Iron Goddess (12 page)

Despite the abundant amount of vodka coursing through her bloodstream, Shea was deprived of the oblivion of sleep by pain and worry. The road rash made finding a comfortable position impossible under the clingy warmth of the bedsheets. Jess lay like the dead beside her, leaving Shea all the more frustrated. Even the tap dance of monsoon rain on the windows couldn't drown out the memory of Annie's screams.

A little after four in the morning Ninja's relentless mewing and pawing pulled her from an endless series of troubled dreams. Half asleep, Shea stumbled into the kitchen, trailing behind the cat. The worst of the pain in her leg had settled into a dull ache, while worries about Annie and Derek clawed at her lethargic mind.

Worry amplified to frustration as she flipped on the kitchen light. Cornflakes and freeze-dried strawberries surrounded an overturned cereal box on the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.
Another fucking mess to clean up.
Ninja must've been foraging in the night. She'd clean it up later, hoping the cat would let her sleep once she'd been fed.

She gave Ninja's empty food bowl a quick rinse in the sink. The can of wet cat food opened with a scrape-pop, filling her nose with the rank fragrance of processed fish. Ninja devoured the mush with the fervor of a crack addict getting a much-needed bump.

On her way back to bed, the open door of the spare bedroom caught Shea's eye. She poked her head in, wondering if her sister was getting any sleep. But Wendy wasn't there. Not in the hallway bathroom either.

Panic tugged her mind awake. She returned to the kitchen. Drops of blood glistened among the dried strawberries and cereal flakes on the counter. One of Jessica's Japanese knives lay beside the box, a stripe of scarlet marking the razor-sharp blade.

“Wendy?” she called.

Her sister didn't answer.

Maybe she stepped outside the front door for a smoke. Blood on the doorknob sent a chill down her spine. Had someone grabbed Wendy in the night? If so, why hadn't she heard them? Why hadn't they come after her, too?

Footsteps creaked on the front porch. Shea picked up the baseball bat in the corner and prepared to bash the intruder. The door opened. She tightened her grip.

She was in midswing when Wendy's head appeared. Shea diverted her swing, smacking the door instead. Wendy jumped back, shielding herself with her arm. “Jesus Christ, Shea! What the fuck?”

“Where the hell were you?” Shea lowered the bat.

Wendy held up a bloodstained paper sack from the Kokopelli Café. “I was hungry.”

“Why is there blood on the doorknob?”

“I cut my hand opening the damn bag in the cereal box.” She held up her hand. A red-black line marked her palm surrounded by smears of dried blood.

Jessica walked out of their bedroom, dressed in her robe. “What's with all the yelling?”

“Your girlfriend tried to kill me.” Wendy glared at Shea. “Again.”

Jessica gave Shea a funny look.

“I thought she was an intruder, Jess,” said Shea. “Maybe if Wendy hadn't left blood all over the damn place, I wouldn't have picked up the goddamn bat.”

“Maybe if I knew where the goddamn Band-Aids were.”

“In our bathroom,” said Jessica. “I'll get you one.”

Jessica seemed civil considering the previous night's drama. Between the three of them, she was probably the only one who got a decent night's sleep, Shea thought.

“Don't bother with a Band-Aid. The bleeding stopped.” Wendy pulled a breakfast burrito out of the bag, then offered the bag to Shea. “Got y'all some, too. You're welcome.”

Shea hesitated to grab the bag for fear her sister's blood might've contaminated its contents. Last thing she needed was to catch some disease from her junkie sister. Wendy frowned as the moment grew awkward.

Jessica took the bag from her. “Thanks for buying breakfast. That was considerate of you.” She handed a burrito to Shea. “How's the leg?”

“Hurts.” Shea put the bat away while Jessica made coffee.

Morning light filtered through the drapes as they sat down in the living room.

“Any word from Hunter?” Shea asked between bites.

“He's freaking out. A black SUV tried to run a couple of Thundermen off the road last night. He wants me up there.”

“They getting the ransom together?”

“He said he's taking care of it. All patronizing, you know? Like I shouldn't worry my pretty little head about all the manly details. He can be such a prick sometimes.” The calmness of her demeanor unsettled Shea. Wendy's pupils were pinpoints, though maybe it was from the sun shining through the window.

