Survivor: Steel Jockeys MC (6 page)

"Oh, Fox, no," Ruby said the next Monday after work, when Fox stopped her outside the dealership and told her he had something for her. "Not again." Fox grinned and dug into the pockets of his tight black Nudie jeans. Two tickets to the Boys & Girls Club charity gala. She gaped at them. "But Fox, why? You could take anybody."

"You know me. I like to make an entrance," he said, with only a slight turn-up of his lip. "And the best way to do that is on the arm of the most beautiful woman I know.”

She looked down at her scuffed velvet ballet flats, suddenly feeling plain. "I don't have anything to wear."

Fox dug into his other pocket and pulled out an envelope--a Saks gift card. For five thousand dollars. She held it like a leaf in her hand that might blow away. "When you get there, ask for Mona, my personal shopper. She'll take care of you." He pressed the card further into her hand, closing her limp fingers around it. Ruby already felt like a rag doll, a toy to dress up. This was too much. "I have some business to attend to tonight, and I won't be able to drive you home. So I also wanted to give you this," said Fox. He took a small key off the ring from his skinny jeans pocket, opened a locked cabinet in his desk, and took out a nine-millimeter Beretta. He set it on the desk in front of him.

She took a step away, the mere sight of the cold black surface of the gun making her feel physically ill. She’d told Fox about the graffiti and the tire tracks in front of her apartment as soon as she’d seen him. Of course, she’d weighed keeping it to herself, but she knew that in the end, Fox was her best defense against the Steel Jockeys. He had all the resources, all the knowledge. She’d be selfish and foolish not to let him help her.

Fox came closer, placing the gun in her hand and gently raising her arms so that she was aiming it toward the trunk of a massive oak tree growing in the lot next door. "Listen to me, Ruby. There's something happening. I don't know precisely what, but I'm going to try to find out. The same guys who killed your brother may try to find you. These are dangerous men, Ruby. I can't be there to protect you all the time, although god knows I wish I could. Take it," he said. "For Kyle's sake, if not for mine."

"You don't understand." She'd been terrified of guns her whole life. That was how her father had died--shot and bled out before the vandals set fire to his store, and later, Kyle had met his fate the same way. There was no other use for a gun than killing another human being with a single flick of the finger.

He curled his hand around the handle.

"I’ll help you. Spread your legs a bit more. You need balance. Keep your eyes on the side of the trunk." Trembling, she raised her arms and stared over the barrel. She felt the gun cock, and her stomach twisted. This might have been the last sound Kyle heard before his life began oozing away on the sidewalk.

"I can't," she dropped the weapon, where it rolled innocently on the grass beneath their feet. She collapsed into his arms, happy to have any respite from the terrifying prospect she had been presented with. "I can't, Fox."

"You can," he said. He kissed her forehead. "Now let's try this again."

The doorbell rang. Upstairs, Ruby had just slipped into jeans and an oversized fisherman's sweater that had once belonged to her father. She couldn’t relax, so she’d been thinking of heading down to the neighborhood Starbucks to surf the Internet; maybe do some more research on the Berkeley sociology department.

Nervously, she glanced at the time display on her bedside alarm clock, which read 7:30 p.m. in bright red numbers. She was sure she was being paranoid, if not downright ridiculous. She stopped dead in the doorway between the kitchen and the front hall. Yes the doorbell had rung. So why did she hear a noise behind her?

A cool, smooth hand curled expertly around her face and over her mouth. "Don't fight me, and whatever you do, don’t open the door,” softly said a mysterious speaker from behind her. "There’s a guy out there who probably wants to kill you."

Ruby tried to scream, to bite his hand, but she lay helpless against the taut, wiry torso of the man who held her.

He wore a t-shirt under a leather jacket. The scent of him, as her head pressed against the crook of his neck, wasn't unpleasant. Like well-worn leather and a bit of the outdoors in it--tree bark, salt water. His voice sounded strangely young, not at all gruff, but the strong expertise of his grip told her this was a guy who knew how to get physical, and had done so many times. She felt pools of sweat break out under her arms. He must have been able to hear the neck breaking pace of her heart, pumping blood throughout her body. She finally understood what her 10th-grade biology teacher meant when he had explained adrenaline: fight or flight. So which would it be?

The Beretta was in her purse on the kitchen counter, but even if she could reach it, she couldn't, in a million years, imagine herself brave enough to use it. She'd laughed at Fox for being overprotective, but she'd never thought this moment would actually come. Instead, she stood frozen, cursing her cowardice. She of all people should have been able to defend herself. Her only other option, she supposed now, was to outsmart him.

