Survivor: Steel Jockeys MC (27 page)

"How much farther is it, George?" she called behind her, not daring to turn her head from the hairpin curves she was taking quickly but cautiously. They'd already seen a sign for the Harborview Inn a mile or so back, but since then there'd been no further indication of where they were. About an hour northeast of Madelia, Shadow Lake, which was popular with anglers and recreational boaters, was reached on a dirt road that ran alongside the water, which gleamed between the cedar trees lining the road. Nestled up high in the trees on the right side of the road were a few small, unimpressive-looking vacation cottages.

Though she could feel the pressure of the man's body against her, through the material of the leather jacket she'd borrowed from Holly, he sat like a motionless stone, dead weight. "George, what's wrong?" she asked. "Are you okay?" He squeezed her shoulders so hard it hurt.

"Pull over," he shouted.

"But what about--"

"Pull over!" Ruby watched her white knuckles of her bare hands squeeze the handlebars as she edged the bike on the shoulder as carefully as she could, heart pounding.

Ruby leaped out of the saddle. "What the hell?" She'd kept her mouth closed through the whole ride, insects spattering against her mouth and wind angrily whipping in her hair, but she'd done it. Determination and grit had been her co-pilots; the discomfort was worth calling the shots if it got her closer to Joe's side. His face was all she could think about – his staring eyes and parted lips, his face in pain. God knew he'd already been through enough.

She turned to George, who looked absolutely stricken, a ghost of the man he had been swaggering into Aaron Beeson's pool party a few days ago. Sweat, or tears, were running down his face. George spun away from her, looking frantically around the next bend in the road, as if they were in the center of two armies closing in and there was already no means of escape. He could barely stand up straight, like he was on his way to his own execution. "What about Joe? You said--"

He took his hands between his own, stroking her fingers, trying to choke out words. "Listen to me, Ruby. What I told you about Joe; it wasn't true. I was supposed to take you to him."

"Take me to who? What are you talking about?"

But George was looking up at something slightly beyond the next bend in the road. "This whole thing, it's a--

"A trap," said a voice behind them. “She already figured that out.”

"I was afraid this might happen, so I had one of my guys follow you," said Fox Keene, descending from behind a ridge of tamarack, through grass up to his knees. He was flanked by three humongous, tattooed guys in head-to-toe-black. Although they wore leather jackets, the insignia on it looked unfamiliar – or did it? "Anyway, I'm a little disappointed in you, George. I go out of my way to bail out your precious Christmas tree farm when your deadbeat dad pissed it all away, and you can't even do one simple fucking errand for me?"

"How the hell was I supposed to live with that on my conscience, Fox?" demanded George. "I'm so sorry, Ruby. It's just, I couldn't repay, and he threatened to ruin me." He reached for her, but she batted him away, looking at Fox, whose chiseled features were not an ounce less impressive than they had been when she and Belen had mooned over him schoolgirlishly back at the dealership. Along with his iceberg blue eyes and gelled-up fauxhawk, he wore a vintage washed maroon t-shirt tight to his torso, a Cole Haan brown leather jacket, and $800 Frye boots. He would have looked like a runway model, except that he was holding a rifle with a silencer attached. But on his arm was the ultimate accessory: Brenda Weston, looking calm, chic, and very un-kidnapped.

"You told me you wouldn't hurt her," George growled at Fox.

Fox waved off George like he was picking lint off a pair of his designer skinny jeans. "Did I say I was going to hurt her? Ruby and I are old friends. We're just going to go up the room I reserved at this quaint little inn, have a nice conversation with our friend Aaron Beeson, and send everybody home happy. Right, sweetie?" He turned to Brenda, who squeezed his bicep and nodded. Ruby felt like something was eating her from the inside. She wanted to vomit.

"Where's Joe? The Jockeys?" Ruby demanded. "George said--"

"Ruby, I’d take everything George says with a grain of salt from now on. After all, he did try to set you up. Get him out of my sight," he said to one of the thugs, who cocked his gun and hustled George off. "Anyway, just relax and follow me."

