Scythe

by Mercy Hollow

  “Probation. Not parole.” Vegan didn’t say it, but the ‘F you’ was implied in his tone. A pop for possession of marijuana had gotten Vegan collared in the first place, but his severe lack of tolerance for others was the ticking bomb that would probably land him in the joint for time.

  Crawler huffed and thudded with purpose into the living room, slash bar, slash storage garage for bike parts and electronic equipment. His six-foot-six, pushing two-twenty frame commanded space.

  Vegan scowled but leaned back.

  Crawler swaggered into the far bedrooms. “So you got any violations for me? I’m in a mood.” He turned his head from side to side but looked at nothing.

  “You need some mellowing, do ya?” Vegan was quick with the offer as usual, always needing the guy out of his grill before he pushed a button Vegan couldn’t switch off.

  Crawler didn’t respond. He never did. He thumped his way toward Sly’s room.

  Rev ducked inside. He tugged Sly to his feet, grabbed the Harley shirt out of his motionless hand, and yanked it over Sly’s head.

  Sly slid down against the wall again.

  The door handle shook.

  Rev groaned and flung himself on the bed.

  The door swung open and Crawler took over the room. Two steps in and he stopped, summed up Rev with a raised brow, then eyed Sly. “Who’s the Harley?”

  Even without the nightmare under his shirt, Sly would come off as an issue – black as coal hair too long in front, several-day stubble on his way-less-than-sun-kissed skin, evidence of knuckles on bike bolts and punching bags in his build, plus ten years of dealing with his family’s down-and-dirty life showing in his gaze.

  Crawler stepped closer. His last step placed his size thirteen work boots an inch from Sly’s foot. Crawler tilted toward him like a test.

  Sly didn’t budge. Something he told Rev he had taught himself – even the slightest flinch and he’d give himself away as a target.

  “Hum,” Crawler said with a hint of surprise and turned on Rev. “I said, who’s the Harley?”

  Rev readjusted, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “Guy from out of town. Helping work on a custom at the shop. Trading two days’ work for grub and lodging.” Rev could always pull out the right words, but he had way too many ‘tells.’

  “Hum.” This time Crawler’s comment screamed ‘bullshit.’ Crawler scrutinized Sly one more time. “Next time I’m here, you aren’t. Unless you can make it worth my while. Get me?”

  Sly, again, didn’t respond.

  Crawler chuckled and motioned to Vegan and Rev. “The fact I let you two losers live under the same roof is already a favor I could easily stop providing.” He glared at Vegan. “One of several favors.” He headed out of the room.

  “Thanks for the visit.” Vegan handed Crawler a baggie.

  Crawler lifted it up. “What’s this? Shake? You give me shake? Buds. I want buds. This week. I’ll be checking in with your boss – employment review. You want to keep your crap job you make my visit worthwhile. Get me?” He stomped a few mammoth strides to the exit and slammed the door behind him.

  Rev tensed, watching Vegan’s fists tighten.

  Vegan counted. “One, two, three, four, five.” He snatched a half-drunk bottle off the table and chucked it at the door. The glass shattered on impact. “Shake, my ass.” He snarled, bent, and cleaned up his own mess. “I make it, I clean it,” he said to himself. When it came to money, problems, or beer bottles, Vegan insisted his consequences were his own.

  Rev dipped back into Sly’s room, his friend still slumped on the floor. “Should we tell Vegan?”

  Sly’s head popped up. “No. I wish you didn’t know.” Sly hauled himself to his feet and stared at the bed. Specks of blood had seeped through the blanket. He swayed and steadied himself on the wall. “I can’t stay here.” He grabbed some clothes off the shelf.

  Rev scooped Sly’s shoes off the floor. “Well, duh. Your room’s nasty. You can stay in the living room.”

  Sly tilted his head. “Rev? This could bring you guys more than broken bottles and a pissed off P.O.”

  He carried Sly’s stuff into the hall.

  Sly followed. “I can’t ignore this.” He waved at his ruined room.

  “Of course you can.” Rev shut the door. “See? Problem solved.”

  Four

  AT THE COFFEE SHOP halfway between home and work, Sly nursed a cup of cold brew and stared at the list Rev had given him.

