Ivy found getting out of bed a problem at the best of times. But, she’d been up to pee twice. The baby was kicking her ribs whenever the little bugger felt like it. She walked like a duck. She ate like a pig. She snarled like a Rottweiler. She carried the baby low, and she sat on her bladder, giggling. Ivy felt her have the hiccups once. That was trippy.

Also, this no-caffeine thing was horrific. She could barely get out of bed with the baby kicking and sitting on her bladder, but the baby also made her a zombie until she ate. All the time. Then, work —standing up all night, chatting with customers, laughing, which often caused her to pee a little. She ran to the bathroom half the night. Dancing was out of the question. She was exhausted and cranky, and wanted naps, not staying up on swing shift.

I have to give in. Callie can’t stand me, Cougar is chomping at the bit, and even Ace looks at me like I’m a nutcase. Hell, Ivy thought, I am a nutcase.

Callie had fixed her breakfast muffins with bacon, egg, and cheese. Ivy wolfed down two, and consumed one water and one caffeine-free “kill me now” can of Coke, followed by a bathroom break. Callie gave her another can for the trip down to the street with the kids and Daisy. She waddled back, peed again, and took her Harley, for the last time, to work.

Ace held the door for her, received a liquor order, and he did all the lifting. She filled up the ice trays on both bar carts, and moved bottles of whiskey and bourbon onto the carts. She tore open cases of beer, laboriously filling up the carts as he received two more orders.

She brought the delivery paperwork to her office to scan, and then to load up to Lily’s shared email. Ivy missed Lily. They no longer worked together. She laid her forehead on the desk. Soon, she wouldn’t be working here, either. Ace would come back full-time, Cougar would handle the rest.

“Hey,” said Bella, as Ivy waddled out of the office. “You ain’t popped yours out yet?”

Ivy flipped her off. “We’re having two. You only had one.”

Bella laughed. “You’ll get even less sleep than I do. Sister —Vi, I keep forgetting, well, she watches Ryder while Inola does her chores, and she has an entire Wolfpack. Henry and David, plus Jake and Vi… and the rest of the Owls, they help. I’ve got night shift, and guess what? Everyone’s asleep. No help. I get her fed and burped, change the diaper and sometimes her clothes. Oh, and sometimes all the bedding, and rock her. She sleeps, I sleep, until she wakes up a few hours later. My back is shit from sleeping in the rocker, but I can barely make it into her room, let alone back into our bed. And, no sex life. None. Just baby and two exhausted parents.”

Ivy looked at her with contempt. “Fuck you and the depressed horse of Inola’s you rode in on.”

Bella pointed a finger at her. “Pregnancy bitchiness. Remember it well.”

“You’re fired,” said Ivy.

“You can’t,” said Bella. “I could show up to work naked, and you couldn’t fire me. Inola would kill you, and so would Henry. And all the other Nighthawks.”

“You are a cruel and unusual woman,” said Ivy.

“True,” said Bella. “Now, waddle back in there and do your job. We have customers soon.”

“Not without a real Coke,” said Ivy.

“Ahh. The light dawns. One every two hours, but you have to drink apple juice or water in between.”

“You do know I tend bar and can make my own drinks, right?” Ivy added.

“You have me tonight. Ace is bushed and wants the smaller bar.”

“Cruelty, thy name is woman,” said Ivy.

Bella laughed evilly. “My plot to destroy you is working.”

Ivy waddled to the bar, and dutifully drank her water before the Coke. Of course, she had to go to the bathroom before she drank the Coke. She kept up a steady stream of patter, willing her hands to move as they always did. Money drops became bathroom breaks combined with sitting down with her feet propped up. Bella’s new bar back, Sunny (the other one had transferred to a school out of state) rocked. She had flaming red hair with blonde on the tips, a sassy crimson smile, perfect teeth, both ears pierced with as much silver and diamond jewelry as they could hold, and an attitude that went on for miles. Her snarky comments to the patrons made them laugh out loud.

Partway through the night, Ivy escaped to the office to deal with a blinding headache. Ice-cold water helped. She went back out, and sang Kelly Clarkson’s, Piece by Piece onstage, to outright tears, both hers and others.

“You did a Kelly Clarkson,” said Sunny. “You cried onstage. She did hers on a much bigger one, of course, the last night of American Idol.”

“Young, you are,” said Ivy, doing a passable Yoda. “Skilled in the stage arts, you are not.” She went back up, after more Coke, and did Joan Jett’s rousing I Love Rock ‘N Roll, and followed up with Lita Ford’s Kiss Me Deadly. She then sang a heartbreaking I’m Not the Only One, by Sam Smith.

When she got back to the bar, Wraith asked, “Your woman stepping out on you?”

Ivy laughed. “I doubt she could walk that far. Actually, I’m jealous. Damn woman is barely showing, and not waddling, yet. And she’s glowing. I’m just sweating. And waddling.”

Herja, who was up visiting the Vegas Valkyries, said, “I’ve got one.”

“Go for it,” said Ivy.

She waited until the band finished a very screeching-metal version of Guns N’ Roses’ Welcome to the Jungle. Herja sang Heart’s Alone, hitting every high note. She sang Evanescence’s Bring Me to Life, along with the lead singer, and brought the house down.

Herja came back, laughing, and Ivy poured her a whiskey. “Damn,” said Ivy. “Kicked me to the curb.”

“I’ve got something for you,” said Herja. “A friend, so it’s trustworthy, wants to make a trade. She’ll take your little car as a trade-in and sell you a used van she has. Minivans aren’t cool.”

“They aren’t,” said Ivy, groaning. “I’m gonna be a soccer mom!” She pretended to put her head down on the bar and cry.

Herja laughed. “It’s not that bad. It’s super-cool, black with a hawk spray-painted on one side, and a wolf on the other. It’s kind of a cross between a van and a truck, with cool tires. It’s a used Ford E-250. The seats come out for camping, and the like. It’s older, but it rides like a dream. I know it’s sad to become a soccer mom, but it’s nice. The back has a nice place where you can spray-paint the Nighthawks logo.”

“No trade-in,” said Ivy, groaning again, filling up a tray full of beers. “Callie needs the car. I need the van. Plus, our bikes. We’ll need to add onto the garage.”

That’s easy,” said Wraith. “Kit. We can build a motorcycle garage in a day. Hell, get the Wolfpack to do it, it’ll go up for the cost of pizza and sodas.”

Ivy served a tray full of whiskey. “Doable.”

“Give me your credit card,” said Wraith. Ivy handed it over, and served four Iron Knights wanting long-neck beers.

She made the money disappear into the cash register, and then poured a pitcher of beer and put four mugs on a tray.

“Red, blue, sand… wait, there’s one with a blue roof and sand-colored walls like your house, and cute little inlays on the doors.” She flashed Ivy the picture.

“Sold,” said Ivy.

“Whoa,” said Wraith. “Amish people assemble them. This group lives in Oklahoma.”

“Cool,” said Herja, looking at the prefab garage. “Get me one while you’re at it. I’ve got a couple of enthusiasts that want to run a garage.”

“Prefab might not work,” said Wraith. “You need electricity, heating, and cooling.”

“Shit,” said Herja. “Gotta get a build. That’ll cost us a pretty penny.”

“You got men lining up to please you, and win you over. You’re telling me you can’t find people willing to donate time or money?” asked Ivy, now filling up another tray, then pouring three whiskeys for some tourists. “Hell, use my van to drag the seven thousand Wolfpack members over there. Or, hire people from the res and drive ‘em up.” Wraith handed Ivy her card back.

“Seven thousand? Henry’s only on his third round of Wolfpack teens.” Wraith reached over, grabbed her own beer, popped the top, and put a five down on the bar.

