by Xander Hades
“Uh…”
Hoodoo stood in the middle of the street watching the traffic flow around him, remembering the thrashing he’d taken that day. In general, fixing your stupid mistakes or moving on was very sound advice. But if it imperiled Momma Leonna’s gift bag, it was much more urgent.
He caught a glimpse of a woman working her way through the crowd on the other side of the street. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that strut. Whereas most people walked, Tracy moved with attitude. Her hips seemed to roll as she walked, completely independent of her shoulders or back. It was sexy as hell and in jeans, like she was now, it was Hoodoo’s favorite thing to watch.
He pushed through the traffic, nearly running into a sportster parked in the middle of the street. The median was wall-to-wall bikes and it was tricky to pick through between them without touching any of them. Especially for a man his size.
He nearly took out a chopped trike going the other way, but ran to the sidewalk, a half-dozen people jumping out of the way of the running giant. He plowed through the crowd with mumbled apologies. Other than some irritated folks who decided not to pursue a complaint once they saw the size of the man, people began to open up a pathway for him.
Tracy was going into a shop at the end of the cleared way.
“TRACY!” Hoodoo yelled.
She turned. So did half the rally. After a moment, people began to realize it wasn’t a battle cry of sorts and returned to their activities. Tracy, on the other hand, waited for him, hands on hips, lips pursed and foot beginning to tap.
It was something she did when she was mad. This was not an auspicious beginning.
But damn she looked cute doing it.
“Tracy,” Hoodoo said as he caught up to her. “That Bandit you be having breakfast with…”
The slap that stung his cheek came from nowhere. His eyes widened and whatever words were in his mouth suddenly fell out, landing on the ground around his feet, never to be resurrected again.
“I. Do. Not. Believe. This!” Tracy was shaking. Hoodoo realized it was from anger, it rolled off her in waves, he could smell her rage. “You’re spying on me? REALLY? I thought so much better of you!” She stomped her foot again in outrage. In retrospect, he probably should have seen the second slap coming, but he didn’t.
SLAP!
“Stop hittin’ me!” He bellowed. Again, people stopped to stare at the source of the noise. Considering that Tracy was a foot and a half shorter and at least two hundred pounds lighter, her hitting him didn’t seem to stir anyone to immediate action. In fact, a few too many smartphones were being brought out to record the event for all posterity. With visions of YouTube dancing in his head, Hoodoo grabbed her elbow, steering her out of the limelight, looking helplessly for a place to talk where there just weren’t so many people. Or at least interested ones. “Loki happened to see you as he was going past, that’s all!” He was babbling as he tucked her in a space between buildings that was more or less private, if you didn’t count the drunk guy urinating against the wall.
Tracy threw up her arms in frustration, knocking his hand off her elbow and stepping resolutely back out into the press of people, especially after she got a good look at the bum in the alley. “Then what are you following me for? Wanting to warn me about big, tough bikers? Want to warn me off of getting involved in biker gangs? Tell me, that Gila lizard on your jacket, does that mean you’re in animal rescue?”
Hoodoo gritted his teeth, biting back all the things he could have said, and feeling rather proud that he stayed on topic. “No, listen, you don’ understand. They after the Crocker.”
“Who is?”
“The…” Hoodoo looked around, a city street was not the right place for this conversation. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “The Bandits, they just after the bike.”
Tracy nodded. “Of course. They would have to be, wouldn’t they? After all, it’s not like a biker would want me because of me. The only reason I would have for being with someone is if they wanted the bike. I have nothing else to offer!”
“You know that ain’t true!” Hoodoo growled, hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. Damn but she was one maddening woman. “That bullshit! I didn’ want you for the damn bike! That weren’t why! If I wanted that damn Crocker, I would’a bought it from your pa and been done with it!”
“I wish you would have, I really do. Losing that bike would have killed me, but at least it would be over by now, I wouldn’t still be seeing you everywhere and still have you a part of my life!”
