Iron Goddess (15 page)

Shea's lingering anger at her sister left her reluctant to answer. She stared at the seething flash flood blocking their way. It was too wide to jump and too treacherous to wade.

“Look for something we can use for a bridge,” Shea said.

Paloverdes, covered in a nest of spiny green branches, hung over the gravy-colored water. Higher up on the bank, mesquites with twisted, gnarled trunks competed with columnlike sycamores for space among muddy chunks of granite the size of a motorcycle engine. A sycamore would've worked great if they had a way to cut it down—which they didn't. None of the other trees were suitable for a bridge.

Shea used a stick to loosen the dirt around a rock the size of a tire. Her fingers slipped under the edge, lifted up one end, then dropped it with a whomp. It must have weighed a couple of hundred pounds. “Gimme a hand with this.”

Wendy had wandered downstream and was inspecting a pile of debris. “Just a minute.”

Shea sighed. “Fine, I'll do it my damn self.” Gripping the side of the rock, she dragged it to the flooded stream. With a deep breath, she heaved it into the water, three feet from the water's edge. After a cannonball splash, it vanished beneath the murky water.

“Fuck.”

“How about this?” Wendy was dragging the trunk of a young sycamore, six inches in diameter at its widest end. The bark had been worn off, leaving the bare ash-gray wood cracked and hollow in places.

“Will it hold our weight?” Shea asked.

Wendy put a hand on her hip. “You got any better suggestions?”

The water was getting deeper the longer they scratched their heads.

Shea shrugged. “Let's try it.”

They pivoted the sycamore trunk, extending the narrow end across to the opposite bank, and planted it in the mud.

Wendy looked at Shea with a nervous gaze. “Who goes first?”

“You're the lightest by a good measure. I nominate you.”

“Fine.”

With knees bent, Wendy straddled the tree trunk and shuffled across. When she got to the middle, the log sagged and creaked. Water rushed over her shoes.

“Damn, that's cold.” Wendy continued on and reached the other side unscathed. “Your turn.”

Shea tossed her the cellphone and put a tentative foot on the trunk. It drooped. She looked around again for anything else that might make crossing a little less risky, but there was nothing. As she straddled the trunk, it creaked and sagged under her weight. Chilly water soaked her boots, then crested her jeans, leaving her gasping. “Fuck, it's like ice water.”

“Quit staring at the water and c'mon!”

“I'm coming.” Shea inched toward the middle. The tree sagged so much the water came up to her waist, numbing the muscles in her legs and bringing temporary relief to her road rash.

Wendy reached out to her but Shea shooed away her hand. When she did, the log gave way with a loud crack. Her body plunged into the freezing water. The current pulled her under, tumbling and smashing her against rocks and other debris. Her arms flailed, struggling toward the surface. She pulled her head up for a second to gasp for air before the water dragged her down once again.

Her shin smashed into something solid. A submerged tree trunk. She grabbed at it, but the wood was slippery. Before she could get a firm grasp, the current pulled her on, spinning her like a boat without a keel. Her hip slammed into a large rock. She cried out and got a lungful of water.

Blindly, she reached for anything to grab on to and found a paloverde branch. She clung to it, even as spines dug into her hand.

She planted her feet in a hole, pushing against the flow. Using the paloverde for balance, she pulled herself out of the river and collapsed on the stony bank. She lay shivering and coughing up water. Hypothermia threatened to pull her into unconsciousness.

“You okay?” Wendy stood over her.

“Am I?” Her mind numbed.

“Anything broken?” Wendy's eyes were red, like she'd been crying, but it was hard to tell with the rain trickling down her face.

“Don't think so.” Everything hurt. Shea's hands were bloody from the paloverde branch. A scrape ran down the side of one of her arms.

Wendy helped her sit down on a rock. “I's afraid I'd lost you.”

“Me, too.” Shea's body quaked, teeth chattering like a Teletype machine.

Wendy brushed something from Shea's face and looked at her the way their mother used to. “We need to get this off you.” She grabbed the bottom of Shea's shirt and pulled.

Shea resisted. “What're you doing?”

“Your lips are turning blue. We gotta warm you up.”

“By taking off my clothes?”

“Trust me for once, will ya?”

Shea gasped while Wendy pulled her shirt off. “Doesn't feel warmer.”

Wendy slipped out of the windbreaker, draped it over Shea, and helped fish her arms through the sleeves. After a few moments, the worst of the shivering passed, though Shea's teeth still chattered in spurts.

“Better?”