Ivy’s eyes popped open as she made the five disappear into her cash register, and her card disappear into her pocket. “Sunny, bathroom break,” she said, and waddled off.

“That’s gonna be one huge baby,” said Herja.

“Where are we with the betting pool?” asked Wraith.

“I’ve got six pounds nine ounces,” said Nina, “and, two days past the due date.”

Wraith opened up the spreadsheet on her phone. “Got ya,” she said. “Herja, really? A week late?”

Herja shrugged. “First babies are often late.”

Wraith took more bets, and updated the spreadsheet. She closed it, ordered another whiskey, and downed it. “Keep ‘em coming,” said Wraith to Nina.

“Saber still out of the picture?” Nina asked, filling up the next glass with apple juice. She added a sprinkle of cinnamon, and handed it over. “Drink this,” she said. “Works better for your sorrow.”

“Fuck you and the Harley you rode in on,” said Wraith, but she took the shot.

“That’s just mean,” said Herja. “Tell it to me, sister.”

“My bed is empty, and so is my heart.” Wraith turned over her shot glass and put it on the counter.

“Well, fuck,” said Herja. “That’s sad.”

“It’s the job,” said Wraith. “He’s done it to me, I do it to him. Mine have been shorter-term, lately. But, when you gotta go find bad guys, gun runners, drug runners and people peddlers and just… pond scum.” She downed another shot of cinnamon-laced apple juice. “People who need to take a dirt nap. Seriously. We take them down, hard. If we don’t take out the trash, who will?” She grimaced, turned over the glass. “My trainer done told me, don’t fall in love with one of us. Then Bobby got killed, and he was just… alone.” She fiddled with the glasses on the counter in front of her, making them dance around. “I didn’t want to die pitiful, you know?”

“Can’t help who you love,” said Herja. “If it rocks or it sucks, a woman’s heart stands firm.”

Wraith sat up straight, then stood. “I’m going home,” she said.

“No, you’re not,” said Herja.

“Didn’t bring the bike,” she said, whipping out her cell phone. “I’m gettin’ an Uber.”

Ivy waddled up, laughing. “Damn Ace,” she said. “Man won’t stop making fat jokes.” She saw Wraith fiddling with her cell phone, tears in her eyes. “What?”

Nina smiled at Ivy and then gestured to Wraith. “One for the road?”

“Hell, yeah,” said Wraith. Nina poured them all shots of cinnamon apple juice, and they took the shots.

“I’ll follow your cab,” said Herja, “Hell, cancel the Uber and ride with me.”

Wraith’s face lit up. “Sure. Where we going?”

“You told me once you had to pretend to be a hooker to have your man,” said Herja.

“Fucking humiliating,” said Wraith.

“So, we kidnap him,” said Herja.

Wraith’s eyes lit up. “Let me call the Uber back,” she said. “I have a nefarious plan.”

“Oh, shit,” said Ivy. “Nobody goes to jail.”

Herja laughed. “Wouldn’t be a Friday night without a little trouble.”

“Good God,” said Nina, “that’s what I’m afraid of.”

* * *

Saber was in the process of taking out a drug dealer. Not just any drug dealer, but one that sold high school girls online, to get cash to fund his purchase of meth from a cooker in the desert. Saber had a pretty good idea where the cooker was; he was looking to crash the whole party. They were also making meth candy; the girls helped bag and tag the suckers and star-shaped candies with little stickers of a smiley face with bloody fangs. They were selling it in high schools, themselves. Oddly, the girls all lived in cookie-cutter houses and went to a very nice high school. Saber was furious with Dingo (the pimp and drug runner), for dragging those girls over lines he was relatively sure they wouldn’t have crossed without him.

Dingo was on the corner near a laundromat behind a huge apartment building. He had brown hair, tipped with blonde from the sun that curled over his shoulder. Accentuated by blue eyes like chipped marble, and a short-shorn beard.

Wraith tilted her head. The whiskey made her feel loose and a little dangerous. “I can see it, a little,” she said. “Girls see a movie-star look, and get caught up in stuff that gets way out of control.”

Herja looked at her and smiled a kind smile. “Idiots,” said Herja. “Don’t they respect themselves?”

“I think respect is the last thing on their minds,” said Wraith. “Saber’s team has them buying high-end shoes, purses, stuff like that. One girl is smart; she buys used, fixes them up, and sells them as new.”

“Gotta love them Vuitton and Louboutins,” said Herja. “Still not worth the price of a human heart.”

“Shit, that’s deep,” said Wraith. “Fucking go get my man,” she said. Wraith slipped around the corner, and ordered the Uber.

Herja stalked over to Saber, slapped him, and started screaming at him in Old Norse. He responded by screaming at her in Vietnamese. Dingo the drug runner took out a Glock and used it to wave the two on.

“You two bad for business,” he said. Neither one of them paid attention to him. Herja slapped Wraith, twice; the sound was like the cracks of gunshots in the alley. She stalked away, boots stomping on the pavement. Saber followed her.

The Uber arrived, two blocks away. Wraith started to get in, then looked back. Saber got in next to her, and the driver left in a spin of exhaust.

Saber rubbed his face. “Herja’s in town, I see. She hits like Mike Tyson.”

“It’s Ivy’s last night at the club before she quits to have the female linebacker she’s having.”

“Sorry I missed it,” he said.

“You didn’t,” said Wraith. “She’ll be there for another hour.”

“Good,” he said. “We’ve got to do this hard. I come back with bruises and scratches, then it’s fucking believable.”

Wraith raised her eyebrows. “Maybe we should skip…” She was interrupted by Saber kissing her, hard. She kissed back, equally hard, very willingly bruising her lips. She pushed back, then came up for air. “Change of address,” said Wraith. The driver smiled; he could see it in the rear-view mirror.

He had her bra nearly off by the time they tumbled out of the Uber. They slid up the stairs, Wraith holding it on with just her elbows. Wraith put in the complicated code, and fell in. They entered, and Saber kicked the door shut behind him.

Wraith ripped off his gray, soft shirt, ripping it in the process. She ripped off his undershirt, too, putting holes in it. She slammed him against the door, then bit his lip. She scraped her fingernails down his chest, nipped his nipples, one at a time. She did it with her teeth, drawing a tiny bead of blood.

“Fuck!” said Saber. Wraith unbuttoned his jeans, and used her own boots to pull off his. He pulled off her jeans while she kicked off her own boots.

She leapt, and pinned him to the wall, her legs around him. She screamed as he plunged himself inside her. She set the pace, hard and fast. He turned, kicking off his jeans, and put her back against the wall. She put her hand against his face, then reached back.

She very deliberately, clawed his back. “Fuck!” he said again. She twisted, turned, bucked. He came with a thundering roar, and she came with him, riding the waves.

He lifted her, and dropped her down. She took his hand, and led him to the shower. They had slower sex under the hot water, with long kisses and beautiful touches. They kissed for so long they had to keep coming up for air. She bit, licked, and stroked him until he came again under her hands.

Saber slid down the side of the shower and sat, and put his head in his hands. “Those fucking girls,” he said. “And, I mean that literally. They will do absolutely anything someone asks them to do on a video camera. Every single one of them is just past her eighteenth birthday; they’re asked to join a ‘sex club’ in exchange for bling at their birthday parties.” She knelt and held his hand. “That’s all technically legal, the sex on video stuff, because no one touches them except each other.” He looked at her with blank eyes. “They get paid per welt or bruise for some of the things they do. It’s past kinky, into ugly.” Wraith stroked his face. “Then, this drug lollipop thing. They’ll get destroyed, every one of those pretty little girls, all for what? A few handbags? A pair of fucking shoes?” He snorted. “I mean that literally as well. They wear the shoes, and only the shoes.”

