Thrash
My phone beeps from its spot on the table next to Micro and I practically leap to get to it. Guard detail on the grow operation isn’t so much an assignment as it is imprisonment in gardening limbo.
The lodging I share with Leon ‘Micro’ Pace — the more technically-inclined member of our club and the one in charge of the nuts-and-bolts establishment of the grow operation — is small. And that’s being generous. It’s a single-room cabin, set on the outer edge of the cleared-out old lumber yard, located in the ass-end of nowhere. It’s next to a large greenhouse installation for the hydroponic part of our grow operation – Micro’s pet project — and the cabin’s windows provide a clear view of a wide swath of the outdoor, more ‘natural’, part of our marijuana operation.
Once Micro’s finished installing all the hydroponics, we’ll be growing the extremely high THC product indoors, along with testing out new hybrid varieties, while the more basic retail stuff will be grown outside.
In the few days that I’ve been living here with my shaggy brown-haired companion, I’ve learned more about marijuana than I care to know.
The only excitement’s come through one instance, where I thought I heard the sound of motorcycles cut the quiet midnight air and I went off chasing ghosts down forest roads.
All this boredom, all this time with my thoughts, has made me more determined than ever that I need to pull this heist against the Reaper’s Sons. I need to take them down. I need to protect my club from the danger they refuse to recognize.
And the payoff won’t be bad, either.
So when my phone beeps to tell me that I’ve got a voice mail, I leap at the chance to get up and check it.
It’s Alice.
Her voice has a worried tone to it that immediately sets my adrenaline going.
She needs me.
It feels odd that she’s made the first contact ever since that day on the beach. I’ve been meaning to call her, but every time I pick up the phone, I feel at a total loss for words. How do I tell her how I feel? She’s unlike all the others, in the best way, and I don’t want to do a damn thing to mess up what we have between us.
With how tenuous things are between the Rebel Riders and the Reaper’s Sons, it’s seemed like the best idea to stay silent until I figure out exactly how I feel about her.
But now, she needs me.
All bets are off.
“I’m leaving,” I say to Micro.
He hardly moves. “You can’t. Hawk’s orders.”
“Hawk can suck my cock. I’m stepping out, I’ll be back later, and I’m not going to start any shit with any Reaper’s Sons. So chill the fuck out and go play with your fucking plants.”
Micro just shrugs.
“You really shouldn’t. But I don’t give a shit, I’m not the one who Hawk will blame.”
I glare at Micro. He’s an ok guy most of the time, if a bit different in the head, and I don’t blame him for following lockstep to Hawk’s orders. Micro’s newer to his patch and his cut than I am, he doesn’t have the experience to know when to step out of line.
I send a text to Alice. On my way.
She answers almost instantly. Thank you.
I’m glad to the cabin in my dust as I tear away from our grow op on my Harley. Day after day of nothing but guard duty, dealing with Micro, and literally watching plants grow is enough to wear on anyone’s nerves.
I get to the clinic and step in like I belong, as if a cut-wearing biker is absolutely the most normal thing to see in the lobby of an old-folks clinic.
Janet smiles at me from her hidden-in-the-corner desk.
“Hey Thrash.”
Inwardly, I wince. Even greeting her is a chore when I’m sober. She can suck like nobody’s business when it’s time to get down and dirty, but, during the daytime, she just fucking sucks.
“Hey Janet,” I say, forcing a smile. “Is there a Margaret Riley here?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’m here to spend some time with her,” I say, slowly.
“You visit the elderly, now? Like, volunteering? That is so sweet.”
“Something like that. Is she here?”
“Yes, in the back. Third door on the left down the hall. She’s wearing the red sweater.”
“Thanks, Janet.”
“Call me sometime.”
“Sometime. Sure.”
I step down the hallway and into the room where there are several patients seated in reclining chairs receiving chemotherapy or other IV treatments. I spot Alice’s mom right away — she looks almost exactly like her daughter, only with a few decades on her.