  Twenty reasons to stay:

  1. The L

  2. Motor God

  3. Best grub ever

  4. Wrigleyville…

  20. I want you to!

  Rev’s last reason and the fact that he took the time to write any of them made the top spot on Sly’s list.

  But the possibility of bringing his problems on Rev and Vegan outweighed everything he wanted to listen to.

  Chicago was forcing him out.

  Sly downed the last of his brew and headed toward the exit. Near the door, he grabbed a flyer, advertising a midnight bus to New York.

  Lose yourself in the Big City.

  He shook his head but shoved the ad in his pocket, and dragged himself down the street.

  It was Sly’s first time out of the house since the chants and daggers four nights ago. He hadn’t slept more than an hour the last two evenings, but he wasn’t tired. Like his body was super charged yet forgot how to function. His body was not his own, but he needed to get back to work, or at least out of the living room where he’d set up camp, not ready to deal with his trashed bedroom, or his trashed life.

  Outside Motor God, the under-the-table job Rev hooked him up with soon after he got to town, Sly rubbed his sore chest. He looked through the storefront and scrunched his dry eyes.

  On the other side of the glass, Vince, Sly’s bad-ass boss, nothing but skin and shine on top of his head, black leather vest and biker shirt as always on his body, wheeled the Victory out of the front window and waved toward the bike. A guy straddled the motorcycle and nodded, chrome lust in his eyes. A ‘sale’ grin spread on Vince’s face.

  Sly pushed open the glass door. The bell jangled.

  Vince’s gaze landed on Sly. His smile fell and his body straightened. “You’re here?”

  Sly forced a breath, remembering to breathe. “Ah, yeah.”

  “I didn’t think you were coming back. Rev said you had the plague.”

  Sly chuckled. “Flu. But I’m good now.” He surveyed his boss, tats of times and loves past sleeved both Vince’s arms.

  Vince rubbed his right fist. His hand draped with the inked memory of his lady, her sapphire eyes, fire thin lips, and black wild hair that flowed over the sides of his hand and down his fingers, the strands ending sharp as blades above his nails.

  I can’t bring my trouble around Vince either. The guy had done Sly right, giving him a job no questions asked.

  Vince shook the buyer’s hand, closing the deal. He headed toward the back of the shop, stopped, and turned back to face Sly, who still hovered by the door. “You work for me, right, kid?”

  Sly scrunched his face. “Yeah, for like nine months.”

  “Then get to work, that tailpipe isn’t going to fix itself. And it’s been eight months and twenty-two days. I forget nothing.” He yelled toward the garage. “Vegan. Rev. Take this bike out back, prep it, and load it in this fine gentleman’s truck.”

  Vegan sauntered out of the garage. “You got it, MILF Master.”

  Vince grumbled. “Stop calling me that.” But a smile slipped on his face.

  Vegan leaned toward Sly. “Papa Bear had another one after him this morning.”

  “Drop it.” Vince forced his grin flat.

  Vegan wheeled the bike into the back.

  “And Sly,” Vince pointed at him, “keep an eye on the shop. Don’t bother me, even if you’re on fire.” Vince waved the customer inside and shut his office door.

  Sly shuffled into the garage, a glass partition separating it from
the merchandise, a clear view of the shop for them and a clear view of their work ethic for Vince and the customers. At his work station, Sly opened the top drawer of his tool cart and slid the New York flier out of his pocket.

  Rev bounded up to Sly. “I was worried you weren’t coming back.” He smiled. “But you did.”

  Sly shoved the flier in the drawer.

  “Shit.” Rev leaned in and whispered, “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  Sly shut the drawer. “I need a little time. My body’s not right.” He pointed at his chest. “But I can’t bring my mess around you and Vegan, or Vince. I’d die if anything happened to you guys because of me.”

  “Can you? Die? Maybe you’re immortal or something.”

  A chill rippled through Sly. “Don’t say that. The other night, when they came for me...I was glad. It was finally going to be over.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Rev,” Vegan yelled from out back. “Get your lazy ass out here.”

  Rev sprang toward the door, then leaned back in. “After work. We’ll go out. Figure it out. You don’t have to leave. We’re good.”

