Bad to the Bones

by Layla Wolfe

  “You have your ink studio. And don’t you have two kids?”

  “Two kids who live with someone else, that’s how lame I was. Listen, Bellamy. I need to put myself back together, too. I need to have something to offer, something on my plate.”

  “But I’m not asking you to marry me. My father doesn’t want to know what your dowry is. We don’t even need to kiss. Let’s just have a mutually satisfying, zipless affair. It’s the least I can do for you, after all you’ve done.”

  Knoxie grinned. “I’ll think about it. Right now I’ve got to blaze. Don’t leave Citadel property.” After patting me on the head like some little fucking kid, he swooped down to snatch my locket from the file cabinet.

  I panicked a little when I saw he was actually taking it. I knew I had to give it up. It was the last thing I owned that would remind me of my seven years at Bihari. Not all of it had been abusive terror. I had some true, real friends—or so I used to think. We had had some true, real times—or had we? Well, I had my sister, anyway.

  To blot out the loss of the necklace, I asked Knoxie, “You’ll get Virginia out of there, won’t you?”

  He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “You can bet your ass.” Then his phone chimed. He answered it as he exited my new room. “Hi, Nicole. Yeah. Um-hm. Yeah. What? What the fuck? How do you know? Who told you that? Sage told you? How do you know it was cheese heroin?”

  That was about the last I heard as he strode manfully down the hall. I had no idea who Nicole or Sage were. I was distracted by a strange trickling sensation between my thighs. Shocked, I realized I must have been horny. Sucking on Knoxie had actually made me wet.

  By that evening, I had my Sporty back. The next morning, Knoxie was still gone. And Bodhi paid me a visit.

  I was intent, concentrating on changing out the stock muffler on Faux Pas’s new Dyna. I was plotting lots of changes to the carburetor and the ignition system, too. Maddy hadn’t given me any grunge clothes to wear, so I was shuffling around in a pair of Speed’s grease monkey coveralls. Luckily he had small feet and mine were big, so his work boots didn’t stick out like boats. The bike repair section of the hangar was separate from the heavy equipment section, so I really had little interaction with Speed. I could listen to my classic rock XM radio all day if I wanted, even though Speed was listening to the same thing on the other side of the hangar.

  I had to laugh when AC/DC’s “If You Want Blood” came on. It reminded me of Knoxie’s poster in his crappy little apartment. It made him more human, that he had an AC/DC poster in a crappy little apartment. Better, the poster probably wasn’t even his. It was probably left over from the prior tenant. He was so drop-dead gorgeous, it made him more approachable to have these flaws.

  I knew he was paid to bang a lot of gashes, as they called some girls. I knew that he did a lot of unpaid banging, too, maybe with regular citizens. I suppose Knoxie was sort of a manwhore. I had promised not to bond with any other man in or around Pure and Easy. I hadn’t extracted the same promise out of him.

  That was all right. Our friendship could include sex on a superficial level. Knoxie was right—I certainly didn’t need any “old man” ordering me around when I was still trying to get rid of the old master. I had a sneaking suspicion it was too good to be true, that I could just walk away from that mesa where he’d dumped me and wash my hands entirely of him and his damned eye patch. My intuition turned out to be accurate.

  Ziggy had brought my Sporty back last night no questions asked, no answers given, just rode it into the hangar, parked it, and took his own ride out to rejoin Knoxie. Next step was to get my sister back. I started thinking about what Virginia could do in the real world. She had worked at the cafeteria at Bihari, so she could always be a waitress. But now that she was pregnant, it was anyone’s guess what they planned to do with her.

  I was deeply lost in thought when I heard the grumbling of another Harley’s pipes coming up the old runway The Bare Bones used as the access road. As it got closer my sharp ears identified it as a V-rod. A V-rod didn’t have the traditional Harley shape and I always thought they were more for people who liked to do burnouts and pop wheelies. I didn’t personally know anyone who had one at Bihari and doubted any of The Bare Bones would, so I looked over when it rode into the hangar. The rider also didn’t wear the traditional biker brain bucket, the matte black half helmet that made the biker look like an old timey combat vet. This guy had a whole fiberglass helmet with a skinny visor that made him look like a heavy breathing supervillain. What appeared to be black dreadlocks dangled from the back.

