JOKER_An Evil Dead MC Story

by Nicole James

  He pulled into the parking lot of the Lucky Strike Bowling Alley. “Come on.”

  She climbed out and followed him in. He walked over to a counter, leaned his palms on it, and snapped to the teenage boy behind it, “Arnie here?”

  “He’s back fixing the ball return on alley twelve. I can page him.”

  “Do it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They waited about ten minutes for Arnie to come hustling up, wiping the grease from his hands on a terry towel. His eyes moved from the employee to Joker.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m told you paid my sister’s cell phone bill. I’m here to square it with you.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Maggie.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh. I didn’t know she had a brother.”

  “Bet you didn’t.”

  “You live here in town?”

  “Don’t matter where I live; she needs me, I’m just a phone call away. She calls, I’ll come every time.”

  His words were innocuous enough, but an underlying threat wafted through them like the first scent of smoke from a fire.

  Arnie caught it, his head coming back. “Okay.”

  Joker took the roll of bills out. “How much?”

  Arnie eyed it. “Two hundred oughta cover it.”

  Joker peeled the bills off, holding them in the air. “She don’t owe you a thing.”

  “No, sir.”

  “She needs help, I’ll take care of her. Got that?”

  “Yep.”

  Joker shoved the bills at him, and Arnie jammed them in his pocket without counting them.

  Joker turned and strode out, tugging her behind him.

  They got back in the truck.

  “Wow.”

  Joker looked over at her, a question in his eyes as he pulled back onto the street. “Wow, what?”

  “You were something in there. The way you set him straight…”

  “He needed shit laid out for him. I laid it out. I hear his name again, he’s gonna meet my fist.”

  “I think he got that message.”

  He turned his head toward her and after a moment, the corner of his mouth turned up. Then he spun the wheel, heading them back toward Main Street.

  He drove for a while and spotted a Dairy Queen.

  “Want to stop for an ice cream?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  They turned into the parking lot, and Joker took her hand as they headed toward the entrance. They passed a Corvette, and the woman sitting in the driver’s seat shouted out, “Johnny Ray, is that you?”

  Joker stopped abruptly, twisted to look and frowned. “Whitney?”

  Holly glanced back. The woman had olive skin and long dark hair and looked like she should be belly dancing for an Arab sheik somewhere. Her makeup was done artfully with smoky eyes that brought out the exotic look. She was beautiful in a way that Holly knew she herself never could be.

  Joker tugged her along as he approached the silver sports car.

  His palms settled on the door of the convertible as he bent over and scanned the interior. “Nice wheels.”

  “It is pretty, isn’t it?”

  Joker nodded, and Holly could see his jaw tighten. “Glad you’re getting’ everything you wanted in life.”

  Her eyes moved up and down him, and her head tilted to the side. “Not everything.” She reached out, running her red painted nails lightly down his tattooed forearm. “How have you been, darling?”

  “Been fine,” he replied, taking his hands from the car and his arm out of her reach. Her eyes stayed on his club tattoo. “And are you still with that motorcycle bunch?”

  He didn’t bother to set her description right. “Yep.”

  Then her eyes swept over Holly. “Who’s your little friend?”

  “Holly, Whitney. Whitney, Holly.”

  “Hey,” Holly said lamely.

  Whitney smiled, but her eyes returned to Joker, dismissing her. “I talked to your mother the other day.”

  “Still keepin’ tabs, are you?”

  “You know how she loves me. She told me you might be in town this week.”

  “Did she now?”

  “We still have lunch once a week.” Her eyes cut to Holly. “We’ve always been close.”

  Holly nodded, not sure why she was telling her.

  Whitney climbed out of her car and leaned against it, her body a perfect hourglass, any man’s wet dream. She set her hand on Joker’s chest and stroked up and down, while aiming a Cheshire grin at Holly. “We were high school sweethearts; did he tell you?”

  Holly could only mutely shake her head.

  She smiled up at him. “We go way back. He was the first boy I ever slept with.”

  “But not the last.” Joker closed his hand around hers and pushed it away. “Old news, Whit. Holly’s not interested in our memories.”

  “We do have a lot of those, don’t we? Remember the time you brought me out on the fifty-yard line at midnight? You had that blanket and that bottle of wine you stole from your mom. God, we were so young. You’d just gotten your drivers license.”

  “Don’t need a replay. I was there.”

  She giggled and looked to Holly. “He was so nervous. He was building up the courage to ask me to go steady.”

  “Whit…”

  “It was our first date.” She looked at the sky. “Who had I been dating? Jeff or Dave?”

  “Kevin Larson.”

  Holly’s eyes flashed to Joker. Did he remember his name because he still cared for this girl? Oh my God.

  “I’m glad you’re back. We should get together and… catch up.”

  “I’m not back. Just checkin’ on Ma.”

  “Will you call me before you leave town?” Her gaze cut to Holly for a moment before returning to him. “There are some things I need to tell you. You do still have my number don’t you, Johnny?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  She smiled at Holly, as if to underline Joker’s words. Yes, Holly, dear, he still has my number because he’s never forgotten about me.