“Who are you?” she tried to ask through his palm, muffled through layers of skin and bone.

He seemed to understand, though. He paused for a second, as if debating whether to tell her. He took a deep breath. "Joseph Ryan. I'm a friend of Kyle's."

She jerked again. "I know what Kyle's friends did to him." She was aggressive enough that he loosened his hand a little, her words almost intelligible.

"So do I. I can explain everything, but if you don't do what I say, neither of us will live long enough for me to do that, so here's what's going to happen. We're going to go out the back door and get on my bike, and then I'm going to take you somewhere safe."

"No freaking way.” What made this nut think she was going anywhere with him, let alone on a motorcycle? She tensed her shoulder again and made another effort to jerk away. He held her fast.

"You think this guy is here to deliver a pizza?" he growled, clearly frustrated at her refusal to cooperate instantly. In his world, maybe that was what women did--go along with whatever their men told them to do. But she wasn’t part of his world. Not yet, anyway. She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “He's here to hurt you. At best.”

And how do I know you're not?
she wanted to protest. Suddenly, the front door creaked open, and the sound of a footstep on the hardwood floor of the kitchen startled them both into stillness.

Immediately, barely pausing to think, she reached for the remote control for the TV, which she’d left lying on the arm of a chair. Joseph immediately tried to grab it away. "What are you--?"

But she wrenched it back, pointed through the doorway, and hit the power button, praying it was in range. After a second, the TV clicked into life. It was set to Cartoon Network; some kiddie show featuring hyperactive characters with comically oversized noses. How embarrassing; she must have been watching reruns of "American Dad" last night in an attempt to unwind from the bizarreness of her evening with Fox. She avoided glancing at the young man who held her, though his surprise at the sudden noise had him loosening his grip. The man in black had paused on the stairs to listen.

"Anybody home?" she heard him call in a throaty voice. The two of them were already halfway out the back door before he could call again, and Ruby closed her ears.             

Joseph had parked his Harley just out of view, behind the grove of the trees that grew near the fence next to the outdoor pool, which had been shuttered for the winter.

"Hey!" she whispered as he grabbed her handbag, opened it, and began pawing through. She winced as she watched him set his eyes on the Beretta. He looked up and actually smiled at her. She got a good look at his eyes. Amber flecked with gold, even a little green. He reached up to touch his hair, almost nervously, then stuck the gun in the waistband of his skinny dark jeans.

"I'm going to have to borrow this, too." He grabbed her smartphone out of the side pocket.

"My phone? What is this, a kidnapping?"

"Relax. You can have it back once we get far enough out of town so that I can keep an eye on you." Ruby glowered at him, then opened her mouth to speak before he interrupted her. "No, I didn't bring any duct tape if that was going to be your next question."

They kept low as they crept down the hill leading to the center compound of the complex, hoping the man in the house wouldn't be startled by their silhouettes.

He hopped up onto the bike in one quick, almost effortless leap. She just stood there, watching him. "Well?"

"Isn't he going to hear us pull out?"

"Yeah, but he won't be following. Not right away, at least."

"What did you do?" she asked, suspicion in her voice.

He ducked his head. "Slashed his tires."

"You--" She stopped, hands on hips, eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of this strange person who had come into her life ten minutes ago but was suddenly in control of every single move she made. "What are you, twelve?"

"Shh. Come on." He reached absentmindedly for her arm, and the feel of his leather glove through her thin sweater startled her. She jerked away as if he'd rubbed a burning ember on her skin. "Don't touch me. Ever."

He bent his head and laughed, and his longish hair swung down over his eyes. "I hate to break it to you, but that's kind of a requirement if you’re going to ride with me."

He reached down a hand to help her up. She refused it as quickly as if it had been crawling with insects. She braced her hands on the seat instead, saying a quick prayer to spare herself the humiliation of not making it up. She vaulted up athletically, spreading her legs and settling herself down in the saddle, the fabric of her skinny jeans insulating her skin from the thick leather. If he was impressed, he kept it to himself. She reached out her hands gingerly, a whisper, around the outside of his jacket

"Come on, baby, a little tighter," he said, and she though his face was half turned away, she could glimpse the infuriating smile on his face. "Let's cuddle."

"Oh, please," she protested in disgust. "You're enjoying this."

"Maybe a little. Seriously, though, if you don't hold on tighter, I promise you won't like the results." She hated herself for jumping a bit as he kicked the engine into gear, as it startled her into complying. She couldn't let him see any weakness; he had to believe that she wouldn't hesitate to shoot him if she could get hold of the gun, which she noted he had placed in the Harley's right saddlebag. She knew it was either wrap her arms around his waist, or go flying off the motorcycle the minute he pulled onto the freeway.

