Moms Night Out (15 page)

She picked up the phone and dialed. Her small purse was tucked under one arm, and her hand rested on the back of her neck. Her neck was sore, from tension for sure. How could this . . . this happen? After everything!

A dispatcher answered, and she explained about her stolen van and the location she’d last seen it.

“Describe it?” Allyson wrinkled up her nose. “There were a bunch of bumper stickers on the back . . .”

The DJ still danced, the music still blared, the bowling balls still crashed, and the pins still tumbled. Allyson pressed the corded phone receiver into her ear as she tried to describe her van to the operator on the other end of the line.

“There’s a fish bumper sticker, but it’s pretty faded.” She winced slightly and let her eyes flutter closed. “Eat organic.”

Then, remembering the other stickers, she lowered her voice and turned her head away, making sure none of the other customers could hear. Heat rose to her cheeks. “My homeschooler is smarter than your honor student.”

She shook her head and waved her hand. “And a bunch of others that I don’t really want to talk about, but you get the idea!”

Allyson listened as the dispatcher told her they were going to ask their officers to keep an eye out for her van.

From behind her she could hear Bridget’s voice. “It’s an emergency! It’s personal!” Bridget said to the guy working in the kitchen. Bridget approached and pulled on a flannel shirt over her bowling shirt. She paused before Allyson with intensity in her gaze. “I called a cab.”

“Okay, okay.” Allyson hung up the phone. A cab it was. She wondered what Sondra and Izzy would think of that. Another twist in their already U-turned night.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bridget climbed into the front seat of the cab. She’d never ridden in one before, and she didn’t have money to pay for it. She assumed that since Allyson agreed to it that she’d cover the bill. Surely it wouldn’t be too much, right, just to go across town to get Phoenix.

The three women were sitting in the back. Bridget was sort of surprised that they all came along. They seemed worried about Phoenix, which made her feel good. At least they cared a little bit. She was sure they were horrified—like she was—by the thought of Phoenix being in a tattoo parlor. She’d doubted they’d go in.

The security, or privacy, or whatever window between the front and back seat was open. Bridget glanced over her shoulder and saw that they were clustered around it.

The driver seemed to be driving too slow. If she were driving, if she had her own car—which was something else she needed money for—she’d have her foot pressed to the floorboard. She’d be going as fast as she could, and if a cop tried to pull her over she’d explain about Phoenix, where he was, and how she needed to get to him.

She looked around at the streets they drove past—and the buildings—and they didn’t seem familiar. “Are you sure this is the fastest way to Davis Street?”

The driver had an English accent. He seemed proper. He’d made sure they’d buckled up. He wore a fedora, and looked like someone who should be at home penning spy novels, not driving a cab.

“Absolutely the fastest way,” he spoke with a crisp British accent that sounded so real it had to be fake.

Bridget had been to Bone’s tattoo shop many times, and he seemed to be going there in a roundabout way. Maybe he was doing it for a bigger bill, but if that was the case she did not have time for this.

“Shouldn’t you cut over on 8th?” Bridget asked.

“He should take the expressway.” The pastor’s wife said from the back, leaning through the window, breathing down their backs.

“Are you from England?” It was Allyson’s friend Izzy talking. Izzy was cool in a spacey sort of way. She’d been nice enough to Bridget. She’d even given Bridget some of her sons’ baby clothes when Bridget had Phoenix. It was a nice gesture, but the ducky and monkey decorated clothes really were not Bridget’s style.

“Me, from England?” The cabbie answered. “No, I just watched a bit of the BBC and picked up the accent.”

Bridget looked over at him and rolled her eyes.

“I’m a cabbie, love. It’s my occupation.”

“Why do people from other countries always sound smarter?” Izzy said in that wispy voice of hers.

Bridget pressed a fist to her forehead, turned her head toward the window and closed her eyes. Seriously, they were going to talk about stupid stuff like this?

“Because we are smarter, which is why this is the fastest way,” Cabbie answered.

Didn’t they know that it was only going to distract the cabbie and get him headed the wrong direction? He wasn’t even from his country. Who knew how long he’d been there. Maybe he really was heading the wrong direction.