“Maybe we should go to the Church,” suggested Shea. “I don't want to risk Hunter fucking things up again.”

Jessica looked at her. “You don't want me to go, too, do you?”

“Safer for you here, sweetie.” Shea gave her a quick kiss. “The club ain't big into diversity.”

“Suits me fine. I was planning on checking out those condos up in Ironwood, anyway.”

Wendy tied her hair back into a ponytail. “You ready to go?”

“I wanna take a shower first.” Shea took a final bite of burrito and crumpled the wrapper.

A half hour later, Shea was dressed and ready to go. She'd clipped the spring-assisted jackknife next to the Glock's holster in her waistband, out of sight but easy to reach.

“Be careful,” said Jessica.

“Always.” Shea smiled and followed Wendy out to her car. “I guess I got shotgun.”

Wendy donned a pair of orange shades. “Got that right, sister.”

The morning air was warm, humid, and heavy with the promise of an afternoon monsoon. They drove back to the main highway and wound up the hill. As they cruised through Olde Towne Sycamore Springs, Shea spotted a dark SUV parked in front of Iron Goddess.

A jolt of fear hit Shea.
Were the Jaguars at Iron Goddess looking for her and their stolen hex?

“Stop!”

“What's wrong?” Wendy tapped the brakes.

“Pull into Iron Goddess. Swing around to the back lot.”

Wendy followed Shea's instructions. Several vehicles she didn't recognize occupied the employee spaces.
Am I too late?

“Wait here.” Shea drew the Glock, tiptoeing to the back door of the shop and pressing her ear against it to listen. From inside came the sizzle of a welder and the chatter of casual conversation. She reholstered the pistol and covered it with her shirt before opening the door.

To her right, Lakota tack-welded a bike frame together. A heavyset guy with wild hair and a face full of stubble was bending tube steel on the pipe bender. Closer to the office, Switch and a man with a walrus mustache rounded out a fender on the roller.

Except for the two strangers, everything looked business as usual. Shea's concern eased a bit, tempered with the realization outsiders were working in her shop without her permission.

Mr. Wild Hair looked up at her from the pipe bender. “Can I help you, ma'am?”

“Yeah, who the hell are you, and what're you doing in my shop?”

“ 'Scuse me?” He tilted his head, took a few steps toward her, puffing out his chest.

“You heard me.”

Lakota threw herself between them. “Easy, Shea. Terrance brought these guys up from Hellbent Cycles in Phoenix.”

“You're shitting me.” Shea balled her fists.

“We needed help rebuilding the Trinkets' bikes.”

“Where's Terrance?”

“In the office.”

“Go talk to your boss, lady,” said Wild Hair.

Between the lack of sleep and the gnawing pain in her body, something in Shea snapped. She swung at him. Lakota caught her arm.

“Hey, work it out with Terrance. Not here.” Lakota nodded in Switch's direction.

No fighting around Switch. Shea grimaced. “Whatever.”

Shea hustled to the office, throwing open the door. “I thought we weren't hiring the guys from Hellbent Cycles.”

Terrance looked up from his computer, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Good morning to you, too.”

“T, I'm this close to getting the bikes back. Two guys are looking to sell them to one of Goblin's contacts.” She leaned back against the doorframe, taking the weight off her injured leg.

“I'm trying to salvage the project.” His calmness made Shea madder.

“By outsourcing it to another shop?”

“It's not costing us anything in labor. Scotty Parsons lent us a couple of his guys in exchange for equal billing.”

“I don't want equal billing. I want all the billing. The Pink Trinkets hired us, not Hellbent.”

“The Trinkets are on board with this.”

Shea's jaw dropped. “You told them?”

“What was I supposed to do? Communication with a client is important in maintaining a good relationship.”
More of his business school bullshit.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
There are more pressing issues,
she reminded herself. “Fine. Do what you think's best. That's not what I stopped by to tell you.”

“What's going on?”

“Yesterday I rode with a few of the Thundermen to a place we thought my niece was being held, to rescue her. It's a warehouse the Jaguars use to store their heroin.”

