by Fox, Harley
I stand there for a moment longer, staring at the spot where she just was. It’s strange. I never expected this to happen tonight. I wanted to get laid, yeah, and in a sense I guess I got what I wanted. But I got something more, as well. And maybe it wasn’t actually there. Maybe it was all in my head. But I felt it, and something tells me I’m not going to be able to shake this feeling for a long time.
Christ, I could use a drink. Breathing in a deep lungful of fresh air, I let it out in an exhale and then turn to head back into the bar, ready for the first beer of the day.
Trista
Oh God, my head.
I’m lying facedown on something soft. My bed. As I try to open my eyes I have to force them against the sticky residue that’s gluing them shut.
I can feel the throb in my temples, taste the rancid beer still on my tongue. I finally get my eyes open and the diffuse sunlight that’s filling the room almost blinds me. Taking in a deep breath, I roll over onto my back and feel all of my muscles cry out in protest.
Including a particular spot, down between my legs …
I stop, lying on my back now, and blink enough until I’m looking up at the ceiling.
Last night …
I’d hardly eaten, hadn’t slept the night before, and kept drinking beer after beer. No wonder I let my guard down. That guy there … Flynn. He was cute. And he flirted with me. We played pool, and then … after …
Oh my God. We fucked in the bathroom stall.
It all comes back to me, the entire evening. I wouldn’t say I was drunk, but I certainly wasn’t sober either. Was I flirting with him? Or was he flirting with me? I guess it doesn’t matter. The Bullets left and it was just me and their friend. We were having fun. And besides, he was really sweet. Funny. And he had a great smile.
And then later, in the bathroom stall …
I have to shake my head to clear it, and that only sends an ice pick of pain behind my eyes. I close them and wait for it to pass, then open them back up and force myself up to sitting.
It’s a good thing it’s my day off. I’m still wearing my biker clothes, and I reach into my pocket, taking out my cell phone.
Almost eleven o’clock.
My stomach drops as my mind flies over to my mom, and I get up, pushing myself through the pain as I leave my bedroom, march down the hallway, and stop in front of my mom’s door, knocking softly before I walk in.
My mom is in the same sitting position she was in yesterday. Propped up by pillows, staring dully out the window.
“Hey, Mom,” I say in a low voice, walking over to her. My boots clunk against the floor, but I ignore it. My mom doesn’t turn her head as I bend down closer to her. “Sorry, I overslept. Are you hungry?”
No response. No acknowledgment. My mouth is closed as I stare at her, and then I drop my gaze.
“Okay. Well I’ll get you your breakfast anyway.”
I straighten back up and leave the room, going into the kitchen to get my mom some yogurt and her pills. As I put it together my stomach rumbles, but I ignore it for now. What I do get is a glass of water, though, downing it before picking up the bowl and pills and taking them to her room.
It only takes about ten minutes for her to eat everything, and when she’s done I take the bowl back to the kitchen to deposit into the sink. My stomach rumbles again, but I take a minute to clean out my mom's bedpan first. Once that's done I come back to the kitchen and take out two eggs and some bread from the fridge. Putting the frying pan on the stove, I crack the eggs into it and listen to them sizzle as the bread toasts.
I overslept, which I don’t usually do, but it’s not like I’m in any sort of rush. I’m going to go to the Bullets’ warehouse today, but it wouldn’t make sense to go any time before noon. Sometime in the afternoon would be better. I still need to shower and get ready anyway.
I just hope I don’t screw it up somehow.
The toast pops and I butter it, then slide the eggs onto the plate. There’s a small table in the corner of the kitchen, and it’s here that I sit down. I find that I’m ravenous, despite what I’ve got planned for later on. Skipping meals and staying up late two nights in a row makes you hungry.
Not to mention having some incredible sex.
