Interlude (28 page)

“PAIN TRAIN!” The crowd chorused back
happily.

Cal could feel hands undoing the cuffs around
his ankles and wrists. As he rubbed his chafed wrists, the
raven-haired girl whispered in his ear.

“You may want to run.” She suggested
playfully, as Cal stood to address the large man.

“I don't want any trouble. How did I get here
anyway?” Cal said to him. Mitch bellowed a laugh that seemed to
reverberate off of the metal buildings.

The man finished his guffaws and promptly
punched Cal in the gut. Hard. Cal fell to the ground in a ball as
he tried to recover from the blow. “CHOO CHOO!” The crowd yelled
together, as they all made a line that started where Cal lay. One
after another, the members of Pacific Ironclad made their way past
Cal and took their turns kicking and punching him. They seemed to
be enjoying themselves, and this really didn't seem as bad as when
he got jumped and knocked unconscious at Jeremy's. How long ago was
that? Cal's mind was starting to fade as the blows continued on.
Finally, they finished their line dance of doom and stood around
Cal in a large, disorganized circle. They all seemed jovial and
high-spirited, as Cal regained his shaky footing. Mitch came up and
patted him on the back. Cal's entire frame shook from the impact of
his large hand.

“WELL, IT LOOKS LIKE WE GOT US A TROOPER!”
the man yelled. He handed Cal an open bottle of beer and smiled.
Cal thanked him and drank the entire bottle in one pull. The hot,
summer night and the sweating had taken it all out of him. As Cal
finished the beer, the crowd cheered loudly. He held the empty beer
bottle above his head triumphantly as the large man laughed loudly.
Did this guy ever do anything quietly?
Cal thought to
himself.

“IT LOOKS LIKE OUR NEW MEAT CAN HOLD HIS
BOOZE!” He said, adding, “I GUESS HE WAS READY FOR PHASE TWO!” He
said to everyone, as the crowd cheered.

“Wait, what? Phase two?” Cal said, looking
around and panicking. It was then that he realized that he had been
dosed with the club's special cocktail again. The colors from
before returned, but this time, they were more vivid. His head
spun, as the crowd began to morph and change into demons and
monsters. His footing gave way under him, as if there was an
earthquake. He fell to his hands and knees, as everything became a
wash of bright colors and noise.

When Cal awoke again, he was laying on the
hot ground. The grit and dust stuck to his forehead as he slowly
sat up. He felt lucid, sort of. Trying to take stock of the last
couple of days, he ran though mental notes and landmarks in his
head. He remembered getting picked up by Alvaro. He remembered
being cuffed to a chair. It was slowly coming back to him. The
punching, the drugging. As he tried to stand his head swirled like
a maelstrom, and he vomited all over the ground. While he crouched
there holding his head, he saw a sign. His eyes struggled to adjust
to the glaring, hot sun as he walked over to it. It was a large,
white painted plywood sign with stenciled lettering. He read
it:

Take this part. Go to the next spot and fix
the bike that's there. Ride the bike back to the compound. You're
in!

Cal looked at his feet. There was a large
wheel that looked like it went on the rear of a motorcycle. He
lifted the heavy part, cringing at his bruised ribs as his torso
adjusted to the weight. Just beyond the sign, there was a large
arrow painted on the ground with black spray paint. Cal moved along
slowly in the direction of the arrow. The sun beat down on him as
sweat poured out of his body. Just as he was starting to get
worried that he was lost, another arrow would appear and guide him
further. He had given up trying to carry the wheel, and was rolling
it along the flat arid ground like a hula-hoop. After, what seemed
like, an eternity Cal came to another barren metal building. There
was a weathered toolbox sitting outside. Cal was glad that he spent
those summers with Jeremy riding and fixing motorcycles. He rooted
around in the box, only now becoming aware of a pain on his right
shoulder blade. He reached his hand, trying to touch what was
hurting so badly. There was some kind of lotion, or oil, on his
skin. He looked around for something reflective, finally finding an
old, chrome-plated hubcap. As he held the hubcap over his shoulder,
his could see the reflection of his back. There was a brand new
tattoo on him. The design was of a civil war battle ship.
Emblazoned underneath were the words “Pacific Ironclad” in old
English font. Cal could only shake his head and laugh as he chucked
the hub cap away like a Frisbee.