"I hate you," she muttered, but she couldn't hear his response as the bike shuddered and took her away. The warm tenseness of his torso under the leather was the only indication he had heard.

He thought he’d be able to handle knowing she was back there, but his whole body felt like a strand of hair pulled taut, ready to snap. The golden landscape of the San Joaquin Valley spread out before him, slowly turning to purple with the fading sun, nothing holding back the gathering starlight, finally free of the garish artificial lights of the city. He should have felt free too, as he always did straddling his bike. Knowing that whatever had troubled him, whatever had made him scream or cry or grieve, was now in the rear view. Kyle had always talked about how he felt the same way, and it was one of the reasons they were close. For Joe, who had lived in many places but called none of them home, riding away was escape. It meant he’d survived, once again.

He tried to relax as he drove, to loosen his grip on the handlebars and the clench of his thighs around the saddle, to let himself go, but he couldn't shake the constant awareness that Ruby Clarke was seated behind him, her wool-clad arms clinging dutifully to his waist. He couldn't figure out if she simply didn't want to try to speak to him over the noise, or if she was deliberately ignoring him.

The truth was, this was far from the first time he had had a girl on the back of his bike. As a teenager, girls used to literally push  each other out of the way to be the next to take a spin down the highway with Joseph Ryan. And he always tried to humor them, even if he wasn't interested in leading them on any further. After all, there was no better feeling in the world. Especially for a kid like him, who had nothing better to look at than to watch the dead-end streets fall away under his tires. The scolding faces on the sidewalk became featureless blurs, with a beautiful girl clinging tight to him, her long hair streaming in the wind. But it never meant anything more to him than a good ride, over to the next town and back again.

This was different, though. He could tell just in the way Ruby held onto him. She didn't cuddle close, the way he'd learned that girls liked to do. She didn't caress his torso or trace patterns on his hips, or rest her cheek delicately against the logo on the back of his jacket and close her eyes.

Her hands on his hips stayed taut, her muscles as tense and alert as an eagle perched on a branch, scanning the ground. As if she knew something was bound to go wrong. As if any minute she expected him to turn on her, do something to hurt her. As if she thought he was scum. He needed to disabuse her of that notion--not that he was scum; there was probably no helping that. But the idea that he would do anything to hurt her.

He reached into his pocket again, tempted, not for the first time, to take out the necklace and show it to her. At the very least; it would prove that he had known Kyle, that they had, at one time, been close. But it would also be one more piece of proof to tar him guilty for Kyle's death, and he knew that was precisely what Ruby was looking for: another excuse to write Joe off as worthless, as untrustworthy. To do what people had been doing to him all his life--at least, until he'd met Kyle and the Jockeys. He closed his gloved hands around the chain, tightly, just for second.

What if he passed it silently to her? No. He released his grip, and the chain tumbled deeper into his pocket. He'd know when the time was right. Jesus. How had things gotten so complicated?

He felt Ruby shiver, and coming back to earth, realized that they'd already been riding for an hour and a half. That was more than enough time, he decided, to chance a conversation and not risk her thinking him pushy. Besides, asking how she was doing couldn't hurt if he was trying to show her his intentions were good. "Are you warm enough?" he asked, afraid he sounded as awkward as he felt, and honestly not knowing quite what he'd do if she responded in the negative. Offer her his jacket, he supposed.

"I'll be fine," she said flatly. He was afraid that meant "no, but I'm not taking any charity from you." She hesitated. "Why is this thing so quiet?" she asked. "And yes, I realize the irony of the fact that I'm shouting, but it's only because the wind is so strong. The bike itself is just purring like a kitten over a bowl of milk."

"Yeah," he agreed, surprised and admittedly pleased that she'd noticed. "I fixed the pipes yesterday. I figured the last thing I needed was to call undue attention to myself by peeling out."

"That's got to be a first for one of you guys," Ruby scoffed.

He laughed a little, and he felt her grip on him change imperceptibly. "Who was that guy?" she finally asked in a smaller voice. Joe decided to be honest.

"He was a Reaper."

"A what?"

"A member of a different club."

"Why did he want...me?" she hesitated, as if every word she spoke was torturous. "It's because of Kyle, isn't it?" Joe felt himself gulp at the mention of his old friend's name.

"It's more complicated than that, but...yeah."

"Hey, road warrior," she said, poking him, and he could feel the tip of her fingernail in the small of his back. "The turnoff to Madelia was thirty miles back that way."