I slow down in the middle of chewing a bite of egg and toast. Flynn. I wasn’t expecting anything like that to happen last night. It’s not even like I was on the prowl for anybody to sleep with. It all happened so suddenly. But even before that, I don’t know … he was a sweet guy. I don’t know how he knows the Bullets, but I’m glad he was there. As nervous as I was, somehow having him there beside me made it all a bit easier.
Oh well. We’re from two different worlds, and it’s not like I’m going to run in to him any time soon. After today, after I get in with the Bullets, then my bar-hopping days are over. I’m going to focus exclusively on the Bullets, so there’ll be no chance of bumping in to him again.
I swallow the bite, and suddenly my food doesn’t seem as appealing as it did a moment ago. But I force myself to eat it anyway.
When I finish eating I check the time again and see that it’s only eleven thirty. I have to kill some time. Taking off my leather jacket, I fill the sink up with water and wash the dishes. Once those are done I wipe down the counters, then strip out of my clothing and go to take a shower, washing my hair this time. Once I’m all clean I get dressed—in similar clothes to what I was wearing last night—and make sure my hair is dry. When I check the clock again it’s almost one in the afternoon.
It’s showtime.
I say goodbye to my mom, giving her a kiss on the top of her head, and then leave by the front door, stepping out into the sunshine and locking it behind me.
I walk up to my bike and swing my leg over, turn on the engine, kick it into life. It’s a Monday so there are only a few people out on the street. Some of them look my way, but I avoid their glances as I turn out onto the road and start to head northeast.
The warehouse is a bit farther out than Point Blank, and I take a similar route to what I did last night. Skirting around the police station in case anybody recognizes me, I ride along, going past the turn that would take me to the bar. Heading farther up north I approach the old industrial area, roughly paved roads with mechanic’s shops and warehouses all around. Most of them are standing, but some are torn down, either demolished or having just fallen apart over years of disuse.
Traveling east along the bottom of the area, I turn up north again and then, just past an old packing plant, I see it. The Bullets’ warehouse. A large, square building, it’s surrounded by chain-link fence with a paved parking lot spanning the distance between them. Outside the front door are several motorcycles, all parked next to one another. My heart races as I slow down, and I quickly quiet my fears.
It’s going to be okay. Just stay in character; you’ll be fine.
Pulling into the parking lot, I park my bike at the end and turn it off. The engine cuts, leaving me drenched in the silence of this desolate part of the city. I get off the bike and walk past the rest of them, hearing my boots scrape against the asphalt. As I get closer to the metal door I start to hear voices coming from inside—echoing shouts, and laughter. My heart is pounding, and I stop in front of the door, feeling my face tingle with nervousness, my hands almost like they’re asleep.
Suddenly, voices appear inside of my head.
Go. Run. You’re not ready yet. Just keep going to bars, keep getting into this. These people are serious, they killed Sal, they kill for fun. You could die, Trista, you could die!
I realize I’m breathing through my mouth now and it’s shaky. I’m shaky. The echoing shouts come through again and I reach out to grab onto the door handle … and stop.
My mouth is dry. I swallow. I want to throw up. That breakfast sits like a rock in my stomach and all I want to do is go away and pretend nothing like this is even happening.
No.
I pull in a long, slow breath, and let it out, just as slowl
y. I swallow again.
You’re good. You’re golden. They liked you last night. Just go in, say you want to become a member. Don’t take no for an answer. Think about Sal.
My hands don’t feel as cold. My breath isn’t shaky anymore. More laughter floats out through the metal separation, and I take one more deep breath, clearing my mind, and then I grab onto the handle and open the door.
I step into the space and immediately I’m surrounded by vast, echoing sound. The talking and laughter dies and the door swings shut behind me, making a loud, metallic, slamming sound. My eyes are used to the bright light outside, and right now everything seems pitch black. I have to blink quickly to adjust them, and I take a step forward, seeing just through a blur the outlines of people all looking at me.
“Who’s that?” somebody calls out.
“I don’t know,” says another voice. “Who are you?”
My persona washes over me, and with every step, with every blink that clears my vision, I feel her come alive.