Shea nodded and looked at her shirt lying in the mud, stained with Oscar's blood. After what he'd done to Wendy, why couldn't she shake this brooding emptiness? She threw the shirt into the rushing water and watched it drift away in the current.

“Can you walk?” Wendy's words startled her.

“I think so.”

Wendy helped her up from the rock. Gravity slid sideways for a moment and Shea took a step to steady herself. When the vertigo passed, she said, “Let's go.”

They climbed the rocky bank up the next hillside. The physical activity helped warm her and clear the cobwebs from her head.

At the top of the hill, Wendy stopped and pointed. “There it is.”

A hundred feet down a steep incline, a ribbon of pavement snaked through the forest. The rain had dissolved into a swirling mist.

As they descended the hill, Shea's knees wobbled like jelly. At the road's edge, Wendy led them under a rocky overhang and pulled out Oscar's phone. “Looks like we're on White Juniper Road, about ten miles east of Ironwood.”

“Don't suppose you remember Hunter's number at this point?”

Wendy gave her a sly smile. “Never forgot it.”

“You what? Why'd you let Oscar torture you if you knew the number?”

“Because
fuck Oscar,
that's why. He was gonna kill us anyway.”

Shea shook her head in amazement. “Damn, the balls on you.”

“A little something I learned from my big sister.”

Wendy called Hunter. “Hey, it's me. I need you to come pick us up. We're sitting on the side of the road on White Juniper, ten miles east of Ironwood.” She paused for a moment. Shea caught distorted bits of Hunter's response. “The Jaguars ran us off the road and took us hostage, but we got away. How long before you can be here? Okay, see ya then.”

Wendy hung up. “He'll be here in half an hour.”

After their adventure with Victor and Oscar, Hunter was the last person Shea wanted to see. This was all his fault. But he was their only hope for the ransom money. “How's your chest?” Shea asked.

“Hurts, but I've survived worse.”

“Worse? From who?”

She stared at the pavement. “Guess.”

“Hunter?”

Wendy nodded without looking up.

“Hand me the phone, I need to make some calls while we're waiting.”

Shea first called Jessica.

“Shea? I've been worried about you. You weren't answering your phone.” Her voice made Shea feel warmer.

“Sorry, we had an accident. My phone got smashed.”

“You okay? Sounds like your teeth are chattering.”

“Fell in a river, but I'm all right.”

“Shea, I have to tell you something. I called the cops. Told them you'd heard from the kidnappers.”

“Dammit, Jess. Why?”

“This whole situation has gotten way too violent. I'm worried about you.”

Shea shook her head, not sure if she should be angry or relieved. “Well, what's done is done. Did they come by and ask you questions?”

“Worse. A couple of detectives from the Sheriff's Office were here looking for you. They had an arrest warrant. What did you do?”

“Arrest warrant? I didn't do nothing. What are they trying to arrest me for?” Shea sighed. Was this about Oscar? Would Victor have dumped his body somewhere for the cops to find?

“They wouldn't tell me.”

“Gotta be a mix-up.” Maybe Aguilar was trying to frame her. “Jess, is there someone you can stay with temporarily? A coworker maybe? Just until we get this all cleared up.”

“Not really. I have a few friends at work, but I don't have their numbers. Am I in danger?”

“Probably not, but I don't want to take any chances. I'll call Terrance and see if he can put you up until this gets resolved.”

“When will I see you?”

“I don't know. We're making the ransom drop tonight. If all goes well, we'll have Annie back, and I can clear my name with Buzzkill and his goons.”

“Please be careful, sweetie. I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.”

Shea punched in Terrance's number.

“T? It's Shea.”

“Where are you? I've been trying to get ahold of you.”

“Long story. Listen, I talked to Jess. The cops dropped by my house with a warrant for my arrest.”

“Why would they want to arrest you?”

“No idea.” Shea cupped her hand over the phone so Wendy couldn't hear. “What happened with the ear?”

“I have it. Not sure how long it'll stay viable.”

“Fuck,” Shea said. Annie's scream rang in her ears.

“What about you? Where are you?”

“Middle of nowhere at the moment.”

“You need me to pick you up?”

“No. Hunter's on his way. But there is something you can do for me.”

“Name it.”

“I'm worried about Jessica. I'm not sure it's safe at my place. I told her she could crash at your place until we get all this business straightened out with the cops.”

“No problem. Stay safe, Shea.”

“Thanks, T.” She hung up and pulled out a damp business card from her wallet and dialed the number, hoping to get ahead of this nonsense with the Sheriff's Office.

A familiar voice answered. “Homicide and Missing Persons, Detective Toni Rios speaking. How may I help you?”