“Any closer to moving up the chain?” asked Wraith.

He snorted. “We’ve got them. Raid happens tonight. That’s why,” he said, kissing her gently, “I’ve got to go. My bruises and cuts will be talked about, I’m sure. Keep him at ease, teasing me.”

He stood and turned off the water. She stepped out and handed him a towel. He took a little gel and greased down his hair as she dried him. He put on his ripped clothes and kissed her again, as she dripped onto the carpet.

“Finally make it home,” he said, “when the after-action reports go in. But, I don’t trust those jokers not to fuck it up. Some hothead from Atlanta is on the team, and if he fucks it up for us, I’ll have to go under again.”

“So,” she said. “You gotta go. Keep yourself safe.”

He put a feather-light kiss on her lips. “Don’t stay up for me. Just… be you.”

“Always,” she said. He melted into the darkness of the stairwell. She closed the door, adjusted her towel, and went to get another towel for her hair.

Saber used another Uber to get within a few blocks of the laundromat. “Fuck,” he said. Dingo wasn’t there. He circled, looking for the man. He found Dingo in a liquor store, grabbing a bottle of Wild Turkey.

“Fuck,” said Dingo. “That woman get you good! You got blood on your shirt, man.”

Saber looked down. “She bit me. And clawed me. That woman a hell cat.”

“What the fuck was she yelling?” asked Dingo. Saber grabbed two ice-cold beers from a beer chest as they threaded their way through the aisles.

“I dunno,” said Saber. “Don’t know that much of her language. She’s good when she’s pissed, though,” he said.

“Gotta get a girl like her,” said Dingo.

“She’d be hard on the other girls,” said Saber. “Fuckin’ hard on them. And, they got a no-face-bruises rule.” He pointed to the swelling on the side of his face.

Dingo bought the whiskey and two shot glasses. Saber bought the beer and held one to the side of his face. “Guess we could get one pretend to go crazy,” said Dingo.

“That woman, she’s not pretending,” said Saber. “She’s a man-hater, in sex it’s like fucken banging a razor. But, she’s good. Get you all riled up. Even better, you got some novelty bruising at the end.” He leered, which made him doubly uncomfortable, talking about both Herja and his wife like that.

They exited the store. “We gonna get a lotta candy,” said Dingo. “Got the girls ready with the labels. They gotta new one, a vampire skull rabbit.” He opened the top of his whiskey, took a drink.

“Dat’s weird, man,” said Saber, pretending to have trouble popping the top off his beer bottle. “Fuckin’ weird. We gotta pick up the shit?”

“Use your bike, man,” said Dingo. “Fuck. I forgot. Your saddlebags aren’t for shit.”

“They old,” said Saber. He’d traded out his roomy Harley saddlebags for some very old ones Henry found for him online. They had seen better days.

“Yeah,” said Dingo, taking another hit of whiskey. “Let’s go get the stuff.”

They walked to Dingo’s van. Saber could see that the man had shaking hands and bloodshot eyes, and his pupils were dilated. He’d been sampling his own product again.

“Hey, man,” said Saber, “if I drive, you can drink more whiskey. Just tell me where to go, man.”

“’Kay,” said Dingo, handing over his keys. “We out in the desert. On the way to Boulder Shitty.” He laughed at his bad joke.

Saber unlocked the van, and Dingo climbed in on the passenger side. Saber climbed up, and put his beer into the tiny cooler Dingo had in the van for that purpose.

“You gonna drink those?” asked Dingo, taking another swig.

“Celebration,” said Saber. “Job well done and all that shit. Add a lollipop or two, be chilling.”

“Fuckin’ A,” said Dingo.

Dingo led them to a road that seemed to lead nowhere. Saber slowed. The meth lab was actually two trailers stuck together, end to end, on a side road in the middle of the desert.

A wide woman in a red dress that made her black skin even darker sat out on the porch. “You folks lost?” she asked. She had a bag of Jolly Ranchers in her hand. Saber watched as she reached in, unwrapped one, put it in her mouth, and chewed it like gum.

“Jason sent me,” said Dingo.

“P-Dawg,” said the woman. “An’ I be Wren.” She laughed crazily. “’Cause I’m so small.”

“P-Dawg,” said Dingo. “Tell ‘em Dingo here to see him.”

“P-Dawg!” screamed Wren.

A man twice Wren’s size wrestled with the door, getting himself out with effort. “Damn, Wren,” he said. “That candy be for product, not yo fat ass.” He took it from her, and she flipped him off.

Dingo stepped forward. He was swaying because of the whiskey. “Fuck,” he said. “Jus’ give us the stuff, man.” He took out a fat roll of bills held in place by a woman’s hair scrunchie.

“Yo girls charge too much,” said P-Dawg. The man with the black, sweaty skin had gold everywhere —neck, rings, teeth. “But it be good bizness for me. How much yew want?”

“Want me two duffels.”

P-Dawg laboriously counted the money. “Be ‘nuff here for a duffel and a half.”

Dingo stepped forward. “What the fuck?”

“Price done went up,” said P-dawg. “Bizness been good.”

Dingo raised his voice, and his right fist. “Be good money there, homie,” he said, emphasizing the word. “We grew up on the same damn street, and you treat me this way?”

“Fuckin’ A,” said P-Dawg. “It all about bizness.”

The DEA team had rolled up in silent trucks with no lights, out of the circle of light from P-Dawg’s trailer, following Saber in. They had met in the distance, and hiked in, in black pants and tactical vests that blended into the night. Saber had taken out his gun and attached his badge to his belt on the driver’s side of the van, opposite the two arguing men. He caught the hand signals, and stayed crouched by the front wheel.

“DEA!” shouted Hanger, the idiot from Atlanta. In one motion, P-Dawg grabbed the shotgun in a holder under Wren’s table and cocked it.

Saber shot him in the chest as the boom of the shotgun rang out into the night. Hanger stood their stupidly, unwilling to duck or get out of the way, so he got it full in the chest and neck.

One agent said on a bullhorn, “Come out with your hands up! We have you surrounded!” as Saber tackled the still-weaving Dingo, and put the cuffs on him. Another agent rushed up to help the bleeding Hanger.

Saber then rushed forward and took Wren down, as she wrestled to rack the shotgun again. He got her hands behind her and put a twist-tie on her wrists.

The lab cooks spilled out. They were put in handcuffs. Saber went in, and found several tweakers. One played the same note on a harmonica over and over as he rocked back and forth. Two men were having sex in a chair. They seemed oblivious to the agents swarming in. Saber separated the sweaty men, both thin from drug use, and cuffed them too. He finally found their pants, and helped them into them.

Saber took Danvers, and Angel and Hildr (both Valkyries with the LVMPD) with him, to get the girls. The girls worked, and some of them lived in the huge apartment complex near the laundromat and liquor store. The bedrooms were done up in high-thread sheets and decor Saber had called, “upper-class sex slave.” All with huge king-size beds and mirrors on the walls and ceilings. There were computers with cameras always open and on.

They had two, three-bedroom apartments on the second floor, separated by a hallway. The agents took out both apartments simultaneously. Hildr with Danvers and Angel with Saber. Some girls did the crying thing, others were stony-faced. They showed their badges to the cameras, and the incoming orders stopped.

They all got medical attention, which netted some surprising results. At least four of them were hooked on Dingo’s brand of candy, but three of them were stone-cold sober. They were led away from the hospital in handcuffs, on their way to the station to be booked for distributing methamphetamines. Their fingerprints were all over the little baggies.

Saber did interviews and paperwork until dawn. Conine, who everyone called “Clothesline,” gave Saber shit for not rushing to help Hanger.

“You were two steps behind him,” said Saber. “What was I gonna do that you weren’t doing?”