Her eyes were bright and suspiciously wet, but her chin was up and shoulders back. His Tracy was never a woman to be taken lightly, and he realized he’d been going about things all wrong. “Look, I don’ know who this boy is,” Hoodoo pointed in the general direction of the town, “but he be using you!”
“That ‘boy’ happens to be my cousin!” Tracy said shortly, crossing her arms, and staring him down until he lost a foot or two in height. “He invited me to come along. I haven’t been to Sturgis before. Not that that’s any of your business anymore! And where do you get the damn idea that he wants anything? You’ve never even met him!”
Hoodoo shrank back under her gaze. He stared at the ground, trying to find the wording that wouldn’t make this sound as bad as it was about to. “Mad-dog heard some of the Bandits talking…” he mumbled finally and waited for the explosion.
“Wait, what? By sheer coincidence he happened to be walking next to Bandits? Before or after your man was spying on me?”
“No! No one was spying!”
“Before or after?” she demanded.
“We was just tryin’ to find out…” Hoodoo stopped, knowing that he was only getting deeper with each word.
“I see, you were trying to figure out what anyone was doing hanging around me, OR!”—she held up a hand to forestall his objection—“or you were trying to find out what the helpless little woman got herself into.” Tracy’s face grew red. “You wanted out of my life, Hoodoo. Stay out.”
She turned and stormed into the building. Hoodoo stood in place, streams of people walking around him, parting like a river breaking against a rock.
Hoodoo, he could hear Momma Leonna in his head. Before you fix the stupid things you done, first, stop doing more stupid things.
Chapter Seven
Hoodoo cursed under his breath. His head was down so far that his chin rested on his chest and he stared at the world through his brows like some hungry gorilla. An angry hungry gorilla. From frustration and pique, he walked along the edge of the sidewalk. This was a section of town that was made to look Old West, a way to attract the all-mighty tourist dollar. The roofs, for the most part, overhung the sidewalk and posts sprung alongside the road to lift the burden of the weight of the overhang.
Hoodoo’s fist snapped one such four-by-four like a twig.
“HEY!” Someone shouted, but Hoodoo ignored them. The man who’d protested his wanton vandalism followed him a pace or two before falling back and returning to his place of business, shaking his head. No one was going to face down a giant in a bad mood for the sake of a piece of wood.
He’d not even felt the impact, it was an impulse reaction, nothing more. OK, sure he’d go back and pay for it later. Momma Leonna would rake him over the coals if she knew he’d done such a thing. Usually Hoodoo had his anger under better control than that. But that was the way with Tracy, though. She got in under his skin, she always had. It was a glorious feeling when things went well, it was horrible when they didn’t. Their relationship had never been an easy one—highs that soared, lows that… that left him punching four-by-fours and grinding curse words between his clenched teeth.
He cursed the information about someone stealing the damn bike. He cursed the bike. He cursed the way people parted from him as he strode through the streets. He did not curse the day he met her, though. That he couldn’t curse, that he held on to tightly, that memory was too important, too precious to cover with resentment. That had
been luck. Pure chance that the man he was supposed to meet about that bike had not been able to be there. That his scrappy, resentful daughter had been the one to meet his eyes when he came through that door. If the old man hadn’t been sick, she wouldn’t have been there. Hell, they wouldn’t even have been selling that bike. And while he wasn’t one to take delight in another’s misfortune, he also wasn’t fool enough to ignore what fate had dropped right into his lap. Besides, the old man was better now, so it was easy to think it had all been for the best.
Hadn’t it?
OK, maybe things weren’t exactly…optimal…right now. But those weeks where Tracy had ridden on the back of his bike were easily the best weeks of his life. In fact, maybe the fact that she was here, now, was fate giving him a do-over.
Yeah. Fat chance. She’d been pretty damn mad.
Somehow, he made it back to the booth. By then, his cheek no longer stung. By then, he figured that he’d maybe deserved that slap. Or even both of them. Things had been said the last time they’d seen each other that had left a bad taste in his mouth at the time. He hadn’t apologized – and he should have. Hell, even he’d slap himself in retrospect if he could. But did she have to be so pig-headed about things? She could have at least listened.
