CHAPTER Twelve
Of course anybody who wasn’t bringing trouble was welcome at the roadhouse on Bike Night, but it was understood that bikers were especially welcome. Roadhouse and ice house owners loved them because they weren’t committed to cocooning. Sometimes they left their houses at night, headed out for some open road, some live music, a juicy steak, cold beer, and good company. They lived a code based on the belief that life wasn’t all about what’s on cable or satellite or Youtube.
The band that called themselves Thunder showed up at five to set up so they’d be ready to start at six. When it came to pleasing bikers, classic rock was the way to go and nobody was better at recreating the songs they loved than Thunder. Raze had a decent sound system in the roadhouse, but Thunder wasn’t the sort of band to take chances. They brought their own. Just in case. They told Raze one time that, “Professional musicians always have a Plan B. It’s in our best interest to use our own equipment.”
He’d told them that seemed like, “Sound wisdom. Might be applied to pretty much everything in life.”
Julio and Carl were rolling the glass-topped ice case out to the end of the bar area. It made a tighter squeeze, but on nice evenings Bike Night included an option for customers to choose and grill their own steaks.
Bikers loved it. And so did Raze. Steaks grilling over mesquite-laced coals would make mouths water for a mile around. People driving by would follow their noses like canines. Those who liked heavy rock music would stay and eat. Those who didn’t would never get out of their cars. Raze scored that as a double win.
The South Austin Meat Market delivered prime cuts. Raze ordered extra because he knew the SSMC was showing up in full force.
Julio’s cousin always came to work as grill master. It was a job that required a certain kind of personality, part cook and part enforcer. Not just anybody was willing to correct a burly biker on grill technique or, when necessary, send him on his way. He pulled the big commercial barbeque outside using a trailer hitch and fired it up with a “secret” mix of charcoal and mesquite chips that had been soaked in water overnight.
Raze was on his way outside to make sure all the lightbulbs strung over the picnic area were working when he saw the sheriff coming his way.
“Raze.” The sheriff stuck out his hand.
“John.” Raze shook hands. He’d gone to high school with John McIlvaney, but was three years younger. He was junior varsity on the football team when John was a senior, being named all state in their division. “You want a beer?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Cain’t do it.”
“Good to know local law enforcement is serious about bein’ on duty sober.”
“Nah. It’s not that.” The sheriff’s palm immediately came up to slap the gut that was threatening to lap over his belt. “The wife is threatenin’ to withhold sexual attentions if I continue growin’ out over my boots.” Raze chuckled. “Whatever happened to the days when women didn’t care what a man looked like? Christ. I miss those times.”
Raze nodded agreeably.
“Do not bother to commiserate,” John continued. “I’ll bet you could still fit into your rented prom tux.”
Raze shrugged. “I might’ve filled out a little since then.”
“Yeah?” He glanced around. “Wouldn’t mind one of those thick T-bones you do, but I think Marsha’s makin’ some casserole kinda thing.”
“You’re welcome to stop in and eat supper anytime.”
The sheriff nodded. “Well. Just came by ‘cause I saw it’s Bike Night.”
“That’s a fact.”
“Just remindin’ you about the good residents of the new suburban sprawl just over that way.” He pointed to the southeast. “Swear to Christ, Austin’s gonna take us over someday.”
“Seems likely.”
“Space travel’s becomin’ more and more appealin’ all the time.”
Raze smiled. “Havin’ a hard time picturin’ you on the way to Mars, John.”
The sheriff sighed. “Can’t argue that. Thing is, though, when the atmosphere is just right and you got the bay doors open, music carries over there to the subdivision. Then the goddamned phone calls get goin’. Like we got nothin’ better to do than listen to people object to good times.”
“Already made a concession in that direction. Band quits at ten on Bike Night, John.” It went without saying that Raze had agreed to cut the live music at ten on week nights, but on weekends, bands played from nine to one. Full stop.
“I know. And it’s appreciated. Just sayin’ we’re gonna be gettin’ calls.”
“I was here first.”
“That’s a fact.”
Raze took in a deep breath and let it out. “You runnin’ for re-election, John?”
“Believe I will.”
“Well, you know I’ve been an admirer of the way you carry the office in the past. Count on my support.”
John’s face spread into a big smile. “Nice of you to wish me luck, Raze. I appreciate that.” His face grew serious once again. “But I might not be runnin’ unopposed like last time.”
Raze narrowed his eyes. “Well, we definitely want to make sure you keep the job.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Y’all stay outta trouble tonight.”
“Always.”
“Yep.”
The sheriff took long and surprisingly graceful strides to his marked SUV, the movement suggesting that he’d once been an athlete. Raze gave himself a moment of self-congratulations that he took reasonably good care of his body. He wouldn’t wish military life on his worst enemy, but he had to admit that he had got some worthwhile things out of the experience. One of those things was a sense of pride in taking care of things.
“Startin’ to smell temptin’, Paco,” Raze said to Julio’s cousin on the way back inside.
“Just like you like it, boss.” Paco grinned.
Raze headed for the house to take a shower and change clothes before customers started arriving.
After giving Bless a ten second pet, Raze hollered, “Hello!”
Clover appeared at the kitchen door almost instantly with a welcome look in her eyes, the kind he could get used to. She’d been watching TV but she was dressed for work and he was not happy with what he saw. Even though it made him hungry, thirsty, and every other kind of needy.
“Go change your clothes,” he said gruffly.
He saw a second of hurt in her eyes just before her smile fell. She had the most expressive face he’d ever seen. Every thought was right there on display and readable as a neon sign. She looked down at the jeans and tee shirt.