“Detective, it's Shea Stevens. Why's there a warrant out for my arrest?”

“Shea, where are you?”

“Never mind where I am. What's with the arrest warrant?”

“The Beretta you were carrying when we picked you up matched several unsolved homicides. Where'd you get that gun?”

Shea facepalmed. She'd forgotten about that. “Borrowed it from a friend.”

“Well, if you want to clear your name, you'll need to come down to the station and answer some questions.”

“Fine. I'll do that. Just can't right at the moment.”

“Shea, we're trying to help your sister get her daughter back. I can't help you get Annie back safely if you don't provide me with the information I need.”

“The kidnapper threatened to kill Annie if we got you involved.”

“Annie has a much better chance of getting out of this alive if we're working together.”

“I'm sorry. I don't believe you.” Shea hung up.

“You talking to the cops?” asked Wendy.

“Just that female detective. Buzzkill's got a warrant out for my arrest. Just trying to find out why.”

“What'd she say?”

“That gun I got off Hunter was apparently used to kill some folks.”

“This surprises you?”

“No, what surprises me is you married him.”

“And I tried to leave him.”

Shea scoffed. “And yet here we are waiting for him to pick us up.”

“You got any better ideas?”

“Nope.”

“Hey, the other day you said I lied about something, that it was the reason you quit talking to me. What were you talking about?”

“Ralph.”

“Daddy? What about him?”

“You testified at the trial he killed Mama in self-defense. You lied to protect that murderous son of a bitch!” Shea's voice came out as a growl.

“Are you nuts? I never testified.”

“Like hell you didn't. I remember all too well.”

“You're delusional. Why would I defend him? I loved Mama.” Wendy got misty-eyed.

Was Wendy lying or choosing not to remember?
Shea herself had blocked out a lot about that time, but Wendy's testifying to protect Ralph had burned itself into Shea's memory. “Yeah, you loved Mama so much you went and lived with her murderer's best friend.”

“Monster and Julia were our godparents. They took me in and treated me like family. Woulda taken you in, too. But, no, you had to run away and steal cars for a living. Some upright citizen you turned out to be.”

“Whatever.” Shea pulled the windbreaker tighter. “Keep protecting the club. That's what you do.”

“I'm telling you, I didn't testify. Besides, even if I had, he still woulda gone to prison. End of story.”

“Yes, he did, no thanks to you.”

“You know, Shea, you think you got it all figured out. But you don't. And it hurts me you think that I would have betrayed Mama like that.”

“Never mind. Just drop it.” Shea closed her eyes and tried to think warm thoughts.

Forty minutes later, Hunter arrived in his Bronco. Behind him rode One-Shot and Mackey on their Harleys, their hair soaked from the rain. Wendy handed Shea the rifle and climbed into the Bronco next to Hunter. Shea slipped into the back, holding the AK-47 next to her.

Hunter turned toward Shea, eyeing the rifle. “Where'd ya get the hardware?”

“From someone who don't need it no more.” Shea glanced at Wendy.

Hunter looked at her as well. “What the hell's going on with your shirt? You look like a goddamn hooker.”

Wendy shrank away from him, staring out at the rain, shoulders slumped. “Don't wanna talk about it.”

“Hey, I asked you a question.” He grabbed her arm.

Shea knocked his hand away. “Leave her alone.”

He turned and threatened Shea with a fist. “You want some of this?”

“Cut the shit, asshole. Wendy's hurt 'cause of you,” said Shea.

“What're you talking about, hurt?” He turned to Wendy. “What's she talking about?”

Wendy rubbed the ruddy mark his grip had left, but wouldn't look at him.

“The Jags tortured her to get back the hex you stole.”

“What'd you tell 'em?”

“Nothing, I swear.” Wendy's voice was almost a whisper.

“She didn't tell 'em shit. Wouldn't even give up your phone number. Just let them burn her with a lighter to protect your thieving ass.”

“Ha! Guess I trained my bitch right, then.”

A high-pitched horn sounded behind them.

The boys must be tired of sitting in the rain,
thought Shea, managing a weak smile.

Hunter put the truck in gear and roared down the road. Shea stared out the window as they drove north toward Bradshaw City. A double rainbow arced across the eastern sky. Her dark mood muted its jeweled colors. Air from the truck's vents warmed her skin, but the heat didn't penetrate the cold emptiness in her core.

It pissed Shea off to see Wendy cower from Hunter.
Where's the badass chick who defied Oscar's abuse and shot the guard in the poppy field?

