Hailey's Hog

by Andrew Draper

  He kicked the engine to life and roared away from the scene unfolding in the living room behind him. I don’t need her. I can get a woman anytime I want.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The half mile-long parade of chrome-plated thunder moved slowly along the off-ramp for Black Canyon City, the riders rolling side by side down the access road in a growing cloud of dust.

  Amidst the moving mass of steel, Hailey saw the narrow street fill with residents watching in either fascination or concern as the deafening procession crawled past.

  The roar of exhaust pipes multiplied exponentially with each passing machine, shaking the ground like monsoon thunder. The group slowly worked its way through town and out the other side, seeking the last stop on the “poker run”.

  As the herd of motorcycles approached, the town of Rock Springs sat baking in the summer heat, a postage-stamp along the interstate. Having only one redeeming quality, the hamlet was typically overlooked by all but the most savvy of regional travelers.

  She joined the other machines parking in front of a popular hamburger joint. Exhaust rumbling, she blipped the throttle as she backed into an empty space along the sidewalk and killed the engine. Except for the short break at the Chevron station, she had been riding for more than an hour. She stood, twisting her body back and forth, stretching the kinks out of a few still-sore muscles.

  Walking down the double rows of parked bikes, Hailey admired the iron. Mixed in with the plethora of Harley-Davidsons were bikes from a dozen countries. She spotted a pair of Ducati Monsters, an unidentifiable trike sporting an enormous V-8 engine and a gleaming Suzuki Hayabusa, the dealer plate still attached. The vast array of mechanical marvels even included a vintage Royal Enfield decked out in full WWII military trim.

  There seemed to be an example of just about every two-wheeled vehicle constructed in the last century. Some of the older ones she recognized, but the newer ones looked more like something from a sci-fi movie than a motorcycle dealership. In her mind’s eye she easily imagined the chrome-plated marvels circling in the air before landing in perfect formation to join the rest of their earth-bound brethren.

  Among the bikes Hailey noticed an assortment of people laughing and talking as they slowly moved toward the bar.

  She considered the social microcosm before her. She looked in fascination at dozens of men and women from all walks of life and economic circumstances now gathered together, their differences shelved for the purpose of enjoying motorcycling and raising some money for a worthy cause.

  Continuing down the line, she passed the stretched forks of sleek choppers before coming to a squadron of crotch rockets gleaming insect-like in the growing darkness. Continuing toward the bar, she now followed the revelers beyond the dozens of chrome-encrusted cruisers from around the world. About half way through the mass of mirror-finished steel and rubber, one particular machine grabbed her attention. She moved toward it, stooping for a closer look at the olive-drab sidecar rig that appeared to be an original WWII survivor. Very cool! She thought, noticing that the sidecar sported a mocked-up machine gun on what appeared to be the original mount.

  Following the rowdy crowd, she headed toward the muted sound of music coming from the Rock Springs Cantina. Hailey pushed open the saloon’s traditional swinging doors and stepped into the smoke-filled interior. The skull-crushing sound of the four-piece rock band immediately assaulted her senses. Gyrating on stage, the lead guitarist belted out harsh vocals while abusing a Fender Stratocaster with reckless abandon. She felt the floor vibrate beneath her boots as the bass boomed, the invisible waves of the guitars pounding her chest.

  A working class establishment, the Rock Springs Cantina featured the sawdust-covered floor and red felt pool tables favored by the blue-collar locals. Looking around, Hailey noticed the sparse decor sported a rough-hewn finish, giving the place a rustic, western undertone.

  She bellied-up to the crowded bar, ordered a non-alcoholic drink and waited. Sipping in silence, she eyed the other women in the lounge. The skank squad is out in force tonight!

  She shook her head in disappointment with her gender mates. Too little clothing and far too much makeup marked those “competing” for the attention of tattooed men either drinking at the bar or unabashedly ogling the scantily-clad females from tables ringing the room.

  A young woman suddenly appeared at her side, squeezed closer by the growing throng. The thin, attractive brunette yelled to overcome the noise exploding from the Marshall stacks hanging from the flat black ceiling above the dance floor. “Anyone sitting here?’ she pointed at the vacant stool to Hailey’s right.

