For Your Sake (5 page)

              But some blue-eyed brunette wound up interceding.  Maybe it was a good thing.  Maybe she saved his life if he decided to let the mountain win.  Still, she saw what happened and saw him with his cut on.  Although he did his best to convince her not to repeat a word, Ben recently learned the hard way not to trust a woman you barely know. And the last thing he wanted was some chick having the wrong idea. His riddled mind was still sharp enough when he got home to scribble down what he remembered and stick it inside his cut as well as remember something his sister had said.

             
“He was trying to get out.  He fell in with those guys before he realized what they were up to.  Who they were really working for.”

              Those words nagged him until he finally fell into some semblance of sleep only to realize now what they meant.  Those rednecks weren’t stealing those drugs for themselves.  They were acting on someone else’s orders.

              Ben checked the digital – eleven a.m.  He needed to get to the clubhouse and talk to Vic pronto.  He finished dressing, smoothed the wrinkles he left in the comforter then tossed the wet towel in the basket.  His pared-down surroundings not only turned him into a minimalist, but also a neat-nik over the years.  He just didn’t like being suffocated with stuff he had no time to get attached to.  Checking the mirror, his goatee had begun morphing into a beard with serious overgrowth, as was the area he shaved over his ears, but he didn’t have time for a grooming session. Pulling the loose section of hair into a short ponytail in back of his head, Ben grabbed his keys, wallet and revolver and left.

~~***~~

              Eva stared at the peeling wallpaper border in her bedroom.  It was easy to imagine all the remodeling which needed to be done to the 1,700 sq ft Victorian she purchased three months ago with her eyes closed.  Once open, her mental ‘to do’ list got bigger and bigger.

              She raised eyes, for sure, in this small town still set in some archaic ways – a single woman buying a house with no man or children to share it.  But Eva didn’t have the same pre-requisites as the rest of society.  Prior to losing her father, she had moved back in with him after officially taking over the card shop. As much as it brought joy to have his only child home, it had burned her every time she entered the place, still remembering the night he brought her back twenty six years ago to find ‘
mommy had to go away for a bit’.
  A ‘bit’ turned to permanent and, at sixteen, finally got the truth from him.  At least she took him at his word.

              Now with him gone and everything left to her, she sold the house along with the memory of that night.  Prior to having it cleaned out, the only keepsakes she wanted were the framed photos and albums, a hurricane lamp, the dark pine dining table and hutch and, of course, the Victorian mailbox.  She remembered picking it out at Dell’s Hardware store all those years ago. Rather than find another rent, Eva wanted something permanent.  Something she could fashion to her liking and call hers.  A place where she could make her own traditions and memories - where the mere glance of a crockpot wouldn’t open old wounds.  And since her mother loathed the lamp and dining set, Eva didn’t worry about her ghost of a memory haunting it.  And when she came upon this fixer-upper four months ago, which was almost a dead ringer for the mailbox, she knew it was fate.

              Now it was to be her long-term project as Eva vowed to do as much of the work she could on her own. Which was…..a lot.  Getting out of bed, the cool, oak floors creeked under her feet.  She had an odd affection for the sounds of an old house that the smell of brand, spanking new construction couldn’t touch.  It had heart.  It had character.  It also had a solid foundation, strong supports, working mechanicals and a tight roof.  The rest was cosmetic.  She could deal with that. 

              She didn’t have to open the store until ten, but was always awake and up by six.  She loved leisurely mornings in her own home.  Especially the bathroom.  It was ceiling to wall white with the exception of tiny, black-checked tile flooring and chrome faucets.  The beauty of the room was a pristine claw foot tub under an antique window made of frosted glass.  It let the sunlight in without sacrificing privacy.  Turning the knobs, she heated up the water before turning on the shower inside the curtained circle.  She drenched her body with shower gel then washed and conditioned her hair.  Afterwards, she patted herself dry with a fluffy towel, squeezed the excess water from her hair then combed it out before slipping into and belting her robe. 