“This is the Bullets, right?” I call back. “I got the right place?”
“Oh, holy shit, it’s that girl from last night.”
“Wow. Yeah.”
“Hey, what’re you doing here?”
My eyes have adjusted and now I can see them all, and the space around them. The inside of this place is vast, with most of the floor space empty. There’s a glass-walled office off to the side, and beyond that some rows of shelving. Oil drums, stacks of wooden pallets, and some other industrial garbage are scattered about, giving the space a sense of being filled in. There’s also a long table with office chairs seated around it.
But right now nobody’s sitting. They’re all standing, looking at me, a few holding bottles of beer. I recognize them and can put a few names to the faces. Maddox. Chloe. Chris. Jackie. The others are a bit fuzzy, but I remember that Maddox is the leader. It’s to him that I focus my attention.
“I wanted to join,” I say to him. “I want to join the Bullets.”
Maddox furrows his brow a little and a few of them laugh. I keep my gaze on Maddox, though, keep his eyes locked with mine.
But just then there’s the sound of boots scraping against the concrete floor and somebody comes out from the space between the office and the first shelf. He’s tall, and handsome, and he’s got a beer in his hand. And when I glance over to him and our eyes meet, I see him raise his eyebrows as my mouth drops open.
Flynn. He’s here. He’s here with the Bullets and he’s … he wearing a Bullets jacket.
“Trista?” he says, and a few of the others turn to look at Flynn before looking back at me.
“Check it out, Flynn,” Tyrone says. “That chick from last night is here. She wants to join our gang.”
My mind races and my heart beats hard—but for a different reason this time—as I watch Flynn walk closer, joining the rest of the group. I have to tear my eyes away from him and look back at Maddox, who’s now regarding me with scrutiny.
“Trista … right?” Maddox says, and I try to summon up my alternate persona, nodding.
“Maddox, right?” I say in return.
He nods. “What made you think you could come here?”
I can feel Flynn staring at me, and I try to avoid his gaze as I shrug and look out over the warehouse, passing my glance over a few of the other Bullets as I do.
“I’ve been checking this town out,” I say to him, to the group at large. “Seeing what’s good, seeing what isn’t. I don’t want to waste my time with any little punk who’s just in it for the free ride.” Back to Maddox. “You guys seem legit. So I thought I would join.”
I see Alyssa nod, smiling, out of the corner of my eye. Maddox, however, doesn’t look as impressed.
“You thought you would join?” he says my words back to me. “That’s a pretty optimistic notion you have there.”
I let a smile touch the corners of my lips, but I don’t say anything. Maddox’s eyes stay on mine.
“You know, we don’t usually like strangers waltzing in here, demanding to join the Bullets.”
“I’m not a stranger,” I point out. “And I’m not demanding.”
“How do I know you’re not a cop?” he says. “Huh? How do I know you don’t got a wire on you?”
“You can check me, if you want,” I say, raising my arms halfway, my palms open. “No wire, no gun.”
Maddox’s eyes move quickly down my body and up again. Then he looks to one of the others and inclines his head. Boots scrape against the concrete and a few seconds later Chloe is beside me, patting me down.
“Don’t you think Flynn should be doing that?” Tyrone jokes, and I will myself not to blush as I keep looking at Maddox, him still looking at me. Flynn doesn’t say anything.
Chloe stands back up, having just gone down the legs of my jeans.
“She’s clean,” she says, and Maddox nods as Chloe leaves my side. I lower my arms.
“So you want to be a Bullet,” Maddox says, finally taking his eyes away from mine and looking out over the warehouse, as though musing to himself. I try not to smile as I nod. He’s considering it, I think, congratulating myself. Hang in there, you’re almost there.
“That’s right,” I say.
“You know, we actually get a lot of kids coming in, wanting to join up with us. Haven’t had one in a while, though.”
I don’t say anything to that.
“We’re not just some little clubhouse where we sit around and drink beer and ride on our motorcycles. It’s dangerous work, what we do.”
