Earning the Cut (Riding the Line Series, Prequel) (7 page)

“We’re not that hard up, Crow. I ain’t trusting this patched-in imposter until he proves his ass.”

“Fuck you, Hawk. I don’t need to prove my shit. Money talks.” The man on the left sneered.

“Loony hasn’t given us any reason not to trust him.” The man called Crow replied. “Plus, we need this deal. We’re going broke trying to keep our noses clean. We need to branch out. If we don’t take advantage of what comes our way, we’ll be left in the dust. Look at the Sixers. They’re fucking done, man.”

“Whatever.”

In the dim light, Dax could make out the letters on the protestor’s vest.
Vice President.
There were also some words beneath the distinction but he couldn’t make them out.

“Guns will help us, man. My boy has a solid connection. It means a lot of fucking dough. More than you boys have ever played with.”

Dax was riveted, unable to turn away, as the three men talked about all manner of things he had never even imagined. Pussy, drugs, guns…it was like watching a crazy movie about the mafia. Only in this scene, the mafia was made up of a bunch of guys who sounded like they walked out of Nam and formed a club. Just as he figured it was time to sneak away, the man on the left sparked up a cigarette. The halo arching from his silver lighter illuminated the corner where Dax huddled. In synchronized unison, all three men turned to him as tension prickled down his spine.

***

“Hey! You piece of shit! Get your ass over here you fucking eavesdropper!”

Dax quickly surveyed his surroundings and it was obvious he was caught. The third man, Loony, looked pretty pissed off. Fighting the part of him that was scared, Dax squared his shoulders and nodded a greeting to the three men who stared at him.

The one called Crow laughed. “He’s just a kid, man. Let him alone.”

“I don’t like loose ends,” Loony grumbled, taking a few steps towards Dax.

Everything in Dax was screaming to run, and run hard. But he just couldn’t. Instead, he pulled a joint from his pocket and sparked it up, affecting an air of cool indifference. “Hey, bro. Looks like you need to relax. Want a drag?” He offered the hand-rolled cigarette to Loony.

Loony bristled. Just as Dax thought everything was about to go horribly wrong, the V.P. started to laugh uproariously. “He’s pegged you good, Loony Tunes!”

The other man, Crow, laughed too, his eyes meeting Dax’s, crinkling at the corners. “Nice, kid. Pass it along, then.”

Dax stepped forward, into the small circle of men framed by light from the streetlamp. He met the V.P.’s eyes and found them to be intelligent and curious, but somehow welcoming. As he handed the joint off to the man called Crow, he had the oddest feeling of déjà vu. It was almost like he imagined a kid with a real family would feel coming home.

The next thing he knew, he was following the older men into the bar at their invitation. Well, it was more of a demand rather than a request, but Dax was excited. It was loud in there—the heavy door was an effective barrier against the noise. Music was playing, chicks were dancing, and Dax stopped short, not knowing his place. Then, someone shoved a beer into his hand.

“I’m Hawk.”

“Dax.”

“Got a family, Dax?”

“Not really.” He looked away, unsure of how to answer that question. “I got a place to stay…for now.” Dax entertained a brief feeling of deep foreboding, knowing that his time at the Bodeckers was seriously limited.

“Ah. We’re kind of like a magnet for misfits.”

Dax grinned, enjoying the feeling of acceptance that seemed to come from Hawk’s words. “Sounds like I’ll fit right in, then.”

“Got a job?”

Dax hesitated. He had never considered applying for a job-especially one in a biker bar! He was underage, but it seemed like these guys didn’t exactly play by the rules. He liked that. A lot. He shook his head.

“Want one?”

Dax sucked in his breath. For some reason, the chance to be connected to these guys, in any way at all, was highly attractive to him. “Sure, I guess.”

Hawk waved over an older man with a large paunch. “Hey, Lenny! This kid’s with us. Give him something to do, will you?”

Lenny brightened. “Fuck, thanks, man! I got a bunch of trash that needs to be dumped. Come on, kid.”

Before long, Dax was sweating and exhausted from doing every kind of menial task Lenny could hurl his way. He hauled ice, dumped endless loads of trash, and shuttled beers to a bunch of seriously drunk bikers and their friends. He brought Hawk, the obviously respected V.P., a round of beers, drawing a wary glance from the man called Loony. As he hustled back to the bar, he heard a snippet of conversation that he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“Yeah, I’m keeping the kid close. Don’t worry about him. He’s just a kid.”