Bridget wanted to tell them all to be quiet. To tell them just to chill, but they were all she had—this crazy bunch of women, and she needed them. At least at this moment she did. She clenched her fist and held back her words, her frustration.

“Then can you just . . . speed up?” It was Allyson’s voice. The one she knew well.

Thank you, yes, just please freakin’ speed up . . .
she wanted to add.

“You’re all very lovely.” The words rolled off the cabbie’s tongue. “But I’m not getting a ticket for you four.”

Bridget tapped her cell phone against her head, wanting to explode. Wanting to go ninja on them all. She was using more self-control than she had in months, and she told herself that they’d be there soon.

Allyson gasped in the backseat, obviously feeling the same frustration. “Look, we’re trying to find her baby who happens to be stuck at a tattoo parlor.” Her voice rose with emotion.

“Yeah, well, that’s none of my business—” His voice trailed off and then he paused, as if Allyson’s words were finally sinking in.

His head jerked around, and he looked at her. “Wait, are you having a laugh?” Shock registered on his face. Horror. His eyes widened, and he looked back to the faces cramming the window, as if trying to see if they were serious.

As he did the cab started speeding up, yet he was looking backward at the ladies instead of the road. Their taxi was quickly approaching the back of another car.

Bridget sucked in a breath. She grabbed his arm, trying to get his attention. “Road, road, road!” He turned back around, and his eyes widened. He yanked the steering wheel and jerked the car into the fast lane, barely missing the back of the other car.

Bridget breathed a sigh of relief, but her heart still pounded. And it would pound until she had Phoenix in her arms again.

“Right, right,” the cabbie said, trying to downplay their near miss. “Onwards!”

He situated himself, and then looked straight ahead. He sat quiet for a moment, completely focused, and seemed to speed up a little. Then he turned to her, “I’m sorry, where are we going again?”

Seriously?!
Bridget held back the string of words she really wanted to say and then gave him the address again.

***

Allyson released a breath as they exited the freeway. She knew now that they were close. Even though the drive probably only took fifteen minutes, it seemed to take forever. She’d watched

Bridget in the front seat, and her heart ached. At every flippant comment, Bridget seemed to jump out of her skin.

Allyson had spent a lot of time with Bridget, and she was usually bothered by how much of a teenager she still was—so focused on her looks, on guys, on television, and on her phone. Not to mention the inability to tame her tongue. But being with her now helped Allyson to see a new side of her. Allyson was even impressed by how much she
didn’t
say on this drive . . . maybe having a pastor’s wife in the car had something to do with that.

As they drove, Allyson felt a connection with Bridget that she hadn’t felt before. Bridget was a mom who really loved her kid. Yeah, she needed Allyson to watch Phoenix often, but unlike Allyson she didn’t have a Sean. She didn’t even have a good relationship with her parents. She counted on Allyson not because she was just trying to shrug off her responsibility—okay, maybe sometimes she was. But mostly she probably really needed help. Tonight made it so clear why that help was necessary. There was no one else to turn to—no one who could be trusted anyway.

They pulled up to a street lined with old brick buildings on the wrong side of town. A neon sign lit up the window. A cluster of motorcycles were parked outside, and Allyson wondered what type of guy this Bones fellow was. If his name was any indication, he didn’t sound pretty.

Bridget jumped from the front seat of the cab and darted into the tattoo parlor first. Sondra and Izzy followed, and Allyson climbed from the car and then paused. Cabbie had opened the driver’s side door and was standing. He’d crossed his arms and was resting them on the top of his cab, watching them.

She lifted her hand and splayed her fingers, waving to him. “Can you wait just five minutes?”

“Is that an actual five minutes, or ‘a ladies night’ five minutes?” Allyson shrugged. “How long can it take to get a baby?” Allyson entered and the first thing that struck her was the scent of hospital soap, ink, incense, and something that smelled like damp woods. She paused just slightly as she walked in, and looked around. The walls were lined with posters of skulls, snakes, and cartoon ladies.

The room was dim, as dim as the bowling alley had been, without the black lights. A front counter sat in the middle of the room and behind it sat an African-American guy with a massive Afro and a day-old beard and mustache that was nothing more than a shadow on his face. He wore a sleeveless hoodie, a jean vest with studded front pockets, and an intricately designed black tattoo on his arm.