              The staircase was a focal part of the house, sweeping up into an arc from the entryway to the second floor with a multi-colored stained glass window breaking up the wall in between.  Once downstairs, Eva crossed the newly finished hardwood floor of the living room – the first major renovation which she couldn’t do herself.  She could care less what the rest of the house looked like, but the first room upon entering the home had to at least shine.  In addition to the gleaming floors, the room boasted a Fieldstone fireplace which extended to the ceiling, as well as a paned, bay window sporting a window seat below.  Upon her first showing of the house, Eva had selected that spot where her first Christmas tree would go. With the exception of the down payment and some traditional-style furniture she picked up in a Pennsylvania consignment shop, she tucked away the balance of the sale proceeds and her dad’s life insurance in a moderate-interest bearing money market for non-repair emergencies. 

              The dining room was another story.  The pine table, chairs, hutch and sideboard was surrounded by stacks of boxes she hadn’t yet unpacked.  On the right wall entering from the living room was a horrid mural which looked exactly like it belonged to the ancient lady who previously resided here.  That was the next thing to go so Eva could paint before giving the floors a good buff and polish. 

              Through the archway, she headed into the kitchen.  The room was badly dated with mottled-blue cabinets, faux-wood formica countertops, peeling, diamond-shaped linoleum floor and infamous harvest gold appliances.  At least they weren’t avocado green.  More boxes containing cook wear, dishes, glasses, utensils, small appliances and other kitchen paraphernalia were scattered about.  Some were opened, old newspaper wrapping and ripped packing tape hanging out.  Eva pulled out, washed and put away only what she had needed and one of those items was the coffee pot.   She poured in the water then scooped in the grounds from a ceramic jar on the counter then hit the button.  She then sifted through the paint chip samples, cleaning products, décor magazines and brochures littering the counter until she found yesterday’s mail. She knew she had to fully unpack and settle the rest of the rooms, but it didn’t feel right until the rooms were complete.  Besides, it’s not like she had company or entertaining on the agenda.  The only one privy to her mess was her.

              Coffee brewed, she poured a cup, added sweetener, dollop of milk then opened the sliders behind the dinette set.  It led to a sturdy deck which overlooked the yard and top of the driveway.  Taking that first sip of the day, she winced at the damaged headlight area on her jeep.  And the reason for it came back like a flash.  Her hands shook pretty much all the way home after that run-in with that big biker, especially the sight of him riding, what looked like, straight into the side of the mountain – on purpose.  The Mountain Skulls had been long-time residents in Tippitt and, aside from brawls, drunken parties and minor altercations which made the paper from time to time, the club didn’t stir much trouble. And if they did, it was kept quiet. Her store had only been a fixture in town since signing the lease six months ago and, prior to that, was renting out of town so she’d avoided direct contact with any of them – until last night.  And didn’t hope for a repeat performance.

              Taking another sip, she looked about the yard, mentally planning out where her vegetable and herb garden would go as well as how she was going to get a pile of loose fireplace wood chopped and stacked. The sound of a hose gushing drew her eyes across the fence which separated her property from Martha Bachman.  She was the only neighbor Eva knew so far on a first name basis because the woman was practically on her doorstep the day she moved in.  She was obviously one of those old coots who knew everyone and everything in the neighborhood and, being the newest addition, Eva got an early welcome to get sized up.  She quickly learned the woman watered anything with soil practically every morning at the crack of dawn as her rear deck, visible from Eva’s, was crammed with every potted plant imaginable.

              She raised her hand and waved.  “Good morning, Mrs. Bachman.”

              The old lady waved back with the hose, causing a stream of water to arc over her deck railing.  “What happened to your car?”