“You couldn’t have seen me,” said Conine.

“You smell like your aftershave,” said Saber. “Try not wearing so damn much of it.”

He made it home well after dawn, after stopping off for cheese sticks, fries, and a shake at Sonic.

Wraith met him at the door. “Took the morning off,” she said. “I can do my paperwork here.” Then, she held him as he cried.

One Shot Deal

“Mistah Geary?” asked Ghost, wiping off her hands with a soft cloth. She walked toward him with a definite waddle.

“Jerry,” said the man, covered head-to-toe in Harley leather. “I heah you got yoself the most bee-yu-tee-ful garage.”

Ghost smiled. “Yes, sah, we do.”

“Well, let me see my Sugarbell.”

Ghost thought for a minute. “Yo Harley be Sugahbell?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said. He was tall, with strawberry-blonde hair, watery blue eyes, a goatee, and thin lips. “She is ready, isn’t she? I told my Uber driver to leave.”

“Yes, sah, she is. Come right this way.”

It was the turning to show him his trike that saved both their lives. The shot went wide, hitting the roof and taking out a light.

Ghost knew a gunshot when she heard one. She pulled Jerry to the ground, landing halfway on him. A wrench came sailing out of the garage. Ghost turned her head to see its trajectory, and saw it hit a weasel of a guy in brown leather, with a gun in his right hand. The wrench hit his arm with a resounding crack.

Bonnie scores, thought Ghost. Killa threw her own weapon, a knife she kept in her boot. It hit the man’s knee and went partway in, as she threw it from a crouch. He howled from both injuries.

Rana threw herself off her bike, slid the gun out of her back holster, and shot the man in the shoulder. She had considered the Valkyries, but she was a transplant from Oklahoma that wanted to go on rides, not train to use every weapon imaginable. She’d already done that in the army; she got out for a reason. She held up a hand like they used in the military. The “hold” sign; a closed fist, and said, “Hold!” as Sam, Tito, and Bear poured out of the clubhouse, guns drawn.

“Shooter down! Call 911, we need a bus.” She ran toward the shooter, gun still drawn.

Bonnie moved to stand over him with a huge wrench in her hand. The guy was moaning, his arm obviously broken, a knife in his leg, and a bullet wound to his right shoulder.

“Bonnie,” said Rana. “You met me two days ago, remember? Ivy and Ace gave me the Nighthawks jacket?”

“Yeah,” said Bonnie.

“This guy is going to the hospital, then jail,” she said. “You bash him now, you go to jail, too.”

“Yeah,” said Bonnie. “Don’t care so much at the moment.”

Rana saw movement behind her. Killa had run forward to help Ghost and Jerry stand up.

“Everybody okay?” asked Rana.

“Yeah,” said Ghost.

“Sum-bitch didn’t hit nobody heah,” said Jerry.

Tito rushed up. “I’ve got the first aid kit,” he said.

“Wish he would bleed out,” said Bonnie, who still held the wrench as if she planned on using it on the shooter’s skull.

Tito barked a laugh. “Be fun, but those sirens are the police,” he said. “Let’s put away our guns and wrenches before they get here.” Tito holstered his weapon, as did Sam and Bear.

Bear was bleeding fury. “I’ll check on them,” he said, and moved his bulk quickly toward Ghost and Jerry. Rana holstered her weapon.

“I sent Wraith a 911,” said Sam.

“Good idea,” said Tito. “Now, who is stupid enough to shoot out a biker garage?”

“Jerry,” said Bonnie, “anyone know you’re here?”

“Naw,” he said. “My wife done left me. I lost my job. Won a lot of money at poker, decided I wanted to get a Harley and play poker professionally. So, the suitcase.” It was a battered rolling suitcase, on the small side. “Ain’t got much left.” He sighed. “Can I see my trike now?”

“Hurry it up,” said Tito. “The cops are nearly here.” Jerry was off like a shot into the garage. Bonnie slipped the wrench into her coveralls and ambled over to help show the man his trike.

The cops pulled up and stepped out of their vehicle, hands on their weapons. “What seems to be the trouble?” asked Officer Ghan, a tall man who looked to be of East-Indian extraction, with caramel skin and wide brown eyes.

“I called for the bus,” said Tito. “This guy, whoever he is, shot at that pregnant woman there,” he said, pointing at Ghost, who was rubbing her belly. “In fact, we’d better get her to the hospital, she’s having twins.” He pointed to the man’s gun on the ground. “I know Rana here shot him in the shoulder. I didn’t see what happened before that.”

The other officer, Officer Hasker, called on her mic for another ambulance. She was short, with her blue-black hair carefully tamed in a bun, and wide, green eyes taking in the scene. An ambulance roared up, and the EMTs rushed forward.

Hasker said, “Wounded shooter here, pregnant woman with twins he shot at, there.” A second ambulance showed up, and the first two EMTs worked on the shooter. Hasker carefully kicked the gun away, then bagged it.

Officer Ghan questioned Rana. “Where is your weapon?” he asked.

“Back holster,” she said. “I will be happy to turn it over when you’re ready.” He got out an evidence bag, and she dropped it in. She showed him her ID, her ex-military credentials, and her concealed carry permit. He wrote everything down.

The next two officers split up, one questioning Ghost, who didn’t want to go to the hospital, and one who questioned Bonnie and Jerry. Both were Hispanic women; both looked tough enough to spit nails.

Wraith rode up, flashed her DEA credentials, and quickly ruled out Jerry as the victim. No one except Ghost knew he was coming, and she had no idea when, exactly, he would arrive. That left Ghost, and that raised some ugly questions.

Was it their FBI rat? Was it some weird, not-all-the-Talamates-are-dead thing? I hope not, Wraith thought. If any more of those cartel bastards are still alive, I’ll kill them myself.

She went over to talk to Ghost. “Ghost, who are the parents of these babies?” she asked. The EMT looked at her as if she had two heads.

“Judge Jannie Renault an’ her wifey, Sondra Blake,” said Ghost.

Wraith looked at the startled EMT. “Surrogate mother,” she explained. “Could you call them?” she asked Ghost. “Tell them we’ll meet them at the hospital.”

“I ain’t…” said Ghost.

Bonnie came over and stared her down. “You are having a baby for those nice people. It ain’t just you anymore. Go. Tito has his truck, he can drive you.” She waved Tito over. “Tito, take Princess here to Valley Medical. The moms can meet us there.”

Ghost gave a thunderous look, then sighed. “Get dat man his bike. He done came all this way fo’ it.”

“On it,” said Bonnie.

The cops took having the DEA involved in stride. Officer Ghan was an Iron Knight and knew about the Nighthawks. If the DEA could tell him what was going on, then that would make his job much easier.

No one got arrested but the shooter. He had no ID, but Ghan had a portable fingerprint scanner. He got a scan right before the ambulance drove off.

He told Wraith. “Thanks for the info. I’ll be in touch,” Wraith said. Wraith got on her bike and followed Tito to the hospital.

The judge was there two minutes after Sondra arrived. “The babies alright?” she said.

The technician doing the ultrasound said, “Wait one minute.” The doctor came in and they both stared and pointed at the screen.

“What is it?” asked Judge Renault, terrified. Sondra clenched her hand.

“Sorry,” said the OB/GYN on call, Doctor Nathon. “The babies are fine. We’re counting hands, and we have five so far.”

“Five?” asked Sondra.

“I get it,” said Ghost. “You tellin’ me there anoder one o’ dem in dere.”

“It’s common with triplets,” said Doctor Nathon. “The first two babies hide the third one. We’re confirming, but I think there’s three.”

Sondra grabbed Jannie’s face and kissed her. Killa stroked Ghost’s face. “You be a good carrier,” she said. “Done growed three.”