She wanted to punch Hunter for treating Wendy like a disobedient child. Wendy was under his thrall, same way Mama had been under Ralph's. Nothing Shea could do to change that. Wendy had tried to leave him once; maybe she'd do it again, once Annie was safe.

By the time they approached their destination, the setting sun had painted the blanket of clouds with hues of lavender and peach. They were a few miles outside of Bradshaw City when Hunter pulled off onto Pinellas Parkway, an isolated road meandering between grass-covered hills west of town. A few minutes later, he turned onto a driveway, stopping at the gate of a ten-foot-tall chain-link fence. Two men wearing prospect cuts and armed with AR-15 assault rifles opened the gate, letting them through.

A hundred yards past the gate, Hunter drove up to a worn brick building that had been like a second home to Shea when she was growing up. What once had been a church in the days before Arizona's statehood now served as the Confederate Thunder clubhouse, which they continued to call the Church. Up in the bell tower, a sniper's rifle barrel extended from the balcony railing.

Hunter pulled the truck into the nearby lot among a small assortment of cars and three dozen bikes, some concealed with covers. When the truck stopped, Shea grabbed the AK-47 and hopped out next to her sister. They'd taken two steps when Hunter appeared with his hand extended. “Gimme the AK.”

Shea didn't have much interest in the assault rifle, but held it away from him in defiance. “This ain't yours.”

“You're in my house now. I say what's mine and what ain't.”

Wendy looked at Shea with dull eyes. “Give it to him.” Her voice was flat and lifeless. Shea wondered if her sister was again jonesing for a hit of Oxy.

She held up the rifle. Hunter snatched it away and inspected it. “Can't never have too many of these.”

One-Shot and Mackey walked past them, both pale and wet, lips lavender with cold. Hunter, Wendy, and Shea followed them around to the front of the building.

A rain-soaked Confederate battle flag fluttered on a flagpole attached to one of the four-by-four columns on the porch. Shea put her hand on the wooden façade that covered the front of the building. The paint, cracked and faded to the color of butter, felt like lichens growing on boulders.

“ 'Member when we used to play tag and hide-and-seek here with the other bikers' kids?” asked Wendy.

Shea recalled her sister's childish laughter, tinkling like the tiny silver bells some of the Thundermen put on their bikes to ward off road gremlins. “Long time ago,” she said.

Shea followed the others inside. The air vibrated with the sound of Lynyrd Skynyrd and reeked of stale smoke, beer, urine, and sweat.

The walls of the entryway were covered with photos of past members, many of them mug shots. In one club family photo, a young Shea and her sister sported goofy grins. Interspersed with these were framed letters of appreciation from local charities for contributions. Images of the Confederate stars and bars, along with the club's Johnny Reb logo, were everywhere.

Part of her longed for the innocence of her childhood, but she knew the sweet memories were only part of the story. The trauma of the dog attack and the recurring terror of her father's abuse poisoned the recollections. Despite its promised commitment to its members and their families, the club was a cesspool of racism, misogyny, and violence.

Shea stepped into what had been the sanctuary of the old church. A bar stood where the altar must have once been. A dozen members of the MC, along with a few of their old ladies, were drinking and laughing around wooden tables that had replaced the church's pews.

Hunter, One-Shot, and Mackey marched down a hallway on the right side of the barroom-sanctuary.

“There she is!” A heavyset man with thinning gray hair and a well-worn cut stood up from one of the tables and approached Shea and her sister. He looked familiar, but Shea couldn't place him.

“We was worried about you, sunshine.” He gave Wendy a bear hug. She yelped when he squeezed her. “What's wrong?”

“Is Dopey around, Papa?”

Wendy calling him Papa eliminated any doubt. This was Monster. Or had been at one time. Not nearly as scary looking as he'd been seventeen years earlier.

“He's around here somewhere. Why? You hurt, sugar?”

“Uh-huh.”

He grabbed the arm of one of the other Thundermen, the same guy with the goat patch on his chin who had brought Hunter the pills for Wendy. “Goatsy, fetch Dopey for me, will ya?”

Goatsy ran off. Monster turned to Shea. “Jesus fucking Christ! Can't be. Little Shea-Shea?”

“Hey, Monster.” Nostalgia once again tugged at her. She could smell his Old Spice aftershave.

He shook her hand with a strong grip. “Good to see you, kiddo.” He looked her over. “You look like a drowned rat. You fall in a river?”

She shrugged. “More or less.”

A lanky man with John Lennon glasses and a port-wine stain on his right cheek walked up to Monster. “You looking for me?”