He got to work once he found the motorcycle.
It was an older Harley Davidson, and seemed to be in good shape
except for the missing wheel. As Cal wrestled the heavy wheel into
place, he would pause occasionally to allow his head to stop
swirling. As he tightened the remaining bolts, his thoughts began
drifting to Karen. How he missed her so much, and how he longed for
her presence, her touch. His need for her drove him forward, as he
tightened fittings and checked torque and chain tension on the
wheel. When all was done, he jumped up and kick-started the large
bike. It roared to life after a few tries, and Cal now sat as the
engine fell into a deep, slow idle. Cal gently eased out the
clutch, and made his way out to the main road, being careful not to
tip the bike over as he regained his equilibrium.

There was more spray painted arrows once he
got to the road. The sun was beating down on him, and he hoped that
whoever took his shirt at least had the wherewithal to apply some
sunblock. His saw the metal buildings of the compound looming on
the horizon. His ordeal almost over, his thoughts turned to Karen
again. His confused mind began to swim with anger. She had arranged
this! He was so furious at her for having him drugged and beat up
by her psychotic biker gang friends! The nerve! He rode into the
compound, nodding to the two leather-clad thugs standing guard at
the gate. The guards nodded to him in approval.

As he parked the bike, he got off and stood
in the quiet complex. He could smell something cooking, like a
barbeque. When had he last eaten? His stomach convulsed and groaned
in the odd silence. No one seemed to be outside. He took the
opportunity to walk over and kick the “Initiation Chair” as he
waited for someone to come outside. A loud noise startled him as
his stood there. The large roll-up doors on the buildings all
opened at once, and streams of motorcycles began pouring out. He
stood there as they all pulled around him in a neat circle, the
growling engines all cutting out one after another. Mitch got off
his bike and strolled over to him. Cal suppressed the desire to
flinch as the man stood over him. He must be at least seven feet
tall! Cal thought to himself.

The man stuck out his hand and smiled at him.
“Welcome to the tribe brother!” he said evenly. Cal took the
proffered handshake and the man pulled him in to a brotherly bear
hug as the rest of the gang cheered loudly. “LET’S GET THIS GUY
SOME FOOD!” He bellowed.

Cal spent the next few hours hanging out with
the large group. He wolfed down tri-tip and bread as the group
regaled him with tales of gang fights and turf wars. The things
they admitted to could get anybody thrown in jail for decades, but
they had no problems telling Cal. The large man reiterated the
Pacific Ironclad tradition of dealing with snitches. Cal smiled and
said, “Snitches get stitches.” Everyone at his table roared in
laughter at this, as Cal finished his food.

Finally the evening wore down, as some of the
gang made their exits. There was the occasional burnout or wheelie
as they departed. Cal found himself sitting with Alvaro, Mitch, and
the raven-haired girl. She would occasionally wink at him when she
would catch him staring at her. Finally possessing the bravado to
talk to her, he let loose with all the questions that had been
bugging him.

“So, you've punched me, chained me to a
chair, and given me a lap dance and I don't even know your name.”
Cal said to her. Mitch stopped his conversation with Alvaro to
eavesdrop.

“Well, I punched you, and you don't know my
name. Maybe I should give you a lap dance too.” Mitch said
gruffly.

Cal gave him a smile and raised his beer to
him. “It's a deal, but I still need a few beers to prepare.”
Raven-haired girl and Mitch both laughed and raised their glasses
in toast. Alvaro just shook his head and smiled.

“Lana,” Said the raven-haired girl, sticking
out her delicate hand. Cal shook it just as the Mitch stuck out his
giant mitt of a hand.

“Mitch.” He said in his thunderous, giant
voice. “Are you ready for that lap dance?” He asked jokingly.

“So, before we started chaining you to the
chair, you were mumbling something about getting beat up in a
trailer?” Lana asked jokingly.

“No, it's just some residual mental trauma
from a beating I received about a month ago. It seems that these
thugs thought they could get into the gun running business by
beating up somebody Karen knew. Karen's team dealt with them, but I
still feel like a dork for not being able to defend myself.” Cal
confessed. Mitch slapped him on the shoulder and laughed.

“Brother, you said that to the right guy! I
can show you three moves that will drop any dude, no matter what
size they are.” He pushed himself away from the table, and motioned
for Alvaro to come over. Alvaro looked to Cal and rolled his eyes
as he got up from the table as well. He grabbed Alvaro by the waist
and the neck. Alvaro turned to struggle his way out but Mitch held
him firm. “You see, Al here is stuck with a large guy holding him,
now watch how he gets out.” With relative ease, Alvaro hooked his
leg behind Mitch's and moved his arm to his back. Before Cal knew
it, Alvaro had Mitch on the ground face first with his arm pinned
behind his back.