              Well the ol’ bat’s eyesight was fine as she could see the nose of her car from her deck.  “Just a minor accident.”  Quickly, she waved goodbye and went back inside before Mrs. Bachman could assault her with a ton of questions.  Upstairs, she finished drying her hair, applied face powder, hint of blush, gray eyeliner, mascara and rosy lip gloss.  The cool morning would give way to a seventy five degree day, plus she was meeting MaryLynn for their monthly lunch, so she selected her sapphire-blue wrap dress with cap sleeves and tan, strappy heels.  Eva almost always dressed like this.  Other than jeans and a pair of sensible black pants, she much preferred dresses and skirts.  Femininity was a powerful thing. 

              But not a contraption called a ‘thong’ as she pulled underwear out of her drawer.  Her favorite white ‘cheekies’ in hand, it caught the only one she owned, a cliché red and white lace one William had bought her this past Valentine’s Day.  Before her father died.  Before breaking up with him afterwards.  Why she still kept it was beyond her.  Maybe it was some silent reminder that men with buffed fingernails and pay seventy five dollars for haircuts aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

              Fully dressed, she secured silver hoops in her ears.  The charm bracelet was the one thing which rarely came off, its message as close to her heart as the man who gave it to her.  By nine a.m. she was out the door.

Chapter Three

              By eleven, Ben pulled into the clubhouse and went straight to the body shop.  Taz was inside with several cars on the docket.  He was an artist at restoring cars, as well as taking apart other things which were best left off his work resume.  “Hey.  Think you got time to buff some scratches out of my bike?”

              Firing up a blowtorch which looked way too comfortable in his hand, Taz lifted up his face shield.  Black hair, black eyes and pointed black beard, he looked every inch the devil he was when that blowtorch wasn’t being used on metal.  “Think so.  What happened?”

              That wasn’t for discussion.  “Took a little spill.  No big deal.”

              Taz turned down the torch, and removed his shield, displaying the array of piercings in his brow.  “You good?”

              A brother laying his bike down was never classified as ‘no big deal’, but Taz was the male version of a gossiping bitch.  He liked to talk and was always in a chipper mood despite his….proclivities.  Plus the last thing he wanted was a member thinking he couldn’t handle his shit after what happened last night. “I’m fine.  Vic here?”  He changed the subject fast.

              “Nah.  Elle had some town thing she’s chairin’.  Had to make an appearance – you know, photo-op and shit.”

              If there was a perfect ol’ lady it was Elizabeth Connors.  Mid-fifties and chic from her wardrobe to her hairstyle, ‘Elle’ as everyone called her, found a way to balance the biker queen with the town organizer.  While she and Vic raised two, grown children who had since moved away, she stayed immersed in Tippitt through various committees and boards, which kept the club in good standing by proxy, and to get the scoop on any town goings-on the club should know about.  On occasion, Vic accompanied her, in his cut, further representing the club, and preferably alone as having a fleet of Harley’s blazing up to some ribbon cutting wouldn’t go over well.

              “What about Aero?”

              Taz pointed towards the clubhouse.  “Inside.”

              The veep would have to do as Ben walked over.  Seeing a light on in what was The Water Rock’s old office, he made a stop in first to find young Wes surrounded by the technological nightmare which had been Stash’s former domain.  “Got a sec?”

              The young patch stared up, looking a bit awkward as if finding the right thing to say after last night.  “Yeah, sure.”

              Ben surveyed the mass of equipment, wires, surge protectors, software CDs and firewall blockers.  “You figuring this shit out?”

              “Tryin’ to.  You, um….need somethin’.”

              “Yeah.”  Ben retrieved the piece of paper he stuffed inside his cut pocket the night before.  “How good are you at looking up license plates?”

              Wes’s eyes lit up.  “Piece of cake, bro.  There’s this chick at DMV who loves me.” His eyebrows wiggled a bit.”  What’ya need?”

              “Info on who owns this vehicle.”

              Wes stared at the paper which contained a plate number and the description,
‘maroon Jeep Grand Cherokee’
  “How much info?”