The restaurant I found was just the thing - a little greasy spoon called South of the Border, though, of course, we were north of the border. I excused their geographical faux pas and ordered a big plate of eggs, pancakes, sausage and toast. I ate my food and drank a cup of strong black coffee while pretending to ignore the conversations of the early morning diners around me. I didn't have the context to understand of what anyone was saying, but I began to pick up on a common theme. Through every conversation, there were mentions of "those boys." At first I thought they were referring to a notable group of school children, but eventually realized it must be the bikers I was soon to become very close to. It was also when I learned the name by which they rode, when one of the diners dared to openly mock them - they were the Dead Men. It was a suitably chilling name, but not unusual in biker circles.
I paid for my breakfast and headed out into town to kill a couple hours. I left my car outside the restaurant for now and walked along Main Street, where businesses were starting to open and people were hustling about, getting ready to start their days. A few people nodded or said "good morning" as they passed me by and I returned the gestures. This was small town living; where everyone was friendly and everyone gossiped behind your back.
I got my first look at one of the Dead Men as I stood outside a hairdresser's salon, trying to peer inside the dark windows to see if they offered any waxing services. I heard the low rumble a few seconds before I saw him and turned to look. He came rolling down main street, headed in the direction of the garage. His bike was a glorious steed of chrome and leather. He was dressed all in black, right up to the old style helmet he wore, which left his face exposed. I only caught sight of him for a moment before he was behind me. As he got smaller and smaller, moving down the street away from me, I saw the large white patch that adorned his vest. 'Dead Men' was stitched out in black against the white of the patches themselves. I barely had time to contemplate his presence on that idyllic early morning street, before he pushed the bike forward and I lost track of him by sight, if not by sound. The echoing rumble of his bike became smaller and smaller before disappearing over the horizon.
I checked the clock on my phone and found that I had to be getting to the garage. The last thing I wanted was to show up late on my first day. I was going to have a hard enough time impressing these bikers without having tardiness be my first impression to them. I returned to my car and drove down the street towards the garage. I saw the way people on the street had stared at the bike as it went past. If a lone biker could cause that much of a stir on a Wednesday morning, I wondered if the story of the woman mechanic would be better or worse when everyone found out what I was here for.
I arrived at the garage with ten minutes to go before my scheduled time of arrival. I grabbed my purse and took a series of long, deep breaths in an attempt to stay calm.
"Just remember," I told myself, "You're good at this and, no matter what happens, you can take it."
I convinced myself well enough and was soon standing outside my car and stepping towards the business office. It was time to find out just what I was made of.
Chapter 2
I parked my car in the same spot on the street where I'd put it the day before. I gave myself a quick look in the mirror, just to make sure nothing was too out of place. This was a garage I was heading into, not a debutante ball. I certainly wasn't wearing any makeup and my hair had been dried by the sun. I took one last deep breath and stepped out of the car.
I was halfway across the lot, walking towards the business office, when Karen came out and greeted me. She seemed to be all smiles this morning, and I was glad for it. I couldn't imagine starting a new job in a new town when my boss was already angry. That seemed like a recipe for disaster. Karen waved at me and when she got close, she looked me up and down. I noticed that the line of motorcycles that had been outside the office yesterday were conspicuously absent this morning. Wherever the Dead Men were, it wasn't here at the garage.
"'Morning, Emma," she said brightly. "I've got a bunch of legal paperwork for you to fill out, but we can take care of that another time. Why don't you head into the garage? Zach is in there and I told him to expect you. I've got to go across town to yell at the bank for a while, but I'll be back to check up on you around lunchtime."
I thanked her and turned for the garage. I was glad to not have to deal with paperwork first thing, but I could read between the lines. Karen didn't want to bother with any formalities until I'd seen what the garage and my co-workers were like. I was sure that she half expected me to take off and try my fortunes elsewhere. I didn't fault her for that. I had told her that I grew up around engines, but whether she believed me or not, she was probably unsure of my ability to handle a rough crowd. After all, even if I'd been alright at my Dad's garage, it was still my Dad's garage. That thought took hold in my mind as I walked. I hadn't really considered the possibility that maybe I couldn't handle anything these guys could dish out. I was certainly picked on, but back home I'd always had Dad watching out for me and the guys knew better than to really mess with their boss's daughter.
