Swallow the Moon (18 page)

After a tense afternoon, June drove to the City Jail. She'd never been there before, so she had to call for directions. Inside, the concrete and steel pressed in on her. Even the air seemed thick and heavy. She repressed a shudder as they escorted her deep inside to a cold, bare room.

"Hey, you came!" Eric gave her a smile. It was obvious that he'd been in a fight. He had a split lip, scabbed knuckles; his left eye was swollen and black.

"Yeah, I'm here." June smiled back at him.

"Good, now I can leave." He looked over at the officer. "Right?"

"Don't leave town until your court date," the officer warned.

As soon as they were out of the building, June's temper flared.

"You owe me an explanation, remember?" June folded her arms across her chest.

For a moment he looked down at his boots. June wondered if he was concocting a lie or getting ready to tell his life story. With a deep breath, he looked back at her.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you. I had to call a friend who would make my bail."

At least he didn't ask her to make his bail. That had 'loser' written all over it.

There was a steady stream of people in and out of the jail building. There was no sense talking about this in the middle of the sidewalk where anyone could hear.

"My car is over there." June turned back towards her car.

"The guys who jumped me on Bridge Street thought I was Jake." Eric ran his fingers through his hair. "A couple of people have done that. I must look a lot like him."

"It's the bike," she said without thinking. "You don't look that much alike."

"How do you know?" Eric grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "June?"

She tried to brush him off as she felt her cheeks get hot. This wasn't any of his business; she didn't want to talk about it. He might feel sorry for her – which would be humiliating. Eric didn't let go of her arm. He waited for her to make eye contact, which made her angry.

"Have you seen him?"

"I told you, I can see spirits."

"This keeps getting worse and worse."

"It doesn't concern you."

"The hell it doesn't."

"Let's go." She tugged against his grip.

"I need to know what he looks like."

"He has long straight hair and a beard; you're taller, heavier." She switched tactics. "If you would sell the bike, you wouldn't have these problems."

"That's not going to happen." He dropped his hold on her; it was his turn to look away. He started walking towards the car.

"I knew you would say that." Well, wasn't that just like a man? Present him with a simple solution and he wouldn't take it. How deep did Cora have her hooks in him? June unlocked her car, they both got in.

"Thank you for helping me." He rubbed his bruised hands. "I'm used to enemies that I can see. This is – too freaky for words."

It was an opening that June decided to take.

"Spirits are usually harmless, but Cora's a trouble maker." June toyed with her keys. "It's not natural for her to be hanging on like this. I don't understand what she's doing here." She frowned as she started her car.

"Since I came back from Cincinnati, Cora's been whispering in my ear." Eric looked down and away. "The only time she's not is when I'm around you."

June made a mental note of that tidbit. It might come in handy later.

"It's not like that with Jake," June assured him. "He's not a threat to me. But he's got unfinished business of some sort."

"Olson implied that Jake shot someone during the drug bust." Eric toyed with the band of his watch. "That might explain it."

"It might, but the motorcycle is the key," June said, driving carefully out of the parking lot. "Both Jake and Cora are attached to it."

"Then I need to talk to Van Man Go."

"Do you think that Van Man Go is going to help you out?" June snorted. "Not likely."

"I need to try. Last time I talked to him – my head got fuzzy." He fidgeted, rubbing his scabbed knuckles. "I need to keep a clear head this time. He has to know something."

"That doesn't mean he'll tell you."

"No – it doesn't."

As June drove to the Harbor, Eric told her about the fight. As usual, Bridge Street had a lot of traffic. June pulled up in front of Van Man Go's body shop. She was blocking the driveway – but was out of traffic. The bay doors were open, old acid music blared from cheap speakers. The music was familiar, guitars and bass with a drum back-beat. It sounded like Cora's song from the video. The music gave her the cheeps.

"I guess this is it." June turned to Eric. There were a dozen things that she wanted to say; all of them would make her sound like a nut. She reached into her pocket, palming the red stone heart.

He turned away from her, one hand opening the door, the other on the dash. "Will you come with me?" Eric turned to look at her over his shoulder. "I want you to see the pictures of Cora Cobra."

"She's a tall skinny Goth with black hair in a black leather corset. I'll bet her boyfriends called her Mistress and paid her to whip them."

"You
have
seen her." Eric laughed.

He was in so much trouble already; did he have to go back for more? June caught his sleeve with her fingers. "Please don't get into any more trouble. I can't keep saving your ass."

Eric turned back to her; his eyes were serious. He gave her a hug, then laid a soft lingering kiss on her lips. The leather under her hands, the width of his shoulders and the strength of his arms conspired to weaken her resolve to let him go.

"I'll come out to your house when I'm done here."

June tightened one arm around his shoulders. She looked into his deep green eyes for a moment before she kissed him again. The scent of leather and musk fogged her head. As he deepened the kiss, the light rose within her, until she breathed it into his mouth. When he finally broke the kiss, she was light-headed and every nerve was humming. On impulse, she slipped the stone heart into his pocket.

"Please be careful." She flicked a glance at the traffic behind her, then back to Eric, walking into the bay doors of Van Man Go's body shop.

Maybe Eric could make Van talk, but she doubted it.

~^~

Eric took a deep breath before he walked into the open shop. He could still taste June, like the sweet lingering tang of a breath mint. What was he going to do about her? He rubbed his itchy face with the back of his knuckles. The pain was gone, from his mouth, his cheekbones and his body.

