Struggling to a standing position, Andy shook his head. Fuck, but his leg was starting to hurt. He reached down and released the makeshift tourniquet, watching to see if the blood flow would start again and was pleased when it did not. He wadded the bandana up and shoved it into his pocket; he didn’t want the blood-soaked thing around his neck. He had heard yelling for the past few minutes and realized it was coming from inside the house, where Watcher and Devil had gone.
Limping over to the doorway, he saw the guy still tied to the chair was now lying on his side, his face an unrecognizable pulp of blood and bits of bone. “Watcher, got a dude hit out here,” he called, leaning heavily on the doorframe.
“Saw you patching him up, Ice Man, thanks,” Watcher said quietly, reaching into the shadows of an interior room and pulling a young woman in demure clothing out through the doorway.
He gently brought her around the edge of the room to where Andy was standing, and prevented her from looking at the man on the floor. “Donde esta tu tio?” he asked her, turning to explain to Andy, “Her uncle is the President of the Machos. He’ll want her back. I need to know how to get in contact with him.”
Hearing Andy’s intake of breath, Watcher looked at him. “Unharmed, I’m not a fucking monster,” he growled, shaking his head. Seeing the blood on Andy’s leg, Watcher asked, “You okay, man? Looks like you were hit too.”
“Yeah, through and through, muscle only. It’ll hurt like a bitch tomorrow,” Andy said, grimacing.
The girl looked at them with trembling lips. “I speak English.”
“Thank fuck,” Watcher exclaimed, “I need to talk to your uncle, little one. We have some shit to get straight before I can leave.”
She nodded and reached into her pants pocket to pull out a phone. She dialed and said one word, “Tio?” before Watcher took the phone away. He stalked off, speaking rapidly to someone who Andy supposed was her uncle.
She gestured to his leg. “Do you need anything, senor?” He shook his head at her, not trusting himself to speak. He was wondering again how the hell he wound up here in Juarez, Mexico with a biker gang in the middle of a war over weapons.
“Please, senor, do not let them hurt me,” she pleaded in a whisper, grasping his hand. “My uncle, mi tio, Estavez, he will not bargain for my life. I am worthless to him.”
Andy soothed her with a gesture, patting the air with his palm down. “Easy, shrimp, nothing bad will happen to you.”
Without turning, she gestured behind her towards the man on the floor. “You see that man? That is who my tio gave me to. He is dead, and I am now of no worth.”
Andy’s eyes widened in disbelief; the man had to be fifty. “Your uncle gave you to that man?” She nodded. “Fuck me.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly from side to side as he reached out and pulled her into a tight hold. He rocked her back and forth gently, feeling a profound tension that had to be fear radiating from her small body.
“I promise you are safe now. You’ll be okay. All right, shrimp? Do you understand? You won’t be hurt again. I promise you on my life.” Andy was crazy with fear that Watcher might have different plans, but he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He couldn’t. No way. No fucking way. She was just a girl.
Andy made soothing noises as he rocked her, stroking her hair as she slowly relaxed into him; he kept her tucked tightly against him so she couldn’t turn and see the dead man again, repeating, “You’ll be fine. You’re okay now. I’ll make sure of it. It’s okay.”
Watcher came back into the room and handed Andy the girl’s phone. “Spider, Opie,” he said, lifting his voice. Half a dozen Soldiers walked into the room, including the two he had called. “Clear out that trash; use his car out back.” He pointed to the dead man in the floor. He reached out, motioning with his hands that Andy should release the girl. He turned her, but kept his hands on her shoulders.
“Little one,” Watcher stooped down, putting his face on a level with hers as Andy steadied her, “where do you go?”
She shook her head, tears pooling in her dark eyes as she pressed back against Andy. “I have nowhere, senor.”
Watcher nodded slowly, scrubbing at his cheeks with one hand. “Devil, I want you to put her on your bike, nice-like.” He was still looking into her eyes; it seemed as if he was asking permission. She craned her neck to look up at Andy, waiting for his response. Only after he nodded did she reach out to take Devil’s outstretched hand, walking outside with him while keeping her eyes locked on Andy.