It was too late to worry about that now, and there was no turning back. I pushed open the metal door that led into the garage proper and stepped inside. The sounds of work were already ringing off the walls, even at this early hour. I could see down the line that there was an old Ford up on the lift, and closer to me was a Jeep. A pair of legs sprouted from underneath the Jeep, clad in brown boots and oil-stained jeans.
I walked up to the legs and gave them a soft nudge with my foot. The man they belonged to scooted out on a dolly from underneath the Jeep, his eyes narrowing to adjust to the light, trying to see who it was that had disturbed his work. He was older - maybe 50 - and his hair was grey and thinned. I wouldn't say it was thinning because that would imply that it was a work in process. This man was weather-beaten and looked like he had both feet firmly over the hill.
Without getting up from the dolly, he said, "You Emma?"
I nodded to him. "Yeah," I responded, "You must be Zach. Karen told me to come find you."
"Alright, well, why don't you bring that Toyota out on the lot inside and change the oil. The key's over on the wall. Rest of the crew should get in soon," he said. Then he pushed himself back under the Jeep without waiting for a response.
I let out a small sigh. An oil change? I felt like I was Michelangelo being asked to paint a fence. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself with how much I thought of my mechanical abilities, but still. If I was going to be doing oil changes, how would these guys ever see what I was really capable of? There was nothing I could do about it, though. I walked over a cluttered desk that was covered in junk. Above it was a peg board. I found the Toyota key easy enough and headed out to the lot to find my first small project.
I backed the car into the garage, taking the nearest open bay, between the Jeep and the Ford. From the walls I gathered a handful of tools and a dolly and got to work. I slid myself under the engine and felt relieved at the view. When you're working on a car, the rest of the world goes mute. You can't see or hear anyone else's problems and there's just you and the engine. I was happy to get back to it after too long spent out of work.
As I was draining the oil from the car, I heard a group of people enter the garage. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but there sounded like a few of them in the group. This must be the rest of the crew that Zach had mentioned. I didn't really have any inkling as to how many people worked here, but from the size of the place, it could be a lot. I didn't bother going out to meet them, expecting that we'd cross paths soon enough. Besides, I knew what would be happening out there right now. Zach was undoubtedly telling them about the cute girl with her hands in the Toyota in bay four. They'd be making rude comments, I was sure. Half would be about my presumed lack of skill as a mechanic, and the other half about what they'd like to do to me if given a chance. This was to be expected. I knew that if I was going to find a place here, I'd have to
prove myself. First impressions would be hard, but unavoidable.
A few minutes later, I looked down along my body and saw a group of feet standing nearby. I could hear the sound of voices speaking softly, but they were trying not to be heard. Every once in a while, I'd hear someone laugh loudly at some unknown joke - probably at my expense. I wondered how long it would be before someone got brave enough to call me out to be mocked in person.
It wasn't long. Just as I'd tapped Zach on entering the garage, one of them stepped forward and gave me a slightly rougher nudge with his boot. I readied myself for what was to come and pushed out from beneath the car, wiping my hands with a rag.
There were three of them there, each wearing grey striped overalls. Mechanics are easy to spot on a bad day, but these three did nothing to disguise their profession. The one who had tapped me was the smallest of the bunch. He had short, unevenly cut red hair and a wide swath of freckles across his face. The other two might have been brothers. They each had black hair and rough beards, with pale green eyes. All of them were smiling as I rose to my feet, brushing the grime off of myself.
"So you're the new girl, huh?" the red haired one said, as if it was a profound question rather than a rhetorical one. I gave him a nod and put out my hand.
"I'm Emma. Nice to meet you," I told him.
