Soon, Doc was spending at least eight hours each day on his side job. He rented a small garage for eighty-five dollars per month; D-K Choppers became a real business.
Two children were born in the ensuing years. Kat gave up her job to raise their family. Her formal childhood spilled over, and she endeavored to keep their personal and their biker life completely separate. She only called her husband by his nickname when they were away from home.
Business improved. Doc left the warehouse and bought an old building in Kirkwood, Missouri, and remodeled it. He worked seven long days per week; it was a frugal, but comfortable and rewarding life.
*****
It was a day more before Deacon could dress himself and sit upright. Katherine was convinced he was suffering from a combination of alcohol poisoning, withdrawal, and shock. He refused to go to the doctor. “I’ve never had a broken bone or gotten more than a shot, and I’m not about to let some doc poke around on me now. I’m not sick. I’m just a little hung over.”
In the living room, Katherine served coffee from a hand inlaid wooden tray; classical music decorated the silence. “A lot has been going on around here for the last several months, maybe even for the last year.” She began. “I feel there is much I don’t know, and I, well—what I do know, I don’t understand. Whatever it is, James David, it has to stop.
“James, I—we have no intention of letting you ruin your life. Mostly because we care about you, but in all fairness, you must realize that what happens to you also affects us. First, because you’re part of our extended family, we experience your pain; we worry about you. Second, you are our business partner. As bookkeeper, I can honestly say we did not offer you a partnership only because of how we felt. You’re smart, perceptive, and people really respond to you. You bring a lot to D-K-D Choppers.
“However, for the last year, we’ve all been treading water. It’s as if we’re back to owning our jobs again. James, this has to change.
“Now, let’s get the whole thing out on the table. Edward, why don’t you begin by telling us what happened the night you brought James home.”
“Katherine, it’s repugnant, I don’t think…”
She cut him off. “I don’t care how disagreeable it is; let’s get it out in the open. I want to know.”
“Okay, but, just remember, I warned you.”
He, reluctantly, began. “I knew that Deacon, excuse me, James, was at the bar and out of control. Some of the guys called me before I left the shop; it was probably close to eight o’clock. They said he was already ballistic. By the time I got down there, it was nearly nine, and I couldn’t find him. So, I left and made a couple of other stops, still no luck.
“I rode around, checking bars, and finally went back to The Landing. It was around closing time. He wasn’t there, but someone said they thought they had seen him outside trying to start his bike.
“The alley was so dark I couldn’t see anything at first; so, I was feelin’ my way around, and I nearly tripped over a man layin’ face down. I apologized for kickin’ him. By then, my eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark, and I saw him clearly. Guts and blood were everywhere; I puked on the spot.
“It was unbelievable. I had to press against the wall to get around him without stepping in his blood. I was so sick, I thought I was gonna pass out. I was in the process of getting out of there when I found James lying in his own puke. I threw him over my shoulder, took the long way around, and came out of the alley three blocks away. I hid him there, and flagged a taxi.
“The cops called me the next day. Someone had told them I was at the bar. I told them I didn’t see anything. They said there was a murder in the alley, someone from out of town. They did mention it looked like a professional job, not even his wallet was missing.”
The color was gone from Katherine’s face. “James, it’s your turn. Tell us what you remember.”
“I had hardly slept the night before, and I started drinkin’ that morning. I must have eaten at some point, but I don’t really remember.
“I hit a bunch of bars and finally ended up in that one. I don’t know what time it was, but it was dark. The bartender told me that a woman had been askin’ about me. I thought it was probably some of the guys playin’ a practical joke, but I looked for her anyway.
“When I couldn’t find her anywhere in the bar, I went outside. I must have been pretty hammered, ’cause the next thing I know I’m standin’ in a pool of blood between two halves of a man. That’s all I remember.”
“James, are you sure you didn’t see anyone else, or anything unusual, and you never found the woman?”
