Bones by the Wood (3 page)

Ready to start her shift, she rounded the shelves and headed straight for the counter. 

“Hey, Val.  How’s it been?”  Her co-worker, Val Rooker, was ten years older than Thea and had worked at the store since she had been legally able to. Val was rail thin and always, whatever the weather, had her brassy, blonde curls piled on top of her head in the same style every day.  She firmly believed that no outfit was complete without inches of sunburnt cleavage on view and had a cigarette clamped between her lips every minute that she wasn’t at work.

“Hey, Thea.  Quiet today.  It’s not the same without the boys around.  No eye candy at all.”

Thea had no clue what to say, knowing what she did now about the demise of the MC.  She aimed for neutrality.

“Yeah.  Guess we’re back to ogling drunks and stoners.”  Val slipped out from behind the counter and Thea took her place.

Val lingered a moment at the end of the counter.  “What about your guy?  He was one of ‘em wasn’t he?” 

Thea tapped a few keys on the cash register to check the total before the next transaction and answered without looking up from the LED display.  “Yeah.  Not heard from him in a while.  Guess he found someone else.”  Thea shrugged, in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner.  “Guess I better get back to my BOB.”

“Jesus, honey.  If he went lookin’ elsewhere, then he was seven kinds of stupid.”  Val was visibly mortally offended on Thea’s behalf.

Thea sighed and shrugged again.  “He wouldn’t be the first one, Val.  He wouldn’t be the first.”

Val gave Thea a sympathetic smile.  Thea’s shifts often followed on from Val’s.  The hours that they worked suited them both, and when they needed time off they often swapped shifts or arranged to double up to cover for each other.  They usually had the opportunity to chat as they swapped over, so Val was well versed in Thea’s love life, or generally the lack thereof, and Thea was equally well versed in Val’s trials and tribulations with her alcoholic husband, Norm.

“One day, honey.  One day you’ll find Prince Charming.”

“He don’t exist, Val.  He never fuckin’ did.”  Even to her own ears Thea sounded jaded and tired.

“You’re too young to be this cynical, honey.”

“No, Val. I’m too old to be that dumb.”

Val snorted her amusement.  “Touché, honey.  I best get home or Norm’s gonna be wondering where the hell I am.  You take care, y’hear?”

“Sure thing, Val.  You too.”

“See you tomorrow, Thea.”  Val flung over her shoulder as she headed to the lounge.

Thea smiled after Val and then settled into waiting for the next customer.  She had a couple of hours until Dwight, the boss, arrived, and then she’d find out whether he was doing the stock take or she was.

She’d never had any clear idea of what she wanted to do with her life; certainly a career as a convenience store clerk hadn’t been high up on her list.  But it was a way to pay the bills.  Thea smiled a wry grin to herself as she remembered her mother’s declaration that she would end up in a dead end job. 

Thea had gotten along just fine with her parents until her adolescence clashed with her mother’s menopause, resulting in some truly epic fights.  Her dad had gone into hiding from the hormones and had never re-emerged from his world of fishing and gardening.  An association with an unsuitable boyfriend had all but destroyed any hint of a relationship that Thea and her mother had left.  She’d finished high school out of sheer stubbornness, just to prove her mother wrong, and made sure that she’d maintained decent grades for the same reason.

The day after graduation she’d moved in with the unsuitable boyfriend and had gotten a job in the local 7 Eleven while she figured out what to do with her life.  She didn’t have the funds to go to college.  About the same time that she’d found out that she was pregnant, she discovered that the unsuitable boyfriend’s drug habit was quite a bit more than the recreational dabbling that he’d let her think it was.  By the time their little boy was born, dealers had started knocking at their door looking for money.  She was the sole earner since the boyfriend had gotten himself fired for turning up to work stoned.  The second time that she’d found the apartment trashed, with a fucking huge turd in her baby’s crib as a finishing touch, she tried to convince her boyfriend to sort out his issues, and he’d beaten her for even suggesting it.