He reflexively took my hand and shook it, though I could tell he regretted it instantly. These guys wanted to remain aloof and not give me an inch, and he'd already failed at that. He pulled his hand away after a second.
"I'm Mike," he said, "And this is Vickers and Tubbs." The two men nodded in turn as their names were called. I assumed Vickers to be a last name, but Tubbs must have been a nickname. Tubbs himself was not overweight by any means. To my eye, he could have stood to eat a few more meals, in fact. His arms were thin and his face hollow. If it wasn't for his beard, he'd look like a scarecrow in those overalls. I supposed giving him that name was a bit like calling the biggest guy you know Tiny.
Whenever I looked at Vickers or Tubbs, I could feel that Mike's eyes were scanning across my body. Some part of me regretted wearing a t-shirt and jeans to my first day of work rather than overalls, but I never liked the way they looked. Even when if I was covered in engine grease, that was no reason to wear ill-fitting clothes. Mike was the least imposing of the three men, but the way he looked at me was dripping with poor intentions. I could tell immediately that he was used to being picked on. A short red-headed guy can usually add bullying to the list that includes death and taxes. I was glad for his stature now though. I was a couple inches taller than him, and I hoped that would keep him from getting too forward.
Vickers was the next to speak. HIs voice was coarse and low. I could hear decades of cigarettes in every syllable. "So you're learning to fix cars, huh?"
I let the insult slide off me. "I've been working in a garage for fourteen years, actually," I told him. There was no sense in using false modesty with this crew. They needed to know just what I was capable of up front. Subtlety was just not in their vocabulary.
I could tell that Mike was taken aback by my statement. If I had to guess, he was barely out of high school himself - if he'd bothered to finish - and fourteen years must have seemed like a lifetime to him.
Vickers changed his stance and went at me again. "Well, I'm sure we can teach you a thing or two. Pretty little thing like you probably never had to get her hands dirty back home."
I shrugged it off. There was no sense in getting defensive with this crew, either. If I responded the wrong way, it would just provoke them further. The hazing was going to continue whether I got angry or not. "Zach's got me changing the oil in this bucket," I told him, "But after that I'm hoping to get my hands on some real work. I haven't rebuilt an engine in a few weeks and my fingers are itching."
That sent them scrambling for words. For all I knew, these were the best mechanics in California, but between the three of them, they were about as quick-witted as a bag of doorknobs. Just when Tubbs was finally about to speak up, Zach came from around the Jeep and scowled.
"You get that oil changed yet, Emma?"
I turned back to the Toyota and got down on my dolly. I didn't really want to give these creeps a better view of me as I pushed myself under the car but there was no helping it. One of them gave a soft whistle as I disappeared from view and that send the others into laughter. I could swear I even heard Zach laughing along with them. So much for hoping he would be on my side.
The rest of the work was plagued by their presence. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of another appearance until I had to, but I silently wondered if they were going to bother working at all, or if they were just here to heckle me and stare at my chest. I watched their feet from beneath the car but they never seemed to wander far from me. I refocused myself on the engine and got the oil drained. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself back out from under the car, back into their waiting presence.
With only a brief glance to them, I grabbed a bottle of oil and went to the hood to start filling. They seemed to move like a pack of hyenas, and were quickly surrounding me as I poured.
"So, Emma," Mike said, having apparently regained his lost pride, "You want to have a drink with me tonight?" I was surprised at his boldness. I figured Vickers and Tubbs must have put him up to it. Little guys like Mike were always getting pressured into doing things braver than they were.
I ran through a list of rejections I could offer him in my head, but just kept silent. I didn't want to give them any more ammunition than they already had.
"Aww, c'mon," Mike said, grabbing his crotch, "You and I can have a real good night." This set Vickers into a fit of coughing laughter. Tubbs just grinned and shifted his stance. Mike looked back at them with a wide smile that confirmed everything I'd suspected about them egging him on.
