Frayed Rope (3 page)

“Norm’s a good girl ma’am.”

“Norm?”

“Short for Norma, my dog.”

She eye’s me through her bifocals as if predicting whether I was lying or not. Hell, she could probably predict what I would die from and who would get my kidneys after I become an organ donor.

After a perusal of my face and clothing, and a long gander out the office window to see Norma waiting in the truck, she nods her head and focuses on my eyes.

“I trust ya to be sayin’ the truth. Now once we get you payin’ your bill, I’ll send ya on your way with the key”.

I dug the money out of my bag and wondered if she was going to ask me for a credit card. Not that I’d know where she’d swipe it.

“Cash only around here,” she says as if reading my mind.

“I don't like them card machines and I don’t trust them either. The good ol’ paper kind is what works here and everywhere as far as I’m concerned. Can’t use them damn cards if the power goes out now can ya?”

She answers for me. “No ya can’t.”

She takes my money and grabs a key out of the desk drawer.

“Now once ya get back on the lane, you follow it down around the bend and you’ll start to see my cabins. Yours is the last one on the right. Now I got an appointment for my wash and set in the mornin’ so if you’re gone before lunchtime you just leave the key in the box out there beside the door.”

She hands me the large brass key attached to a little plastic fish key chain and stands up.

“Thank you, and I’ll be sure to leave it in the box ma’am.”

I leave the office and feel exhaustion setting in. Time to head up the lane to hopefully get a nightmare-free sleep.

* * *

The cabin is nothing to boast about. It has a simple square design, and the only closed off space is the bathroom. It has a bed, one night stand and a small card table with two chairs. There’s a small counter supporting a microwave on top, with a mini-fridge stored underneath. Out the back door, there’s a tiny porch and Adirondack chair looking out toward the water.

Norma flies toward the shore like a dog that’s been stuck in the desert for too long. I suppose two months was a long time in the desert for a dog that prefers the cold and the mountains. She bounds through the water while I look around the property. Ample space between this cabin and the previous one, should anyone check into it. The trees provide lots of shade and a sense of privacy. It’s perfect for a night’s rest. I’ll unload my small bag with toiletries and grab a change of clothes for the morning.

Hot shower, food and rest. Tomorrow I’ll be in Denver where I can finally put most of the past behind me.

Chapter Three

I can see larger buildings in the distance. Thank god I don't have to actually enter the city. It’s been a long day; I started driving shortly after the sun rose. I’ve never been a morning person, but when nightmares keep you awake at night, you might as well get moving since there's not a chance in hell of getting back to sleep.

I need to be on the south side of the city to hook up with my contact here and tie up some loose ends. After that I plan to hit the storage unit to pick up what's left of my previous life. Hopefully all goes smoothly and I can be out of here in a day. Two tops.

I spot Blacktop, a dive bar, coming up on my left and note the number of bikes out front. I have no phone number for my contact, Tiny, just a meeting place. He always told me no matter what, I could find him here. If he wasn’t sitting at his regular table, one of the boys would find him for me.

Norma and I spent a few weeks here a couple months ago, staying in one of the old dark and dingy rooms above the bar. The sheets were clean, and the people were friendly so I tried not to complain about the sticky carpet and filthy toilet seat.

I wouldn’t have known this place existed if it weren’t for my good friend from home. Jimmy had told me about the motorcycle club that frequented this place, as well as the illegal yet crucial service they offer in making fake identification to help someone disappear.  I remember our conversation vividly as I turn into the parking lot in front of Blacktop.

We were standing in Jimmy’s paint shop, waiting for the last customer to come and pick up his ride. Jimmy kept going on about his most recent trip to Denver and the guys that he’d met there.

Jimmy travelled a lot, always looking for the next custom car or motorcycle he could paint. When he couldn’t find metal to paint, he’d find skin to ink. He’s always been incredibly talented, though unfortunately he doesn’t get near enough credit for the work he does. Hence his regular trips around the world to hopefully find better paying customers than the cheap folk in our little town.

“These guys in Denver hooked me up with two other clubs to do work on their bikes. Custom work. They set me up with a shop space too.

