Ride to Redemption

by D. J. Wilson

  “Thank you sir, we’ll see you shortly!”

  “What did Billy say to you?” I asked, figuring he’d pumped her full of BS.

  “He said you were lucky to have me and a few other things I already knew.”

  “Really and he couldn’t wait ‘til we got to his bus to tell you that? Oh and why didn’t you ask him the name of their band?”

  “I already know,” she confessed with a smirk. “I looked them up on Google based on their names you provided … plus their performance in Sioux City Saturday night, in conjunction with this one.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Nope, it’s your turn to be surprised.”

  As I made our way behind the staging area, I realized just how big a deal this concert tonight was going to be. I bet the roped off area for the fans could hold at least 20,000 people. And here we were going to hang out with one of the bands that all these people are coming to see.

  It didn’t take me long to determine that if you want to find someone in the VIP section, go where the security is concentrated.

  “Hi guys,” I announced, greeting the guards standing there, “I’m D, and this is Candi. Billy said he would notify someone at the gate to get us in and tell us where to go.”

  “D,” said a female security member bristling with testosterone, “you two follow me.” She jumped on her golf cart and crisscrossed her way through a maze of pedestrians and buses. Far in the back lot, we pulled up to four busses, circled like wagons. There was one bodacious party going on under a circus-sized tent, pitched in the middle of it all. “Park anywhere you can find,” she commanded, before she drove away.

  That’s easier said than done on a motorcycle. If you don’t park somewhere on the gravel, the kickstand will bury into the ground and flip the bike. Finally, after maneuvering in, around and through the busses, I found a place to leave the bike with solid ground beneath it.

  “Let’s go and meet these guys you’ve been dying to see.” Walking up and under the circus tent, I saw many people that looked familiar, but couldn’t place any name with a face. It appeared that most of these people belonged here for some reason — most likely fame being one.

  Billy saw us wandering around under the tent and shuffled up, completely bypassing me to give Candi a serious squeeze.

  “Really nice to meet you, I’m Billy.”

  Turning to me, “D, she’s everything you said she was. Come join us for some BBQ. We don’t go on till 9:30, so we’ve got some time to hang out.”

  Catcalling to the others nearby, Billy spoke up, “Frank, Dusty, this is Candi.” The two stood, walked over and gave her an all to generous hug, too.

  “Hey! What is it with all the serious squeezing?” I asked defiantly.

  “We LOVE bodacious booby hugs, D!”

  “Seriously ya'll are acting like a bunch of horny old guys, who unlike Willie haven’t outlived your dicks … yet!”

  “Hell yeah,” shouted Frank, slapping me a high-five.

  “Cheers!” chimed Dusty.

  “Cheers to all of your dicks,” echoed Candi.

  “To tonight’s performance,” I toasted, attempting unsuccessfully to quickly change the subject matter.

  In the distance, we heard a distinct voice fast approaching. “To ZZ Top,” said this pony-tailed, familiar-looking old guy strutting into our conversation. He had a joint in his left hand and a longneck in his right. His Rebel Flag bandana gave him away. To my disbelief, Willie, along with his self-proclaimed dead dick, was here in Sturgis, too, performing right before Billy and the boys.

  “Oh my!” were the only words Candi could muster, standing motionless in awe of these revered musicians.

  “Willie,” announced Billy, “this is D and Candi. He’s the real deal, and we damn well think he’s from South Texas, but he swears he’s from Tennessee.”

  “Nice to meet you, I like them both,” professed Willie, bypassing me while extending his arms to Candi for a hug. “Don’t worry young lady. I know a good thing when I see it. I may have outlived my dick,” I heard him whisper in Candi’ ear,” but I haven’t out lived my eyes, my hands or my mind. I can still damage with those three.”

  The group enjoyed a good laugh, watching Willie toy with Candi. She, too, got in some funny remarks. I must confess, it was my first time hanging behind the scenes with a motley crew, such as this. We had a blast, long before the concert ever started. I’ll say one thing … those boys ALL know how to party!