Even his friends were leery of him. Mad-dog took one look at him and disappeared into a nearby booth and brought two large mugs of beer, fresh and cold from the tap. He handed both to Hoodoo. Without thought, Hoodoo emptied the first in a single swallow.
“When that belch comes back,” Loki whispered to the others, “I’m going to run for it.”
Hoodoo looked up at him as he quaffed the second beer. He nearly choked on the amber as the laugh that he really needed now took him over. Hoodoo lay back in the chair, letting his laugh roll out of him. “Thanks,” he said when he could speak again.
Hoodoo clapped Loki on the shoulder, pretending not to notice that it rattled the smaller man’s teeth. He slammed the last tankard down and stood. “We’re at Sturgis!” he roared, finding his delight in the day again. Let Tracy do whatever the hell she wanted. She was a grown woman. Let her make her own blasted mistakes.
Mad-dog slapped the big man’s shoulder. “That we are!” he said, laughing, “let’s have some fun!”
“Alright.” Hoodoo said, rising. “You’re right.” The companions looked at one another for a long moment. Hoodoo shrugged. “Anything in particular come to mind?”
Val dug under the table, pulling up a tablet. “Let me see if can tap the wifi from the coffee shop,” she said, “we should be close enough…” She tapped the screen several times and leaning back, “Well, they’ve got Molly’s Middle Finger in concert…”
“Who?” Hoodoo asked. He turned to the rest, but they were as confused as he was.
“You know, they did Puff It Up?” Val looked from one to another, eyes wide in shock. “Puff It Up? Really? None of you know that song?” She shook her head sorrowfully, “There’s no hope for any of you… fine.” She looked up and cocked her head to one side, “Lynyrd Skynyrd? Def Leppard?”
“Really?” Loki reached for the tablet. “Damn, not for a couple of days.” Ignoring Val’s cry of protestation, Loki tapped the screen again. He paused, something caught his eye. “Hey, Hoodoo man, don’t you know this guy?” He handed the tablet over.
“AUGUST 8th! CAGE FIGHT EXHIBITION! K.P. KROCKER vs. ROCKY VELIZE!” The graphic fairly leapt off the page, two shirtless men glaring at the camera.
“Hey!” Hoodoo said, pointing at the man under the caption that proclaimed only the word “Rocky.” “I know the guy. He’s a good friend. I ain’t seen him in near two years now, since Hitmon’s wedding.”
“Let me see,” Val insisted. As the shortest member of the group, she was often reduced to tiptoes and straining to see around her friends. Hoodoo handed the tablet back to her and she pointed and raised her right eyebrow. “This one is your friend?” she asked. When Hoodoo nodded she let out a low whistle. “Introduce me,” she said, “I want to be his friend, too.”
Mad-dog let out a loud laugh, nearly a bark. It was one of the ways he’d earned his nick-name. “You go get him!” he said and Val’s cheeks flushed red, although she lifted her head in an angry toss and met his gaze with a glare of her own.
“I might just at that!” she proclaimed, then clamped her lips shut as the rest of the group erupted into a series of catcalls and whistles. “Oh, grow up,” she muttered finally through gritted teeth and flipped them the bird, showing that she was indeed a true fan of Molly’s Middle Finger.
“Alright, in the meantime, it’s noon,” Hoodoo checked his watch. “And I’m hungry!”
“You know that every place in town that serves food is crammed to the gills, right?” Danny asked, pointing to the line twenty deep at the coffee house next door – and that was outside the door.
“But there’s street vendors,” Andy said, eyeing a taco cart some distance away. “And some of them are pretty decent.”
Hoodoo looked at the booth and shook his head. “Let’s shut down for a while. We’ll close for lunch. Rubber hot dogs and mystery meat on a bun are on me.”
“I can deal with that!” Val laughed and reached for the displays. It was a matter of minutes before everything was folded or rolled. The benefit of being an artist was that the bulk of his work would fit into the small hatch in Mad-dog’s trike.
