HORIZON MC

by Clara Kendrick

  “Who mangled this bike?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Jack said. “Should I just sell it for scrap? Put it out of its misery?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “You’re the expert.”

  I exhaled heavily. “It’s a nice bike, though.”

  “I know.”

  “Granted, not a very nice condition to find it in, but a nice bike all the same.” I looked at him. “Where’d you get this?”

  “It’s been in my storage unit for a while,” he said. “I’ve been going through the shit in there, bit by bit, but this has always sort of been bothering me.”

  I had to sympathize with Jack, even if I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around his situation. How could he simply not know who he was? It did something to the back of my throatclosed it a little to imagine him holed up in a musty storage unit, pawing through papers and boxes and belongings, trying to find some holy grail in all of it that would give him a memory to work with, a memory to serve as the cornerstone for recovering the rest of his identity, his understanding of himself. I wished I could volunteer to go with him the next time he felt the need to dig through belongings he didn’t even remember, but I wasn’t sure that we were friends like that. Maybe I’d bring it up to Ace.

  “It’s been in this condition?” I asked, coughing a little as I tried to focus on the task at hand, tried not to think about what it would be like to forget my own self. Would it make it easier, dealing with my losses? Would I rather not remember anything about Chelsea, completely erase her from my heart and mind? Would that work? Or would I simply be aware of the hole inside me and never be sure what had caused it?

  “Yeah.” Jack toyed with the back wheel of the motorcycle, which looked like it had been crushed in the jaws of something that had an appetite for rubber and spokes. “I’ve done a little research, but you’re the one who knows what’s best. What do you think I should do with it?”

  “Well, with a little work…okay, a lot of work, you could have a pretty incredible machine on your hands,” I said. “I’m going to tell you up front, though, that no matter who you take it to, it’s going to be incredibly expensive to refurbish.”

  “More expensive than buying a new bike?”

  “Depends on the bike, of course.” I dragged my eyes away from the travesty of that motorcycle. It literally looked like someone had decided a little too late that they wanted to save the machine from getting crushed at a junkyard.

  “You know what, fuck it,” Jack sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Just scrap it. Sell it to the highest buyer, or, you know what? The lowest. The first person who wants to buy this fucking piece of shit.”

  “Hey, relax, man,” I said. “The bike didn’t do anything.”

  “That I know of,” he muttered darkly.

  “If it would make you feel better, I’ll take it off your hands,” I said, rubbing my chin, thinking about everything that fixing up this machine would entail. It almost wouldn’t be worth it, unless it really meant something to Jack; and he was upset right now, if I was reading the situation correctly, that he didn’t know whether it meant something or not.

  “Would you?” He sounded almost relieved. It was out of sight, out of mind for him, maybe, and he apparently went to the storage facility often enough for the motorcycle to bother him.

  “I would, if it would help you out,” I said. “You don’t really want it to be sold for scrap, though, do you?”

  “I’m kind of just tired of puzzling over it,” he admitted. “It seems like a shame to sell it for scrap.”

  “I can fix it up,” I said. “I’m just saying, though”

  He waved his hand at me. “Money’s not really an object.”

  I snorted. “Must be nice.”

  “Nice that I’ve got something to show for not remembering anything, sure,” he said, with a half-shrug.

  Wincing, I shook my head. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to be flippant about it. Guess I’m a little jealous.”

  “Of the money?”

  “As bad as it sounds, of the lack of memories. I wish there were some things I could pick and choose to forget about.”

  Jack studied me for a long moment before patting me on the shoulder. “You don’t want to forget about your sister.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because something’s better than nothing. That’s what I’ve decided.”

  “You know better than me,” I allowed.

  “I do.”

  “I’ll get a dolly and some man power over here for this wreck.”

  “You talking about me or the bike?”

  “I’ll plead the fifth on that one,” I threw over my shoulder, chuckling.

  Jack watched as I got the machine into the garage and examined it as if it was a patient in dire need of my help and I was the only doctor who could help it. I even took notes on a clipboard, thinking, as I went along, of all the parts I’d have to order, calling in favors at specialty shops. The bike itself was an antique. It might be hard to track down everything I’d need to restore it to its former glory, but it was a project I could really throw myself into, a project I welcomed.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve even tried to start it, have you?” I asked, running my hand over the battered throttle.

  “No way. Not in this condition.”

  “Help me stand it up.”

  “Chuck…”

  “Jack, I’m not going to hurt it any more than it already is. I just want to see something.”

  He steadied the machinethe kickstand had been snapped off at some point, maybe by whatever monster had smashed it up in the first place and I added a few key ingredients that included gas, oil, and a little prayer that something might happen if only to give Jack a little hope and faith in the process.

  It was good to have hope. Even in the darkest of times, the hope that things could get better, or at least not any worse, kept me going. I felt for Jack. I really did. I wanted this bike to bring him some happiness.

  Both of us were astounded to hear the engine cough to life, then sputter out just as quickly.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Jack, beaming.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “That, my friend, was the sound of hope.” I was in a better mood than I had been in days. “You have to be patient, and you have to have a little faith in me, but this bike is a problem ready and waiting to be solved.”