I stood up to my full height and gave him a steady look, waiting for his eyes to return to me. When they did I said, "I don't think you're up to the job." I could see his face flush immediately and this time even Tubbs let out a soft, raspy laugh. Vickers was beside himself. I think he didn't know which he wanted to see more - the new girl getting hazed or Mike getting shut down.
I could see the way Mike's face turned from cheerfully devious to angry in half a second. I should have expected as much. A fiery temper was no more surprising on him than his freckles.
"Oh, I'm up to the job. I got it where it counts!" he said, grabbing his crotch again. Some high school girl had probably told him once that he was the biggest she'd ever seen and he'd been wearing it like a badge of honor from every day after that. He reached out and put his hand on my waist, turning me to face him. Vickers and Tubbs stayed silent, grinning all the while. Small though he was, I could feel the strength in Mike's hand as he clamped down on my waist. I tried to pry his hand off of me, but there was no budging him.
"Get off me, Mike. I'm not interested," I told him as plainly as possible.
"You just ain't seen what I got to offer," he said. With his free hand he reached for one of mine and pulled it towards his crotch. I pulled back with all my strength, but now I was starting to get scared. Mike was being a lot bolder than any guy I'd been around at my dad's garage, and I didn't expect it was going to get better before it got worse.
Just as I was considering whether shouting for Zach would actually help my situation, I heard an unfamiliar voice call out towards us.
"She doesn't want any of what you're packing, Mike," the voice said, firmly and loudly.
I didn't see the speaker, but I did see Vickers and Tubbs immediately back a step away from me. Mike was holding fast, though. He wasn't pulling my hand forward anymore, but he still had his vise-like grip around my waist.
A man stepped from around the Jeep. He was tall - six foot two at least. His light brown hair was cut with more skill than the shaggy mops these three dolts were wearing by far. He had a scowl on his face that told me he was merely being polite with the way he'd addressed Mike just a moment
ago. It was clear that the politeness wouldn't last.
"Let go, Mike," he said. From him it sounded like a command, not a request. I instantly saw why. He wasn't wearing coveralls. He was wearing the cut of a biker. Sewn on one side was a patch that said 'President'. Whoever he was, this was the man in charge. Karen might run the business office and Zach might run the garage, but this was the one above all.
Mike was surprisingly resistant. "C'mon, Cash, you know she's begging for it. Only reason some bitch would try to be a mechanic is so she could get up on this."
Cash didn't spend another moment on polite commands. He was so quick that I didn't even see him pull back for the punch, but I heard the impact as his fist collided with Mike's jaw. Mike's grip on my waist and hand released immediately and he dropped to the floor like he was made of lead. Cash didn't look at me, but instead stood over Mike, seemingly daring him to get up and try to start something. As strong as Mike might be, Cash had half a foot on him and Vickers and Tubbs were clearly not going to assist the red-head.
Mike didn't say another word, but crawled a few feet away from us before standing up. He held his hand against his jaw and scowled before turning and quickly walking back towards the office. Vickers and Tubbs looked like kids with their hands caught in the cookie jar. Cash turned and looked at them coldly, and they quickly retreated, finding something productive to do elsewhere. When they turned to go, I noticed that on the back of their overalls was a small black and white patch that I hadn't noticed on Mike's. It all became clear - these two were part of the club, but Mike wasn't. He was just a mechanic, and nothing more.
When they were gone, Cash said, "Are you alright?" without looking at me. His eyes were still focused on the place they'd been standing.
"I'm fine. Kid's got a tight grip, but that's all," I told him. I noticed that his fist was still balled up, hanging next to him. Only after I spoke did he relaxe it and stretch his fingers. He turned to look at me and I caught a glimpse of his bright blue eyes for the first time. The way he looked at me seemed to dig right into my soul. I instantly felt myself begin to blush, but did whatever I could to calm myself down. I didn't want Cash thinking I was some damsel in distress who would need his help all the time. I was stronger than that. Though, I must admit, I was thankful he showed up.
Dead Men Motorcycle Club Page 2