They say you can tell how your woman is going to look when she’s older by taking a look at her mom. If that adage holds true, I’m going to be a lucky man. Even with the toll all the medical treatments have taken on her, there’s still something charming about Margaret Riley that tells me that Alice is going to be attractive for a long time.
“Hello. Are you Margaret? I’m a friend of Alice’s. She sent me to keep you company while you’re getting your treatment.”
“My word you are a big one.”
“A bit, yeah.”
“And so tall. What’s your name, dear?”
I ponder that for a second and realize it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to introduce myself using my road name.
“Thanks. My name’s Jake. Jake Tanner. Though my friends call me ‘Thrash’. So, can I join you, Mrs. Riley? What are we watching?”
“My daughter put some TV shows on my phone. Right now, we are watching Special Agent Leo Gibson solve crimes for the Navy.”
I sit down beside her and put one of the earbuds in my ear. “Ok. Well, let’s get into it, shall we?”
Margaret leans into me a bit and looks up at me with a sly smile. “It’s for warmth, dear. The treatments make me so cold. I hope you don’t mind an old woman looking for some comfort.”
I know exactly what she’s doing. And I don’t mind.
I slip my arm around her. “Happy to help, ma’am.”
“You can call me Daisy, if you like.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Daisy? That’s an entirely different name.”
She shakes her head slightly and a smile dances in her eyes. “No, dear. The French version of ‘Margaret’ is ‘Marguerite’, which means ‘Daisy’. All the boys called me Daisy when I was younger. Oh, the trouble we got into.”
I nod. “Ok, Daisy, well, let’s get comfortable and watch the show, alright?”
Daisy and I go quiet for a while, sharing a set of earbuds and watching the brave and gruff Special Agent Gibson lead his team to solve crimes. It’s not such a bad show, and it’s easy to lose myself in it for a while in the otherwise quiet treatment room, where the only other sounds are the rhythmic beeping of medical machines.
“So, how do you know my daughter?” She says after a while.
“We’re working together on some stuff.”
“You’re not seeing anyone?”
“I might be. It’s new.”
“I see. Well, don’t break her heart, dear,” Daisy says, giving me a look pointed enough to draw blood. “I might be old, but I can fight like hell where my daughter’s concerned.”
Our show watching comes to an end when a different nurse, with a name tag that says ‘Paige’, a friendly smile on her face, and fiery red hair, comes in and begins tinkering with the IV machine that Daisy’s hooked to.
“It’s time, Margaret. All done,” she says.
“Thank you, dear,” Daisy says.
“How are you feeling?” Paige says.
“Awful, as usual.”
“It’ll take a little while before that feeling starts to fade. Now, where is your daughter? She’s taking you home, right?” Paige says.
I check my phone. Based on the message she left me, it’s still going to be a couple hours before Alice will get back, and that’s if she doesn’t run into any serious traffic, which is unlikely.
I clear my throat. “I’ll be taking care of that.”
Paige gives me a sweeping look. “You’re certainly not taking her home on a motorcycle.”
A small, but wicked, smile lights up Daisy’s face.
“It’s ok, Paige. I am sure I’ll be just fine riding in his lap.”
That draws a sideways look from me. If this is how Daisy is when she’s sick and tired, she could give any biker I know a run for their money when she’s healthy.
“You really shouldn’t, Margaret,” Paige says. “It’s not safe.”
“Oh, dear, will you please just shut up and let me have this one thing?”
Paige gives me an exasperated look and all I can do is shrug.
“I’ve got to get her home somehow,” I say.
There’s not much she can do to stop Daisy from riding with me and if the woman wants to have a little bit of fun and a joyride, who am I to stop her? I’m just glad I’ve been keeping a spare helmet with me, ever since I met Alice.
Paige finally nods, but she does not look happy about it. “Drive really slow, ok?”
I step closer to Daisy and she slips her arm around me. For support, I’m sure. “Come on, Daisy, let me take you home.”
I guide her to my bike and help her up. As I get into position and fire the engine to life, she leans in to my ear.
“Don’t be afraid to push the engine, dear. I like it fast.”