  I was curioser and curioser. I finished tightening some muffler bolts and stepped off to the side, removing my greasy gloves. The rider wore a plain black cut with no patches whatsoever—another thing that should have tipped me off. When he dismounted and removed his helmet, I saw it was my alleged fiancé, Bodhi.

  At first I was so shocked to see him again, all I could think was how handsome he looked, shaking his hair free of the “helmet head” hairstyle. “Bodhi!” He even looked good in black leather, although he’d kept a purple T-shirt and his locket on. I took a few steps toward him before remembering. He’s not my friend. He probably had something to do with banishing me from the compound. He’s just a hang-around, a suck-up to Shakti. He’s probably got something up his sleeve, coming here pretending to be a biker.

  “Bodhi,” I said, darker now. “What are you doing here? What happened to your nose? You look like the Predator in that brain bucket.”

  Bodhi waved at the helmet sitting on his saddle. “That’s because it is a Predator helmet. Not DOT approved, but it’s got a tri-laser scope. Pretty cool, huh?”

  “I…guess? What the fuck’s going on, Bodhi? Why are you pretending to be a biker? You drive a Prius.”

  He gingerly fingered the bridge of his nose. “Well, I figured it was the only way into this fortress. And after your new boyfriend came sneaking into Bihari and gave me a beatdown, I figured your latest hobby was the biker type.”

  “Last…night?”

  “What? No, a few days ago. Why, what went on last night? Listen, Asanga.”

  “Bellamy.”

  “Asanga.” Bodhi took me by the shoulders and steered me into a darker corner of the shop. I was glad my Sporty was in the parking side of the hangar, over by the portable restrooms. I didn’t want Bodhi to know I’d somehow gotten it out of impound, if he didn’t already know.

  Holding me by the shoulders, he bent at the knees and looked me in the eye as if lecturing a dog. “Asanga. I wasn’t in agreement with Shakti’s decision to reject you from the program. I tried to talk him out of it. I love you with a power that is higher than this earthly plane. You were meant to be my mate, I know that. I hope you know it too.”

  I was shocked senseless. I had assumed Bodhi was in cahoots with Shakti, being practically his right-hand man who spent his life in Shakti’s pocket. Now I wasn’t sure what to believe. “I…don’t love you, Bodhi. I never did. You’re a nice enough guy, but I think I want romantic love when I marry.”

  Bodhi was quick to give up his patient stance. Shoving me away with disgust, he threw up his hands. “It doesn’t matter! We’re not supposed to love each other in that sappy, immature, romantic way, Asanga! What matters is that we wed—”

  “And you get your green card.”

  “—and that we love our work! Look, look around you! You’re still fixing motorcycles because it’s what you love. In other places, a family can work forty acres for forty years, but we can have it bearing fruit within a month. When I was in private practice in Boston, I had my adrenal system burned out working twenty hours a week. In Bihari I work twenty-four seven and I never run out of energy! Don’t you miss that, Asanga? Don’t you miss the camaraderie of the ashram—the energy, the ebb and flow of chi, the buzz of spiritual vibrations?”

  He was actually starting to make me doubt my new decision! I had liked the camaraderie, constantly being surrounded by like-minded citizens, nev
er being alone. But didn’t I have that now, living at The Citadel? “Bodhi. All that stuff is perfectly fine and well, for some people. It’s just not for me, anymore. That so-called therapy? That stuff is whack, man! I won’t ask you if it bothers you that Shakti penetrates me whenever the hell he wants, because I know it doesn’t. But it bothers me!” I jabbed my forefinger into my chest. “It bothers me, Bodhi, and I don’t think it’s right, or real, or helpful, or correct in any way, shape, or form. It’s abuse, is what it is, and—”

  Taking three long strides over to me, Bodhi gripped me by the upper arms and rattled me. My head actually wobbled on my neck and I saw stars for a few seconds. “I can put a stop to that, Asanga. You’re healed now, anyway. Come back with me and I promise Shakti won’t make you participate in the sessions anymore. We only need to penetrate each other, to heal the chi, to reach the bottom of our childhood trauma—”

  “Hey! What the fuck is going on around here?”