There appeared to be no last call at
Lenny’s
, but one by one, the customers started to either pass out or hook up, and the crowd thinned. As the last few patrons trickled out the door, Dax was surprised when Lenny handed him a glass of amber liquid.

“Here, kid. You deserve it. You worked hard tonight.”

Lenny clinked his own glass with Dax, and shot his drink immediately. Dax did the same, then coughed and choked as the liquid fire burned its way down his throat. “Fuck!” he sputtered. “What the hell is that, gasoline?!”

Lenny smirked. “Good stuff, eh? My cousin makes it. The only thing he loves more than the
Sox
is some decent bootleg. Pretty fine brandy if I do say so myself.”

Dax nodded as Lenny proceeded to fill his glass a second time. After the third shot, Lenny was snoring over a pile of receipts and Dax was stumbling to his bicycle, feeling like a toddler on training wheels as he made his wobbly way home.

***

“Dax! Are you listening to me?!” God, Mrs. Bodecker’s voice felt like sandpaper scraping incessantly against his brain. Blearily, he regarded her, trying to bring the fuzzy image of his foster mother into focus.
No more bootleg brandy!

“Yeah, Kathy. Sorry about the late hour. I’ll do extra chores, okay?” Dax stood up and stretched, conscious that Mrs. Bodecker hadn’t moved. He sighed.

“That’s not what this is about, Daxter. You aren’t listening. There’s been a letter from the school. Apparently, you’re not graduating?”

Oh, fuck.
Guess the shit is really hitting the fan now.

“Doug will be home later, and he’s going to be mad, Dax. You’ve already had the detention and the incident with that…that Trishelle girl. According to the letter they sent, you’ve quit school? You’ve broken all the rules. You know that that means in our house?!”

Yeah, he knew. Three strikes. He was out.

Even though Dax would turn eighteen soon, the deal was that he could stay with his foster family until he graduated. Now that he wasn’t likely to do that, he was shit outta luck. The state offered some sort of transitional program for kids like him who had aged out of the system, but there was no way he was going back to that.

“Dax, I want to help you. You’ve been here for three years, and you’ve come so far. I’m not sure what happened. You were doing so well.” The disappointment in her voice pained him, but he was used to hearing that tone from adults in his life.

She continued to ramble but Dax tuned her out; it was a skill he had grown very good at. He just mentally checked out. He wouldn’t be there for Bodecker’s lecture. That much was certain. Dax walked straight past Kathy Bodecker, who reached a hand out to touch his shoulder. He flinched, hard. She gasped, withdrawing her hand. The look of utter desolation on her face gave him pause. At the very least, he owed her an explanation.

“Look, Kathy. I really appreciate all you have done for me. You provided a safe haven and I’ll never forget it. But, I have to forge my own path, and school isn’t going to get me where I need to go. I can’t pretend any longer.”

He moved to walk past her and was surprised when Kathy Bodecker launched herself into his arms for a fierce hug. “Maybe I didn’t tell you enough, Daxter,” she said, her voice hinging on a sob, “but I care about you.”

Dax pulled her in for a hug. She seemed to frail and small all of a sudden, almost like she was the one who needed the caretaking. “I know you do, Mrs. B. Thank you for everything.”

Kathy Bodecker squeezed him so tight she almost took the air from his lungs before releasing him. “I’ll talk to Doug. Maybe Mr. Maxwell can bend the rules if you do some extra work.”

Dax nodded, avoiding her hopeful eyes. He recalled Maxwell’s offer and he wouldn’t be taking the principal up on it. Dax was done. He was done pretending. He was no college boy in training. As wild as his night had been, he had never felt more alive than he had in that biker bar. He wanted, no,
needed
to belong. The lie flowed effortlessly from his mouth: “I’ll see you at dinner, Mrs. B.”

***

It felt weird to be riding his two-wheeler with all of his worldly possessions on his back. Dax smiled at the fleeting images of turtles and hermit crabs that ran through his mind as he pedaled down the main road. He stashed his backpack and duffle behind a rock and engaged in a surf session that blew his mind. He lost track of time taking wave after wave, marveling in the glassy sets that rolled in, seeming to congratulate him on his emancipation. When he finally emerged from the ocean, he was fucking freezing, and he realized he hadn’t taken a crucial item with him when he fled the Bodecker’s place like a fugitive. A towel.