  Hailey motioned with a hand. “Take it.”

  The other woman turned around and sat, leaning back against the bar.

  “I’m Julie,” the stranger said, extending a bottle-tipping salute. “You part of the run?”

  “Hey. I’m Tina,” Hailey said, returning the courtesy, yet concealing her true identity. “I joined in Flagstaff. What a blast!” The lie crossed her lips much more easily than she would have ever believed.

  The pair surveyed the scene of weakly-controlled chaos in the noisy bar.

  “Skanks!” Julie said, with the finger-down-the throat pantomime. “Gag!”

  Hailey laughed at the impertinence, catching the other woman’s gaze playing across the vulgar women ceaselessly working the boisterous crowd.

  Most of the biker women were poured into the standard Levi’s and some sort of tee shirt or halter, the skin on display just meeting the confines of the obscenity laws. Never mind the laws of good taste. Hailey thought.

  She noticed that the locals, however, were not to be outdone in the Darwinian mating dance taking place on the sawdust-strewn floor before her. The fake blonds with the fake boobs buzzed around the men like hungry bees, their hormones running roughshod over both decorum and common sense. She couldn’t believe the number of women about to bust out of their blouses.

  From her perch on the stool, she silently chastised the party-goers. Just because you’re single, desperate…and have huge boobs… is no reason to dress like a two-dollar hooker.

  Everywhere she looked lacey bras peeked out from indecently low-cut blouses, straining in a nearly futile effort to hold back the soft flesh imprisoned within. And then they wonder why the drunks hit on them. She observed in disappointment as a huge bearded man slid a beefy hand the length of a tipsy redhead’s stocking-encased thigh, coming to rest on her heart-shaped buttocks. From the bar, Hailey scowled unsympathetically as his repugnantly forward gesture earned him nothing more than a playful slap on the wrist along with an alcohol-soaked giggle from his intended target. My God girl! Have some respect for yourself.

  She looked down at her own considerably more demure attire of new black jeans, a normal tee shirt, vest and boots, mentally comparing it with the walking lingerie ads strutting around the male party-goers in a rapidly-escalating game of touchy-feely.

  “They better stay away from my Bear!” Julie said, her voice cutting the din. “Or they got an ass-whipping on the way.”

  Hailey smiled at the sudden flare of overt distrust and feminine wrath. She watched Julie drink her beer and survey the rowdy crowd in the bar. This is one tough broad.

  She silently wished she had that kind of innate confidence.

  She wore her own vest unbuttoned, a concession to the rising heat in the club. The draped leather partially concealed the 36-d’s beneath. I only want one person to notice me. The very thought of him actually being there made her nerves tingle as the fear of discovery surged through her body. She worried that her changed appearance might not be enough to hide in plain sight. She fervently hoped her long hair, replacing the shoulder-length cut she sported for so many years, would throw the quarry off the scent. Contacts instead of glasses, biker clothes, and just enough makeup to blend in with the other women, all were new weapons in her battle for anonymity amongst the surging crowd of increasingly intoxicated revelers.

  If he recognizes
me, I’m dead. The realization had new tentacles of icy fear wrestling for a grip on her vibrating senses. The thought that he might actually kill her this time crossed her mind, but instead of the expected tsunami of unreasoning panic, the danger only added fuel to the fire burning like magnesium deep in her soul.

  She sat in her own dark corner of the booze-fueled melee and sipped the pseudo-cocktail, bating the trap with the projected appearance of a slightly tipsy, wanna-be biker chick.

  Just when she thought he might not show, the noisy crowd momentarily parted and there he stood with a pool cue in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. The sight of him caused her heart to skip several beats before instantly vaulting to breakneck speed, pounding against her ribs.

  “Oh, there’s Bear now,” Julie said, sliding from the stool. “About dammed time.”