“I’ve been in that bar plenty of times, and there was nothin’ special about that night. But, you know, now that I say it, there was somethin’. The parkin’ lot was full of all of the typical rides, you know: Beemers, SUV’s, some bikes, and a few West-County Mommy-Wagons. What stuck out was an old black van sittin’ on the edge of the lot, like a sore thumb. It was a Ford van like we used to joke about. You know—no windows only a little convex porthole in the back too small for an adult, and too high for a kid, like an out of place teat.
“Oh, and I had something like a dream, or a vision, but it seemed real. I saw my father; it was like something from my childhood, a thing I haven’t thought about in years.”
“Maybe, there’s some connection,” She pushed. “Why don’t you tell us the story?”
“It happened when I was something like eight years old. I saw this girl playin’ with her puppy every day when I walked home from school. I guess I was jealous because my father wouldn’t let me have a pet. So, I stole it, and hid it in our back yard. When the Reverend found out, he went on one of his rampages and quoted scripture, the one about King Solomon going to cut the baby in half. He actually threatened to cut that little dog in half. I’m sure the whole thing was designed to make me feel guilty, and it worked.
“Anyway, I don’t know; there was something about the dead body that made me think my father was there. I imagined that somehow he was still tryin’, after all these years, to make me feel guilty for stealin’ that dog.”
They listened to the story, but said nothing. Then Katherine, her voice trembling, began to speak. “What else has happened, James?” The questions came in torrents. “Why do you drink so much? Why can’t you sleep? We’re best friends; yet, you never talk to me anymore. What’s going on? Please, let us help.”
James shook his head and buried his face in his hands. “It’s a nightmare!”
“We know,” she agreed.
“No, I mean I’m having one, the same one, over and over.” His muffled voice escaped through his fingers. “At first, it only came occasionally, but now, it comes so often I’m afraid to sleep.”
“What kind of nightmare?” Katherine asked. “What do you think is causing it?”
“It’s—my—tattoo.” His voice weakened as he blinked back tears. “The snake in my tattoo is trying to kill me. My father was right; God is punishing me for my blasphemous life.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Katherine slid over and gently touched his shoulder. “Let’s look at this thing logically. If it’s your tattoo, let’s tape over it so you don’t have to look at it. I’ll call the doctor and see what our options are for having it removed. I hear they work wonders with this new laser removal process, and we’re going to keep you away from the booze. At the rate you’re going, if you don’t stop, you’re going to kill yourself.
“The murder can’t have any relevance.” Edward injected. “It’s just a coincidence. As far as the woman who was looking for you, who knows, maybe you imagined whole thing. You saw your father, and he wasn’t there.”
“Let’s put all of this behind us.” Katherine insisted. “You stay here and rest for a few more days. We’re going to get you healthy, happy, and back into the world.” Katherine smiled. “You need something to look forward to, like, maybe, a woman in your life?”
“No, no, I don’t think so,” James protes
ted. “You know how bad my luck is with women. They all think I’m really exciting at first, but that wears off pretty quick.”
“You’ve got it backwards, James.” Katherine was adamant. “Let me tell you how I see it. Just remember, this is from a woman’s point of view. I think you’re afraid to get close to any woman. You, my dear, have a fear of intimacy. I’ve known several of your girlfriends. Some were serious, but every time they got close to you—you became indifferent. In the end each one just went away, usually with a broken heart.”
Deacon settled deeper into the creamy-white overstuffed sofa. Protected in his best friends’ bastion, he closed his eyes. Maybe they’re right, he thought hopefully, just maybe I can get my life under control. Wouldn’t that be something?
“I’m going to throw up again.” On rubbery legs, Deacon ran for the bathroom. An hour later, he crawled back to bed.
Cold sweats and convulsions racked his body, day and night, until he thought he was losing his mind. Katherine served him soups and crackers, and forced him to eat. After five days, of convulsing in the dark, Deacon began to feel like himself.
“Katherine, I have to get back to work.” He pleaded as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Not so fast, mister,” Katherine replied, “we agreed you would stay here a week. I will not settle for a minute less. Besides, last night I had a nightmare of my own. In it, I imagined how your house must look. No argument, just give me the key. Tomorrow morning, first thing, I’m going over there to clean it up.”