He resisted the impulse to check his reflection in a car window. The split in his lip didn't hurt, he could breathe without pain and his mangled knuckles were merely sore. Just like his injuries from the wreck, he healed up after a kiss.

He didn't believe in magic.

"Hey Van, you around?" Eric called over the beat of a drum solo. He looked around for the skinny artist. There was no one in the bay. He walked over to the office and knocked. The door opened, Eric saw dark colors and smelled patchouli and pot as Van Man Go opened the office and stepped out. The tattooed and pierced artist looked as shrunken as ever. His eyes were red and glassy; a joint was clamped in his mouth.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Van showed his filed teeth. "I heard you had some trouble."

"Some." Eric shrugged. "I'm here now." A thin run of keyboard music from speakers by the wall drew his eyes to the collage of photos on the wall. There was no mistaking Cora in black leather with her snake wrapped around her waist. A trick of the light, or wind on the photo, made it look like her body swayed in time to the music. He could feel her beside him, a whisper of air brushing through his hair, as she danced solely for him. 

"That's a heck of a shiner." Van smiled crookedly. "The Harbor is a rough place. Bright boy like you should know better than to tangle with the natives." There was a malevolent glint in Van's bloodshot eyes as he took another hit, blowing the smoke and his rank breath into Eric's face.

"Keep that shit to yourself." Eric waved away the smoke, glaring at Van.

The brush against his hair had turned to the faint, but unmistakable trailing touch of Cora's fingers. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck. The music rose to a throbbing bass beat. Between the stench of pot and Cora's maddening teasing, Eric's head started to throb in time to the music.

"I got my other project finished yesterday." Van watched Eric with his bloodshot eyes. "I've got the time to work on your bike."

Finally – the words he'd been waiting to hear. Cora stroked the side of his face, whispering an obscene suggestion in his ear. Eric batted at her, touching nothing. The distraction broke his concentration – wasn't there something else?

Nothing mattered except restoring the bike.

"It'll take me eight weeks to restore the bike. You can pay cash or make payments with half down."

"Eight weeks to touch up some scratches?"

"I don't do shit work. What you think I'm going to do – fill them with Bondo? The chrome is gouged, boy. It needs to be re-chromed. The plastic fairing is stress fractured, it has to be replaced. May not show now, but hit a bump and see what happens." He snapped his fingers. "It'll shatter like that."

"That's a long time." Even if Van was right, Eric didn't want to hang around that long. He wanted to leave Ashtabula as soon as the court date was over, never to return.

Make me perfect.
Cora's hands shifted from Eric's back to his butt and thighs. The wicked trailing of her invisible fingertips was playing hell with Eric's resolve. He
had
come all this way to make her perfect again. His eyes shifted to the photos of Cora on the bike – flawless, sexy, the bike of his dreams. A bike to die for – the envy of everyone who saw it – he owned it.

"It's going to cost you –" Van named a figure that rocked Eric back on his heels. Van grabbed a sheet of paper from a pocket on the wall. There was a folder tucked behind a bunch of papers labeled 'Busa. Van pushed the sheet and a pen at Eric.

"Standard contract," Van said. "I can order the parts as soon as you sign."

"That's a signature page." Eric glanced over Van's shoulder. "Where's the rest?" He reached for the folder. Van blew smoke in his face. Eric stepped back, coughing, the room spun a little.

"What do you care about contracts? You a lawyer?"

Cora writhed against Eric's butt as screeching guitars made his ears buzz. Eric's temper frayed. He was being railroaded. Did they think he was stupid? He shoved the page back at Van.

"I read the contract or I walk."

"You want Cora restored or not?" Van's eyes narrowed, a sneer lifted a corner of his mouth.

Cora wrapped her arms around Eric's waist, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. Eric calculated his reach against Van's shorter stature. He shifted, snagging the folder from the wall pocket.

Van snatched the opposite corner. The smaller man's eyes flashed red with fury. A cold chill hit Eric's spine, like a snowball to the back of the neck.

"What's in the contract?" Eric couldn't pull it from Van's hand.

"You think you’re a badass, do you, boy?"

"I've seen death more than once, old man," Eric answered, straightening to his full height. Afghanistan had been a nightmare. Eric's Guard unit had taken supplies deep in the heart of enemy territory for the Spec Ops guys. They had been ambushed every single time, fighting their way out and back to base.

"There's death, then there's an eternity in hell." Van came up to Eric's chin; yet he was in Eric's face.

"I've been in combat. How about you?" Eric sneered.

Every dead body he'd seen was suddenly flashing before his mind's eye. He looked down at the skinny artist and wondered why his mind was flooding with all the ugly memories he usually repressed. Eric could smell the sharp acrid scent of burning vehicles and dead bodies. He broke a sweat, staring Van down and bottling his growing rage.

"Don't fuck with me, old man. I've done my share of killing." He was going to strangle the little rat!

To keep from grabbing Van by the throat, Eric shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket. His fingers closed around a cold stone. Immediately, his rage cooled, the smell was gone and the images faded.

"If you don't want the bike restored, it's no skin off my ass."

"I'm not signing your bullshit contract." The stone in his hand was cold, soothing his rage. He was
not
going to choke the slimy bastard.

Stalemate.

"I'll tell you what. You sell me that bike for – say ten large. I'll cancel out
old debts
." Van narrowed his eyes, watching Eric closely. He kept a tight hold on the folder.

Don't sell. I belong to you and only you.
Cora was still driving him nuts. Her frantic attempts to seduce him pissed him off even more.

"No deal." The bike was his – he was keeping it.  

Van spat on the folder.

It caught fire.