“I painted seven while I was there, Jay. Didn’t want to come home to tell you the truth. The guys up here don't pay for shit. I barely make enough to keep the shop open. These guys pay cash and I need more of it”.

Jimmy had been my good friend since high school. He’s talented, kind and an all-around fun person to be with. We tried more than friends once and quickly realized we were more like brother and sister. I adore him, but he doesn’t always have the best ideas, often getting involved with the wrong people because he trusts too easily. He’s a gentle giant with a big heart that a lot of people take advantage of.

“Do you know what these guys are into, Jimbo? I’m all for your success, I just don't want you to become a drug mule before the year’s out. If you’re in a jumpsuit, who’s going to help me finish that mural in my garage?”

Jimmy laughed; we’d been working on a mural about once a week for a month now. 

“I have no intentions of ending up in the big house Jay, and as far as I know, they don't run drugs. A lot of protection detail in the south end of Denver. They own this bar called Blacktop, and recently purchased a few strip joints around town.

“Get this; they bought out the previous owners after a few women were either found beaten or raped inside the club. After that, some of the girls were looking to change their names and get outta town. This guy Tiny helped them and turned the strip club around to make it a decent place for the rest of the girls to work. 

“I can only say I respect them a lot more for cleaning that mess up. Apparently they haven’t had any more rough shit happen to the women since they took over. Good guys in my book, Jay. Legit business owners too. Not like the last crew I met at Sturgis two years ago.”

Sturgis was a flop for Jimmy. He went to meet new people and market his work but ended up with a few broken ribs after refusing to mule a drug shipment back to Canada, regardless of the money he would’ve made.

Meeting a crew that supports women the way he said would win Jimmy’s heart, mainly because he grew up with a Dad that beat the shit out of his mother on a daily basis.

“I can’t disagree with you on that, and you know I wouldn’t Jimmy. I just wanted to make sure you’re not getting yourself into any trouble.”

I smirk at him.

“Who are you Jay, my fuckin’ sister?” he asked me, laughing. “Don’t worry, No trouble for me, woman. I just need business. You’ve helped bring a lot in with your Dad’s construction business, but it’s not enough. I don’t want to go back to working construction and painting walls, Jay. I’m thirty-five, and this has always been what I wanted to do, you know that. If I have to move down to Denver to do it, I will.”

I couldn’t have been more grateful for the fact that I actually listened to what Jimmy was saying that day. Normally I zone out after a few sentences once I got the gist of the conversation. Jimmy’s a rambler sometimes and he knows I tend to nod off quickly.

Not long after the attack, my memory of that conversation with Jimmy solidified my plan to head to Denver. Hoping to meet a biker named Tiny with a soft heart toward women, and the ability to help them disappear.

Blacktop is not a place to write home about. It’s also not the place you’d necessarily wander into on your own to have a cold one after work. It’s very much a biker bar, complete with scantily clad women giving out herpes for free. The rough and tough men at Blacktop don’t mistreat or disrespect women, but the women who hang out here aren’t exactly looking for upstanding citizen to take home to meet daddy. The bikers enjoy their women like they do their bikes, which is rode often.

I remember the first time I walked in here almost three months ago. My face was still that ugly greenish blue from the bruises and my left arm still hung in a sling with a cast on my wrist. My eyes were still red and bloodshot, and I wondered how much longer it would take until it fully faded back to white. No one here knew about the marks that were still bandaged on my back. That might’ve given too much away. I still needed to be discreet and no way in hell was anyone going to find out my real name regardless of how much I trusted them.

Trust could get me killed.

Now I’m back, months later and hoping that Tiny is in so I don’t have to hang around this place longer than I have too. The men here never made me feel uncomfortable at all. I even spent a few nights drinking with them a while back, not that I spoke much.

The motto around here is if you’re dressed like a two dollar hooker, it’s open season. I learned fast that jeans and a loose long sleeve top don’t scream ‘this pussy’s open for business.’ The men here gave me respect, and I appreciate that.