By that point she was too embarrassed and too stubborn to go back to her parents, who would have been too horrified about a child born out of wedlock to even answer the door if she knocked, but the dealers had started threatening her personally and were making hints about the baby.  She decided pretty quickly that she wasn’t going to stick around and find out what they had in mind for the sake of someone who couldn’t even keep his fists away from her face, so she packed her and Josh up and moved across the state.  It had been just the two of them ever since.

Working in a convenience store suited her.  When Josh had been a lot younger she’d opted to work nights; it was easier to find a babysitter for a sleeping child.  Once he was attending school regularly, she’d been able to supplement her income with occasional afternoon shifts.  Once or twice it had been suggested that she might want to think about training up to take the store manager role, but Thea had decided against it.  She couldn’t afford formal childcare for Josh before and after school, even on the increased salary, and quite frankly, she didn’t need the stress of a managerial position.

The whoosh of the doors alerted her to a prospective customer.  When she looked up, she saw two high school kids, a boy and a girl, practically glued to each other and obviously ditching.  Mentally she made herself a bet that the girl would be knocked up in three months.

Thea still felt bad about just carrying on with her life, about pretending that she knew nothing about Elvis’ disappearance, about not doing anything about the fact he was probably dead.  It hadn’t been love, probably never would have been, but it might have been the start of something more serious than a fling.  But Annelle was right.  When it came down to the safety of her son, Thea would do anything.  So she would just go ahead and forget that she’d ever known Elvis of the Rabid Dogs MC.

Dizzy had figured out pretty quickly that he needed to wait an extra second for the left door of the mini market to slide all the way open, otherwise a fella was in danger of walking right into the plate glass or at the least catching his shoulder on the steel edge.  He was on his way to the clubhouse for the Friday Church meeting, and had figured he’d better stop for supplies first. 

The clerk glanced up from the magazine she was reading when he walked in.  She flipped it closed and slipped it under the counter before standing up straight.  Dizzy smiled.  He’d come across this girl more than once; she regularly worked the late shift, which was usually when he remembered whatever it was he needed or had the time to get it.  She was quick and efficient, and although he figured she must be bored out of her brain standing behind that counter for hours on end, she didn’t show it, and she didn’t have that couldn’t give a fuck attitude that a lot of convenience store clerks had.  If she was in this early she was most likely pulling a double shift.  He’d realized she did that when, on a few occasions, he’d stopped by in the early evening and then for something he’d forgotten on his way home from the clubhouse.

He nodded a greeting, which was returned with a quick smile, and headed on up the aisle.  It was positively chilly inside the store.  The air conditioning was still going, even though the temperatures outside had dropped with the onset of autumn.  It still wasn’t cold, but at least now it was a dry heat, much more comfortable than the sticky, humid summer of Louisiana.

This store was obviously low down on the chain’s list of refits.  The cream tile-effect linoleum was scuffed and scarred.  The shelving was dented and different colors where repairs had been made.  The counter where the clerk stood housed one register, but it was plain to see that at one time there had been two.  There were two grey patches where the finish had been scrubbed away by years of purchases being unloaded to be rung up.

Dizzy wended his way through the aisles as he picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels and a box of condoms.  Almost as an afterthought he picked up a pack of chocolate chip cookies to ease an attack of the munchies that was sure to hit in the early hours and some maple syrup when he remembered he’d used the last of the bottle over his pancakes that morning. 

His basic grocery shopping completed, he headed over to the counter to pay.  He asked for a couple of packs of his brand of smokes as he walked up and watched as the girl, he didn’t know her name, turned round to get them from the display cabinet behind her.  It was definitely a highlight of his night if she was working when he came in.  Her shirt, which was obviously a requirement of the job, was just fucking ugly, but it was thin, and on an evening like this, that was a very good thing.  He could see her nipples, hardened to points by the effect of the air conditioning, from yards away.  She was slim, but those tits would be a bit more than a handful. She had a mane of black hair which was usually trying to escape whatever she’d tied it back with, and bangs that brushed eyes that were so blue it was almost scary.  He was intrigued by the ink he could see flowing out from under her left sleeve to her elbow, and he wondered if there were more of those roses elsewhere on her body.

Dizzy unloaded his armful of purchases on the counter and began to pull out his wallet, but paused for a second at the girl’s quizzical expression.  She looked up with a grin as she began to ring the items through.