“I know.”
“You don’t just sign up and join our mailing list. It doesn’t work like that.”
“How does it work?”
He looks at me. “You have to prove yourself.”
The look in his eyes … he’s serious.
“Tell me what I have to do.”
There’s a smirk at the side of his mouth.
“Tell you. Why don’t I show you?”
And with that Maddox turns and walks past me, leaves the entire group as he heads for the front door. I watch him go, leave without another word. When the door slams shut behind him I turn back and look at all the others.
Everybody looks uneasy or uncomfortable. All except for Flynn. Our eyes meet and for a fleeting second I feel like I see something in him beyond what this group is, beyond that jacket and the beer in his hand. But then Matthias speaks up and it’s gone.
“Maddox doesn’t trust you,” he says, and I turn my head to look at him. “He talked about you last night, when you and Flynn were playing pool. Said you looked out of place.”
Fuck. “Like I said, I’ve been checking this town out. Last night was the first time I’ve been to Point Blank. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries.”
“So you thought you’d come here the next day and just ask to join us?” Jackie asks, and I swing my gaze over to her. “Do you even know who we are?”
I give a slow blink. “I know who you are. And I know who you aren’t. You aren’t the type to just give in. You aren’t the type not to take what you want. This city’s got a lot to give up, and I want to be in when it’s all taken. I know the score. I know about the drugs, the weapons. It’s all yours. And the stuff that isn’t should be yours. There shouldn’t be a bunch of gangs wandering around. There should only be one. Us.”
Jackie holds my gaze for a moment longer before dropping her eyes to the floor.
“Hey Flynn,” Chris pipes up. “You’re quiet. What do you think about this?”
My heart skips a beat. I look over at Flynn and he meets my gaze for a moment, then gives me a smile.
“I think it’ll be good,” he says, and it feels like there are butterflies in my stomach. “I think she’ll be good here.”
Just then a door on the other side of the warehouse opens up and we all spin around to see Maddox coming in, bringing with him a mangy-looking dog scrabbling to get away. The dog has a length of rope around its neck that Maddox is h
olding, and the dog barks, pulling at it, struggling to get free.
What the fuck? I think as Maddox fights to bring this dog over to the wall, where he ties up his end of the rope to an affixed pipe. When he steps back the dog pulls at its restraints but doesn’t go anywhere, scraping its long nails on the concrete floor as it moves around in a half-circle.
“Chloe,” Maddox says, looking at her. “Go get the gun from the office.”
Gun? I think as Chloe leaves for the office at the side. Maddox walks over to me, a little out of breath.
“Every person who wants to join us has to prove himself,” he says. “They have to show that they’ve got what it takes to be a Bullet.”
I see the mangy-looking dog still struggling over Maddox’s shoulder, but it’s not fighting as hard now. It seems to realize that it’s not going anywhere.
“I need to know that you can follow orders. I need to know you won’t back down when I need you the most.”
The dog starts to whine, a high-pitched noise coming out of its throat, and I feel my heart break. Chloe comes back from the office, a snub-nosed gun in her hand. She hands it to Maddox, who hands it to me. It feels heavy. I glance down and see that it’s fully loaded.
“These dogs hang out around the warehouses,” Maddox says. “They’re pretty friendly for the most part, and sometimes we give them scraps. Keeps them coming around. In case we need one of them. For instance, right now.”
Everybody else is silent. Maddox steps to the side and now there’s nothing blocking me from the dog. It whines again and it looks over at me. Its sad eyes stare into mine and it whines, the pitiful sound coming out of its mouth.
“Shoot it,” Maddox says, and my stomach is a twisting knot of snakes. “Walk up to that dog, and shoot it in the head.”
The gun feels really heavy now. Everybody is watching me. I can feel Flynn’s stare as I take a step forward, then another one. The dog sees me approaching and it whines again, shaking its tail. Nobody is speaking as I walk up to it, stepping just beyond the boundary of its rope.