I let Norma out of the truck and make my way to the heavy front door. She practically lived in this dive with me, and the men used to enjoy having her around. If I’m honest with myself I think I’m bringing her in with me for fear that I won’t be recognized. I’m a far cry from the bruised up, pale skinned blonde I was the last time I walked through these doors.

I was a broken shell of what once used to be an incredibly strong woman. Now I’ve returned looking more put together and with steel armor coating my skin.

Nothing can break me anymore. That damage has already been done.

Head held high and with eyes straight ahead, I enter the bar.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. I’d like to say it just smells like a dirty old dive bar but in truth it’s more like stale cigarettes and sex. I’m sure this place has never seen a bottle of bleach, but that would probably take away some of its character.

I believe the rule of this establishment is ‘if it ain’t broke, don't fucking touch it’. It looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here. The long bar stretches across the back wall in front of me. An array of beer taps and liquor laden shelves embellishes the bar, adding to its dingy character. To the far right sits a jukebox and a few pool tables. Closer to the middle is what one would use as a dance floor. To the left are a series of round tables and booths along the wall.

The whole bar is encased in the finest of eighties wood paneling. The floor is sticky as I take the first few steps in, and I can tell from the way Norma is walking that there will be white furry spots stuck to the floor wherever her paws stick.

There’s about twenty-five people in here, give or take. A small group of younger men are playing pool and a few women that wouldn’t be allowed in a supermarket due to a lack of clothing are lingering around the bar.

No shoes, no shirt, no service and all that.

Scattered around the array of tables is a mixture of the people I came to see. I recognize the older man with long grey hair and paunchy stomach. He’s older than dirt and still stands six-feet tall. 

Tiny
. 

He was the first man to spot me many months ago and the first to offer help. He told me he had three daughters and that nothing hurt his heart more than to see marks on a woman at the hands of a man.

Tiny is looking at me from his seat at the table like a bird that might fly away. He sits still and quiet, afraid to make the first move. I thought maybe he didn’t recognize me but when his old eyes drift down to Norma and back up again I can see when the recognition takes place.

The conversation at the table has slowly ground to a halt as I stand silent by the door waiting for the old man to make the first move. Tiny places his hands on the table and begins to rise from his chair.

“Who’s the pretty woman boss, and where ya been hidin’ her?”

Tiny cuts a sharp gaze to the young male in his early twenties, effectively shutting his mouth. I have an odd sense of déjà vu as the old man slowly makes his way toward me. I can remember what he said at this exact moment three months ago.

“
Not a man on this green earth is gonna lay a hand on you again sweetheart.”

He’s lost a little weight since I saw him last, and his white hair is a little longer, tied in a ponytail at the base of his neck.

“Wasn’t sure when I’d see you again, sweetheart.”

He has a cane in one hand that wasn’t there the last time I was here. I look up to make eye contact because of a deep respect I have for this man. I’d never disrespect him by staring at the floor.

“I told you I would be back, didn't I?” I smartly say.

His mouth tips up a bit at the corners before he replies.

“That you did girl. That you did.”

He knows not to hug me, or offer any kind of sympathetic gesture. He learned the first time I was here what not to expect from me. I suppose when you’re something like one hundred and two you get good at reading people.

“I brought your truck back old man,” I tell him.

A small look of surprise flashes across his face. I think he half wondered if he’d ever see it again. After all, he still doesn’t know my real name and when I left I lied, of course, and told him I was headed to Tennessee to tie up some loose ends. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“That’s good girl. Have to say I missed the old Ford. Missed havin’ a clean toilet upstairs too,” he jokes, knowing the only time that toilet ever got clean was when I stayed here, soaking the seat in Lysol every day before I let my ass touch the surface.

“I suppose we should sit down and go over a few things so you can get gone again.”

Tiny. Straight down to business, just like last time. I’m sure he could sit and tell me stories for days and enjoy doing it. Part of me would love to hear them, but he knows I’m pressed for time. I just need to finish this and get outta Dodge. Or I suppose in this case, Denver.

I take a seat at one of the empty tables he picked and Norm sidles up beside him. She sensed his good nature the first time we were here and now has her head in his lap just like last time, soaking up the affection.