Alvaro looked over to Cal and Lana and
smiled. “You see Cal; it's all about leveraging your opponent's
weight and using it to your advantage. Mitch here is a big guy, so
I used his weight to complete a motion that took him off balance.”
He helped Mitch up, and the two exchanged a bro hug as they moved
to the next position.

This time, Mitch grabbed Alvaro from the
front. Alvaro talked through his moves like an experienced coach as
he made slow motion movements that put Mitch at various
disadvantages. Lana would cheer halfheartedly as Alvaro put Mitch
in no less than eight different pins and chokeholds. Cal ribbed her
as the two men wrestled in the dirt.

“Does it bother you to see your guy getting
man-handled like that?” Cal joked.

“Not really. Mitch isn't really my guy. Let’s
just say I'm the hag that rides with him.” She said to Cal with a
smile.

“You don't look very haggish to me.” Cal
flirted.

Lana shook her head and smiled. “Not that
kind of hag sweetie. Mitch is the fag, to my hag. He likes boys.”
She said candidly.

Cal nodded in understanding. “Oh, I get it.
So what was the whole 'get your hands off my girl' act during the
initiation?”

“He's still protective of me. I was in a
really bad relationship before, and he helped me get out of it, and
off drugs too. He's my guy for that. We've been close ever since.”
She said reminiscently.

“You all seem like really cool people. I'm
glad to be a member of your, um, crew.” Cal said, adding, “By the
way, who did my tattoo? I don't even know when I got it, or
how.”

Lana raised her hand timidly. “Sorry! I
should have told you before you passed out the second time. It's
one of my duties here. I'm sorry if you didn't want it.”

“No, it's cool! I've never had a one. I could
never think of a design. It's probably for the best that somebody
decided for me. You do really good work.” Cal said. He looked down
in his pockets for his phone. “Hey, you don't happen to know where
all my stuff went, do you.” He now realized all of his stuff was
missing from his pockets. He hadn't texted or heard from Karen in
almost two days!

“Oh yeah, it's in the main building. Do you
need to be going soon?” Lana asked.

“Not too soon, but I thought I might shoot a
text to my girl and thank her for the little overnight camp out she
arranged.” Cal said, motioning around the metal buildings with his
hands.

“Come on, I'll show you where your stuff is.”
She got up, and motioned him to follow.

Lana rubbed some more Vaseline into his fresh
tattoo. Cal donned a shirt for the first time in two days. It
almost felt foreign to him as he hefted his duffel bag full of
unneeded I.T. stuff out to Alvaro's truck.

“What's up cos?” Alvaro said, walking over to
Cal as he loaded his bag in the back of the giant truck.

“Hey Alvaro, I gotta get going. I'm gonna
surprise Karen in Ibiza.” Cal answered.

“You're not going back in my truck friend-o.
You're an Ironclad now.” With that, he reached into his pocket and
threw Cal the keys to the bike he had to fix and ride back. Cal
looked at the key ring.

“How much do I owe you for the bike?” He
asked. Lana, Mitch, and Alvaro all broke out in laughter.

“You're family now man! You don't owe us
anything. Just ride. And don't bring shame to the Pacific Ironclad
name, or you'll have to deal with us.” Alvaro said, motioning
behind him as the remaining group regarded him ominously.

“It's a deal.” Cal said with a nod. He hopped
up on the bike and kick started the engine. As it warmed up, he
fastened his duffel to the back with bungee cords and said his
goodbyes. Mitch gave him a giant bear hug, lifting his feet off the
ground and swaying him to and fro. Lana gave him a gentle hug, and
Alvaro gave him the standard handshake-to-bro-hug transfer. He made
his way out the main road, and drove the desolate Highway 58 out to
Ojai, and through up to Montecito. It was very late, and he was too
tired when he finally punched the gate code to Karen's house. He
was exhausted, and the open face helmet that came with the bike did
little to protect his face and eyes from the wind and dust. The
rest of his evening became an exhausted blur as he showered and
fell on the bed. He had emails and work to tend to before leaving
for Ibiza, but all he could think about was sleep.