  We rocked and rolled, and partied hard until a little after midnight. As the boys were striking up another all-night get together, we said our goodbyes and headed off to Deadwood in search of our hotel. Sleep was calling my name in no uncertain terms. Candi, too, echoed my sentiments on her way to the room. She wanted a long, hot, soaking butt-soothing bath, as much as I needed sleep.

  What an end to a great day. I chuckled to myself, as I settled into the pillow.

  My girlfriend impressed the band! What a hoot! What an amazing woo-hoo!

  Chapter 15

  “Wake up, baby girl. I’ve let you sleep in. It’s 9 a.m. It took superman strength not to jump your bones at five this morning when I woke to you wearing nothing, but a smile. Breakfast awaits, on the table by the window. I brought it up with me after my work out.”

  “Thanks, darling. You’re doing your best to spoil me. I could get used to this.”

  “I could get used to this, too.” I watched her settle into a chair, wearing nothing more than the napkin draped across her lap. It’s strange how we can both be so loving and caring at times, and yet still ruffle one another’s feathers with ever present deep, dark buried secrets.

  “Round up your dirty clothes. We need to go to FedEx and exchange them for fresh, clean ones. Plus, I could possibly use your help in mailing some souvenir packages if you're so inclined.”

  “ Packages?” she asked, “Just where did you get souvenir packages?”

  “I had them shipped in with our clothes. What can I say? Some people do post cards. I do souvenir packages.”

  Relenting, Candi scurried about, gathering all her things. Dressed, we loaded up and set out for our first stop. Thanks to Siri, I found FedEx and exchanged our clothes, being careful to load the clean ones first, before I stuffed in the bug-encrusted ones to make the return trip home. In between, I managed to separate the packages, rather inconspicuously and drop them into my watertight duffle bag. “Here, baby. Would you carry this for me?” I asked, as I placed the bag in her hands, without waiting for an answer. As was becoming the pattern, I drove up to numerous post office boxes and dropped off 25 to 30 packages each time. Now, my novice assistant was playing in my ongoing rodeo, whether she knew it or not.

  At the final drop, Candi could no longer contain herself. “What gives? Are you going to tell me why we just didn’t take these to the post office and mail them all at once?”

  “You really want the truth?” I asked, “Or would it be best if I lied? You know like lawyer speak.”

  “The truth would be good, D. It’s reality check time. I'm honestly sick of lawyers.”

  There was nothing playful in her tone of voice, and I assessed the now awkward situation, with that in mind. Wanting a better location to spill my guts, I spoke up. “Did you know Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane are buried up on that hill?” I asked, pointing toward the far South side of town.

  “You’re not changing the subject on me,” she grumbled, showing her disapproval of the whole conversation.

  “Listen. I’m not changing the subject on you. Let’s ride up to Boot Hill and visit their graves. Once there, we can walk and talk on the way to the top. There are long, climbing stairs, periodic resting benches, and usually some quiet time on the climb. At least we could have some scenery while I try to explain myself. As you’ve said yourself: It’s complicated.”

  I saw the wheels turning in her mind as she came to terms with my suggestion. “Come on, baby. After I show you their tombstones, I know of a gre
at bench near the top that looks out over the town where we can sit and talk all you wish. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  She agreed and we eased through some traffic to find our destination. After thirty minutes of hill climbing, coupled by a breakout sweat and minimal grumbling about Bill and Jane, we made it to the top.

  Looking out over Deadwood, I grasped Candi’s hand. “It’s like this,” I said looking intensely into her eyes. “There are cameras and people in Post Offices. The packages I’m sending out are best not traced back to me, if you understand where I’m coming from.”

  “Drugs?” she gasped with a scowl.

  “No, no” I assured her. “It’s not like that at all. But, it doesn’t make them any more legal. Let’s just say I’m currently dealing in hot commodities and not making a dime. I’m giving away stolen property to people that have been wronged in a giant business deal gone sour. It's like I’m playing Robin Hood, Candi, and although I don’t necessarily like it........ I feel like I’m doing the right thing in the long run.”

  “Face........Are these packages carrying something illegal that will get you thrown in jail?”

  “Probably,” I replied. “The government isn’t going to appreciate my clever antics. And worse, some people that AREN’T government will be even more pissed.”