“How could you live like that?” She asked when she returned.
He looked at her sheepishly.
“By the way, I noticed something odd. What’s the deal with the pewter picture frame on your bedside table?”
“What’s wrong with it?” He asked.
“It’s empty; there’s no picture.”
“There never was a picture. It’s my family portrait. I keep it to remind me how good my life is, that my happiness is up to me.”
“I see.” She shook her head.
Deacon avoided his tattoo, and any thought of it. He gathered up the mountain of religious brochures and booklets, which had come in the mail, and put them in the trash. He returned to work, ate dinner with Kat and Doc every night, and drank not a drop.
Three weeks passed; Deacon felt more like himself than he had in a year.
NINE
For the tenth time in as many minutes, Star anxiously checked the rearview mirror of the Camaro. I’m worrying about nothing. She tried to convince herself. There’s no way he’ll follow me from California. The roadside sign announced, Welcome to Missouri. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as though the invisible boundary between Oklahoma and Missouri would protect her. The final few hours on the road were easy; traffic was light, the red two-door Chevrolet ran well, and she rolled into downtown St. Louis in mid-afternoon. She chose the first hotel that looked like Four Stars.
For the first several days, she was very cautious. The drab downtown apartment was easy to find, and easier to rent. She signed the lease, Estrella del Rio, and paid the landlord in cash, eight months in advance. He did not ask to see her identification. Exactly enough time, she calculated.
She required only ten minutes and fifteen one-hundred dollar bills at the secondhand store to buy enough furniture to fill the apartment. She spoke in Spanish to the two Mexicans who loitered outside the store; for twenty dollars each, they readily agreed to deliver the furniture.
Shit, Star thought as she awoke her first morning in the depressing confines of the furniture-choked bedroom. I’ll kill myself if I have to sleep here every night. I may as well be sleeping in Lupe’s fucking closet. The caustic memory of her mother tasted like sour milk. I may need this place, but that doesn’t mean I have to sleep here for a month while I get everything ready. She arose, resolved, rolled her head about her shoulders in tight limbering circles, and headed for the bathroom.
“Do you want me to wait, miss?” The cab driver with perpendicular elephantine ears asked politely as he pulled into the lot of Plaza Motors on the west side of the city.
Star leaned into the window and intentionally displayed her cleavage. “No, that won’t be necessary.” She smiled and handed him the fare plus a twenty-dollar tip.
The dark-blue Mercedes sedan, just inside the showroom, gleamed in the morning light. “It’s a ninety-seven.” The well-trained salesman said as he approached her, smiling broadly.
“What?” She asked without lifting her eyes.
“It’s an early production ninety-seven. It’s next year’s model.” He explained.
Star drank in the man’s closely shaved face; she recognized the familiar look. Hmm, she thought, I like his skin, electric-beach; this might actually be fun.
It took twenty minutes for the small army of salesmen to move the other cars, open the massive plate-glass doors, and drive the blue car outside. It took only twenty more in the alley, with her skirt shoved up around her waist, for Star to negotiate the lease down payment to a number that pleased her.
“I’m sorry, miss, we only sell apartments.” The man’s tone was apologetic. “Here at the Chase, we cater to a very special class of people; we don’t have anything to rent.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Star asked in her most solicitous voice, with a drippy-sweet southern accent. “I’d just love to own an apartment here, but I don’t know how long I’ll stay. My daddy, he sent me up here from Dallas to oversee a new acquisition, and I just don’t know how long it’ll take.”
“What business is your father in?” The man was intrigued. He glanced past her to the sparkling Mercedes.
“Why, just oil, but he is buyin’ somethin’ of a more of a sportin’ nature if you get my meanin’,” she said hinting.
“You don’t mean the Cardinals, our baseball team?” He probed.
“Oh, now, sugah, I’m not supposed to tell; you’re goin’ to get me in trouble with my daddy.” She rolled and batted her eyes.