Concern creased Terrance's brow.

“Annie wasn't there,” Shea continued, “but Hunter stole a shitload of the Jaguars' hex.”

“Oh fuck! You stole dope from the Jaguars?”

“I wanted nothing to do with it. Hunter pulled a gun on me and forced me to carry a bin full of hex.”

He shook his head. “Please tell me the Jags don't know you were there.”

“There was a security camera. I tried to get rid of the recording, but Oscar Reyes and Victor Ganado showed up before I got a chance. I got away from them, but not before I dropped my bike on gravel and tore up my leg. It really hurts.” She pouted a little, hoping her injury might mitigate his anger. It didn't.

Dread and rage darkened his face. “Oscar has your business card. He knows where we work.”

“Yeah, T. I know. I didn't expect Hunter to steal the hex.” She stared at the floor, feeling stupid. “Hopefully, when the Jags look at the video, they'll see Hunter forced me to carry the dope.”

“You think the Jaguars will give you a pass?”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“Call the cops.”

“And tell them what? That I got caught stealing dope from the Jaguars?”

“Tell them you were looking for your niece.”

She shook her head. “I can't. Kidnapper said not to get the cops involved or they'd kill her.”

“Then I need to close down Iron Goddess until all this blows over. I can't put everyone's lives at risk over this.” He picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. “I need all personnel in the office immediately.”

“I'm sorry, T. I didn't mean for it to get this out of hand.”

“Any update on Derek?”

“In a coma. Doesn't look good.”

He shook his head. “How are you and your sister getting along?”

“She's a junkie. Caught her with a bottle of Oxy written out in someone else's name.”

“Can't choose your family,” Terrance said with a bitter laugh.

The door behind her opened. She turned, expecting Lakota, Switch, and the guys from Hellbent.

Instead Wendy stood with arms crossed. “And here I thought we moved beyond that.”

Wendy's eyes blazed as she glared at Shea. “Sorry I didn't turn out to be the stand-up citizen you did. How many years d'you spend in prison? I forget. Was it six or seven?”

“Better an ex-con than a junkie who defends murderous assholes.”

“Believe what you want.” She pivoted and marched down the hall.

As much as she enjoyed telling her sister off, Shea knew it wasn't helping the situation. “Wendy, wait.” Shea sighed. “I'm sorry.”

Wendy turned on her, anger radiating from her face. “I only came to tell you Hunter called. The club should have the money ready by this afternoon. He wants us there now.”

Lakota and the others squeezed past Wendy in the narrow hallway on their way to the office. Wild Hair bumped Wendy, knocking her purse to the floor with a thud. The contents rolled across the floor.

“Dammit!” She bent down to pick up her belongings.

“Sorry, lady.” Wild Hair walked on without offering to help.

An amber pill bottle rolled to Shea. She picked it up. Her own name was printed on the label. It was her prescription for OxyContin from Dr. Sossaman. “What the fuck, Wendy?”

Wendy's face turned red. “I was gonna give 'em to you. Geez!”

Terrance poked his head out of the office. “What's wrong?”

Shea held up the bottle. “This is what's wrong. She stole the prescription the ER doc wrote for my pain meds.”

“I didn't steal shit. I picked them up for you.”

“That's a load of bullshit. You picked 'em up for your damn self.” Shea slammed her against the wall. “I want you outta my shop, you lying junkie. You and Hunter deserve each other.”

Terrance pushed them apart. “All right, all right. Lets everybody calm down.”

Rage boiled inside of Shea. Flashes of childhood memories bubbled under the surface of her mind, but she couldn't make sense of them. Her mother's blood. Ralph's trial. A guy in a suit saying what a good girl she was.

Wendy stood up with her purse, its contents recovered. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't give you your meds right away. I meant to. I forgot, okay?” She looked sincere, but Shea didn't want to believe her. Once a liar, always a liar.

“Shea, you have something to say to Wendy?” asked Terrance, sounding like their father.

“I'm sorry you turned out to be a junkie.”

Terrance rolled his eyes. “Not helpful, Shea.”

“I just want my baby back.” Tears of desperation filled Wendy's eyes. “Please come with me to the Church, Shea. I don't want to go there by myself. Not with all the shit Hunter's been doing.”