"I know. That’s not where we’re headed. At least not right away. That's the first place they'll look for you," he said. "We're going to stay with a friend of mine. Sean Donovan. He's president of another Steel Jockeys chapter."

"Where?"

"Outside Fresno."

"Dude, that's still another hour and a half away!" she protested. "We'll never make it back before morning. I do have a job you know. And by the way, the second I don't show up, my boss will have the state patrol on your ass before you can cross the county line." She was trying to sound threatening, but her voice hitched.

"Relax. I'm sure he'll understand the extenuating circumstances." He tried to keep his voice light.

"He would if you'd give me back my phone so I could call him."

"Calling Fox Keene is the last thing in the world I want you doing." If Ruby was surprised by the fact that Joe knew Fox was her boss, she didn't show it.

"Why not?"

Joe knew that telling her precisely why would mean going all the way back to before Kyle was killed. Not only would that open up enough cans of worms to fill a pantry, Ruby wouldn't believe him anyway. "Because we can't trust him."

Ruby laughed harshly. "By we, you mean the Jockeys, of course. God forbid any of you should have an independent thought. I wonder why you don't trust Fox?” she said idly.

Joe could feel her body language, which had actually started to relax, grow taut again. He wanted to duck his head as if a high wind was coming.

“Because he knows every single disgusting crime you guys have committed for the past ten years and could have you all put away with a phone call, but he's too polite to do it?” Ruby continued. “Because he had the sense to crawl out of your little snake pit of horrors while he still had his soul left intact? Or maybe because, unlike all the rest of you combined, he actually possesses more than two brain cells to rub together and thus knows that not every problem can be solved with a set of brass knuckles and a sawed-off shotgun?"

Joe could sense the rage in Ruby's voice, and knew she was once again thinking of Kyle. He wanted to scream back at her, to tell her, once and for all, that she couldn't have it more wrong. But he couldn't tell her the truth without making himself look worse than she already thought him. Instead, he gritted his teeth and kept a stranglehold on the handlebars, so much so that he forgot to signal as he impulsively edged into the turn lane and sped up the ramp to the nearest exit. He was fooling himself into thinking that if he drove hard enough he could outrun his emotions' mad swirl. He wasn't that familiar with the town, but he recognized the green neon glare of a BP station's lights. He pulled in.

"What are you doing? Where are we?" Ruby demanded.

"Gassing up," he muttered as he pulled into the nearly-empty parking lot, not trusting himself to say more. Glancing at the gauge, he knew he probably had just enough fuel to get them to Sean's, but he needed a time out, and he guessed that his new companion did too.

Joe hopped off the bike, as athletically as ever, and holding out his hand to Ruby who, predictably, ignored him. It was strange to look at her for the first time though. as they'd been so close for the past hour and a half. She sat stiffly on the back of the bike, looking straight ahead, her gray-green eyes big and deep and sad. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her sweater, and her curly chestnut hair looked like a squirrel's nest with its knots and tangles, partially plastered against her olive skin. Her lips had become chapped and she chewed on piece of loose skin nervously. Joe, realizing he was staring, grabbed for the gas pump before his emotions got revealed any further.

It was an almost physical agony, knowing how wrong Ruby had it, how Fox had her so completely brainwashed that she didn't understand that it was Fox who had betrayed them. On the other hand, Joe wasn't guiltless himself. What a mess. If only there was a movie that he could rewind to get Ruby to see that night through his eyes. Then, even if she still decided to condemn him, at least she'd know that Kyle’s culpability had had not been one of malice, but failure.

"Are you sure you don't need to use the bathroom, at least?" he ventured carefully, as he watched the numbers on the pump tick up, mentally measuring the figure against the dollars he had wadded up in the money clip in his pocket. Whatever he had left over after paying was going to get his bike out of the impound lot. "There's not a whole lot between here and Fresno." She ignored him. "Ruby?" he called again.

No sign of her. He turned around in a circle, but only saw a pickup pulling up under the lights and a grizzled guy exiting, opening a pack of Camels and some beef jerky. He raced to the door of the store, heart starting to thump, pushing hot blood into his head and chest, grim realization making his boots seem to stick to the pavement as if it were wet cement.

He should have done more--she'd been terrified, he cursed himself. And he'd only been able to offer awkward overtures and smartass comments to assuage her fears. Now he was paying the price. "Ruby?" he shouted.

His stomach did a somersault as he remembered what he'd stashed in the Harley's right saddlebag. Frantically, he reached down for it, only to find a gaping void. Ruby's handbag, wallet, and cell phone were gone, and so was the gun.