away would be easier in the end, but it would have to do.
“Alrighty then. I have myself a date at Shogun’s tonight with Gabe after the rally. What should I wear?” I asked Cheyenne.
For the next couple of hours we listened to the soundtrack for Pitch Perfect and searched for some clothes that would be appropriate for a biker babe, and a hot date at Shogun’s, one of the nicest restaurants in three towns.
Ω
“Shouldn’t we be getting to the rally?” I asked.
“We are. I just wanted to take you here first.” Gabe said as he pulled up in front of a plain brick building.
The black door sported a gun decal with Doc underneath of it.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“This is the Gun Doctor.” He said as if I knew what he was talking about, which I didn’t.
Why would you need a gun doctor?
“Umm, why?” I asked confused.
“So we can get you a pistol that’s more comfortable for you, and fits your hand better.” Gabe said simply.
Well didn’t that just explain everything? He held the door for me, and the smell of gun oil immediately assaulted my senses, making me sneeze. It smelled extremely strong, but I guess that’s something that is normal for a gun place. Wouldn’t want your gun to jam when you needed it most, would we? Best to keep it oiled and clean, otherwise what’s the point?
There were glass cases encircling the room. Any and every type of gun adorned the cases spread about three inches apart. On the walls hung some rifles and shotguns. Immediately my eye snagged on a purple shotgun, and I fell in love.
“I want that one.” I said pointing to it.
“That one won’t fit into your purse.” He said dryly.
“Okay, but when we come back I’m getting that one.” I said before starting to look into all the cases.
“Can I help y’all?” a young sales associate asked.
“You the Gun Doctor?” I asked him.
“Nope. Just an employee. Can I show you anything?” The sales associate asked.
“This one.” I said pointing towards a black gun with hot pink grips.
“Jesus, I should have known you’d pick that one. That one is a .40 caliber. Not too bad of a gun either. It’s a Ruger SR40. We can get you some lithium sit
es for it too.” Gabe said.
“Damn. I guess you don’t really even need me.” The sales associate stated.
“We want to take it into the range and try it out. We’ll need a box of ammo too. Some of those disposable ear plugs also.” Gabe said.
The associate didn’t hop to very fast though. He was busy checking out my tits. I knew I should have worn a bra, but Cheyenne guaranteed me that I didn’t need one.
“Now would be nice.” Gabe barked.
Rolling my eyes, I began to wander the room while they discussed the details. This place would be the place you would want to be if you were ever attacked by someone, or something. Every type of gun imaginable was here. Some even looked like they were from the future. One of the guns had a round tip at the end of the barrel and I studied it wondering what it was.
“Laser sights.” Gabe said from behind me, making me jump three feet in the air.
“Jesus. Don’t you ever stop doing that? You’re like a fricking cat!” I gasped.
Gabe’s smile was beautiful and I always felt my heart flutter when he gave me one like he was giving me now.
Wandering around some more, I came to a stop in front of the shotgun again.
“Can I help you?” A young woman asked.
She was probably a year or two older than my twenty-six. She had short blonde hair that came to just under her chin. She was tiny, maybe five feet at the most. The more I looked at her, the more she seemed familiar to me. She seemed to be studying me as well. Her head was tilted slightly to the side. I’d seen her before. Then suddenly it hit me.
“Jolie!” I squealed.
“Ember?” She asked.
“When did you move back?” I asked excitedly.
She smiled sadly before saying, “My mom passed away a few months ago. This is the first time I’ve been back, ya’ know, since that happened.”
I nodded sadly. Jolie’s dad killed James’ best friend in high school. Something terrible had happened to her, and I haven’t seen her since she left in the middle of senior year. James was always sticking up for her, watching over her. They’d started spending a ton of time together, and he and Max double dated a lot. Cheyenne and I had been in junior high when all of that went down, and though we heard about it, we never experienced it firsthand.
James did, and he did not like it. There was a huge fight during their senior year picnic, James left with a suspension, and Jolie never came back. Apparently, it was something bad, because never once did we hear what exactly happened from our brothers. James was pretty close to her, but he never opened his mouth. He was in a sort of depression for a while right after Jolie left. I think she was the reason that he went into the army, and Max being his best friend followed him.
Jolie hadn’t changed much in thirteen years. She still looked as great at 32 that she did at 18. Her hair was a tad shorter, but other than that still the tiny spunky girl that she used to be. I wonder how long it would take James to figure out she was back. He had ways of knowing things. That or I might tell him, he deserves to know.
“What are you doing working here?”
“There’re guns here. I figure it’s the best place for me. I’m not going to tell you why. I’d rather not tell you in here anyway. Maybe we can meet for drinks sometime.” She said quietly.
A sick feeling lodged in my throat, and I knew it was something bad. I felt two strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me up against a hard chest. Jolie’s eyes had widened into saucer size. She also seemed to shrink into herself, as if she was scared of a big man like Gabe.
“Got a lane. Let’s go, we have to be at the rally in about forty five minutes, and I want to see if you like this before we buy it.”
“That sounds great, Jolie. Call me whenever is good for you.” I said with a sincere smile.
Giving Jolie a meaningful look, we headed into the back of the store. We came to a metal door, and the young man who helped us opened it and walked through. It led into a room that was roughly the size of a small gym. At the far end targets hung. In front of each target, about fifty yards stood a metal table and chair. There was plexi-glass sectioning off each table, for what I guess was flying shells.