  Not good. But he wanted one last night out with his only friends. Sly nodded.

  Rev ducked out the back.

  The bell on the shop door jingled. Sly tilted to catch sight of the person before they saw him, a habit he developed soon after the death of his family, his brother’s words always playing in his mind, ‘They’ll come for you.’

  A weekend warrior, wearing khakis and an oxford shirt, with money to burn, slid through the door. Sly had seen guys like him a hundred times. They had the money, the want, but not the attitude. They always slinked through the door or came in mouth blazing. They were missing the ‘don’t give a shit’ piece they needed to be the real deal.

  “Can I help you?” Sly called to the guy.

  The guy waved him off with a flick of the hand. “No. I don’t need your help. I know exactly what I want.”

  Sly mumbled to himself. “Yeah, to look but not buy for the hundredth time.” He eased down next to the Yamaha and examined the busted pipe.

  The door jangled again.

  Sly glanced up. A woman headed toward the back. Shoulder-length, jagged midnight hair, skin the color of caramel, deep maroon lips, and eyes of violet daydreams. Sly shot to his feet and pulled in a breath. This time not with effort, but reflex.

  He darted into the shop. Violet Eyes carved a path toward Vince’s office, all curves and darkness. Black jeans, tight as skin, hugged her frame. And the attitude piece – she had it in spades.

  Black and red postcards stuck out beneath her gentle fingers. Her other hand lifted toward the office door. She shook her head and lowered her hand. She grumbled at herself and lifted her hand again, but it hovered, waiting. “Shoot. I can’t do it.” She lowered her hand again.

  Vince’s words repeated in Sly’s head, ‘Don’t bother me even if you’re on fire.’ He hustled to her. “I wouldn’t knock.”

  She startled and spun around. Her eye-line, dark and penetrating, pinned him in place.

  The shop silenced. Sound sucked into a void. The air stilled. “It’s just. My boss is closing a sale. Interrupting him when he’s with a customer is like walking into a lion’s cage wrapped in meat. He’ll come out when he’s good and fed.” He smiled and stepped closer. Her scent entered him — fresh, new, like twenty more reasons to stay. “Can I help you?”

  Her lips parted. Her vision darted from Sly, to the office, to her hands, and back to him again.

  “What are those?” He pointed at the cards.

  She flipped the cards back and forth. Her expression brightened. “That’s why I’m here. To see if I can leave some of these in the shop.” She motioned to the office door. “To ask your boss.”

  Sly held out his hand. “I’ll take one.”

  She handed him an ad. A gray-eyed, flaming shot glass with a set of red horns glared out at him. Devil’s Penthouse. Come get your sin on. He checked the address, only five minutes away. “You work here?”

  “No. You work here.” She smiled. “I work there.” She pointed at the fiery liquor.

  He chuckled.

  The ‘didn’t have it’ man in the khakis scooted closer and sifted through the riding gloves behind her.

  She peered at the office door and fiddled with the cards. “I can come back.”

  The office door swung open. Vince stepped out then balked, staring at the woman. “What are you doing here?”

  She studied Sly, then Vince, and fidgeted in place. “I wanted to…I needed to….” Her body deflated. “I wanted to leave these promotion cards for the bar I work at.” She handed one to Vince.

  Vince scowled and tossed the card at her. It fell to the ground. “You shouldn’t have come in here. I don’t want anything from that club in my shop. Ever.” He marched back into his office and shut the door.

  She covered her mouth. Her eyes darkened.

  Sly picked up the card. “I’m sorry about my boss. He’s in a mood today.”

  “Ax was right, I couldn’t do it,” she whispered to herself.

  “Ax? What’s ax?” Sly leaned against the gear rack beside him and bumped a display of goggles. The containers fell and scattered on the floor. Damn. His skin wanted to blush, but the blood wouldn’t rush to his cheeks.

  They both squatted and gathered the goggles. A pair rested by her sneaker. He grabbed it. Drawn on her shoe, a spider licked an ice-cream cone, and the prey trapped in its web was candy. Above her white sock, a tattoo with purple flames graced her skin. He froze and stared at the vibrant colors.