He was handsome. Well, Allyson just assumed he was handsome. His eyes were covered by large, reflective aviator glasses, reminiscent of Tom Cruise in
Top Gun
.

Sitting to the side were a line of bikers that looked like the guys from
Duck Dynasty.
They flipped through biker and automobile magazines as they waited for their turn under the needle.

The desk guy was flipping through a magazine too, as they entered, and he barely glanced up as they paused before him. The buzz of a tattoo needle could be heard from across the room. Bridget leaned on the tall counter. “Bones here?”

The desk guy glanced up briefly. “He’s working.”

“Can you go get him?”

“Yeah, because he apparently has a baby in the back,” said Izzy.

“I need to talk to him right now.”

“We really need your help.”

All four women were talking at once, and four fingers wagged as they leaned over the counter.

Allyson’s voice rose above the others. “Her boyfriend Joey was supposed to be watching him . . .”

“I need to talk to Bones right now!” Bridget bounced as she spoke.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, simmer down, ya’ll.” The front counter guy rose and spread out his hands, trying to calm them. “I can’t even understand what you’re saying right now, like.” His voice was soft, as if he was only half-awake. “Chill for real.” He shook his head and his Afro tossed from side to side.

“We’re here to get Phoenix!” Bridget smacked her lips and motioned with her hands.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” He reached out a fist to fist-bump her. “Phoenix rising out of the ashes.” His fist bump turned into open-splayed fingers that wiggled as they rose, as if rising from smoke. “Number 97 over there, but I suggest you do it on your back.” He nodded to the wall of designs and spread his hands. “Because it’ll be really pretty like.” He flapped his hands, as if mimicking a bird’s wings flapping.

“No, no, no.” Allyson’s voice joined in with the others as they tried to explain that he’d misunderstood.”

“Shhhh . . .” Bridget interrupted their protests, and then fixed her gaze on the desk guy. “No, Phoenix is my baby!”

“You got a picture? Because Bones needs a picture.” He mimicked drawing with his hands. “To get the tattoo perfect because those little guys are hard to draw.”

Bridget flipped her head around to look to Ally. “Am I speaking English?” Then a strand of her hair hit Allyson’s face as she flipped back around to look at the man’s face again. “No, no boss. None of us wants a tattoo!

“I don’t want a tattoo,” Izzy muttered to herself, as if confirming Bridget’s words.

The guy pointed and then made a clicking sound, “Yeah, you do,” he said not believing her.

Ally looked to Sondra, and the pastor’s wife awkwardly shifted from side-to-side and said nothing. She didn’t try to interject, didn’t try to jump in the middle of this. Allyson knew why. This was out of her comfort zone, like a moon walk to Mars type of out-of-the-comfort-zone. Sondra looked at the ground and said nothing.

“Phoenix is my baby.” Bridget pointed to herself, speaking in a slow, clear voice, trying again. “And he’s in the back.” She pointed to the back and then to the others. “And we’re here to pick him up.”

Allyson nodded along as Bridget talked, as if doing so would help him understand better.

“Why would someone bring a baby to a tattoo parlor?” The desk guy smirked. “That’s dumb.” He offered a soft chuckle. “I mean that’s really dumb.”

“I know. It’s totally dumb,” the women agreed, everyone talking at once again. “I mean that’s really dumb.”

He removed his aviator glasses, pleased with their response, and then it was Sondra’s voice that rose above the others. One clear word rang out. “Illegal.”

Without hesitation the desk guy rose, slipped his glasses back on his face, and hurried to the back. Wow, Sondra knew what it took to get him moving. No one else moved. The long bearded guys still waited. Someone else continued to give a man a tattoo, the
buzz, buzz, buzz
causing Allyson’s skin to crawl.

Allyson glanced over at Sondra, wondering what she thought about being in a place like this. Sondra stood with her arms crossed over her chest, pressing her tan clutch to her. She moved stiffly and looked around at the lava lamp and the art on the wall. She seemed uncomfortable and Allyson guessed that Sondra had never been in a place like this before. Why would she.

Then Allyson noticed that one of the bearded guys was giving Sondra the eye. He wore a black leather vest with a lot of patches. Tattoos covered his arms that she supposed had one time been muscular but weren’t any more.