  Before I could divulge anything further, Candi’s phone rang. “Hi Gio, I don’t know, let me ask D.”

  “Hey, baby?” she asked, suddenly changing her tone. “When are we leaving Deadwood? And do you mind if Gio and Mile ride along to Bozeman?”

  “If you’re okay with it, tell them we will leave around noon. They’re welcome to ride along. Pass it on that we’re going to ride by the Devil’s Tower and stay in Sheridan, WY, tonight. If that works, we’ll see them at our hotel at twelve and leave from there.”

  Candi chirped in excited Italian, and I assumed Gio got the message.

  Thankfully, the phone call interrupted her train of thought for the moment, and nothing further was said about the care packages on the downhill trek to the bike. It surprised me that she bottled up her thoughts about them. Seemingly, I think she now had other more pressing questions on her mind.

  “I don’t really know anything about you, D.”

  “The same goes for me. My guess is we’re both just treading water in the shallow part of the pool, trying to decide if we’re willing to jump into the deep end together. How about for now, lust works? — But it won’t carry us forever. Most of my history needs to be held tight to my chest for a little longer. We will just have to evolve on a need-to-know basis.” I could tell she was uneasy by the way she nodded in agreement. I think her own secrets might have been slipping back into the big picture. If she let me shut up, I’d probably follow suit.

  “All right,” she mumbled. “Okay for now.”

  “Are you ready to ride, darlin’?” I asked.

  “I guess,” she replied, still pondering. “I’m assuming these packages are quite valuable, right?”

  “Um-hum.”

  Her shoulders dropped along with a huff of exasperation. She eyed me head to toe. “One more thing …” she jabbed.

  “K…” I stammered.

  “How many more of these packages do you have to ship?”

  I spoke through gritted teeth, almost at a whisper, “Hundreds and hundreds.”

  Chapter 16

  Gio and Mile were waiting for us as we exited the hotel's elevator. “Did you like Mt. Rushmore?” I asked Mile slowly, receiving a puzzled look. “President’s faces, you like?”

  “Yes much, how you say, very much?” She seemed pleased with their trip.

  “And you, Gio. Did you like?”

  “Too much walking,” confessed Gio.

  “I can relate,” I replied, “Be thankful you didn’t have to go to the top of the mountain with an angry woman in tow.” Candi shared a very pronounced scowl.

  “See,” I laughed. “We had a good time, too.”

  The two saw little humor in the conversation and elected to blow it off. We exchanged ideas about our upcoming rides and made some dinner plans for our roll through the historic old mining town of Lead. Once fed, we traversed through Spearfish, SD, and then rode off to the looming and frighteningly tall Devils Tower — a rock monolith rising over 1200 feet straight up out of the Wyoming landscape. President Teddy Roosevelt turned it and the 1300 acres that encompass it into a National Monument in the early 1900’s.

  “Gio, what do you think?” I asked.

  “Can we ride to top?”

  “Nope, we can climb it, but there are no roads or trails to speak of to get there. Sioux, Cheyenne and Kiowa Indians have held this place sacred for thousands of years. Don’t have a clue if they climbed it. Did you ever see Close Encounters of the Third Kind?” I asked Candi as she nodded yes. “Part of it was filmed here,” I announced proudly. Google strikes again.

  “Let’s go. I can tell none of you are overly impressed. It’s a little over three hours to Sheridan, WY, where we’re staying tonight. This entire downtown area reminds me of what a western town should look like. If you really like the wild, Wild West, I’ll take you to King’s Saddlery and the Don King Museum in the morning. Saddles and ropes from every era are in the museum, along with pictures, guns and Indian artifacts from the mid to late 1800’s. It’s a great place to stop.

  After some discussion, we all agreed to roll in that direction. Unfortunately, the ride to Sheridan was a wet one. Just east of Gillette, Wyoming, we ran into a storm we could not escape. Thankfully, Candi and I had already broken in our rain gear, but the Italians fumbled through unpacking their clothes to reach their waterproof gear. Naturally, it was stowed in the bottom of their bags and cost them some soggy attire in the process of finding it.