Jannie laughed. “More shopping,” she said.

“More names!” said Sondra.

“Definitely… another foot,” the doctor said. “Ghost, you can work for a few more weeks, but you’re going to get more and more tired, and it will be harder and harder to walk. And, you’ll be very hungry and thirsty. Go ahead and eat and drink, you’re eating for three!”

“I’m gettin’ Sonic after this,” Ghost said. Everyone laughed.

Wraith, standing in the corner of the room, smiled, with tears in her eyes. That was one happy judge. Now she would have to ask the woman questions she didn’t want to answer.

Sondra went to the bathroom to fix her makeup. “Judge Renault,” she said.

“Jannie,” she said. “You’re Wraith, a friend of the family.”

“Family,” she said. “A Valkyrie, but we’re family. And, very much on the down low, I’m DEA.” She flashed her credentials. “Anyway, I wondered if I could ask you about any recent cases with very angry participants. I know you are a family court judge.”

“Yes,” she said, “and, before you ask, yes, we’re adopting. But, we wanted our own if it could physically be done first.”

“Wasn’t going to,” said Wraith. “But, that’s nice. Anyone really angry about the outcome?”

“There was one dad by the name of…”

“Robert Tibert?” asked Wraith.

Jannie’s face closed. “The shooter, I take it?”

“Yes,” said Wraith. “What happened?”

“He lost custody of his children due to abuse and neglect, permanently. He was given several chances to get clean and sober.” Jannie clenched her fists. “How did he find out about this? I don’t talk about my surrogate pregnancy at work. I don’t generally talk about my home life much at all.”

“Well,” said Wraith, “someone did. I’ll call the officers and wrap this up. Can you go by the precinct and give a statement?”

“I’ll head there right now,” she said. “I don’t have another case for an hour.”

Sondra walked over. “Everything alright?” she asked, concerned by their serious faces.

“Just wrapping up,” said Wraith, smiling. “We’ll look after Ghost. Bonnie will get her off work when the time is right.”

Tito took Ghost and Killa through the drive-through on their way back to work. “I ain’t takin’ off work fo’ a long time,” said Ghost. She ordered two shakes, one order each of fries, cheese sticks, chicken, and a tiny sundae. “What ya’ll want?” she asked. Killa doubled over laughing.

They ate at the club. Tito went back to work after they thanked him.

Bonnie was calm in the face of Ghost’s ire. “That man done gave us lots of money. Was real glad about you saving his life, too. One day you’ll be waddling like a duck, your back will hurt, and you won’t be able to get a good welding bead in. Then, we figure out what to do. Until then, we’ve got two more trikes to do and five dog boxes, three of them the extra-small ones for the chihuahuas.”

“On it,” said Ghost.

“Get you a hobby,” said Bonnie. “Something you can do without moving around much.”

“Ain’t got one o’ dose,” said Ghost.

“So fucking get one,” said Bonnie. Ghost harrumphed, and picked up the next part to install on the electric blue trike she was building.

Killa went to construct the smallest boxes. She had little hands, and she liked making them.

“’Kay,” said Ghost. She knew Bonnie was serious when she cursed.

Ghost put the bike together, slow and easy, asking for a lot more help than she normally needed. She felt the babies kick, and thought about her house. Their house. Killa wanted mint-green walls in the hallway.

She sent a text to Tito. “Killa want mint green walls in the hallway downstairs. Usual way.” The “usual way” was for the Wolfpack to get what they needed on a rechargeable credit card Ghost kept filled up for Tito to use.

She then ordered four large pizzas, wings, and sodas to be delivered at dinnertime. The Wolfpack and Tito would munch them, and the hallway would be done. Bonnie also gave her envelopes with cash on painting days. It seemed to please Tito, for running the teens around and supervising the work.

“Bonnie,” she said. “Done gettin’ a hallway done for mah lady heah,” she said.

“Good,” said Bonnie. “One part at a time, just like I taught you.” Ghost nodded, then welded a perfect seam. She took out the next part, ready to finish.

The trike’s owner, was a woman with long blonde hair, and a do-rag on her head. She was dressed in black leather from head to toe. She showed up at quitting time. The blue dragons on the gas tank really made the bike pop. She reached out, gently stroking the gas tank with the tips of her fingers, as Ghost watched her face fill with delight.

“She’s wonderful,” the woman said. She whipped out her credit card for the last payment. “Damn,” she said, walking around and stroking the other side. “She is just gorgeous. Thank you.”

Ghost nodded. “Killa here helped.” Killa took a little bow.

“I can’t thank you enough,” said the woman. Bonnie walked back with the credit card. The woman signed the slip, took the card back, and said, “Can I take her out now?”

“Ride like da wind,” said Ghost. “Call us whenever you want sommin’ done.” She handed out a business card.

“I will,” said the customer. She pocketed the card and receipt, got on the bike and turned it on, all with a wicked grin and a laugh. She put on her blue, metallic helmet, and rode off into the wind.

Ghost thought about her hobby the whole ride home. It was time to drive the car. The Nighthawks had found a wicked Mustang; blue with gold trim and butter-yellow seats. It drove like a metal god. Ghost took it slowly, warming up to her ride, and soon they were home. Killa helped Ghost get out, and walked her in and upstairs. The teens were in moon suits, spraying mint-green paint over the previously-primed walls. Ghost waved, told Tito about the pizza, and went up to crash for a minute.

Killa went to shower first. Since they hadn’t redone the shower yet, and Ghost’s big belly took up most of the small shower, Ghost didn’t shower with her wife anymore. She turned on the TV, and saw some roadshow thingy. They had little, tiny, metal Harleys. Ghost grabbed the remote and looked closer. Betcha I can do dat betta, she thought. Dem a piss-poor paint job. Betcha I can do the whole line, too.

Ghost thought about how to do it. She didn’t know the first thing about miniatures. What would Bonnie do? thought Ghost. She grabbed her phone, and was soon watching videos about making metal miniatures.

She got the idea pretty quickly. She grabbed the sketchpad, charcoal pens, and colored pencils she used to design a Harley. She flipped back through, found an old drawing of a red Harley three-wheeler. She figured the size, and what could move on a miniature. She wouldn’t have to make a real engine, but she wanted parts to move. So, she drew, and forgot about the shower and the pizza. Bemused, Killa fed her wings. Offered her deep-dish, meat-filled, pan pizza, and caffeine-free soda, and left her to her drawings.

Ghost knew she would have to make her own molds, and find the right mix of metals, plastics, and resins. But, she knew those parts. They had been under her fingertips for years. So, she ordered a rubber one-part, and some two-part molds. She added a hot glue melter, some low-melting-point metals (with no lead content), box cutters, awls, tiny clamps, hot glue sticks, and both clay and Lego to create the bases for the molds. Once she had a rubber (for metal) or clay (for resin), she could pour the metal for the same part, indefinitely. She also ordered gloves and masks, because she knew Bonnie would kill her if she harmed hers or the babies’ lungs.

Her first few molds were terrible, but she soon realized she needed to cast in resin first before metal. She soon had perfect molds. Then, she started casting parts. Putting them together was difficult. She used tiny screws and metal pins to hold them in place, while still allowing them to move. She talked to a watchmaker, and found out how to make tiny gears and pistons. She put her first two trikes together. The first was a little lopsided, but the second moved perfectly —wheels, brakes, chassis. It opened to put in a tiny helmet that she also cast. She showed it to Killa, who went crazy over it.

Bonnie went even more insane. “You send this to Jimi and Jimmy down at Harley. They are the best down in design. Them two will go crazy for this. Make Jimi a red one. That’s what she likes.”

Ghost put together the sunset-red trike bike, the last of her work in progress, and she went home with Killa to make the miniature bike for Jimi. Then, she sent it, with one of her cards, to the address in Kansas City that Bonnie gave to her.