“Looks like you’re plannin’ one hell of a night.”

Dizzy looked, really looked, at the items on the counter and realized what she meant.  Liquor, smokes, rubbers, chocolate, and syrup.  Yeah, it looked like he was planning something fun, and messy.

He only realized he hadn’t answered her when she continued as she rang the cookies through.  “And the gentleman brings cookies.  Whoever she is, she’s a lucky woman.”

Strangely he wanted to deny the presence of a female in his life, but if he did that he was going to look like a real fucking deviant given the pile of goods on the counter.  “I’ve got a sweet tooth. Sue me.”

She picked up the maple syrup and turned it around in her hands a couple of times, obviously for effect since she must have seen hundreds of the fucking bottles. 

“Sweet... but sticky.”

Something about the way she almost caressed the bottle, the teasing light in her eyes and the ways she dropped her voice caused Dizzy’s cock to stir. 

“When you’re in the moment, no one gives a shit about sticky, darlin’.”

He watched her long, delicate fingers as she stroked the neck of the bottle of Jack before she scanned it and put it in the plastic bag with the other items.  His mouth went dry, and when he cottoned to her widening grin, he realized that she’d done that on purpose and that he’d been staring.  Thankfully, he was maintaining some iota of cool and wasn’t drooling like a teenager.

“Hmmm, mmmm.  Sticky is good.”  She practically purred, drawing out the syllables.

Dizzy had an urge to find out if he could make her purr like that with his cock in her, but she was done sliding everything over the scanner and it was time for him to be getting on with his night.   She shifted the bag closer to the edge of the counter and told him the total cost.  He handed her some bills and grabbed the bag.  She handed him his few dimes of change and he tipped them into the charity jar by the register.

He was about to leave, but he stopped.  “What’s your name, darlin’?”  God bless the lack of name tag that gave him a valid reason to glance at her chest every time he came in, checking if one had appeared.

She regarded him for a moment before she answered.  “Thea.”

“Pretty name.  I’m Dizzy.  Be seein’ you around, darlin’.”  He decided to leave before he did something that would make him late for Church and probably get her sacked.  If she responded at all, he didn’t hear her.

~o0o~

The Friday night Church meeting was well underway.  The men around the table were still finding their feet in this new charter and their way with each other, but Dizzy could already tell from the vibe that it had the makings of a solid charter.  He’d been living in Texas for almost two months now.  The first of the new patches had arrived two weeks after him, and the rest had trickled in afterwards.  This was only the second full meeting of the table.  Full for now, at least.  There was room for it to grow.  The hangarounds and potential Prospects of the Rabid Dogs MC had disappeared when it had become apparent that someone had taken the club out.  Dizzy didn’t mind; he didn’t want anyone with revenge in the back of their mind within a hundred miles of this place.  It would take a little time to build up the crowd around the club, but Dizzy was hoping that they would spot some suitable Prospect material early on.  It would be good to get some pure blood in the club.

The Priests had taken over the clubhouse that had once belonged to the Rabid Dogs, but they’d decided to almost completely remodel it.  They’d left the exterior as it was, mostly.  The white stucco, red tile and wide arched windows with their ironwork was attractive to Dizzy and practical for the weather and temperatures in this area.  To his mind, the fact that the building was sunk below ground level gave it a cozy feel.  The main changes that they’d made were to add two extensions onto the rectangular building.  On one side the addition now housed a decent–sized Chapel, rather than just one corner of the main room walled-off like an afterthought.  The other now encompassed garage bays on the other side of the building.  Part of that extension had included a large room for gym equipment and a boxing ring.  The aim of the garage was to provide facilities for the members in the short term, but in the long term they were planning to build it up as a legitimate club business and maybe capitalize on some of the good reputation of the Louisiana Priests’ automotive work and motorcycle customizations.

The general air of newness was enhanced by the shiny kuttes that the majority of the men seated at the, as yet un-marked, ruddy Mesquite wood table were wearing.  The leather was not yet worn and scarred, but it would be before long.  Dizzy’s was the only kutte that showed its age, although the rocker on the back bearing the legend “Texas” and the “President” patch over his chest were dazzlingly white compared to ones surrounding them.

