by Xander Hades
Now as they stopped at Sunset Point in Arizona and used the rest area, she blinked back tears as she watched the sun shine over the desert. They moved languidly, stretching to unkink muscles held in the same position for too long. She leaned on her bike and watched them, trying to hold in her memory this moment, the way she’d been doing for the duration of the entire trip.
They didn’t say much as they met back at the bikes, but she caught them looking at her and the glances were… melancholy. She tried looking away, but it was hard to not feel the love they had for her. She lost it a little, though, when Hoodoo fired up his bike and motioned for her to take the point. For the last hundred miles of the trip, they were her group. They were men and she was their leader.
She barely breathed for two hours. Hoodoo took his place at her wing. It was the highest honor they could give her, and one she would never forget.
Val smiled now, thinking of that as she rode alone through the desert between Phoenix and LA. It was a long trip, near as long as Sturgis to Phoenix, but the days were warm and the roads were dry. The bike purred under her like a pet tiger and she smiled in the memories of her time in Sturgis. Sad as it was to leave the Gilas behind, the elation at moving toward something this…exciting…was something she could no longer deny. The terrible good-byes were past. Now she was facing a delicious “hello.”
Rocky Veliz had been a temptation from the day she’d seen his picture in the ad for the cage fight demo. But while the eyes on the poster had drawn her in, they hadn’t done the man justice. When Hoodoo said he knew the guy…and then introduced him to her… well, Val went a little out of her lane for a while. Later, watching him fight… her heart was lost and she’d known it even then. She’d always been attracted to strong men, men who could hold their own no matter what life threw at them. Rocky was…well, he was the kind of guy who didn’t let the world dictate to him. He did what he wanted, how he wanted. And there wasn’t a man in the world who could tell him no.
Which was something she needed to remind herself of as the thought about this whole upcoming fight. Maybe she’d been being silly about wanting him to stay with her a little longer. In the end, it had been his decision to go, and much as she hadn’t liked it, she had to acquiesce. It was, after all, his life, and up to him how he would live it.
And besides, as he’d pointed out then, it wasn’t like they weren’t going to be seeing each other again.
That was what had clinched it. She’d gone head over handlebars for him, but then to find out that he felt the same way about her…well, that was heady stuff. That he’d wanted her after Sturgis, that he hadn’t thought of their time together as just a rally hook-up was heady to say the least. Hell, he’d even sat behind her on her bike. Yeah. He was special.
But to top it off, he’d even used one of her moves. Illegal, but effective, when the match in Sturgis had turned out to be a grudge match, where even the ref backed off and let them settle it. In the end, Rocky had asked the defeated man if he would “yield,” like something out of a King Arthur movie. How could a girl not love a man like that?
She smiled, and kept an eye to her mirrors as she moved up alongside a Mercedes. The road now was feeling too long. Her desire to just get there already was wearing on her. With the Gilas to provide distraction, the desert seemed to go on forever. Clouds gathered to the west, long ribbons of pink and orange in a sky that was slowly growing dark. She was chasing the sunset, struggling to stay in the light.
Mama, I think you would like him. His family, they’re from Mexico like yours was. But he’s an educated man, Mama. Not like those boys I used to chase. Rocky is smart…
More than that, Rocky was educated. He’d made money to pay for school. That’s how he met Hoodoo, though how exactly that meeting had happened was never quite clear. Hoodoo didn’t have a college education. She shook her head and pulled alongside the Mercedes to pass, and saw the expression on the driver’s face out of the corner of her eye. She’d gotten used to it. She was a slender girl, short, with long black hair that hung to her waist if she ever stood still long enough for it to settle. Despite every effort on her part to use make-up or clothing, she always appeared to have just hit her sixteenth birthday, though at 26, maybe she should be happy about that. Right now it was just… annoying.
She pasted on her best air-headed-cheerleader smile and watched the old man’s eyes widen as she twisted the throttle and the bike jumped and sped off. Val laughed and threw her head back, letting the wind take her hair and pull at her clothing. There was nothing like the feel of the bike between her legs… ok, well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Having him between her legs was better. A lot better. But until she got to LA… this would do nicely.
She passed the inspection station and barely even slowed. They didn’t check motorcycles for random fruit. It was strange, though, that any one should care enough to put up a facility in the middle of nowhere and staff it because they were that afraid of desert oranges. Still, the good state of California probably had a reason she couldn’t fathom. The border agent just waved her on without even looking.
She checked her gauge and decided that if there was a station in the desert here somewhere, it was time to refuel. Maybe get a bite. Maybe send a dirty text to Rocky. She giggled. Rocky was a tough guy. Hell, he was even a bad boy; he’d spent enough time in gangs and beating people up for free before getting paid for it. But he was so damn easy to embarrass. She’d sent him a candid picture after getting out of the shower that he didn’t get it until his plane landed and he texted her back saying he opened it during a layover in Dallas at the gate. Apparently, he’d dropped the phone and an old man picked it up for him.
Val laughed. Two weeks in L.A. suddenly didn’t seem anywhere near long enough. She was going to have fun.