She only worked two hours a day in the morning, and then went home to take a nap. She ate throughout the day, and made her miniatures.

She had five three-wheelers, and was casting a low-rider with as many working pieces as possible, when a woman called her. “This Ghost?” asked the woman.

“Yeah,” said Ghost. “Who callin’?”

“This is Jimi at Harley-Davidson. We love your miniatures! Can you send us a few more of the three-wheelers? We want to put one in our museum in Milwaukee. Can you send us more?”

“Sho’ nuff,” said Ghost. “Gimme de address fo da museum.” Jimi rattled it off, and Ghost wrote it down.

“Do you work from drawings?” asked Jimi.

“Sho’ do,” said Ghost.

“Can you do something we send to you? Make a miniature of it with as many parts as possible?”

“Sho’ can,” said Ghost.

“How fast?” asked Jimi. “I just emailed you some specs.”

Ghost pulled up her email on her little tablet, and saw some gorgeous drawings. “Dis is dope,” she said. “I kin do it in a few days. I only be doin’ dis tiny thing ‘bout a week.”

“Well, screw me sideways and call me Jane,” said Jimi. “You just saved me my job. Here’s my FedEx number. Use this to ship them to me. Make one, send it fast, and I’ll tell you if it needs any changing. If it’s perfect, make me ten more.”

“Sho’ nuff,” said Ghost. “What color ya want?”

“Ghost,” said Jimi, “I think I love you.” Ghost laughed. “Make them all in different colors later, start with black and chrome, first. Gimme your bank name and account information. I’ll send you the funds. Just get cracking, girlfriend!”

“I on it,” said Ghost. Jimi hung up.

Ghost stared at the drawings, then sent them to the printer. She stared at them some more. She then grabbed her tools, and began making molds.

It took her two days to get the first two out, and she sent both her imperfect first copy, and her perfect second one on the same-day, FedEx. She then took a nap, woke up when the babies started kicking her in the ribs, and then finished her low-rider; both the imperfect first and perfect second models.

She took another nap, and received a call from Jimi. “Girl, make as many of both of those as you can. Even your first run is almost perfect. Six, eight, ten. Go with silver, black, red, gold…”

Ghost wrote down Jimi’s specifications. “Shit,” she said. “I make the molds tonight, and do a pour, then mix the colors for the next ones. Be done in three, four days.”

“Excellent,” said Jimi. “The money I sent you good?”

Ghost pulled up her bank app, and nearly dropped the phone. “That be good,” she said. “Keep it comin.’”

“You keep it coming to me, I keep it coming to you,” said Jimi. “I’ll let you get started. Excellent work!”

“I be workin,’” said Ghost. She hung up. Then, she cranked up her tunes and went to work.

It took her three full days, but she pushed herself, stopping to nap and eat… and feel the babies move. She shipped it out at dawn when the FedEx guy came. She lost half a day to what she called a “vet check.”

“Dem people treat me like a damn dog, havin’ the puppies they gonna love on,” she complained to Killa, the night after her ultrasound.

“Dey dam’ near die tryin’ to have dem babies,” said Killa. “An’ we jus’ got the kitchen done. Been makin yo’ favorites, cornbread wif butta n’ honey, grits wif butta n’ honey, collard greens, and dem pork chops. I be cookin,’ an’ I be poppin’ out a baby too, an’ workin’ night an’ day to afford dat dem kitchen. I know yo’ back be hurtin.’ I know you be tired, I know you be workin’ on dem small Harleys. But some of us be workin’ too.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” said Ghost. “I wanna be havin’ yo baby, but I know we ain’t got time ta be doin’ it now. Gotta make dis house perfect for ya,” she said, kissing her neck. “I done love ya, baby. I jus’ bein’ a bitch.”

She pulled out her phone, sent a text. She sat down, and Killa gave her a full plate of food. “I’s sorry,” she said again. “I be forgettin’ you is da bomb, da best damn girl anyone could have.”

Killa smiled tiredly, and sat. “I promised ta be good to ya,” said Killa. “It in our vows.”

Ghost hung her head. “I plumb forgot ta follow dem,” she said. “But, no moah.”

They ate, then Ghost received a text. “Train be comin’ to help ya tomorrow. She say she help ya cook, ‘frigerate da stuff, be ready fo’ me all week.” Train was a Nighthawk who owned a local soul food chain. “She be bringin’ sweet potato pie, bacon potato soup, da stuff dat keep ya goin.’” Killa smiled, the one she had, only for Ghost.

Ghost whipped out her phone, and sent a text. They finished their meal. Ghost missed the shop, and had Killa tell her everything.

She got a text back. “Jannie be sayin,’ ‘You’re on.’ We be gettin’ food all in heah, get you relaxin’ ‘stead o’ tryin’ ta keep me happy.” Ghost stood, took the plates, and put them in the hot water. “I be cleanin’ up tonight,” she said. “Ya go on, turn on da TV. I be comin’ in after da dishwasher full and da pots soakin.’”

Killa sighed then rubbed her back. “Been lookin’ forward ta dat recliner all day.” She took her glass of sweet tea with her to sit down in the living room.

Ghost cleaned everything up, groaning a bit as she had to raise and lower herself to put the dishes in the dishwasher.

She waddled to Killa, and kissed her deeply. “We be gettin’ some help roun’ heah. My baby ken stop bein’ so tired.” She used the new recliner, the one that raised to meet her butt. She laid back, then reached out and held Killa’s hand. “We gon’ be okay, baby. In a few months, no more babies, an’ we can take us a vacay. Where you wanna go? On a ride? Maybe a plane? Jamaica? St. Kitts?”

But Killa’s hand was slack in hers. Her wife was already asleep. Ghost got up, groaned, and put a red chenille blanket over Killa, and grabbed one for herself. She made sure the DVR was recording Killa’s show, the one about the doctor who was really a spy, and she fell asleep, too.

Girl Time

Ghost blew out a long breath. The babies were kicking and spinning. She was out of breath a lot, in the bathroom far too many hours of her day. She completed her last job, and had six in her inbox, some three-wheelers, some the new bike —she assumed that’s what it was —and two low-riders. She thought about how to set things up more efficiently, and what could be taught.

She thought about her wife, but Killa was so tired. She had both the bikes and the boxes to put together and weld. She took a deep breath, and called an Uber, and went to the one person who would understand what she was going through.

Katya handed her a baby the minute she opened the door. “Babushkas at mass,” she said. “Hold baby.” Ghost held the baby, who looked up at her with wide, crystalline blue eyes.

Ghost kicked the door shut behind her. She followed Katya into the living room. Katya sat in a recliner, took out a breath, and put a breast to a hungry mouth.

“Give me Luka,” she said. Ghost handed over the baby. Katya expertly flipped the baby around, rested his butt on the arm of the recliner, opened her bra, and put him to the other breast.

“You be good at that,” said Ghost. “The babies inside me be kickin’ an’ rollin.’ Be at the bathroom ev’ry five minutes.”

“I remember,” said Katya. “Very difficult time. But, I think, I have babies for my Gregory. He working very hard at security company. Help me every moment he can. He stayed home two weeks. Now, he works from home half time. Very good father.”

“I was thinkin’ bout the money.” Her mouth felt dry. “You got somfin’ to drink?”

Katya gestured at the kitchen. “Many drinks. Lemon water, lime water, iced coffee, no caffeine.”

Ghost waddled to the kitchen. “It be cold outside. You got ‘em hot drinks?”

Katya laughed. “Pour coffee, put in microwave.”

Ghost found a mug, and poured herself the coffee. She heated it in the microwave, and when it dinged, took it out and tasted it.