Philip ‘Cage’ Carr was in the process of updating the meeting on his efforts to bring all the strip clubs that the Rabid Dogs MC had owned under the management of the Priests.  Dizzy had gotten the ball rolling, and Cage had taken up the baton.

“They’re all on board.  I can’t tell you boys what a nasty piece of work that was havin’ to visit all those establishments.  Of course it was hard to arrange the meets for the daytime, and I really felt that I should see the girls at work to check that we’re puttin’ our name to some quality places.  I am happy to report that indeed we are.”

Sniggers resounded around the table at Cage’s exaggerated tale of woe.  Compared to the other patches, Cage seemed tiny, but that had a lot to do with nearly every other patch being six foot or more.  Easy, who’d taken on the role of Treasurer, was the only man in the club shorter than Cage.  In addition to his height disadvantage, Cage had a bright, guileless smile that made him look all of ten years old despite the riotously curly brown hair that was liberally threaded with premature grey and the clear blue eyes. His smile was beaming at the moment.  Dizzy and Samuel had gotten to know Cage over years of attending the same biker rallies and similar events. They had recognized his intelligence, which was sorely under-utilized in the club he was in, due to the sheer number of patches and the lack of opportunity for promotion.  He’d jumped at the offer of a chance to be involved with building a charter from the ground up in a pivotal role.

“On a serious note, though, boys.  I get the impression they’re not all that bothered by the changin’ hand on the wheel.  It looks like there were some issues, namely protection not bein’ a high priority for the clubs further out.”

Mark ‘Fitz’ Fitzgerald leant forward.  “I s’pose it’s up to us to prove we can do better.  We should keep a high profile at the clubs that were most pissed. Just to prove our intentions and all that.”

Fitz looked like the scary bastard that he was.  He was perfect in the role of Sergeant at Arms.  He had linear scars crossing his face and most of his torso, the result of a prosperous stint in underground fighting rings in his early twenties.  Fitz had grown up in the system after being removed from his crack addict mother only minutes after his birth.  Most people that knew the man’s history wondered at him not being a raving sociopath; the fact that he wasn’t was mostly due to the brotherhood he’d found in the MCs he’d been a member of during the thirty years since the state had cut him loose.

John ‘Easy’ Ryder nodded in mock sincerity.  “I’m sure we can manage that between us, boss.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you can.”  Dizzy smiled wryly.  “Think we might have to work out a schedule, though.  Can’t have all you boys disappearin’ round the state for weeks at a time.”

There was more laughter.  Easy hitched his chin towards Chris ’Ferret’ Goodwin, the club’s intelligence officer.  “Your old lady Lyla’s takin’ up at the Dusky Kitten ain’t she?”

Ferret nodded as he took a deep drag on his cigarette.  Named for his appearance, enhanced by the scruffy light brown hair and goatee, as much as his ability to find information as a hacker, he defined the term ‘Chain Smoker’.  “She sure is,” he said through a plume of exhaled smoke.

Dom Reed and Scott Collins, otherwise known as Scooby and Shaggy, were both shaking their heads in disbelieving skepticism.  Both men were huge, well over six feet tall and heavily muscled.  They’d come from the same club and had both just finished a long stint in prison, during which it seemed they had worked out during every waking moment.  They reminded Dizzy of Shark, damn mountains walking around.  They’d gotten out only to find that their old club had gone legit.  They’d been struggling to settle into the quiet, legal life and had been glad of the opportunity to join an active outlaw charter.  Scooby had dark eyes and dark hair that he kept buzzed short, Shaggy was blue-eyed with long, blonde hair that fell past his shoulders.  They were close friends, and Shaggy’s hair had inspired Ferret to give then their nicknames, which had suited them down to the ground and rapidly replaced their old road names.

“How did a scrawny shit like you bag a goddess like her?”  Scooby asked.

“My twelve inch cock and my sparkling wit, fuckhead.”  Ferret replied with a smile through billowing smoke.

“Does she do that shit with the feather fans in bed?”  Shaggy looked genuinely interested.