“Hunter's your problem. Not mine.”

Wendy held up her interlaced fists in supplication. “This ain't about me, Shea. It's about my little girl. I can't imagine what she must be going through. If you can't do it for me, do it for her. Please.”

Guilt tugged at Shea's heartstrings. “Fine. I'll go.” Shea pocketed the Oxy. “Then once Annie's safe, I don't want to see your scrawny junkie ass in my shop ever again.”

“I promise.”

“One big happy family,” Terrance said with a half smile.

Monica's scream rang out from the showroom. Terrance sprinted from the office with Shea on his heels. Monica stood behind the sales counter, eyes wide with horror. Her hand covered her mouth as if suppressing another scream. A cardboard box sat open on the counter.

“What's wrong?” Shea asked.

Monica pointed at the box and twisted away from the counter.

Terrance stared into the box. “Oh shit.”

Shea limped up to the counter. Inside the box, a small bloody ear had been sealed inside a plastic bag. It took everything inside her to control her gag reflex. Her attempts to negotiate had cost poor Annie her ear, perhaps her life. “Where did this come from?”

Monica shrugged. “Delivery guy dropped it off a little bit ago. I just now opened it.”

“What'd he look like?” asked Shea.

“I don't know. White. Maybe Latino. Bald. About thirty.”

Aguilar,
thought Shea.

“What is it?” asked Wendy from across the room.

Shea rallied to control her writhing emotions. “Get some ice from the freezer in the office,” she said to Terrance. “We may be able to preserve it long enough for it to be reattached.” He nodded and ran to the office.

“Tell me.” Wendy's voice cracked with fear.

Shea was torn between telling her the horrible truth or letting her suffer in ignorance. “It's an ear,” she confessed, unable to meet her sister's gaze.

“But not Annie's ear, right?”

“I think it may be.”

Wendy crumpled to her knees. “No.”

Monica spewed into a trash can. Shea wanted to do the same. Lakota cradled Wendy on the floor.

Terrance returned with a large resealable bag full of ice and held it open. Shea lifted the bag with the ear by the corner and lowered it into the bag of ice.

“I hope we don't remove any fingerprints,” said Terrance.

“Better that than Annie losing her ear for good.”

“Yeah.” A stern look darkened Terrance's face. “I'm closing up shop until we can get this situation with the Jaguars figured out.”

“I'm with you.” Shea walked over to Lakota and Wendy. “How's she doing?”

Lakota looked up at her, grim faced. “Not well. I think she's in shock. She keeps saying this wasn't supposed to happen.”

“Wendy.” Shea squatted down in front of Wendy. “I know you're upset, but we gotta go rescue Annie.”

Wendy looked up and their eyes met. Her face was flush with anguish. As Shea held her gaze, Wendy's expression hardened. “I'm gonna kill those fuckers who hurt my baby.”

Shea gave her a hand up. “I'll help you.” She turned to Terrance. “Do what you need to do to keep everyone safe.”

“Will do. Be careful out there.” Terrance ushered everyone back to the office.

Shea followed Wendy out the back door to the parking lot.

“You want me to drive?” Shea asked.

“I'm all right.” Her voice was monotone.

Shea climbed into the passenger seat. Wendy started the car with a roar and pulled onto the street, heading north. As they left Olde Towne, Shea caught sight of a dark SUV a few cars behind them, maybe a half mile back. She couldn't tell if it was black, dark blue, or maroon. It wasn't driving aggressively, but she suspected they were once again being tailed.

“What's wrong?” asked Wendy.

“Remember that SUV chasing us the other day?”

“Yeah.”

“I think it's back.”

Wendy glanced in her rearview mirror. “You sure it's the same one?”

“No, but there's a way to find out. Turn right up here onto Highway 134.”

“I wasn't planning on going that way. I was gonna take the Ironwood Bypass.”

“Just do it. If I'm wrong, they'll stay on 89. But if I'm right, they'll follow us onto 134.”

Wendy slowed down and turned at the junction. The two cars immediately behind them continued straight on Highway 89. The SUV turned, following them. “Shea…”

“Yeah, I know. Speed up a little bit, see what they do.”