Raze didn’t have the servers wear roadhouse uniforms. He had them wear classic rock concert tees which he collected from Ebay for that purpose. She’d picked out a faded blue Thin Lizzy shirt from the Bad Reputation tour, Dublin, 1977. It made her eyes pop like they were supernatural. It clung lovingly to her curves like it had been made for her body.
“What’s wrong with this? I thought it looked good.”
“It does. That’s the problem.”
It took another couple of seconds for her to catch on that he was paying her a backhanded compliment. When she got it, she laughed. “You feeling territorial? About me?” She closed the distance between them and put her arms around his neck.
“Not at all. I’m concerned as your boss. I want to spend my time makin’ sure people have a good time and use their credit cards. I do not want them havin’ a good time trying to touch this.” He took her arms from around his neck and pulled her into the bedroom. “What other shirts did you pull outta the pile?”
She huffed, but picked up the White Snake from the Slip of the Tongue tour 1990.
“No,” he said. “Too suggestive.”
“Too suggestive,” she snickered. “Are you a bike-riding roadhouse owner or are you my great-aunt?”
“Funny. What else you got?”
She pulled the next shirt from the pile. Also Whitesnake from the Lovehunter tour 1980. It depicted a naked woman riding a snake.
Raze jerked it out of her hand. “You are not wearin’ this! EVER!”
“Raze! It was in the stack of shirts you told me to pick from.”
“Did you look at these?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t you buy these?”
He hesitated. “I didn’t buy these for you.”
She laughed. “Who’d you buy them for?”
“Somebody who’s not you.”
“Oh. Well, then.” She held up the Slip of the Tongue shirt. “I don’t like the idea of a man telling me how to dress, but since you get to pick what everybody wears… this or this?”
He growled softly. “I’m takin’ a shower.”
“Okay.” She smiled brightly.
“I’m tellin’ Dunk to keep an eye on you tonight.”
“Sure.” She nodded. “But my spilling beer on crotches method works even better than scary looking bald guys.”
His mouth twitched in spite of himself. “Tomorrow I’m shoppin’ for new shirts.”
“Go take your shower.”
Raze came out of the shower with a towel around his waist, looking lollipop good. Before he could get into his clothes, Clover planted her face in his chest and inhaled the intoxicating goodness of soap and fresh clean man. What started out as an innocent I’m-heading-to-work kiss soon had tongue and lips heading south toward Raze’s enticing happy trail and eventually ended up as a blowjob that made him see stars, right before his knees threatened to buckle.
He told himself that no man alive could say no to Clover’s beautiful rose-colored mouth and magical tongue. Even the owner of a roadhouse, late for work and expecting a big night, couldn’t be expected to turn that down. He’d have to be inhuman.
He jumped into clothes, pushed his fingers through his hair, and gave Clover a heart-stopping grin.
“Wait. You forgot your phone,” she said as they were closing the kitchen door. She noticed it was on the counter.
“I don’t take it to work. If it rings, I can’t hear it. And I don’t like that vibrate thing.”
She chuckled. “Sensitive. I like that.”
His eyes drifted over her again. “You better always have a pitcher of beer at the ready.”
“I will.” She raised her chin and smiled impishly.
Thibaut Le Cocq mused that he really didn’t deserve to be so lucky, but he’d take it anyway.
He was set to fly out of New Orleans in three hours when he got a call from Lock Manatee, the Stars and Bars’ president. The SBMC was headquartered in Picayune Mississippi, just two and a half hours from Lafayette. Close enough to be considered Le Cocq’s home territory. He liked working with SBMC because they were completely without scruples. They were one of the contacts who got his message, that he was looking for a girl named Clover Fields, not an a.k.a. Included was a description of height, weight, age, and her student ID photo from Columbia wasn’t bad.
One of the SBMC members had been passing through south central Texas. He wasn’t wearing colors. After what had happened in Waco, the members of the Stars and Bars MC who were not incarcerated were not welcome in the Lone Star state.
He was about to get a cheap room for the night when he saw the lights of the roadhouse and stopped in on impulse. The man wasn’t looking for Clover Fields, but there was a girl waiting tables who’d drawn attention to herself by soaking a guy’s crotch with a pitcher of beer. He thought there was something familiar about her, but couldn’t place it. So he forgot all about it until the next day as he was roaring east on I10 lost in thoughts both shallow and ambitious. All of a sudden, he remembered the ‘flier’ from Le Cocq and pulled over to call the SBMC president, Lock Manatee.
“If it’s her, we’ll be lookin’ for our cut,” Lock said.
“If it’s her,” Le Cocq replied smoothly, “I’ll be payin’ your cut and I might also be lookin’ for a place to stash the merchandise.”
“For how long?”
“Couple days tops.”
“Might be open to that. We’ll give you a nice fat discount for repeat business.”
Le Cocq chuffed at that, knowing he’d be gouged. “Just what I’d expect.”
He ended the call and started throwing things in a bag, liking that he’d be able to take his own vehicle. He had a custom van outfitted for the very purpose of transporting human cargo who did not want to be transported. It was designed to make things easy on himself, but unfortunately he didn’t get to use it nearly often enough. Jobs didn’t normally land right in his backyard. Or close enough.
He pressed the code into the keypad that disarmed the separate security system on his four-door garage.
The van was white. Not the color you’d choose if you wanted to attract attention, which made it perfect. White was good because it was so common. People look right past white vans and never suspect they might be carrying anything more questionable than flowers or auto parts.
As he was driving away he started an audio book on gardening. He wasn’t home enough to tend to tomatoes, cucumbers, and squash, but he thought someday he might be. So he reasoned that he might as well spend the drive time productively.
After driving through the night he reached the Austin city limits as the sun was coming up. He checked into a chain motel and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door so he could get some sleep.