CHAPTER NINE
MAX
I drive us back through the strip, so much less appealing by day, and into the dust, the very outskirts of Sin City. I’ve been out here before. It ain’t exactly a postcard picture.
I pull up in the dirt parking lot and cut the ignition, the engine of the hired car ticks and pings from the heat.
Dawn looks through the windshield squinting. I catch the way her breasts fall forward against the front or her dress, the barest hint of a nipple pressed against the silky fabric there. I should have kissed her back at the apartment.
I try to snap myself out of it. Get with the fucking program, big boy.
Dawn squints to read the sign. “The Furry Cup?”
I stare at one of Nevada’s most infamous biker bars, a landmark haunt for undesirables and truly shady shit. Dawn’s going to stand out like a fruit bowl at a funeral. I’d prefer to have her wait in the car, but already there’s a group of bikers watching us from the corner of the lot.
My cell chimes again. It’s a name.
“Come on,” I tell Dawn. “Let’s get this over with.”
“We’re going in there?”
I point to the bikers. “Well, I’m sure as hell not leaving you out here.”
We exit the car and make our way inside.
The music’s loud, Judas Priest, the bar surprisingly full given the time of the day. The smell of booze and sweat hangs like a wet blanket in the air.
Dawn crosses her arms tightly over her chest, staying close by my side. Conversation continues, shouting, but every eye is on us as we approach the bar. Behind it the bartender stands with his hands spread out on the bar, a white terry cloth over one shoulder, ink up to his ears. He smiles at Dawn, half his teeth missing. “You sure you fell down the right hole, Alice?”
I gently push Dawn behind me and step up to the bar.
“You, on the other hand,” says the bartender. “Are not welcome.”
This was a bad fucking idea, but I’ve been in worse situations. You’ve got to keep calm, feel it out.
I turn and pass Dawn the keys, whispering by the side of her neck. Her jugular pulses against my lips. I smell the natural vanilla essence of her skin, the floral perfume she was wearing having faded. “If this goes bad, I want you to run to the car and get the hell out of here, understood?”
She nods. Good.
I bring myself back to the bartender and exhale. Here goes nothing. “I’m looking for Dale.”
The bartender cups his ear to hear over the music. “Who?”
“Dale,” I shout.
And that’s it. All conversation stops. Judas Priest continues to play, but everything else is silent, fixated solely on us. The song, You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’, is wonderfully fitting.
The bartender leans forward, the bar creaking. “What the fuck did you say?”
I can’t show any weakness. “I don’t want trouble. I just want Dale. We have business.”
Out the corner of my eye I see some of the bikers start to stand and close in around us.
Two approach from the side. One of them, face like a leather strap, puckers his lips at Dawn. “You wanna play a little, baby, show me those sugar tits of yours?”
Dawn grips my hand tightly, squeezing.
“Dale,” I repeat, focusing on the bartender. “Where is he?”
A shadow falls over the bar. The bartender’s eyes lift upwards.
Fuck.
I turn slowly, breathing out, to find the biggest goddamn man I’ve ever seen. The guy’s got to be seven foot at least, and built—an easy three-hundred pounds or more.
I hear Dad’s voice in my head. The bigger they are, son, the harder they fall, but I doubt even a wrecking ball is going to make this guy drop.
Reluctantly, I let go of Dawn’s hand and address Goliath. “You Dale?”
He smashes his fist into his hand. It’s the size of a melon. “Who’s fucking asking?”
“Bobby Cervantes. You owe him money. I’m here to make sure you pay up.”
Someone cuts the music off. It’s deathly silent again… until the entire place erupts with laughter.
Goliath’s laughing the loudest. “That’s fucking funny, my friend. Real fucking funny. What? You think I’m scared of you and your bitch here?”
I see red at that, but I press it down. Wait. I step up to him until we’re chest to chest, or at least chest to crotch. “If you’re such a big man then, why don’t we take this outside? I knock you out, you pay up.”
Dale grins. “And if I knock you out?”
“I will pay.”
Dale whistles between his teeth. He stands back, letting another biker take his place. This guy is lean, his face hard, probably an MMA fighter. He strips off his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a python coiling across his chest. “You want to fight Dale, you go through me first.”
I turn around.
“Max?” questions Dawn, the fear thick in her voice.
My back’s turned, but I know the guy’s charging. “Suit yourself.”