  Averaging no more than 60 mph in this torrential rainstorm, we rolled into Sheridan around 7 p.m. Given the circumstances, we were none the worse for wear.

  The girls instantly chose to head to the hotel rooms and grab a hot bath, while I persuaded Gio to ride with me for a burger and beer at the Pony Up Grill. Guys seem to deal with the elements better than our counterparts. Guess it helps to know there is a cold beer waiting somewhere to take the edge off an all-day wet ride.

  “Gio,” I asked halfway through the second longneck, “is Bozeman as far as you’re going?”

  “Not sure,” he replied. “We have bikes two weeks. Mile want go to Yellowstone Park, hmmm ... Jackson Hole, and I see Glacier Park and ride highway to sky.”

  “I think it’s called going to the sun road. I’ve been there and it’s a good ride. You’ll enjoy it.”

  “You go?” Gio asked.

  “As a matter of fact, we intend to, but I’ve got a few stops to make along the way.”

  “Are the roads here like Texas?” Gio asked again, matter of fact.

  I give up, I thought. “No, Sir. Texas, for the most part is flat. Yes, it is a part of the west, but geographically it is much different than here.”

  Gio continued his line of questioning. “Did you live on the ocean?”

  “I lived near the ocean, but not on it,” I said, finally accepting the fact that he really did want to know more about Texas, regardless of the fact that I lived in Tennessee.

  “Did you have secret hideaway in Texas where you took lady friends?” he plied.

  I was more confused than ever by his continued prying into my past and the state of Texas. I asked him what the hell Texas had to do with the old west? “Sure, it’s west, but not northwest. I’ll tell you what I know of it, but I live in Tennessee. Tennessee, got it?”

  “Mi scusi, D, not mean to upset you. I just like Texas, I guess.”

  “Finish your beer, Gio,” I relented, “I’m going to the room.”

  He understood my displeasure and finished up. We made our way back to the hotel to dry ourselves out.

  I walked in on a half-eaten club sandwich scattered across a room service tray, a half-empty bottle of merlot and Candi sound as
leep. Snuggling up next to her, I stayed awake long enough to ask myself the following questions. Why was Gio so preoccupied with my Texas ramblings? It just didn’t seem to make sense. And just what in the grand scheme of things does Candi continue to see in me? After racing through at least 20 possible scenarios, none of which I was willing to accept, sleep caught up with me and won. I had a definite feeling, though, that I’d find out the answers to most of my questions all too soon — and I was pretty certain I wouldn’t care for my findings.

  Awakened ever so softly by a noise unfamiliar to me, I soon pleasantly discovered warm, wet lips gently nibbling my ear lobe, while a voice whispered urgent pleadings in my ear. “I need an ‘O’ baby. I need an ‘O’ right now! But this time, we’re not going to be near or on anything moving. D, you’re not going to use your hands, you’re going to do this LTO.”

  “LTO?” I asked, trying to envision just what Candi could possibly mean so early in the morning. Licking my earlobe again and probing my ear deeply with her tongue brought her early morning definition of LTO — lips and tongue only.

  To prove I could follow even the most subliminal of directions, I kissed and caressed Candi’s neck, breasts and the curves of her stomach, finally centering on her navel. Reciprocating in kind was the least I could do, to make my intentions known, before I delved into the inner most regions of this fine specimen of a woman. With no hands at my disposal to push, pull, lift, probe or spread, my lips and tongue were tasked with the mission of bringing forth an O. Being one to always try and relish the moment, I chose to apply the version, that light is better, while even lighter is best.

  Flicking my tongue ever so gently, I soon came to envision my tongue as the lightest of feathers where even the slightest touch is felt, sensationally more. Wrapped in the moment, I whispered, “Feel the sharpness of my tongue, now the softness? Do you feel me licking the nectar that flows from you? Do you feel the flatness of my tongue pressed against you?”

  Candi nodded wistfully, while biting the inside of her lower lip, over, and over repeatedly. Stopping again to breath, I whispered, just barely audible to her, “If you want me to take you over the top, you have to beg me when you can’t take it anymore.”