“I am,” said Wendy. “Can we talk someplace private?”

“Sure.” Dopey waved her on and she followed him down a hallway. “Come on down to the infirmary.”

Shea watched them leave. “He a real doctor?”

“Sure enough, board certified and everything. One of them Doctors without Boundaries.”

“I think you mean Doctors without Borders.”

Monster crinkled his brow. “Naw, pretty sure he said Doctors without Boundaries. Either way he sewed me up one time after a serious scrap with them Mexican bangers. Hey, ya want anything? Whiskey, coffee, both?”

“Coffee'd be nice.”

“Hey, Jimbo! Bring us a cup of coffee,” he called to the man behind the bar. “Shea, let's you and me have a seat and talk. I'm getting too old to stand for long.” He ushered her over to where he'd been sitting and drinking a bottle of Miller.

A moment later, Jimbo, who reminded Shea of a scary version of John Belushi, dropped off a cup of coffee. “Thanks,” she said.

“What in the world happened to y'all?” asked Monster. “We were 'specting you hours ago.”

“We got ambushed by the Jaguars,” Shea said. “We tried to get away, but they caught us, took us to their warehouse out in the forest.” Her voice rippled with anger. She tried to calm herself.

“Why would them damn beaners be going after the two of you?”

“Hunter,” she said.

“Hunter?” Monster looked surprised. “What's he got to do with this?”

“Yesterday, I rode with Hunter, Mackey, and One-Shot up to the Jags' warehouse looking for Annie.”

“Heard about that. They said she wasn't there though.”

“No, but a whole lot of the Jaguar's hex was. Hunter and the boys helped themselves to a few hundred kilos. When I protested, they jumped me and left me there.”

Monster gave a low, throaty grumble. “That boy. He got more dollars than sense sometimes.”

“How come
you
ain't at the head of the table?” she asked.

He chuckled. “There was a time I wanted it. Believe me, I did. But I had enough on my plate raising your sister, especially after what she been through. What y'all been through, I should say.” His face darkened. “Wish you'd come to live with us, too. Wendy missed having her big sister around.”

“After Ralph killed Mama, I didn't want nothing to do with the club. I had to find my own way.”

“Can't say I blame ya. This life can be brutal sometimes.”

“So why you still part of the club? Why not leave this shit behind?”

“These folks is family. Besides, somebody's gotta be here to put some sense into these little punks.”

She shook her head. “Don't sound like they're listening, old man.”

“Not enough, that's for sure.”

“What happened? Ralph and Victor used to have a good partnership.”

“They did. When your old man got locked up, Roadster took the gavel. Wasn't too keen on doing business with brown. Tried a few other things to earn. Dogfighting, guns, crystal. Jags didn't take too kindly to it.”

“Imagine that.”

“What about you? What's keeping you off the streets these days?”

“Building custom bikes for women.”

He smiled. “Yeah, think I heard something about that. Never knew there's such a thing as women's bikes. Figured a motorcycle's a motorcycle.”

“For the most part. Lotta women are shorter. Most bikes are too tall in the seat, even with lowering kits. So we make smaller bikes.”

“No shit. That's something else.”

“For our best customers, we design the bikes like a tailor custom makes a suit. I measure arms, legs, torso, then build the bike to spec.”

“I'll be damned. Purty clever there, girl.” He took a sip of his beer. “How's business?”

She shrugged. “Okay till we got robbed a few days ago.”

“Know who did it?”

“Friend of mine owns a chop shop, says someone wearing Jag ink was trying to fence a few of our custom bikes. Him and someone who looked like a cop.”

“Huh! Fucking beaners and pigs. Now them Jags got my grandbaby.” He slammed his bottle on the table. “Serves 'em right, Hunter stealing their dope.”

“I'm worried about Wendy, Monster.”

“Wendy?” He raised an eyebrow. “How come?”

“For starters, she's hooked on Oxy.”

He frowned. “Yeah, been noticing that, too.”

“Then there's Hunter abusing her. I'm afraid what happened to Mama will happen to her. Annie, too.”

“Hunter gets a little rough sometimes, but Wendy holds her own.”

“A little rough? He and his boys came charging into my shop and nearly killed her for leaving him.”

“Yeah, well. That's the life, ain't it?”

“Being someone's punching bag? That ain't no life, Monster. She deserves better and you know it.”

He frowned. “I ain't arguing with ya. I want her to be happy.”

With the coffee, Shea felt warmer. She started to unzip the windbreaker and stopped when she remembered she had nothing underneath. “Y'all got a spare shirt I can borrow?”