  “Thanks, Chuck.” Jack sagged with relief so suddenly that I grabbed at him, afraid he was about to fall on his ass, then passed it off as a quick hug.

  “You headed to the bar after this?” I asked him, patting his shoulder a little awkwardly. He’d frightened me with the way he’d gone completely lax, but he didn’t seem any worse for wear.

  “You know it,” he said. “You swinging by after you close this place up?”

  “Of course. See you later.”

  “Later.”

  “Hey, Jack?”

  He turned, eyebrows raised in question. He looked fine, like he hadn’t almost just crashed to the ground in my garage.

  “Never mind,” I said, waving him away, feeling silly. “Later.”

  “Later.”

  I watched him get into the pickup truck and pull out of the lot, puzzled, before turning back to the mangled heap of metal on my floor.

  The bike was trashed. There was no doubt about it. But the thing about being a good mechanic was that I could see the fix in everything that was wrong with it. Of course, it would’ve been easier just to get a whole new bike, but that wasn’t the point. The point was preserving, the best I could, the bike that could provide Jack to a link in the past he was trying so desperately to recapture.

  It was selfish, but I was honestly grateful for the distraction, not to mention more than a little touched that Jack was trusting me with something this big. True, there wasn’t another guy in the MC who could fix up bikes and everything like I could, but he could’ve sent it elsewhere,
if he’d really wanted something done. Focusing on this for Jack was just one more way I could distract myself. Well, that and drinking, and I had to wait until after five to start toward the club, a long list of projects to complete before I could have my fun.

  Chapter 3

  I went home and got cleaned up, teetering between wanting to stay home and relax after a long day of work and going out to the bar to socialize. My hangover had faded to the point of being a bother, something I could shoo away with either a beer or an early bedtime. I knew the responsible choice was to stay there, but life was a little too short to be responsible. It was better to be with my boys.

  A text message from Sloan cemented my decision. It was mostly typos and expletives, but the crux of the message was clear: I should get to the bar as soon as humanly possible. Perhaps even before then.

  The spring night was cool, and I shrugged on a leather jacket before stepping outside and getting on my motorcycle. The bike was always a joy to use, even if the ride was a short one, as it was to the bar. It made me feel free even if I was backed into a corner in everyday life.

  The bar didn’t look like much from the outside. It was housed inside one of the historic buildings on the main street in Rio Seco, but what was inside was far more special. The bar was a getaway from the pressures of everyday life. Jack owned it, Brody managed it, Ace slung drinks, and Sloan and I simply reaped the benefits of having such an amazing connection. The bar also served as the de facto headquarters for Horizon MC, and a comfortably situated club booth was where we conducted our very official business.

  Like apparently getting Sloan shit-faced on a weeknight. That seemed to be the top priority on the club’s business docket. He lolled in his seat and grinned as Jack and Brody apparently egged him on.

  “He’s in fine form tonight,” Haley said. “Good luck.”

  “You should stop serving him,” I said, but she shook her head.

  “Ace is serving the booth. I just work here.”

  “Good to see you. Doing okay?”

  “Yes, and you’re sweet for asking.” She smiled at me before darting over to a table that needed attention., and I did my level best to ignore the way she took my heart with her. Haley was beautiful. I was sure every man with a pulse had a thing for her. I was also sure that I couldn’t be anywhere near the top of the list of trysts she actually might consider having.

  “Chucky,” Sloan all but crooned as I slid into the booth. “So glad you’re here.”

  “Hey, man.” I raised my eyebrows at Brody and Jack, both laughing on the other side of the booth. “How long have the two of you been pumping poor Sloan full of liquor?”

  “I thought this was a no judgment zone,” Sloan complained. “You judging me?”

  “Of course not,” I assured him, pulling a beer from the bucket of ice in the middle of the table. “We are definitely free from judgment, here. Except for our buddies.”

  Brody put his hands in the air. “I’m blaming Ace on this. Ace keeps serving him whatever he wants.”

  “Ace works for you,” I said, exasperated but amused. Sloan was a hilarious drunk happy-go-lucky, and almost never angry. When he was angry, though, it was a huge problem. He happened to love bar fights.

  “Ace is doing the Lord’s work,” Jack intoned, then burst into laughter at his own ridiculousness.

  “You guys know this would never work at an actual bar, don’t you?” I asked, taking a pull of my beer, relaxing into the soft material of the booth. Best investment ever. We convinced Jack to let us get it padded and reupholstered a few months back with club funds, and it was deliciously comfortable, now.

  “That’s why I own my own bar,” Jack said. “Means I can make up all the rules oh, shit, cops are here. Behave, Sloan, you drunk.”

  “Would you stop with that?” Katie stood with her hands on her hips in front of the booth, in full uniform, frowning at Jack. “Saying that again and again, every time I walk in this place, isn’t going to make it any funnier. You are not a comedian.”

  “Is this terrible young man bothering you, officer?” Ace sauntered over to plant a kiss squarely on Katie’s lips.

  She grinned at him. “I have a gun. I can take care of myself.” She raised her eyebrow at Jack.