The two thugs cocked pistols at them, and soon Ruby found herself being marched up the hill to the Harborview Inn, a whitewashed six-room motel that had seen better days. The thugs let her through the empty parking lot, past the empty motel front office, and into the last room on the left. Ruby, though her heart was pounding in her ears, managed to steal another look at the two humorless leather-clad men. One of them had a frizzy gray goatee and earring, and the other one had greasy black hair and acne scars.

"Ruby, you know Rafferty here, who paid you a visit a few weeks ago," said Fox conversationally. “And if your boyfriend were here, I'm sure he'd want to be the one to introduce you to his old friend Nando," he said indicating the guy with the acne scars, "who sent him on a three-day all-expenses paid vacation courtesy of our friends in Contra Costa County."

"You
set that up?"

Fox unlocked the door of the motel room grandly, as if he were arriving in his honeymoon suite. He looked around at the dingy room and its 1970s-era decor with a look of satisfaction. Aaron Beeson had been sitting sullenly in an armchair by the far window, having ditched his gum in favor of chain smoking Camels, the smell of which had permeated the room already. A briefcase sat at his feet, though there were no signs of his Mexican henchmen; with a gulp, Ruby wondered whether Fox had disposed of them. When Aaron saw Brenda, he dropped his last butt and drove it into the carpet. His face lit up and he made a dive for her, but the guy named Nando grabbed him before he could get an inch closer. So that was real, at least, Ruby thought. He really did think she'd been kidnapped.

"Well, technically Aaron Beeson did. Nice work, man," Fox replied, patting a sullen Aaron on the shoulder. "You played your role like an Oscar winner."

"Keene? What are you doing here? What the fuck is going on?" Aaron patted his jeans pocket, clearly reaching for his weapon, though none appeared. His eyes looked desperate, and a bit crazy. "Brenda? Baby?" Brenda stood expressionless, even cruel, a little roll of her eyes.

"But it's time for your curtain call. But thanks to Nando, I got what I want, so it's time to get rid of what I don't." He bounced a tiny gold key in his hand. Like he expected her to recognize it.

"What--what is that?"

"So it's true," mused Fox, flipping it up into the air and catching it. "You really didn't know about this all that time? Figures. After all, I only found out it was in here thanks to Brenda's detective work during lunch the other day. And I guess if you did, you wouldn't have hung around answering phones at my dealership for as long as you did. I guess I was just hoping you liked me. Oh, well." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out something else. She sunk to her knees as if she’d been punched.

She now had the sinking feeling that Joe and the rest of the Jockeys may not be coming, ever. That she and Fox and the thugs in this hotel room might be the last thing she'd ever see. That he'd won; that the time he'd laughed in her face when she told him she was cursed had been nothing but a bitter and tragic irony.

"Oh yeah, you can have this back. Although like the rest of the junk your dad hawked, I doubt it's even worth pawning." He chucked the necklace toward Ruby like garbage, where it slid across the floor and landed at her feet. “Rafferty, go warm up the bathwater.” The other man disappeared into the bathroom, and Ruby could hear the tub filling with hot water, steaming up the mirror, warming the room. It caused prickles of sweat to break out on her neck.

"Where's Joe? What did you do to him?"

"Like I said, he and Nando are old friends," he said, gesturing with his thumb. “If there's some bad blood between them, that's none of my business. Anyway, despite everything I said about that kid not being worthy of you, you still had to go and get involved with him. It’s not my fault that outlaws have a tendency to get killed." Aaron looked from Fox to Brenda, whose long, tan hand curled over the vintage logo on Fox's chest, her other hand caressing his blonde fauxhawk. "I also know the money in that briefcase Beeson gave me isn't worth as much as the paper I use to wipe my ass."

Aaron's cool facade turned purple. He tried to run at Fox and Brenda. "Goddamnit, you bitch, you sold me out!" The thugs grabbed him. Ruby sunk into the floor, her eyes on the matted tan carpet, her limbs too weak to hold her. This was her life. This was her curse: to have her eyes opened, briefly, sweetly, by a young man, who loved her despite her every mistake. "This was not our fucking deal, Fox,” said Aaron.