Andy shook his head. “I promised her safety, Watch. Don’t make me sorry I trusted you.”
Watcher bowed his head, teeth clenched tightly, muscles popping in his jaw. Andy opened his mouth again, and Watcher stopped him with a slashing motion of his hand. “It’s not like that, fucker. Her uncle told me to bury her with her patron, Ice Man. I can’t do that. We’ll get her safe, hear me?”
“Soldiers,” he shouted, striding from the house into the street. “Five minutes, we ride home.” Andy limped after him, seeing that the only thing remaining in the room was a pool of blood and a splintered chair. He walked to his Indian and slung his injured leg over her, waiting for the rest of the men to return. Watcher went to where the injured Soldier was sitting still propped against the barrel, and helped him up and onto his bike, speaking quietly to him.
Devil waited on his Harley, the girl seated in front of him between his arms. He saw Andy’s questioning glance and quietly said, “With little ones, it’s easier to hold them secure like this. They can sleep if needed without us having to worry they’ll fall off. Carmela is safe with me, Ice Man. No worries, brother. I have a daughter her age.”
Andy mouthed Carmela to himself and nodded. Watcher walked over. “Are you sure you’re okay to ride, Ice Man?”
“Yeah, it’s good. I got this,” he responded. Watcher nodded, looked down at his bloody left leg, and laughed; he kicked the Indian to life for him, and gave him a chin lift. “You did good with Diamond, thanks.” Andy offered his knuckles for a fist bump and nodded, mouthing Diamond to himself.
The rest of the men returned, and the group roared off northward, headed back to Las Cruces. Andy and Devil were safely sandwiched in the middle of a double line of motorcycles ridden by Southern Soldiers members, surrounded by their brothers.
***
Several weeks later, Andy gave notice at the bar and packed up his bike. He looked down at his right forearm, seeing the new tattoo there in pretty script, We live with the scars we choose. He’d gotten the tat to remind himself of Carmela, because she no longer acted like a girl traumatized by life’s experiences, but like a young girl. She’d discarded the scars of her past, and he knew there was a lesson to hold on to there.
Now, he was headed over to Watcher’s house. He wanted to let him know that he appreciated the offer to prospect into the Southern Soldiers, but he wasn’t done with the wind in his face yet. Pulling into the man’s driveway and around to the big shop behind the house, he saw Devil was there with his old lady and their kids. Parking the bike, he looked around and saw Carmela running and playing with the rest of the kids as if her life had never been hell.
“Fucking kids are resilient, Ice,” Watcher said from behind him, walking out of the shop with Devil.
“You look packed for travel, man,” Devil said. “Headed out somewhere on a run?”
Andy stood and got off the bike, sticking out his hand. “I wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for me, Watcher. You too, Devil.”
They stood there unmoving, and he lowered his hand to his side, suddenly much more nervous. “I’m going to go east; the heat here isn’t working for me. Love and respect for your colors, man. Southern Soldiers are good men.” He wondered if he should shut up now, but forged on, “I hope we can part as friends, if not brothers.” There, he’d said what he wanted, and now he waited anxiously for their response.
“What the fuck, Ice Man? Do you think we kill people who turn down a chance to prospect wi
th us?” Watcher laughed. “You look jumpy as dick.” He pulled Andy into a one-armed hug, pounding his back before thrusting him away. “I respect you, Ice. You are my Brother.” Andy heard the capital B on that word, and he warmed. Watcher continued, “Call on us...anytime, man. The Soldiers won’t forget your help in Juarez.”
Devil grabbed his wrist and shook his arm like a warrior. “You should say goodbye to Carmela, Ice. She’ll miss you.”
Andy nodded, his throat full of emotion and relief. He really hadn’t thought they would hurt him, but he knew how prickly the men were about the honor of their MC, and he wanted to make sure they didn’t feel he was disrespecting them. They’d shown him a depth of connection he now longed for, that sense of belonging and brotherhood. Now that he knew what he wanted, he would keep searching until he found the right home for himself.