  Whitney batted her eyes. “Is your father’s bike still running? It was always such a beautiful motorcycle.”

  “Yeah, it’s still runnin’. But I don’t recall you ever cared much for it.”

  “I’ve thought a lot about that—the way I behaved. I was wrong. You were right about so many things, Johnny. I see that now. I should have listened to you. I should have gone away with you that day you asked me to.”

  Joker clenched his jaw and glanced at the horizon, and somehow Holly knew he’d waited a long time to hear those words, wanted to hear them, needed to hear them.

  Holly’s stomach dropped. Oh, Crap. He’s still in love with this girl.

  “Water under the bridge, Whit. That was a long time ago.”

  “Not so long, baby.” She pressed her hand to his forearm again. “Promise me you’ll call before you leave.”

  “If I get time,” was all he’d commit.

  Holly studied his face, wondering if this chance meeting would’ve gone a different way if she hadn’t been standing there. She’d never felt like more of a third wheel in her life.

  She realized she had really started to care about Joker and to think of him as hers, as twisted and messed up as that sounded. She was a job to him, nothing more. After all, what did they really have? A few kisses and a shared bottle of tequila?

  This girl was his first love. She’d given him her virginity for god sake. They were connected in a way that lasted a lifetime. A girl never forgot her first, and maybe she was his first, too.

  Holly knew very little about Joker whereas this girl—this beautiful, sexy woman—knew everything.

  The rest of the trip was a blur for Holly. She stood rigid while Whitney hugged him goodbye, they walked inside, ordered and thankfully she was gone when they came out with their ice cream cones.

  Holly slammed her passenger door shut and waited for Joker to star
t the truck. When he didn’t, she glanced over.

  He twisted in his seat and leaned against the door. “You’re bein’ quiet.”

  She took a lick of her cone. “You want me to ask?”

  “Ask away.”

  “So, you popped her cherry, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  “And was she your first?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, seemed like she meant something to you.”

  “She did, but that was a long time ago.”

  “Seems like she’s still interested in you.”

  He shrugged, which only made her mad, and she glanced out her side window because she had no right to be mad about any of this. Why did it hurt so much? They were nothing. Okay, maybe not nothing, but they weren’t dating, and if Undertaker had his way she may never date again.

  “What?” he asked.

  She turned to look at him. “What, what?”

  He huffed out a breath. “She’s a girl I dated in high school. High school, Holly. Ancient history.”

  “Sounds like she wants to make it all new again.”

  “Why is this bothering you? What do you care?”

  “I don’t,” she lied. “I’m just along for the ride, remember. I’m just someone you’re babysitting.”

  He twisted, chucked the remainder of his cone out the window and started up the truck. “Let’s go.”

  “Fine with me.”

  They stopped back at his mom’s, who tried to get them to spend the night, but when she told him she’d made up the guest room for them, Joker told her he had to get back.

  Holly stared at him and he glanced her way, holding her eyes. She knew the real reason. He just didn’t want to share the guest room with her.

  “If you want to stay…” she started to offer with a knowing grin, watching him squirm.

  “Nope. Got stuff to do. Gotta get back.”

  “Johnny, are you sure you can’t stay?” his mother asked.

  “Yes, Johnny, are you sure there isn’t anyone else you need to call or meet up with…? We came all this way,” Holly taunted.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I can make that call anytime, babe.”

  “I suppose you can!” she snapped back. “Doesn’t matter to me if you do.”

  “It shouldn’t.”

  “What are you talking about?” His mother’s gaze bounced between them.

  “Nothing, Ma.” He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her forehead. “I love you. I’ll call you next week.”

  “All right. I love you, son. Drive safe.” She turned and hugged Holly. “It was good to meet you, dear.”

  ***

  The first hour of the drive neither of them spoke.

  Finally, Joker reached for the dash and turned the music off. “You givin’ me the silent treatment or what?”

  She looked over at him. “You want to talk?”

  “Sure. Just not about Whitney.”

  “Fine. Tell me about when Undertaker brought you your father’s bike.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “You wanted to talk.”

  He blew out a breath. “Okay. Fine. When I was seven, my mom took me to a funeral. I didn’t know why. She never said. Just told me it was important for us to be there and pay our respects. I didn’t know who had died. Hell, I’d never even been to a funeral before.” He glanced over at her. “My mom, bein’ who my mom was, readin’ palms and the rest, was always doin’ some weird shit, so I didn’t think too much about it.

  “But I remember everything about that funeral. The club was layin’ to rest my old man—‘course I didn’t know it at the time. I just knew there were all these tough looking guys in leather riding these really cool motorcycles. I was in awe.

  “I didn’t have a clue really. I was way too young. I remember a couple of bikers approached us and gave my mom a hug, which I thought was odd. Then I remember one of them knelt down in front of me and shook my hand. He didn’t say a word. Just shook my hand.

  “We drove home, and I never thought about it again…until I turned sixteen and Undertaker showed up at our house pullin’ a trailer with a big black shovelhead on it. I didn’t know who he was, but I kinda remembered him from the funeral. I definitely remembered the patch on his back.