  “Come on,” Jack complained as the rest of us laughed. “How is that one funny and mine wasn’t funny?”

  “I’ll laugh at your jokes if you let me sit in the club booth,” Katie said, batting her eyelashes at Jack as she turned off her walkie talkie.

  “Nope, sorry,” Jack said, grinning in a way that suggested he wasn’t terribly sorry. The two of them had never gotten along very famously, but that didn’t matter. Katie and Ace were attached at the hip, so Katie was one of us.

  “That’s discrimination,” Katie said, and we all groaned. This was not a new argument. She and Jack had been picking at each other since she first rolled into town last winter. It never really came to a head. I honestly thought they kind of enjoyed being mean to each other. “You won’t let me into the club even though I ride a motorcycle. Is it because I’m a cop? Or because I’m a woman?”

  “Because we need a unanimous vote to induct people into the club,” Ace informed her gently. “And I’m sure you can guess who the lone holdout is.”

  Jack’s grin grew Cheshire wide, and he held up his hand in case Katie had any trouble discerning who the holdout vote was. There had never been any vote of that kind, of course. Katie didn’t want to be a part of Horizon MC. She just liked using it as a way to poke and prod at Jack.

  “You know what’s an even nicer seat than the booth?” Ace asked, looping his arm around her waist, mindful of the gun in its holster, hanging from her belt. “My very special VIP seat at the bar.”

  “There’s no such thing as a VIP seat at the bar,” Jack scoffed.

  “You don’t know. You never sit at the bar.” Katie let her red hair down from its bun, and shook it out. “There is, too, a VIP seat at the bar. It’s my seat. I’m VIP.”

  Haley sidled up to Ace and Katie with a fresh, full bucket of beer. “Are they not letting you sit in the booth again?”

  “You know they’re not.” Katie slipped a beer from the bucket and took a long drink. “Jesus, that’s cold.”

  “That’s the idea,” Haley said, winking at her. “You know what I do any time they’re being assholes and won’t let me sit in the booth?”

  “What’s that?”

  Haley smirked, tossed her blond hair over her shoulder like it was a cape, and plunked right down next to me in the booth, her body soft against mine. I couldn’t help but feel her warmness.

  “Hey, hey,” Jack complained, mostly for Katie’s sake. “Get out of here, you. Members only.”

  “What he doesn’t know,” Haley said, with a cheeky wink at Katie, “is that when I’m closing up alone, I sit all over it. Just wipe my non-Horizon cooties all over it. Roll on it. Lick it. The works.”

  “We fart on this booth,” Sloan said slowly, with as much dignity as a drunk man could deliver such a statement. We all about died laughing at the expression on Haley’s face, and I patted her knee fondly.

  “I hope you gargle with vodka after those kinds of shenanigans,” I told her.

  “God, more like kerosene,” she said, shaking her head. “You all are really something. Katie, don’t bother with the club booth. The VIP chair at the bar is just as good.”

  “Oh, I know it is,” Katie said, helping Haley is. “I just like making a ruckus.”

  “What the hell is this VIP chair I keep hearing about?” Jack complained. “That’s not a thing.”

  “It is a thing,” Ace admitted, looking a little sheepish. “Remember when we re-did the booth?”

  “Of course I do. You all wouldn’t leave me alone until I signed off on it.”

  “Well, turns out we over-ordered the material,” Ace said. “Rather than let it go to waste”

  “Or waste our time returning it,” Brody put in.

&nbs
p; “The guy told us he’d do a seat at the bar for us, free of charge, just because he liked us,” Ace finished.

  “And also because we gave him free booze to do it,” Haley added. “He was more than happy. There was just enough material to do it, too. A single seat.”

  “The VIP chair,” Katie said dreamily. “Just as nice as the club booth, but even better because I don’t have to sit with you jerks.”

  “Hey,” Sloan protested. “I’m not a jerk.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Katie said in a fawning baby voice. “You’re as cute as a button. You’re also not driving home tonight.”

  “He’s got a ride,” I told her. “Don’t worry.”

  “You’re drinking, too,” Katie said, laughing. “You guys are the worst.”

  “Aw, you love drinking just as much as we do,” I said, laughing with her. I liked Katie. She made Ace so happy, even though there was something of a pall of grief over the women of Rio Seco that Ace was officially off the market.

  “I do love drinking,” she said. “I just want us all to be safe.”

  “Okay, spoilsport,” Ace teased her. “You’re going to drive off business if you keep showing up to the bar dressed like that.”

  “I know,” she said. “I have to remember to bring a change of clothes. I keep forgetting.”

  “VIP chair,” Jack muttered to himself, shaking his head. “This is my bar. How do I not know about the VIP chair?”

  “How are things going tonight?” I asked Haley. She was practically pressed up against me in the booth. There wasn’t any room to scoot over, not with the way Sloan was sprawled out.

  “It’s going okay,” she said, looking at her face in her cellphone to reapply the red lipstick she favored. It favored her, too, of course. Haley knew herself in that way. She didn’t make a fashion or makeup choice that didn’t flatter her. I admired it. Not everyone had that kind of power, was that self-possessed. She glanced at me, her lips curving upward. “What’s that look for?”