"Well, maybe not yours," he remarked. "Hand me that knife, will you, Nando?" As if he were cracking open a beer, Fox reached behind him and slit Brenda's throat from ear to ear. Ruby wished she hadn't had to see the horror in Aaron's eyes as her body slumped to the ground like an unzipped dress. Ruby had difficulty breathing herself as she turned her head away. Aaron, however, rushed toward Fox. An explosion from Nando's gun sent him sprawling, but Ruby could barely hear it; her heart was pounding so loud, water rushed into her ears as if she'd been dunked under cold water. She was going to die. She was the last one.

Fox knelt down and put her arm around her the way he used to when they were working together back at the dealership, back when she thought it was okay because he was hot and he wanted to take care of her, and she'd been so ignorant of what other beautiful things were in the world. Her mistake was in thinking she could have them; that she deserved them.

"Now that we've tied up the loose ends," he looked dispassionately at the two bodies on the floor-- “We're going to take a little trip uptown, so you can show me what little spider hole your brother stashed the money he stole from me in before I ordered him killed."

"What money--? I don't?"

Nando reached down to manhandle her.

"Hands off, Nando,” Fox barked. “Nobody touches her but me.”

"Wrong. Nobody touches her, period.”

"What the--?" Fox looked more annoyed than really angry, but Ruby didn't even have to see Joe to recognize his voice. A white wave of relief passed through her. He was alive, and it wasn’t a dream or a desert illusion. He looked like he'd been in a car accident. He was missing his jacket, his jeans were torn, his blond hair mussed and matted, blood oozing down from multiple wounds on his head and neck. He was brandishing a gun she’d never seen before, but the guns of Fox’s two thugs were trained on him. Toward his heart. In his eyes was mixed up apology, fear, and something she had never dared hope to see. She hung her head again, breathing harshly. “Ruby, look at me. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

"Jesus Christ. Next time when I need a Steel Jockey killed, I'll do it myself," Fox said, glaring at Nando. He stood and brushed himself off. "You know, Ryan, you've got a good act going for you. I mean, it ain't Shakespeare, but I could see it off-Broadway at least."

"What, with your pathetic jokes as an opener?" growled Joe.

Fox laughed. "They’re no more pathetic than a poor kid scrabbling for the brass ring.” He held up the small gold key in his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Joe.

“Come on, guys, really? I'm seriously the only one here who knows this thing was more than a cute little bauble from Ruby’s old man?" He looked pointedly at Joe, who swallowed, looking frantically from the necklace to Ruby to Fox.

"He didn't know what it was," she said. "He couldn't have known." But Joe’s amber eyes suddenly hidden in shadow.

"Why do you think he's kept you around this whole time? Out of loyalty? Esteem? Sentimentality?" Fox sneered. "When Nando found him, he'd already pried it open. How much do you want to bet his next stop was Oakland? Then Rio? Or Hong Kong?"

"But--but he gave it back to me!" she insisted.

"Only when you forced him to. Look, he knew that red ice on your neck was his ticket out of this shithole. Look at this kid." Ruby's eyes fell on the golden intensity in Joe's eyes, his blond hair matted and dusty against his face, the righteous clench of his jaw, his collarbone rising up and down above the t-shirt and hoodie, the bulletproof vest he wore. When she'd seen him burst in, she thought she'd never seen anything so beautiful, as when he'd found her in the desert and knelt down, holding the bottle to her lips like an angel. Now she didn't know what to think. "He's smart, ambitious, ruthless. And pretty; my god. Hell, I’d do him if I were you. Sure he might have crawled up out of a ditch to begin with, but let's face it; he’s more than just your garden-variety thug. He could do anything, be anyone. But this isn't a Dickens novel, and orphans don't always get a tidy inheritance from some long lost uncle, as you well know. All he needed was the cash. He and your dear departed brother thought they had it all figured out a year ago. Undercutting the Kalashnikov racket was just for starters. Yes, the president and vice president of the Steel Jockeys teamed up to rob their own M.C. blind."