  We froze, our eyes wide. Bodhi actually froze solid with his fingers pressing into my arms. Speed stood there like a scarecrow, silhouetted against the open hangar doors, his hair like a Brillo pad. With hands on hips, he was getting up in Bodhi’s business. I didn’t remember Speed like this, and it made me look at him in a new light. “I said you. What the fuck are you doing? Let go of her. Who the fuck are you?”

  Bodhi let go of me, staggering back a few steps. “Listen, I don’t want to cause any hassles, man.” I almost laughed at how “hep” Bodhi instantly became with his lingo, just because he was talking to a real biker. “But this here’s my woman. I’ve just come to claim her, you can understand that. She’s my property.”

  Speed advanced on Bodhi. The more steps Speed took, the more Bodhi cringed back into a wall of tools. “I don’t think so, pal. If anything, she’s Knoxie’s property now.”

  I wished Speed hadn’t said that. Naturally Bodhi said, “Knoxie? Is that the thug who broke my nose after trespassing on Bihari land? Listen, listen. Of course it’s totally up to Asanga if she wants to. No one’s forcing anyone to do anything.”

  Speed made a lip fart. “Why would she want to go back to Loony Tunes land with you? She’s got everything she needs here. A good job, good friends, a decent roof over her head. Most important, she’s got no one trying to hump her for woo-woo, pretentious, herbal essence reasons. She doesn’t need no herbals getting up on her day and night. She’s her own woman now.”

  That was some speech, coming from little old Speed. I had last seen Speed—Bobby, he was called then—“boasting” some “bunk weed” from a carburetor bong while cutting school. Look how far he’d come. I stepped up to strengthen his speech. “He’s right, Bodhi. I’ve changed. Being kicked out of the ashram was the best thing that ever happened to me. There are plenty of women up there who will marry you. Just ask Shakti for a new wife assignment.”

  Shaking his head frantically, Bodhi made slicing motions with his hands. “No. No. That’s not going to happen. You don’t understand, Asanga. Our tax exempt status has been revoked, and they’re going to start turning down our green card applications—”

  “Ho, ho, is that it?” Speed laughed at the ceiling. “That’s fucking rich, buddy! You come here looking for a reverse mail order bride, well, you’re not taking one of our women! Out, you motherfucker! Out! Get back to your barracks of lettuce soup and homemade soap. Go eat your fucking tofu. And don’t come crawling around here again because look who’s trespassing now!”

  Bodhi obeyed, slinking back to his borrowed or stolen Harley. Speed and I stood as a solid unit, our arms crossed like daimyo. When Bodhi turned back to us, I could tell that he took his ashram very seriously. It was his life. He cried out, “Asanga, think about it. The aliveness and the love are everywhere up there. We made something extraordinary out of the ordinary. The details in the flowerbeds, in the omelets, they were created with trust and love.”

  “I’m sorry, Bodhi. It’s not going to happen. I have a new path now.”

  “Yeah!” agreed Speed. “She can make her own fucking omelets now!”

  A shadow crossed over Bodhi’s face as he grabbed his Predator helmet and shook it so the dreadlocks swayed. “You’ll regret this, Asanga. I know the situation with your sister. I know it was Shakti who put her in that situation. Without you there to protect her, you know right where she’s going. The bath house. The clean room. Yup. That’s what she has in store for her if you’re not by her side!”

  What that, Bodhi saddled up and roared out of the hangar. Before the tailpipes even halfway vanished down the runway, Speed had turned to me quizzically.

  “What the fuck, Bellamy? What was that last part all about? What’s so bad about a bath house? And what’s Virginia’s situation?”

  “It’s all right,” I lied. “Knoxie’s on top of it. He’s got it handled.”

  “Well,” said Speed. “I hope I never have to witness another scene like that. Because I’ll bury that motherfucker in a hot second. You know that, don’t you?”

  I nodded sullenly. “I know.”

  “What the fuck is up with that bike? I haven’t ridden a bike like that since I was sixteen. Does he think he’s going to pop wheelies?” Speed looked distantly out the hangar doors. “He’s just a disrespectful jerk. He’s got to know. If you give respect, you get respect. If you act like an asshole, you’ll be treated like an asshole.”