  “Until that day, I knew nothing about my father except his name. Undertaker sat me down, with Ma’s blessing, and told me all about him. How he’d been president of the club, how he’d wanted me to have his bike, and how if I ever wanted, I was welcome to prospect.

  “Hell, I didn’t even know what that meant, but over the next two years it kept nagging at my mind. I taught myself to ride and since the very first time riding that bike, it took me out of a bad place in my head.” He shrugged. “When I turned eighteen, I knew I at least had to go see this club my father loved so much. Undertaker made me the offer; he’d sponsor me if bein’ a member was something I really wanted. Told me to go home and think long and hard about it, and to be sure if I came back, that I was comin’ because I really wanted it, not because I felt I owed it to my old man. Told me nothin’ was gonna be handed to me because of who my old man was; that I was gonna have to earn it. And that right there”—he paused to look at her—“was the first lesson Undertaker ever taught me—that first and foremost, a man had to earn respect. He told me he wore an Evil Dead cut and those colors weren’t earned without blood or a piece of one’s soul.”

  “And it’s obvious what you decided.”

  He nodded. “I came home, thought about it. Decided it was what I wanted.”

  Holly looked out the window, then back at him. “When Whitney said, she’d wished she’d gone with you…”

  He ran a hand slowly over his jaw as if he were reliving the memory. “I asked her to go to New Orleans. She laughed. Thought it was a big joke—me wantin’ to join an MC. Lookin’ back now, it was a stupid idea even askin’ her. Hard to have a relationship when you’re prospecting. Shit never would have worked out between us if she’d come with me back then.”

  “And now? Sounds like she wants another chance.”

  “Told you, that’s history.”

  Holly got quiet and stared out her window.

  “Hey?”

  She turned back.

  “We good?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.”

  “You still gonna help me finish fixin’ the place up?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “Why not?”

  He looked like that wasn’t the answer he was wanting to hear, but that was all she could muster right now. If he wanted enthusiasm, he was out of luck.

  “How’d you get the nickname, Joker?”

  He chuckled. “I was a smartass kid, cracking jokes, bein’ a wiseass. Mooch, he said, “He’s a real joker, he is”. Name stuck. Better than their other choice.”

  “What was that?”

  “I did somethin’ one day and Sandman said, “The little Decker’s a real pecker”.”

  Holly snorted.

  Joker grinned. “I know, right? I guess Undertaker wasn’t gonna let them call Skeeter’s son by that lousy name. I owe him for that. I owe him for a lot actually.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Holly was exhausted when they got back to New Orleans late that night. She waited in the truck while Joker made a pit stop at a gas station not far from his place. He came out with a paper bag full of stuff.

  Five minutes down the road, he turned into his lot. The tires crunched on gravel and the headlights flashed across his bike, parked where he’d left it.

  He grabbed up the sack and opened his door. “Come on, lady.”

  She’d packed a satchel when they’d stopped at her apartment on their way out of town, and she took it from the back and followed him onboard.

  The deck was wet with dew, but it was warm inside.

  He flicked on the lights and moved through to the kitchen, setting the bag down on the counter. He got out a loaf of bread, a dozen eggs,
a carton of juice, and some bacon.

  “Wow. They had all that at the quick stop?”

  “Yup. Costs an arm and a leg, but they got it.”

  She stood there uncertainly with her bag in her hand.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Told you, you can have the bedroom. Go put your stuff away. You hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  He shook the carton of OJ. “Want a screwdriver?”

  “I’ve never had one.”

  “Comin’ right up, then.”

  ***

  They sat in the living room, sipping their drinks; she curled up on one end of the couch and he sprawled out on the other end, his boots up on the coffee table. He aimed the remote at the flat screen and flipped through the channels.

  “Wait! Stop there,” she yelled.

  He raised his brows. “You’re kiddin’ right? You watch this shit?”

  “Hell, yeah. Those hoarders are wack-a-doodle. One time they had this lady on; she was actually an organized hoarder.”

  “Organized hoarding?”

  “Yep. She had a room with nothing but clown dolls in it. Must have been thousands of them creepy looking dolls. Another room, nothing but empty peanut-butter jars.” She arched her brows at him as if that said it all.

  “Creepy clown dolls and empty peanut butter jars?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you watch this shit?”

  She shrugged. “I find the human mind fascinating.”

  He burst out laughing and changed the channel. “Now here’s a show for you.”

  She almost spit out her drink. “Gross.”

  “What, you don’t find the mind of someone addicted to eating crayons fascinating?” he teased.

  “Eww! His teeth are orange.”

  Joker grinned and corrected, “They’re not orange, they’re Burnt Sienna.”

  “Give me that remote!” She set her drink down and grabbed for it, but he held it out of her reach.

  “Nope. I’m fascinated. We’re watching it.”

  She continued to wrestle with him for it, sprawling on top of him and trying to grab at the hand he held well out of her reach. He flipped it off, tossed the remote across the floor, and grabbed her, flinging her down on the couch and proceeded to tickle the hell out of her.

  She squealed and squirmed, finally pleading for mercy. “I give! I give!”