“Maybe I can help you, miss. We do have one apartment. It’s furnished. The grand old lady that lived there died recently, and her family asked me to see what we can do to help defray the ongoing costs while they decide if they want to sell. I can call them, and ask if you like,” he offered.
He seemed surprised when she produced bundles of cash and paid eight months in advance. Star counted the stacks as she placed them on his desk. “Is it a problem?” She asked, fidgeting with her hemline and crossing her legs. The wet heat of the car salesman lingered deep between her thighs.
“Oh, no, no problem at all,” he answered quickly. “It’s just that no one pays cash anymore.”
She smiled. He was well dressed, but older and balding; his rotund belly hid his belt. Not worth a discount, she told herself repulsed by his physical characteristics. Maybe, Lupe would have done this guy, but not Star. The uninvited memory of her mother disgusted her. She shook her head, trying to throw the mental image aside.
“This is perfect,” Star shouted exuberantly, standing on the broad hardwood sill of the massive casement window in the opulent Penthouse. “This is more like it.” Forest Park, from the twenty-seventh floor, was a mansion-lined garden of the gods. Verdant trees cradled the yellow afternoon sun as it took its final breath. “Shakespeare understood,” she whispered, remembering the hours she had spent as a child hiding from reality among his words. …the fire that severs day from night. This life is mine, my destiny. When I am finished, this will again be my life. Only in a place like this can I be myself.”
*****
Volunteer May flowers spotted the countryside. Inside and outside D-K-D Choppers, motorcycles were everywhere. The machines of summer sparkled, ready for the season.
“Business is good my friend.” Doc slapped Deacon’s back. “I almost forgot. Kat called. She said with all the excitement last month, we missed your birthday. So tonight, we’re goin’ out to dinner. She wants Italian; we’re goin’ down to The Hill. She said to tell you to dr
ess nice, and pick us up at six, sharp.”
“Shit, Doc, I don’t want to drive my fuckin’ car in this weather.” Deacon protested. “It’s bad enough bein’ a cager when there’s snow on the ground.” “Deac, haven’t you learned your lesson? Don’t fuck with Kat. Besides, there’s somethin’ goin’ on. She even made reservations. We’ve been married for twenty years, and I can tell she’s up to somethin’.”
Kat checked her watch, and glanced again at the door. She repositioned the napkin on her lap. Their table, which Katherine had apparently requested, was semi-secluded in a small alcove near the back of the cavernous dining room.
Deacon watched her continuously fidget, but he remembered Doc’s warning and said nothing. Her nervousness was contagious; Doc squirmed. Deacon looked around, searching for the reason for her behavior. Perched on the few unoccupied tables, thick black napkins elegantly folded in the shapes of miniature Bishops’ Hats accented starched white tablecloths. The wait staff, also dressed in black and white, skillfully glided through the labyrinth of crowded tables.
Kat took a tentative sip from the stemmed water glass, and nervously cleared her throat. “James, I’ve met someone.”
Deacon chuckled, “Kat is this something we should be talking about in front of Doc?” He looked quizzically, first at Kat, then Doc. They both turned their eyes away.
“Oh, goofy, you know better. You know what I mean. I’ve found someone for you, a woman.”
“Well, that’s a relief. At least you’re not tryin’ to fix me up with men. But now that I mention it, I’m not so sure that the last girl wasn’t a man.”
“Stop it. Ellen wasn’t so bad. She had some very endearing qualities.”
“I’m sorry, Kat, you’re right. I thought it very romantic that she and I shave our beards with the same brand of razor.”
Kat thrashed him with an icy-quieting look, and then continued, undaunted. “This woman is different. In fact, I’m absolutely convinced she’s perfect for you. It was mystical, actually, the first time I met her. I instantly knew she was the one. She’s the new waitress down at Krispy Kreme. I meet some of my friends there for coffee twice a week. Even her name is cute. It’s Estrella, and you pronounce it just like that. It’s spelled with two L’s. She told me that together they make a J sound. It’s Es-TRE-ja,” Kat carefully sounded out the Spanish name. “She’s outgoing, and I’ll answer your first question before you ask. She’s beautiful!”
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