  Hailey’s blood turned to quicksilver at the admission of the woman now standing next to her. She turned, eyes wide in disbelief, afraid to utter a word. She sat frozen for several seconds, terrified of what she might let escape from her tightly controlled memory. You couldn’t mean him…could you?

  Giving a little wave toward a bearded mountain of leather and denim exiting the men’s room, the other woman took her leave. “See you later!”

  Pulling in some needed air in strangled gasp, Hailey suddenly felt very foolish. I’ve got to get a grip! She repeated several times in reassurance.

  Trying to calm her jangling nerves, she resumed watching her target drink and shoot pool. Let him come to you. She reminded herself, pulse surging with the alternating spikes of adrenaline-fired bravado and gripping dread.

  While the party raged on, Hailey watched him strike out with two different women and turn away a particularly large, extra-skanky blond. Shit! What if he hooks up with someone else?

  The thought still ping-ponged through her head, but she needn’t have worried. It took only a few more minutes before he slowly worked his way to the bar, pulling up a stool next to hers.

  “Buy you a drink?” he said, slurring his words a bit and expelling a cloud of stale tobacco and alcohol fumes in her direction. She checked her watch, feigning indecision. 10:45. Now or never.

  Gathering what little nerve she possessed, she turned to face him and noticed the glazed eyes were faintly unfocused. “Sure, why not?”

  He put his lit cigarette between his lips and extended his hand toward her. “I’m Jake.”

  Confident now in her anonymity and wanting to appear equally inebriated, she nodded and shifted unsteadily on her stool. She mimicked the skanks, conjuring a boozy giggle as she appeared to slip off her perch. “Oops!”

  “I’m Tina.” She replied, giving him a little handshake before holding up her glass for the bartender to refill. “Jack and Coke, please.”

  “Band’s great!” he said, leaning close to her ear. His proximity sent shivers of disgust racing up and down her spine as he openly eyed her chest.

  “A little loud, though” she responded, steeling herself to his closer presence. “My brain is melting.”

  “You want to get out of here?” he asked hopefully.

  “What do you have in mind?” she faked a hiccup and gave him a questioning gaze.

  “Why don’t we go for a little party of our own?”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said, smiling conspiratorially. “I just met you.”

  “Nothing big, just a drink under the stars,” he said. “There is a nice park we can walk to.”

  “Well…,” she paused, appearing to consider his suggestion. “Okay.”

  They snaked though the crowd, making their way toward the door. “I need to use the restroom first,” she said. “Don’t go away.”

  She stepped inside the closet-sized space and snapped the lever, locking the door. She retrieved the revolver, hidden in her calf-high boot since she got to the club, and tucked it behind her back in the waistband of her jeans, the polished steel cold against her skin.

  She faced the mirror, willing the woman staring back at her to control her raging state of mind, to get a grip on her swelling apprehension.

  “He’s just a man. You can do this,” she reassured the reflection peering at her from the cracked and dingy glass. “The only power he has is what you give him.”

  Once outside, the pair walked in silence down the row of bikes as the music faded into the distance.

  “So,” he said, breaking the quiet. “What do you ride?”

  “Oh, my Sporty’s down on the other end,” she said, cocking a thumb, pointing over her shoulder.

  “Cool, I dig chicks that ride their own bikes.”

  “And you?”

  “I have a few different bikes, but I rode my 66’ Triumph today.”

  “Cool.” She opined.

  “Yeah, it’s fun. I like it.”

  Moving with no particular hurry, they crossed the few blocks to the narrow dirt road leading up to their destination.

  Leaving the darkness of the unlit parking lot behind them, they passed a couple headed the other way. Continuing on, the pair passed through the walking gate into the now-deserted park. They turned up the trail, the crunch of gravel under two pairs of boots sounding abnormally loud in the stillness of the night.

  “Drink?” He offered, pulling a bottle from his back pocket.

  She accepted the flask from his huge hands, taking a dainty sip.

  “Wow, that’s quite the belt you took. You might just be too much woman for me,” he said laughing, voice laced with flippant sarcasm.

  She returned the bottle. This is it! She steeled herself for the act to follow.