Turning with a jerk, he yelled, “Carmela, come give your Uncle Andy a hug goodbye,” and smiled when she came pelting full speed over to him.
“Andy, you are going away? Will you come back?” she asked him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against his chest.
“Hard to say, shrimp, but I’ll think of you.” He tightened his arms for a minute. “Be safe, little one.” He kissed the top of her head, then released her and turned away. “I gots to go; I’m burning daylight,” Andy climbed back on his bike, kicked it to life, and rode away waving.
9 -
My life’s story
Andy had been looking for a rest area with a picnic table for about two hours. He was beat and wanted to go to bed, but really didn’t want to sleep on the ground. He’d woken up two nights ago with a snake not two feet away from him, and he was pretty much against having any kind of a repeat show. Maybe he could sleep on the bike; he’d done that before for short periods of time, bent over the tank with his head pillowed on the handlebars.
Pulling off at a wide spot in the highway, Andy grabbed a map out of his bag. He was nearly to Odessa; he could keep it together that far and stay in a motel tonight. He’d been alone on the highway so long he didn’t look before he pulled out, and wasn’t prepared for the wild honking of a horn right behind him. Ripping the bike back over to the narrow shoulder, he looked and saw a pickup shuddering to a stop barely feet from him.
“Fuck me,” he breathed, “that was close.”
The driver’s door popped open and a little blonde head shot up over the windshield. “You okay, mister?” Her face was small and narrow, but her blue eyes were bright and brilliant, and he smiled in reflex.
“I am now,” he teased, “but I don’t know which is worse on my heart.” She cocked her head questioningly. “Nearly getting run over, or seeing such a pretty face.” He grinned and she responded in kind. He killed the bike, putting down the kickstand and making sure it was stable before sliding off. His legs were shaky as he walked over to the truck, and he leaned across the hood, angling towards her. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
She squinted at him, nodding, “I nearly hit you. Were you not even looking before you pulled out and started driving? That scared the doo out of me.”
“Me too,” he admitted. Standing quietly for a minute, he thumped the hood of the truck with his palms. “I’m headed to Odessa. Do you know of a good, cheap motel?”
She looked at him, an attractive pink to her cheeks and a shine to her eyes. “There’s a nice motel on the other end of town, with a diner attached, mister. You can’t miss it.”
“Andy,” he said, looking into her eyes. “My name is Andy.”
“Andy,” she repeated, looking pleased.
He waited a beat and then lifted an eyebrow at her. “And you are?”
“Oh, I’m Chelsie, sorry, Chelsie Transom.” She smiled at him. “You passing through Odessa, Andy?”
“Looking for work, actually. Hoping to get on with a stock company or something similar. I grew up working ranches in Wyoming, so I’m suited to it,” he patted the hood of her truck again, backing up, “and I gotta get to it. Won’t find work talking to a pretty girl on the side of the road. Chelsie, it’s been a pleasure. I promise I’ll be more careful in the future to watch out for pretty girls driving pickup trucks,” he teased, straddling the bike again. He almost started the bike, but then realized she was still standing on the running board of the truck, looking at him over the windshield.
“Mister Andy, you’re looking for ranch work?” she asked. He nodded. She took in a short breath and blew it out. “Daddy’s looking for a short-term hand. We have several miles of fence that needs replacing, and it’s nearly haying time.” Frowning at him, she added, “It pays, and there’s room and board with it. I’m a dab cook, and none of the hands complain.”
He nodded slowly. “Lead the way, Chelsie. I’ll follow you and speak with your daddy.”
He realized that last part must have sounded like a question when she replied, “Yeah, he’s the last say.” Kick starting the bike, he motioned her ahead of him with a bow from the waist, pulling out to follow her after she moved past him.
***
Andy used his forearm to wipe the sweat off his face. He adjusted his gloves and reached down, reattaching the wire stretcher to the strand of barbed wire he was stringing along the fencerow.