“This be damn fine coffee,” she said.

“Kenyan,” said Katya. “Come, sit.”

Ghost sat down. “I gotta problem.”

“Tell Katya.”

“I busy, too busy. Cain’t ask wifey, she too busy. Need help.”

“Did you call Nantan?” asked Katya. “When Gregory and I need lovely dinner, and the babushkas are at mass, we call him. He sends two. There are twelve of them, I think. Many to help.”

Ghost texted Nantan. “Need help with project.”

Nantan texted back. “Heard about your little Harleys. Need help pouring metal?”

Ghost smiled. “Yeah. Got too many orders.”

“I’ll drop off two, but they get breaks every twenty-five minutes. In between pours, they have to do homework.”

Ghost smiled. “Works for me,” she texted. “Be home soon. Gotta get an Uber.”

“See you soon,” Nantan texted back.

“Thanks,” said Ghost to Katya. “Nantan be helpin’ me. Whatcha got on helpin’ me wif da bein’ pregnant?”

Katya laughed, and took Ivan off to burp him. She patted his back. “Some chairs help. There is one you can buy that rises to meet your rear end.” She pointed at her own chair. “When I have hands, I text you with the link. They deliver.”

Ghost nodded. “I already got one. What else?”

“Rest,” said Katya. “Too many people inside you, pull at your energy.”

Ghost nodded, then pulled out her phone and called the Uber to pick her up. “Sorry, Katya,” said Ghost, slowly getting up. “I gotta pee and go.” She sipped her coffee as she slowly walked to the bathroom.

“Is okay,” said Katya, as Ivan let out a long, low burp. She put Ivan back on the breast and switched babies to burp. “Babies sleep, and so do I.”

Ghost made it out of the bathroom, rinsed out her coffee cup and put it in the dishwasher. She went out to the waiting Uber. She made it home in time to see Nantan’s van pull up. Two teens piled out. One of them rushed over to help her out.

“Hey, Ghost,” the teen said. “I’m Ajai. I’m here to help you pour metal.”

“Be real nice,” said Ghost. “Gettin’ slow and in the bafroom mo’ than in my chair.”

“This is Willow,” said Ajai. “She’s strong. We both are. The Valkyries have been training us.”

Ghost waved to Nantan, unlocked the door, and let the girls in. “Be pourin’ metal into my molds. Be easy but kinda hot.” She shucked her leather jacket, the one that couldn’t zip up now. “Hang ya stuff up here,” she said, pointing to the hall tree. “Be puttin’ you in masks an’ gloves.”

“Okay,” said Ajai. “Safety first. Metal burns probably aren’t pleasant.”

“Gotta sign the agreement first,” said Willow, taking out a piece of paper. “We want twenty percent of your take. College money.”

“’Kay,” said Ghost, and signed the paper. “Be fillin’ up da college money real good here,” she said.

She took them into the workroom. The tables were covered with hot glue melting trays, some labeled “metal,” some “rosin.”

She showed them her metal sticks. “This be my mix. You ain’t tellin’ nobody ‘bout it.”

“Okay,” said Willow. Ghost started Willow on the trikes, and Ajai on the new bikes. Ghost worked the low-riders.

“Wait a minute,” Ghost said.

Ghost grabbed her tablet and went online, first ordering the chair that Katya texted to her, and then okaying all the orders, putting them into the spreadsheet.

“’Kay,” she said. “Three for each of us. That be a lotta pourin.’” She put on her mask, gloves, and apron, and gave the girls the same.

She showed them how to melt the metal, and pour it into the various molds. They melted and poured three times.

“I be happy I made so many molds,” said Ghost. She mixed resin, and used a part to make a mold. “Might as well make more molds, witcha all here.”

The teens helped with the molds. They took out the poured parts, and Ghost showed them the labeled parts bin. “You all keep pourin,’” she said. “I be makin’ da bikes.”

The girls poured, discussing training, until their phones beeped. “Break,” said Ajai.

“Good,” said Ghost. “I be usin’ the closer bathroom. You be goin’ to the one off the kitchen. Get whateva’ ya want from da kitchen.”

The girls got sodas and chips, and munched away. They brought a soda and chips back to Ghost after their break. Ajai finished first, and watched Ghost put a three-wheeler together.

“Diagram be dere,” she said, pointing with her elbow to a sheet. “Go real slow. Da tiny screws be heah,” she said, pointing to a tray. “We gonna need mo’ o’ dose, too. Here da tray o’ da tiny screwdrivers.” She pointed to the screwdrivers used for building computers.

Ajai got one hell of an education on how to put together a Harley. She used the lighted magnifying tool —Ghost had two. Ghost stopped to help Willow take out the parts in the resin, and to pour new metal into them.

“Then the screws,” she said. “Mold makes ‘bout seventy o’ dem.”

They got the three three-wheelers put together. Ghost showed her the spray machine that she used for painting, and the paintbrush.

“Gotta red, a blue, an’ a gold,” she said, taking out the bottles of model paint. “Stink ta high heaven, but dese be da best ones.”

“Awesome,” said Ajai.

They put together the low-riders next. “Ya cain’t tell nobody ‘bout dis one,” she said. “Be a secret.” Ajai mimed locking her lips.

They took frequent breaks. Ghost hung out in the bathroom, and the girls did schoolwork and ate their way through biscuits with butter and honey, and baked potato soup.

Ghost waddled out of the bathroom toward the food. “Gotta let the paint dry,” said Ghost. “Den we finish off de last ones.”

The girls nodded. “Gotta do our Ute language learning,” said Ajai. “Then, math.”

Ghost nodded. “Wifey an’ I takin’ our Harley mechanics certificate.” She sighed. “Wifey be done first. Mo’ hours.”

“She’s pregnant too,” said Ajai. “She won’t get that much farther.”

“She done got knocked up latah,” said Ghost.

“You having twins?” asked Ajai.

“I be havin’ quadruplets,” said Ghost. “Gotta work while I ken.” She finished her meal, rinsed the bowls and plates, and put them in the dishwasher. “Be paintin,’” she said.

“Cool,” said Ajai. Ghost took her tablet, looked up de-caffeinated Kenyan coffee, and ordered it. Ghost then walked to the workroom, and put together the last bikes. She painted them, took out all the previous pours, and poured new ones. She then went to the bathroom, and took a nap. She awoke to all the parts put away, three new trikes and new bikes, and brand-new pours. The girls had also wiped down the counter, and left their equipment carefully hung up.

“Damn,” said Ghost. She painted the rest of the bikes, turned on the curing light, boxed what she could ship, called the FedEx man, and ate a dinner of chicken, green beans, and sweet potato pie. She sent out what she could of the first delivery, and asked the guy to come back in the morning. She went back in, put together three of everything, and went to bed.

* * *

Gregory came in from his home office. “Give me my sons,” he said to his wife. Ivan was being burped.

“Must wait,” said Katya. “Nearly done.” She finished burping Ivan, then switched babies.

“What can I feed you?” asked Gregory. He pulled off his dress shirt and put on a sweatshirt hanging on the back of the bedroom door.

“Soup,” said Katya. “I ate before our sons ate. Bowl is in microwave for you.”

He reheated the soup, heated up some of Nantan’s amazing bread, buttered it, and ate. He cleaned up, and was back in time to burp Ivan again. He took Ivan in for his bath, and Ivan screamed as if he was being murdered. He diapered him, then put him in his crib with the mobile. He turned on the mobile, and Ivan screamed again, this time with joy. He did the same with Luka. Luka didn’t scream, just attempted to eat his hand.

“All that good food,” said Gregory, “and you want to eat your hand.” Luka smiled at him and farted. Gregory laughed.