  She followed the line of his gaze, then reached toward his arm and stopped within a breath of his skin, almost touching the black flames on his wrist. “Nice ink.”

  He studied the design on his skin. Black, empty, desolate. He reached toward her sock. “May I?”

  She smiled and nodded.

  He slid her sock down past her ankle, his finger brushing her soft skin. A woman’s hand, her fingertips golden flames, held a black goblet. Above the goblet the sun rose, and purple flames sprouted from the sun’s glow. The ink of the goblet and sunrise looked fresher, more alive. “Is this part new?” He touched the sunrise. Warmth hugged his fingertip.

  She torqued her ankle for a better view. “Yes. I got it a few months ago. Before, I wasn’t sure what she was holding. But now I know.”

  Sly gazed at her and waited.

  Her eyes brightened. “Tomorrow. Its promise. What it can be.”

  The man behind her chuckled to himself. “Yeah, you, panties in hand, doing the walk of shame out of mechanic boy’s bedroom.”

  They both shot to their feet. She eyed the guy up and down. “So did you come in here to buy a bike, or once again wish you were the kind of man that would?”

  He shrunk back and huffed. “You don’t know me.” His voice cracked.

  She turned to Sly.

  He smiled and waved her on. “You’ve got this.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered. The door jingled. She turned back to the man, but he was gone. “He scares easy. Thanks.”

  “I didn’t do a thing. It was all you.”

  She set the last set of goggles on the display rack and leaned against a pillar. “I should go.”

  She’s waiting. Don’t let her walk away. “I was wondering if—”

  Her vision left him and focused over his shoulder. Footsteps thudded his way. He glanced back, and Vegan stepped into his face. “You’re leaving? Gonna ditch us? What the fuck?”

  “What?” Sly peeked behind Vegan. Rev’s eyes grew and he ducked behind the garage wall.

  “You’re leaving Chicago?” she said.

  He spun back to her. “No.”

  Vegan yanked him around. “Then what’s this?” He chucked the travel flier at Sly’s chest. “New York? Don’t bullshit me. Rev’s already freaking out. You go, I don’t have anyone to play with lap-dog over there. He’s going to be all up in my grill. ‘Throw the
ball,’ ‘play with me,’ ‘buy me kale bones.’ I don’t need that shit.”

  The front bell jangled. Sly spun back. Only pillar and empty aisle. No ‘have it’ woman. No purple flame. A pit burrowed in his chest. “Damn it.” He ran to the door and searched the sidewalk. Near the corner, she quickened her pace.

  Vegan skated in beside him. “Man, she’s naughty and nice. You should have gone for it.”

  Sly grumbled and elbowed Vegan in the side.

  “Damn, man.” Vegan grabbed his ribs. “I keep organs in there.”

  A large presence emerged behind them. Vince stared over their shoulders. “Nothing but trouble, that one.” Violet Eyes turned the corner and disappeared from view. Vince motioned in her direction. “Nothing but trouble. Understood?”

  They both nodded.

  Vegan sauntered to the garage, and Vince strode to his office.

  But Sly didn’t move, stared at the corner, eyes closed, replaying her entry, her movements, imaging the violet depths of her trouble, and the promise of tomorrow.

  Five

  AFTER WORK, Sly stared at the pillow and blanket tucked in the corner of the living room. He rubbed the healing wounds on his chest and walked to his bedroom. “Just open it,” he whispered and pushed on the door. Pine and lemon scent tickled his nose. He leaned inside. The place was spotless – new linens, clean air. All evidence of his attack had been erased. A chill ran down him.

  “Who did this?” he whispered and peeked out into the living room. Vegan and Rev sat on the couch, battling alien against alien on Dark Moon Five.

  “Did you guys do something to my room?”

  Rev shivered and scrunched his face. “Yuck. No.”

  Vegan zigged his defender right and walloped Rev’s character on one of its heads. “You should have tackled the hurl two days ago.”

  Rev peeked at Sly with wide eyes. “Yeah, your hurl.” He winked.

  Vegan grunted. “Your mess, you clean it.”

  “It’s mine to face.” He walked into his room and flipped up the sheet. New mattress and frame. Even the floorboards beneath had been replaced.