  “I don’t think he knows that.”

  I was safe for the moment. I had no idea what Knoxie was enduring on my behalf.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KNOXIE

  “That’s got to be some monumental blowjob.”

  “Well, she promised she’d take her time. Maybe she’s using an anal vibe on him too.”

  “She’d better have new batteries in it,” said Ziggy, “because the second that Sporty comes around that corner, I’m out of here.”

  Knoxie checked the clock on his cell phone for the zillionth time. Five-oh-five. Rafael and Virginia were five minutes late. Whichever kook Rafael had convinced to give the daimyo at this gate the ride of his life, well, she must have been doing a good job. No one had been there when they’d approached this little-used gate of Merry-go-round Canyon. If busted¸ they had agreed to tell the cultists that Knoxie had taken Rafael’s safe deposit box key the other day when he’d jacked the truck, and now was giving it back in trade for the bike.

  Knoxie took one last drag of his cigarette and dropped it to the gravel. “If this shed’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin.’”

  Ziggy laughed in astonishment. “What the fuck? That’s hilarious.”

  “You’ve never heard that before?” Knoxie felt old. He tried another one out on Ziggy. “I smoke weed, I snap bras.”

  “Get out. You just made that up.”

  Knoxie had nothing better to do, watching the guard’s shed from a safe distance of forty yards. Luckily this part of the road was a decline, and Knoxie had coasted down the last rise after cutting the engine. Inside the shed, Rafael’s whore had cranked up the space music that seemed to be accepted out here, too. Martian landing sounds overlaid soothing waves at sonic levels. “Ass, gas, or grass. Nobody rides for free.”

  Sputtering, Ziggy nearly doubled over in half. Ziggy must’ve been ten years younger than Knoxie, but his insulated life growing up in the “poverty with a view” of Flagstaff’s Sunnyside meant he wasn’t too cultured or experienced. Ziggy hadn’t traveled or read widely like Knoxie had, but above all, he was younger.

  Knoxie had been feeling ancient lately. It had all come crashing down around him when he’d turned forty and realized he was a divorced broke ink slinger paying child support for kids he rarely saw. Finding Bellamy on that mesa was the beginning of literally a whole new life, only…

  He had told Bellamy he would think about her proposal for the zipless fuck. In reality, it was a no-brainer. He wanted to bury himself deep in that tight snatch of hers. Bellamy Jager was fresh, new, a breath of springtime air. Her naivety turned him on. H
er waifish fragility pumped up his superiority, his confidence, his machismo. Simply put, she brought out the best in him, made him feel alive again. After being beaten down to the bone by his nasty divorce—and the revelations that people like Kneecap had been burying their wick in Nicole—he was ready for something fresh.

  Her offer to have an emotion-free sexual fling sounded at first like the usual arrangement with a sweetbutt. But there was something funny about it, hearing it from Bellamy. She was just continuing the same warped, dysfunctional way of approaching life she had learned from the ashramites, wasn’t she? A no strings attached fling was just shallow, trivial. It just discouraged everyone from looking deeply at themselves, at figuring out what went wrong.

  On the other fucking hand, it was probably all Bellamy was capable of right now, having just been so trashed by that Kool-Aid vendor. Her ego was in the dumpster, and would be for a while to come, until she built herself back again from all the spare parts. Like Knoxie needed to do.

  So why the fuck not? Why the fuck not accept her comfort, and give her aid in the only way allowed to them? Knoxie had rarely seen anything bad come from a superficial sweetbutt affair, unless “anything bad” was in the form of a supremely pissed-off old lady, which he didn’t have at the moment. He just had to make sure he publicly claimed her as his own so no one else tried to dip their stinger in her honey. He could ink her with something obvious. Yeah, like PROPERTY OF KNOXIE.

  Ziggy finally got ahold of himself, straightening up. He had laughter tears in the corners of his eyes. “Hoo-wee. You gonna be okay down in Nogales by yourself?”

  Knoxie shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I’ll get the location of the trap house from my CI who’s meeting us in a few. It’s a nice ride down there. I’ll peep out the house before making a move.”