The Valkyrie on her gas tank shone in the afternoon heat, her sword beating away at the winged devils come to claim the soul of the warrior she’d selected for Valhalla. The artwork was a gift from Hoodoo. It was breathtaking, and it was her. It was the one conceit she had, that she looked at that work of art and felt a kindship with the Valkyrie.
Valkyries took chances. She could do this.
Rocky’s fight was tomorrow. She was supposed to arrive in L.A. the day after, but she wanted to see him fight again. Watching him when the stakes weren’t so high and he could take his time would tell her a lot about the man. Things she hadn’t had a chance to explore back in Sturgis. She was going to get there with plenty of time to see it. Push on late today, find a hotel nearby and be in the seats to watch her man pound the shit out of someone tomorrow night.
Who could ask for a better beginning to her new life?
Chapter 3
“Well, it’s maybe not so big as we thought,” Diaz said, coming into the dressing room. His lip was curled up with a hint of distaste that was more telling than anything. Diaz wasn’t disgusted by anything. Rocky had seen him eat a week-old slice of pizza found on the floor of his bedroom. “It’s a little like the good old days, you know?”
Good old days. Yeah, that didn’t bode well. He stopped what he was doing, and crossed his arms, not sure he wanted to hear the punchline. “Wait, meaning this is a little bar-fight with a dozen people gathered around throwing beer bottles?”
“Nah, man. Nothing like that.” Diaz laughed, but the sound had a somewhat hollow sound. “They sell beer in those waxy cups here.”
“Are you serious?” Rocky pulled off his robe in disgust. “Man, I got beyond this. I’m not just starting out, you know? I have a shot, I have a really good chance at the title, what the hell am I doing here?”
“It’s not a sanctioned fight, man…”
“No, I know.” Rocky stretched and pounded a fist into his open palm. “What the hell am I here for? Murray say anything to you?”
“Nah, he don’ like talking to me. He jus’ said what he said to you, ya’ know? There might be someone watching today.”
“Someone watching? What like I’m waitin
g to be discovered? That’s what Murray is for! I’ve paid my dues, I’ve done the little bar fights, hell, I just did a smack-down at Sturgis they’re still talking about.”
“That’s why you’re here,” a voice said from the door. A tall man with a thick mustache wearing a shirt that was very fashionable thirty years ago – if you liked Hawaiian prints – walked in. In another age, he would have been chomping a cigar and wearing a fedora. These days, few people smoked and even fewer wore hats. That didn’t change Murray from being the stereotypical fight manager.
“Murray, what the hell? I have a real fight next month, one that will get me on the charts, you know?”
“Maybe you have a fight,” Murray corrected him, his voice hard, “IF you win, IF there’s a fight in the first place, then yeah, maybe you got a shot at getting your name out there.”
“What do you mean ‘IF’?”
“I mean, they aren’t sure of you right now.” Murray walked fully into the dressing room, closing the door behind him. “And you!” He pointed at Diaz. “I don’t talk to you because you always garble my message. You’re like a one-man game of telephone. I say ‘blue’ and you tell him ‘fourteen.’ I give up talking to you.”
Diaz shot him a look but said nothing. Murray wasn’t finished. “I gave you something sweet,” he snarled, pointing at Rocky with a finger that shook a little he was so mad. “Little fun fight, a demo fight in front of a thousand bikers. It’s a cage fight in front of bikers for God’s sake! It’s like showing a pack of wild dogs how to butcher a steak! Simple, pretty, practical! What did you do? You beat up the ref!”
“It wasn’t like that…”
“No? You made your opponent… wassshisname, you made him cry Uncle!”
“Yield,” Rocky corrected, though admittedly that might have been a little over the top. On the other hand, with Val out there watching, he wasn’t quite sure what to say got into him. It just felt right at the time.
“Yield. Great. Sir Lancelot here got into a real fight instead of following the MMA rules and even did some kind of weirdo donkey kick thing then threatened him until he yelled out ‘yield’.” He looked a bit at Diaz. “Why am I telling you?”
“What’s that got to with a bar fight in the back end of nowhere?” Rocky demanded.
“You went out of the lines.” Murray said and there was no doubt about it. He was pissed off. His eyes looked positively murderous, like he was the one who belonged in a cage. “Now they’re not so sure of you. Maybe you’re a professional, maybe you’re just a huge muscled gang-banger, they don’t know. So yeah, you get shuttled down, you get the baby fights in the back of a bar, because then the MMA can watch you, see if you’re a fighter or a punk.”
Rocky snapped upright, and looked him square in the eyes, his hands curling into fists. “Hey, that guy tried to kidnap a friend’s girl…”
Murray was not one to back down and met his gaze square. “So you beat him up? There ain’t no cops in Sturgis? No legal course of action? You don’t have the right to go around beating up people, except in the cage and only then within the rules. I’m calling bullshit on you, Rocky. From what I hear you got a girl out there. Was it honor you were fighting for or a place in her bed?” Murray had his hands up, before Rocky even fully took a step. “Ease off, killer. I’m only saying…I know you’re a noble guy and all that, but it wasn’t like the only option you had. I suggest you take a breath and realize there’s consequences for your actions.” He gave Rocky a hard look. “Big consequences. Right now, I’m needing you to play nice. You dance your little dance. Your fight next month is still scheduled, you just need to keep your nose clean for a month and do what you’re told for a little bit. And if that means fighting in some damn two-bit fight then you better jolly well do it.”