  “You’re not afraid of lil’ old me, are you?” she purred lasciviously, feeling his gaze lock on her ass as she moved down the trail just out of his reach.

  “Should I be?” he laughed again, staggered a few steps toward her and took a pull from the bottle in his hand.

  “No. After all,” she teased, continuing in a cheesy little-girl voice, “You’re a big strong biker, and I’m just a girl.”

  He chuckled at the voice then stepped closer, reaching out to catch her wrist. The sudden contact sent flashes of loathing ricocheting through every fiber of her being.

  He pulled her closer, crushing her to his chest, the predatory smile on his face fueling her growing alarm.

  “Easy,” she cautioned playfully, maintaining the facade while raw revulsion sent her stomach into anxious flips. “I don’t like to play quite that rough.”

  “Then maybe you picked the wrong playmate.” he grinned, tightening his grip on her wrist.

  The dread ballooned in her mind, battling for release.

  “Let me go!” her voice constricted, a stark terror trying to take control. She willed her vaulting emotions to settle.

  “We both know you don’t mean that.” he said, the evil grin on his face chilling her to the core.

  “Easy…” Her frightened words were lost as he mashed his lips to hers. She twisted in his grip, fighting to get her arm free. “Not so fast…” She writhed in his grasp, trying to escape, but his strength proved insurmountable.

  He mashed his lips to hers a second time while the other hand reached between their bodies to squeeze her left breast with utter disregard for her comfort. In a flash of mounting panic she bit his lip, the metallic taste of blood foul in her mouth.

  “You Bitch!” he bellowed in pain.

  She felt his hand release her wrist, then dart out to connect with the side of her head in a thundering, open-handed slap. Her head snapped back, stars exploding across her vision. She staggered backward from the force of the blow. Tripping over a small boulder on the edge of the trail, she landed on the rocks, pain shooting along her spine before exploding in her shoulder.

  He slowly stepped toward her, his face now stretched into a mask of malicious, uncontrolled fury.

  “I’ll show you my idea of playing rough!” he snarled, dabbing at his bleeding lip as he closed the distance between them.

  Head still sp
inning, she almost missed the quiet click of the switchblade springing open in his hand, ten inches of steel gleaming in the moonlight.

  Her eyes widened in horror as her brain instantly registered the memory of that cold blade in vivid detail.

  Not this time! She reached under her vest and the nickel-plated revolver came into view. The pistol jumped in her hand, the shot sounding like a cannon in her ears.

  The shot smashed into Stone, shattering his right knee cap before blasting its way out, tearing muscle and tendon as it went.

  He howled like the wounded animal he was, falling to the ground in a twisted heap. Rolling over on his back, he held his ruined leg while he screamed, his face now warped in agony.

  “You shot me!” he roared, as the red stain ran down his now-useless leg. “You whore!”

  He tried to staunch the flow of blood from the wound, but couldn’t. Still reeling from the slap, Hailey scrambled back to her feet, eyes never leaving his.

  “You really don’t remember me do you?” she hissed, gun quivering in her hands.

  “No!” he said, blood pouring from between his fingers. “I’ve never seen you before, you crazy bitch!”

  “You raped me,” she spat in disgust.

  “You’re nuts!” he said. “I never raped anybody!”

  “You dragged me into an alley and held that knife on me while everyone got a turn,” she said. “You said if I resisted, you’d cut my throat.”

  She lifted her chin, revealing a thin white scar. “This look familiar?” A little over two inches long, the scar’s even stitch marks glowed in the Moonlight, an ugly blemish on her slender, otherwise-perfect neck.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he said between clenched teeth, still rocking back and forth on the ground in anguish.

  “You terrorized me…you sadistic bastard!” she sputtered in rage. “You ruined my life!”

  “You’re insane!” he hissed in pain.

  Her searing anger continued to fuel her rapid-fire thoughts. He did this to you, make him own it. Don’t let him lie his way out. She could already see the red haze beginning to bleed in from the edges of her vision. Adrenaline cruised through her blood vessels without restraint. She pushed forward, heedless of the consequences.