I snap around fast, stepping aside and delivering a hard right into the back of his head. He drives straight into the side of the bar and falls flat, out cold. He almost looks peaceful lying there.
Expressions change around the room. Now they’re taking me seriously.
Dale looks down at his friend and squeezes his fists together. “Oh, you’re going to fucking pay for that. Let’s go.”
I follow him outside, directing Dawn to stand near the car. If something does happen, at least she’ll be close enough to it to make a getaway.
The sun’s directly overhead, beating down on the lot and the entire bar follows us outside, tightening around us like a human noose. They won’t intervene. They’re scumbags, but there’s a code to these things.
I pull off my shirt and toss it to the side, closing my fists and taking up a fighting stance. I feel the pull of new skin across my shoulder from my run-in with the butchers.
Dale raises his fists. He’s heavy, but there’s not a lot of muscle there. Still, I’m going to need nothing short of a fucking miracle to get this done.
I wave him forward with one hand. “Come on then, Stay Puft, or do you need a fucking invitation?”
Dale roars and runs forward swinging.
I duck and drill a series of jabs into his side, but it’s like plugging away at a bag of flour. It does shit-all.
I manage to weave around an ugly left and deliver an uppercut to his gut, but he doesn’t even swagger.
What the fuck?
I dance back and consider my options. I feint left and pummel his kidneys, but again, nothing. As I’m doing so he manages to land one on my shoulder. I’ve been on the receiving end of some heavy blows, but this is like being hit by a fucking freight train.
I spin away and see Dawn, her hands over her face, a group of bikers beside her looking her up and down, probably deciding who’s going to go first.
Not on my fucking watch.
It’s all the ammo I need. I run and jump, getting enough height to hook into the side of Dale’s fat fucking head.
I land heavy and roll away, Dale stumbling and cursing, but he’s still not going down.
I go in again for the soft tissue, working him, but all I’m doing is exhausting myself.
I drive down into his knee. He cries out, starting to buckle but getting hold of me on the way down. He pulls me into him and squeezes.
My chest starts to collapse.
He grunts, squeezing harder. My vision starts to go, my arms locked uselessly against my side. I’m seeing pinpricks of light, my body being crushed fast by this monster.
And I almost want to let it happen. It would be easier, but then I see Dawn. She cries out, pleads for me to fight.
So I do.
I draw my head back and hammer it forward into Dale’s face. Blood explodes from his nose, his arms splaying wide, and finally I’m able to breathe again. I don’t let the opportunity pass.
I fall back onto my feet and deliver a quick succession of blows into the same knee. It dislocates and he snaps forward, enough to bring us face to face.
Blood’s streaming hot and thick from twin trails on Dale’s face, but this isn’t the time to show mercy. I fist his hair in my hand and bring my arm back, punching him with such squared force he’s out before he even hits the dust.
Silence.
I’m breathing hard, sweat dripping from my chin, my arms, the skin of my knuckles open and wet. “Anyone else?” I call, my voice hoarse.
For show, I boot Dale’s lifeless body hard in the side. “Let this be a fucking warning, to all of you. If you owe Bobby Cervantes, pay up lest you end up like Andre the Giant here.”
I pull out my cell and take a snap, forwarding it.
The crowd parts as I walk forward and collect Dawn, rushing us to the car.
I slide into the passenger seat and sit back. “Go,” I instruct. “Drive.”
She turns the key and plants it. We leave The Furry Cup in a spindly cloud of dust.
We hurtle down the back road. I check the side mirror. There’s no sign of anyone tailing us.
Dawn looks across to me. “You okay?”
I wince as I examine my ribs. They’re bruised, but not broken. “I’ve been better, but I’ll survive.”
“I was worried there for a second.”
So was I, but I play it off. “I was fine.”
“Really? Because it looked to me like he was pretty damn close to squeezing you to death.”
“If I’m going to die in anyone’s arms, it’s going to be yours.”
“Don’t say that.”
Stupid. “I didn’t mean… Fuck it.”
“I’m not allowed to worry?”
“You shouldn’t. You might be better off without me.”
“I highly doubt that.”
My cell chimes again. I have to read the message twice it seems so unbelievable.
“So,” queries Dawn, both hands on the wheel, her dress having pooled around her waist, her thighs creamy and open, waiting to be touched and worshipped. “Where to now?”
I shake my head. Un-fucking-believable. “The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.”