“This is bullshit.” Diaz muttered not quite under his breath.
“You want to pay him?” Murray shot back. “You have a shitload of money to pay him to fight? Cause I don’t! Those guys out there? They do. They decide who gets their money, and it don’t matter if it’s all bullshit or scotch, if you want their money, you drink the Kool-Aid.”
“What?” Rocky shook his head, still pissed and not even half following Murray at this point. He was still back in the conversation wondering if maybe he had read Ivanhoe a few too many times growing up, and just how much of the mess in Sturgis had been about impressing a pretty girl.
Not that he’d ever say that to Murray.
“I might be mixing metaphors…” Murray admitted.
“From several generations.” Rocky murmured, crossing his arms and only just managing keeping from rolling his eyes.
“Was that even English?” Diaz joined in.
“What do you care? You won’t remember it right anyway.” He turned back to Rocky and said, “Listen. Play the rules for a little while. You can break them when you got the title and retire. Then you piss in their…” He stopped and held up a hand. “Then you can tell them your honest opinion. But for now… “
“I know,” Rocky nodded. “Right now, I have to be their little model of a polite cage fighter.” He looked up at his manager, still not quite forgiving his earlier comments. Say what he would about his fighting, and yeah, he had gotten into a bar fight. But dragging Val into things had been hitting below the belt. “Right?”
“Something like that, yeah.” Murray nodded, rubbing his hands together in glee like some villain out of an old black-and-white movie, all enthusiasm now that he felt like he’d gotten his way.
“It’s still bullshit,” Diaz muttered.
Murray turned to Rocky, “What’s bullshit is passing him off as your trainer.” He stuck a thumb at Diaz. “He knows less about cage fighting than I do.”
“And that’s saying a lot!” Diaz held his hand up for a high five. Rocky shook his head. That was just sad.
“Go suck a burrito.” Murray turned to Rocky again. “So, you’re going to play nice, yes?”
“Yeah,” Rocky nodded and waved off the question. “I can be a good boy… for a while. But I can’t hold it too long, so don’t waste the time. Get me in the lists and I’ll be the perfect gentleman killer.”
“Great, now he’s Jack the Ripper.” Murray sighed. “Alright, listen, I can’t stay for the fight, call me tomorrow and tell me how you politely killed him, alright?”
Rocky nodded. If he had to, he had to. He could play the game a bit longer, as idiotic as it was. Murray turned to go. “Hey!” Rocky’s shout stopped him at the door. Murray paused, his hand on the doorknob, eyebrow raised in silent question. “For the record, my man here is a great coach.”
“Yeah!” Diaz echoed.
“Really?” Murray glanced at Diaz, his expression carefully neutral as he did a once over and finally shook his head. “What did I say about next month’s match?”
“That it was canceled until he pisses in some Kool-Aid!” Diaz said, crossing his arms, his expression smug and confident.
Murray turned to Rocky, “Get an answering machine will yah? Voicemail? Something?” He held his hand in an offhand wave and walked from the room.
“What?” Diaz asked, his arms spread at his sides. “Was I wrong? What?”
Rocky laughed and tossed a glove at his trainer. “Naw, man, you got it. Now lace me up, huh?”
“Sure, sure. Oh, listen, some really tall skinny dude showed up, wanted me to tell you something.”
Rocky sighed. “What was that?”
Diaz looked him in the eye and poked finger at him. “’Keep alive in your heart,’ he says to me, ‘it’ll get you morning.’”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
Diaz shrugged, “How the hell should I know? Probably some hippy floating on drugs. What difference does it make?”
“Then why tell me?” Rocky cried. “Diaz!”
Chapter 4
A few hours at the motel were just what she needed. Val checked in and asked for a room set away from “the noise.” She had no idea who was all checke
d in, but what she wanted was a room that was far enough from the office that they wouldn’t see her park.
She’d chosen one of those places still scattered all over California, dating back to the days of Route 66, long drawn-out buildings, each room opening to the great outdoors. In the days of interior hallways and the sameness that kept you from identifying Holiday Inn from Marriot except by the difference in the sheet linens on the bed, she enjoyed the throwback unexpectedness of these small places that were so few and far between. This particular place was just this side of seedy, and hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in at least a decade. But the place seemed clean enough, and since that was what she was paying for, she had little to complain about.
The room was exactly as she’d hoped, hidden away on the back end of nowhere, the parking lot giving a clear view to the expressway through a chain link fence, gapped and sagging against a half full dumpster. The manager had seemed surprised that a woman traveling alone would want a room so far from the office, his idea of security she supposed. But no one messed with her, or if they did, they soon regretted it. Val had been handling herself for a long time now, and didn’t fear things that went bump in the night. Her bike on the other hand…that was a thing worth worrying over.