It was spring, but the evening was anything but warm. Dax’s teeth were chattering as he headed to the only other place that felt familiar to him. He was too nervous to go in, though, so he stowed his bike in the alley and hugged the cement wall, willing it to somehow heat him. A rustling came from the dumpster startled him at first, but then Dax was grateful for the momentary distraction. Whatever was in there, at least he wasn’t alone.

He shivered, feeling a soft cloud of misery begin to weigh him down. Reality was setting in. Dax had nowhere to go, and he was too afraid to waltz into Lenny’s like he belonged there. A mournful wail came from the dumpster, followed by a hiss and a screech. Dax chose to ignore his own discomfort in order to aid the obviously distressed feline in the trash.

The dumpster fuckin’ reeked but Dax hauled his salty, shivering body up to peer inside anyway. The stench was almost overwhelming. The trash was illuminated by dim light. At the bottom of the bin was a highly agitated cat. He seemed to be stuck, wedged into the corner behind a flattened box. The cat struggled pitifully. Maybe the box was too high for the creature to climb over. Dax sighed heavily and then heaved himself into the stinking dumpster to rescue it. No neglected creature would go uncared for on his watch.

“You motherfucker!” he swore, as said creature inflicted a series of slashes to his wrist. “I’m trying to help you!”

“Curly!” Lenny’s voice echoed into the dark alley as Dax wrestled with a very angry, and very bedraggled cat.

Finally, Dax managed to grab the hissing animal and yank it free of the twine it was entangled in.

“Dax?” A curious, amused face peered into the wretched, trash-filled container.

“Lenny.” he responded tiredly. “Is this…thing…yours?” He held the enraged ball of fur as though it were a venomous snake.

“I’ve been looking for her for a week! Shit, Curly, are you okay?”

The burly bartender reached for his cat with uncharacteristic tenderness as Dax lurched from the stinking dumpster, brushing remnants of last night’s extravaganza from his now-ruined clothing. The cat, Curly, flew into his owner’s arms, bringing a child-like smile to Lenny’s pockmarked face.

“Hey, kid, you’re worth your salt, that’s for sure,” Lenny said, looking up at him. Then his eyes narrowed as he took in Dax’s appearance. “Are you okay?”

Dax hated to admit that he wasn’t but his ragged condition was pretty obvious. Luckily, Lenny didn’t need verbal confirmation. Without a word, he ushered Dax into the bar and up the back stairs. Dax was surprised to find small, over-crammed single apartment sitting inconspicuously above the bar.

“You live here? At the bar?”

“Well, yeah, it kind of makes sense. Crow and the guys like to be able to stop in at all hours of the day or night. It’s the least I could do.”

At that comment, Dax had to wonder how Lenny had become involved with
The Phantoms
.

“Why are you all wet?” Lenny looked pointedly at Dax’s damp clothing and hair.

Dax shrugged sheepishly, grateful to be inside. “Went surfing. Forgot a towel.”

“And you decided to hang in the alley rescuing my poor Curly here, instead of heading home to warm up?”

There was a probing undertone to Lenny’s query, one that beckoned Dax to open his mouth and let every detail of his pathetic life story pour out. Instead, he gazed at Lenny for a long moment and then looked away, unsure of how to communicate his current predicament. Again, Lenny seemed to know not to pressure him for a story. Instead, he retrieved a towel from the closet and tossed it to Dax.

“Shower’s that way kid. Warm up. I’ll take care of Curly downstairs.” It was odd to see such a big man showing such care for the animal, but in a way, Lenny’s behavior was reassuring. He had a good heart, despite his gruff exterior.

Dax only hesitated for a minute before making his way to the bathroom. It wasn’t as nasty as he had expected, but Lenny was no clean freak. Still, the warm water cascading over him was successful in smoothing the chill from his bones and the stink from his skin and hair. He toweled off, sniffing his reeking clothes with disgust.
What the fuck was I thinking?!
Dax had few belongings to begin with and he felt guilty taking off with the things the Bodeckers had purchased for him. He had only taken the bare minimum in terms of clothing and toiletries, plus his journal of course.

Sighing at his half-baked plan, Dax pulled his spare jeans on and padded back into the small sitting area, thinking he was alone.

“Hey, kid.”

The man they called Crow sat on Lenny’s couch, rolling a fat joint on the coffee table. Dax froze, feeling somewhat exposed. He was, after, half-naked. “Hey.”