Wendy accelerated from sixty-five miles per hour to seventy-five. The SUV drifted behind.

We're in the clear,
Shea thought. The Mustang crested a hill and the SUV disappeared from view.

Wendy glanced back again. “They gone?”

“Yeah…wait, no, there they are. Shit.” The SUV reappeared, closing the gap between them. “Dammit. They're after us.”

“What should I do?”

“We'll have to lose them.”

“Who you think I am? Dale Earnhardt?”

“Just go fast as you can to I-17.”

“Whatever you say.” Wendy floored it. “Hope we don't pass any cops.”

“Better the cops than the Jaguars.”

“You got your gun, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Maybe you can get them to tell us where they got Annie.” Wendy wove past a cluster of cars in their way.

Shea gritted her teeth on each bump and swerve, trying to avoid hitting her leg or wrenching her neck whenever she glanced back. “You think these guys don't have guns? Keep going.”

The SUV continued to close the distance.

“There's a red light coming up,” said Wendy.

Shea looked ahead. There weren't any cars approaching the intersection. “Run it, then turn north onto the interstate.”

“Maybe you should take the wheel.” Wendy squinted while she flew through the intersection, then slowed down when they approached the interstate on-ramp.

“Don't slow down! They catch us, we're dead. Now punch it!”

Wendy complied, but without as much punch as Shea would have liked.

They merged onto I-17 North. A few miles in the distance, the road climbed up through a twisting mountain pass. “If we can make it to the mountains, maybe we can lose them. Those SUVs can't corner for shit.”

The landscape of prairie grass dotted with thirty-foot junipers whizzed past in a blur, but the SUV stayed on their tail.

“Oh shit. Hang on!” Shea hunkered down and grabbed the oh-shit handle above her.

The SUV slammed their rear bumper. Shea's head bounced off the headrest.

“What now?”

“Go faster!” Shea yelled. The SUV hit them again, harder this time.

“I've got the pedal to the floor. Maybe I should do one of your fancy U-turns.”

“Not at this speed. You'd flip us. Get to the mountains. We can make it.” The twisties were still half a mile away.

The SUV pulled into the lane to their left and rammed them from the side. Wendy screamed, struggling to stay on the road. The right shoulder of the road fell away as the highway rose up toward the mountains.

“Hit the brakes!”

“What?”

“The brakes! Do it!”

She slammed on the brakes. The Mustang shuddered while the antilock brakes struggled to keep the wheels from skidding. The SUV blew past, then locked up its brakes with a high-pitched scream and a cloud of dust.

Wendy turned to her. “Now what?”

Shea glanced in the rearview mirror. There were cars approaching from the south, so going in reverse wasn't an option. Ahead of them, the SUV was now backing up.

“Hold tight. When I tell you to, floor it.”

The truck stopped forty feet away. The driver's door opened and Oscar Reyes climbed out, a yellow bandana on his head representing his membership in the Jaguars.

“Okay, go!” Shea yelled.

Wendy hit the gas and ducked down, peeking over the dash. Oscar jumped back in as they flew by. Shea looked back. The SUV roared to life and came charging after them again.

Ahead, the road climbed steeply. Soon they'd hit the first tight turn up the side of the mountain. Shea hoped Wendy could control the car enough to not go flying off the cliff.

“Shea…”

Shea turned back in time to see the SUV pulling up beside them once again, this time on their right. Oscar was gesturing wildly and shouting something but Shea couldn't make it out over the road noise.

He turned the wheel and hit them, pushing them across the median. Wendy swerved onto the southbound lane. An oncoming semi blew past—horn blaring—a split second before they skidded across the southbound lane toward the far shoulder. The SUV kept coming. Shea grabbed the wheel to help Wendy keep them on the road. The car shook violently. The wheels screamed as they were swept sideways by the SUV's superior weight and engine.

The left wheel slipped off the side of the road. The car spun, then careened down the steep hill, flipping sideways over boulders and mowing down yucca. Shea clung to her seatbelt through a roller coaster of crunching metal and shattering glass. The airbags blew in front of her and on her side as the car came to a heart-pounding stop. Everything went black.