The young man showed us how to use the mechanical target mover, and then left us to it. Gabe gave me a set of earplugs and I hung them around my neck when he started to explain.
“Alright, this doesn’t have a safety you click on and off, it’s got a trigger safety. You have to depress both the safety and the trigger at the same time to shoot it. Don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you intend to shoot something. If you point this at someone, you had better intend to shoot him or her with it. Don’t bluff, because they might call you on it.”
He then went on to show me how to load the clip, inject a bullet into the chamber, unload it, and then finally how to aim and fire. He then unloaded it, and then handed it to me. My guess was this was a test to make sure I knew what I was doing.
I smiled, and then put the earplugs into my ears.
I did know what I was doing. Expertly, I loaded the clip, then the gun, and then aimed and fired at the target. Firing rapidly, I unloaded the clip as fast as I could. Then, I set the pistol down and studied the target. Center mass on all but one, and that was the one where I aimed for the head.
Still got it.
“Jesus. You didn’t tell me you could shoot like that. I think I just came in my pants a little. That was hot.” Gabe said while he studied the target as well.
“Cheyenne and I used to compete in high school. My dad was big into competition shooting, and I was daddy’s little girl. I can shoot skeet too. We had a blast, and I continued the shooting even after dad died. I knew he’d want me to.”
He levered the target up to the front and replaced the target with a new one. This one had nearly an entire body.
“I’m gonna move it, you shoot for the 5s.”
The fives were located at the main artery points. Carotid, subclavian, brachial, femoral, and popliteal. Supposedly, these were designed as kill shots when you couldn’t shoot center mass to bring your target down. If you wanted them down for good and didn’t have a good center mass shot, you would aim for these areas. I loaded my clip, chambered it, and got ready.
“Go.” Gabe said and then moved the target sharply to the right.
I took aim and got within an inch of the femoral artery on the right leg. He moved it sharply backwards and slightly to the left.
“Go.”
We continued this pattern until I fired all nine shots. He pulled the target and studied it silently for a couple seconds. Then he turned to me and regarded me.
“Mother fucker. You’re a crackshot!” Gabe said grinning.
“I guess so. Can we go now?” I asked.
I didn’t like how shooting made me feel anymore. I didn’t enjoy it like I used to, and ever since my dad died I didn’t feel right shooting. I made it through to my senior year before I stopped competing. It brought up too many memories. They were bittersweet, and reminded me of what I was missing. Left a huge gaping hole in my heart.
Gabe must have made the connection, because the next thing I knew I was wrapped in his arms, fighting back tears.
“You’re not alone anymore Em. I’ll always be here. I love you, sweetheart. Cheyenne, the girls, Sam, Blaine. Everyone loves you. You’re not alone.” He said as he kissed my forehead.
We left shortly after. Gabe was also the proud new owner of a .40 caliber Ruger something something. I’m sure there is a name for it. I’m also sure he told me, but like always, it went in one ear and out the other. You would think after six years of competition shooting that I would know what kind of weapons I’d used. I didn’t. That was my dad’s job, and I refused to take it over.
“So, where exactly are we supposed to meet for this Biker’s Rule for School?” I yelled into Gabe’s ear.
We were driving down Highway 42, and it seemed to me we were more riding than getting to a destination. We passe
d over the Sabine River, and I noticed that it was getting quite low. We’d had one hell of a summer, and we were lucky it was as high as it was. Sometimes, during a bad summer, the river slowed down to little more than a creek in some spots.
“You’ll see.” Gabe said cryptically.
We rode for another ten minutes or so when I saw the first bike. Then it wasn’t just one, it was hundreds. We waved, spoke, joked around, and rode. What the Bikers Rule for School was, was a bunch of bikers (you didn’t even have to be a bad ass like Gabe and the rest of the guys, you could be an old man going through his midlife crisis) entering their bikes in the rally. Then the money that you paid to enter your bike then went to buying the local kids school supplies. This was my first year riding in it, but it sure wouldn’t be the last.
We rode for six hours straight. By the end of the day, I was ready to drop. We’ve ridden on long rides before, but never one where I spent the entire six hours riding straight. By the time we pulled up in front of Shogun’s, I was ready to burst; no potty break would do that to a girl. Gabe managed a front row parking spot, and I thanked God for answering my prayers before I pissed my pants.
Running into the bathroom, I barely slammed and locked the door before I dropped my pants. Sighing in intense relief, my eyes rolled back in my head, and I listened to the door slam and two cackling women enter the bathroom. They sounded snobby, and I was glad I was in the stall and didn’t have to see their faces. I might have to bitch slap them.
Finishing up, I was buttoning my jeans when what they were saying penetrated my brain. Then I started fuming.
“Did you see that trash that came with that hot hunk of man?” snotty bitch one said (SB for short).
“Yes. He could do much better. Did you see what she was wearing? You don’t wear that type of outfit out to a nice restaurant. You wear a dress.” SB number two countered.
“Oh, my God. For real! She must have a golden vagina to keep him. She didn’t even have boobs. Do you think he would call me if I slipped him my number?” SB number one quipped.
Motherfucking Son of a Bitch.
The lock made a sharp clicking sound as I slid it out of the locked position and slammed the door open. Both girls turned at the sharp sound of the stall door slamming against the wall. Then both of their eyes widened as they saw me walk out.
Highway Don't Care (Freebirds) Page 12