Using the ratchet, he pulled the wire taut, and then used staples and a hammer to nail it to the wooden fence posts already in the ground. In some places, there were metal posts; he also had a pocketful of fasteners and a pair of pliers to bend them into place as needed.
Amos Transom had initially taken one look at his daughter’s face that day and started shaking his head no before Andy had even opened his mouth. Smiling ruefully, Andy had nodded wordlessly at the man, and got back on his bike to leave. Chelsie ran over to her dad, and while Andy couldn’t hear what she said, it looked like Mr. Transom was surprised; his eyes cut back up to meet Andy’s and he motioned him over.
“Chelsie says you are a ranch hand?” He held out his hand and Andy gripped it, ready for a crush match, but was surprised when it was simply a good, firm handshake.
“Yes, sir. I was raised on a beef ranch in Wyoming. I also worked sheep in Colorado a few months ago, but don’t hold that against me,” he joked.
Mr. Transom laughed and motioned him up the steps to the front porch. “Come in and have some coffee; let’s talk.”
As easy as that, Andy was hired. Like Chelsie had told him, it wasn’t long term, but that was okay with him. He wanted to keep moving, and knew he’d get that itch sooner or later. He was now about halfway through their fence repair project. It was around fifteen miles total, and he’d completed nearly eight of them. At this rate, he’d be done with this in another couple of weeks.
Gauging the time by the angle of the sun in the sky, he walked over and grabbed his glass, filling it from the water cooler strapped to the fender of the truck. He’d only forgotten to fill it one day, and by quitting time, he was one thirsty fucker. This heat was killer.
The rattlesnakes were too, of which he’d seen far too many for comfort. They were masters of camouflage, hiding in the brush and scrub until he approached too close. The leather gaiters he wore were hot as hell over his boots and jeans, but it was a fuckload better than being bitten. He finished his water and put the cup in the post brace hole in the fender, turning to walk back to the fence.
By quitting time, he’d finished another half-mile of fence. Picking up the roll of wire, he slung it, the stretcher, and his tool belt into the back of the truck. They rattled around on top of the metal and wooden replacement posts, posthole diggers, post setter, and various other supplies and things already there.
Pouring another glass of water, he leaned against the truck drinking it down, eyes closed. He was listening to the music of the land. It was different from where he grew up, but just as beautiful. Owls, coyotes, hawks—all were sounding their evening calls, either waking or readying for sleep. He heard the lowing of cattle in the distance, and closer, there was a rapid beat of hoove
s coming his way. Opening his eyes, he stood straight and looked down the fencerow to see a big man on a bigger horse riding towards him.
He grabbed another glass and poured some water, standing and waiting patiently until the man on the horse was within comfortable hailing distance. “How are ya?” he asked, lifting the glass towards him. “Water?”
“Obliged, man, thanks,” he pulled the horse to a stop and took the water, introducing himself, “Reuben Nelms. You working for Mister Transom?” He took a drink.
“Yeah, about halfway through a fencing project. Andy Jones, the Transom’s temporary hand.” He laughed and shook Reuben’s hand in greeting.
Reuben stepped down from the horse, automatically loosening the girth on the saddle and slipping the bit from its mouth. Andy reached into the back of the truck and pulled out a canvas bucket; filling it with about a half-gallon of water, he handed it to the big man. Startled, Nelms thanked him and took the bucket, positioning it for the horse to lower its muzzle into.
“You from around here?” Andy asked.
“Yeah, my family owns a rodeo stock company. I compete for a living—rope and wrestle—but I’m off the circuit for a while to help Daddy,” Reuben said as an odd emotion waved across his face. Andy thought it looked like regret or fear, and wondered what could scare this imposing guy. Reuben shook it off and asked in return, “Where are you from? That ain’t no Texas accent.”
Andy laughed out loud. “Nah, I’m from Wyoming. My family had a beef ranch there for a lotta years, so I can turn my hand to most any ranch work.” He turned and refilled his cup, stepping back and offering with his hand for Reuben to refill his if he wanted. “I’ve been riding my bike around for a while now, working job to job, meeting people, and seeing the country.”
Slate (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 7