It was worth the time just to have his people riding with him. To head down the road with them at his back and at his side. The Black Hills called from the horizon, the open road stretched in front of him and Hoodoo settled on the seat, feeling the wind in his hair and the thrum of the engine under him.
It was a tempting thought to just keep going. Exploring the twists and turns of the open road, running over the asphalt with the summer sun on his back. Maybe when they’d eaten. A quick run to blow out the rust and dust. The vendor was really little more than a hot dog stand with pretentions of being an eatery, but it was in a prime location.
There were a few sound stages set up for the rally, hosting big-name and no-name music. Hoodoo had a particular attraction for Leonard Skynard, but at the moment, Foreigner was setting up for an afternoon show.
Hoodoo and the rest sat at makeshift tables and on overturned buckets and watched the men and women running cables and stringing lights and setting up the stage. It was fascinating to watch it all come together and see the stage built.
They’d just finished the dogs, nicely made, juicy and spicy with a crisp crunch, when his plans quickly changed.
“Hello, Hoodoo,” Tracy said from behind his ear.
Chapter Eight
Standing on the city street, her hand still stinging from that slap, Tracy fumed behind clenched fists and closed eyes. She measured her breaths carefully and tried to calm herself down. Why, of all the people at Sturgis, did Hoodoo have to show up? Even finding him in a crowd of a half-million people should have been impossible. How in the world they’d run into each other, not once, but twice, she’d never know. The universe aligning against her or some fool thing, she supposed.
Damn the man. Damn the bike, damn it all. She shouldn’t even have been there.
Joey had insisted she bring the thing and, of course, it had proved to be the belle of the ball. He’d actually thought she would ride it from Chicago to Sturgis like it wasn’t a fortune on two wheels. Besides, what was she going to do when she got there? Tie a tarp to the seat and make a lean-to?
There were only so many hotel rooms available in a small town, no matter how badly the populace swelled once each year. Those were sold months in advance; most of the people here this year would make reservations for next year before they left. She’d congratulated herself on the foresight of renting the toy-hauler. It wasn’t a big RV, but the back folded open to a ramp and the expensive bike nestled in like a little iron princess. She’d called the museum to ask if they would like a chance to show it the week of the rally and they’d all but wet themselves over the phon
e to say “yes.”
It was the first stop she’d made. Everything else was secondary, food, sleep, comfort, all of that was delayed until she could get the bike safely in the hands of the museum and only then could she relax. Frankly, she dreaded the trip home.
On the other hand, if it weren’t for the bike, she wouldn’t have the RV to sleep in at night. Although, with the amount of people there, getting hooked up to electricity or plumbing was not going to happen. It was still an effective place to have a moment to yourself for a good scream. Which was exactly why she headed there now. Shoving through crowds, registering very little of what she was seeing or hearing. She ignored the shouts, the lewd suggestions. Catcalls, whistles…she’d gotten her share of those since she’d reached puberty. In the biker world, men were little more than children sometimes when it came to a pretty face, especially when that pretty face wore more leather than lace.
At least, while Hoodoo was an exasperating man, he’d never been like that. Despite the fact that his wasn’t the first time he’d made her want to scream, she had to give credit where credit was due. He’d always treated her with a great deal of respect, even if she never just…well…never been important enough in his life.
She shook her head. No, Hoodoo would never change. He would always be…Hoodoo. Which was why, in short, she felt that desperate urge to let loose. Maybe throw things.
Not that everything about being with him had been bad. A good deal of it had been rather wonderful now that she took the time to think about it. Well, he’d certainly made her scream once or twice in something other than in exasperation. Despite the frustration, she smiled at the memories. When they’d first met, Hoodoo was using an expense account of a sort. His very wealthy friend had commissioned him to buy the bike and Hoodoo hadn’t exactly been tight with the money. That was one of his problems really – his heart was so large and generous sometimes that he gave to a fault.