He got Luka into his crib. The boys liked to stare at each other while falling asleep, and they looked at each other through the slats that were very close together. He read them a baby book, sang them a baby song, and listened as they stopped talking baby talk to each other, rubbing their ears to stay awake. Their eyes closed.

He swung by the bathroom and pocketed a jar of mint lotion. He went back to his wife. She was all the way back in the recliner, watching the news. He brought over an ottoman, took off her thick socks, and rubbed the mint lotion into her feet. She groaned.

“Where’s Elena?” asked Gregory.

“Babushkas took her to pizza and movie,” she said.

Gregory nodded. “Good,” he said, digging deep into her arch.

She groaned again, and said something in Russian. He smiled, and changed feet. She groaned even more deeply, and settled into her chair; iced, de-caffeinated coffee in a thermos with a straw in her hand.

He was halfway up her leg when she abruptly de-reclined her chair, and pressed the button to make it rise. “I want sex,” she said.

He kissed her. “I’m glad I married a woman who knows what she wants.”

“But no more babies,” said Katya. “If I have more babies, I kill you.”

He sighed. “I agree.”

Katya kissed him as hard as possible. “Then,” she said, coming up for air, “we go to bedroom.” She reached down, unbuttoned his jeans, and put her hand inside his pants. She grabbed the tip of his cock, and said, “We go.”

“Fuck,” he said, gasping. “We go,” he said, in a strangled voice.

She stripped off her clothes as she went down the hall, throwing them into the hamper. He stripped off the shirt he’d just put on, hanging it on the door. He had his jeans and underwear off before she had arranged herself on the bed; on pillows, like a queen.

He knelt, and worshipped at her altar. He kissed his way up her right leg, blew gently on her button, and kissed his way up the other leg. She writhed as he touched the button. He pushed on it, kissed it with a flicking tongue, and put two fingers deep inside. He made her come, again and again. She kept her screams down, not wanting to wake the babies. He slid into her, and kissed her deeply. She arched her back, and dug her crimson nails into his back. He screamed into her mouth, and pushed himself inside her. She came again, clenching onto him, and he only needed a few strokes until he came as well.

He smiled at her, and carefully helped her to sit up. She pushed his hands away —after she swung her feet down. “I am strong, Russian, peasant woman,” she said.

He kissed her neck. “You are my queen, my Tsarina.” She laughed.

He took her hand and led her to the bathroom. He turned on the shower; hot, and washed her fall of red hair. It felt like wet silk in his hands. He put the conditioner in it, and soaped her. He washed his own hair while she scrubbed him down. He groaned as she stroked him, she made him hard.

She expertly kissed and sucked him, then grabbed his balls. “These are my toys,” she said.

He groaned. “Yours,” he said. He came in her hand, and she washed them both.

He got out first, legs rubbery. He got her a little towel for her hair, and she started to dry it. He wrapped her in the large towel, and kissed her. He dried himself, and then helped her out of the shower. She finished drying herself, and he put all the towels into the hamper. He combed and dried her hair, and plaited it into a French braid she liked. It kept the boys from pulling out her hair. He rubbed lotion all over her, carefully, slowly rubbing it in.

He dressed in underwear and loose pants, then went to the living room for the jar of mint lotion, then went back to the bathroom. He rubbed the lotion into her feet, and led her to bed. She dressed in underwear, loose pants, thick socks, and her maternity top with hidden slits so the babies could eat. He propped up her feet, and went to get a snack for them. He brought her more iced coffee, and a soda for himself. He brought in a bento box of snacks and dips —cucumber and carrot sticks, ranch dip, nuts mixed with dried apples, and cranberries. He took chips for himself.

They propped up their feet, turned on the TV, and watched an old movie; alternately snacking and holding hands. They were asleep long before Elena and the babushkas came home, laughing, from the animated movie.

* * *

Bella served as fast as she’d ever moved. Cougar moved like a panther; in, around, laughing, talking with people. There were less people —Ivy was a huge draw, but they were doing fine. Cougar made the cash pickups, went to the back room, counted it, and made the deposit every night.

Bella found the guy —an Iron Knight named Bruiser. He was actually a tiny, whippet-thin guy, but he was seriously fierce in a fight. She found that out when a tourist guy slapped his boyfriend as hard as he could.

Bruiser grabbed the guy’s hand and said, “A little violent for a vacation, huh?”

The slapped man stood. “Keith, you’re an ass,” he said. “I’ll check out of our hotel room, I’m changing my ticket to another flight, and you need to forget my number.”

Bella cheered inside her head. The guy that got slapped was fierce.

Bruiser let go of the guy’s arm, but grabbed it again when Keith went to take a swing at his now, ex-boyfriend. “You fucking cunt!” Keith said. Bella wondered if he was yelling at Keith or Bruiser.

Another Iron Knight got on Keith’s other side. “You need some coffee,” said the Iron Knight, who looked like a surfer boy, ripped and blonde with blue eyes.

“Fuck you,” said Keith. He lunged, trying to dislodge his arm.

Bruiser smiled. “If you stand still, you get let go,” he said. “You are not following your boy-toy out.”

“I’m a doctor!” screamed Keith, trying to get his arm free.

Bruiser put his arm in a lock. “You may be a doctor, but you are an ass, as your boyfriend said.”

Keith finally quit struggling. Bella grabbed a cup of coffee, left Sunny the bar, and said, “Either you sit nicely and drink this, or wear it,” she said. Keith took a swing at her.

She stood, ready to move back, but the guy on the other side caught the other arm. Bella poured the coffee over his head, and stepped back.

“Make sure his former honey gets where he’s going, then take out the trash,” said Bella.

“Fuck you!” said Doctor Keith, spitting out cold coffee. Bella turned and walked away.

After they took out the trash, with the doctor swearing up a storm on the way out, Bella asked Bruiser about the house. “My brother Miko,” he said. “Smart, friendly, best at every fucking thing. Loved him. Hurt his back while he was working construction. I got him a desk job. He had surgery, got on pills. Those pills killed him. That’s a death house to me. Wanna sell it bad. Not my house, never paid for it. Half-willing to give it away. Cost me good money to fix it up. Don’t want to rent it out no more.”

Bella explained about Ghost, Killa, and the Wolfpack helpers. “Sounds fucking fantastic,” he said, downing his can of Coke. “Give me an offer, or even some sort of down payment. We’ll get the key by the end of the week.” He wrote down the address and his phone number. “I’m ex-army. Not afraid of hard work. Two pregnant women, I’ll even set food in the death house to help clean up.”

Bella shook her head. “We got Tito and a Wolfpack. It’ll be ready in a few weeks.”

“Good,” he said. “Fuckin’ A. Great to get this off my mind.”

She handed him another Coke. “I’m real fucking sorry about your brother. He sounds like a good guy.” She popped the top on a can for himself, and they touched cans, and drank. She said, “Gotta help Sunny. But, I’ll have our friend help you.”

Cougar came up. “You givin’ our Bruiser free drinks?” she asked, as Bella filled up a tray of longneck beer bottles.

“Absolutely,” said Bella.

“Free drinks for him and Surfer Boy over there,” said Cougar, “For the rest of the night.”

“That’s not necessary, Ma’am,” said Bruiser. “And Surfer Boy’s handle is Dirk. He’s got a wicked sense of humor, and carries a long knife.”

“Well, then Dirk gets free drinks,” said Cougar. “You did real fine, sugar,” she said, her eyes glittering. She went to give him the good news.

“She’s…” Bruiser started to say.

“Sex on a stick?” asked Bella. He laughed. “Never seen her in anything other than leather. Sometimes red top and black pants, sometimes the other way. Woman flirts with anyone, man or woman types. Shit, bet she’d come onto a hermaphrodite.” Bruiser barked out another laugh. Bella sent a text to Ghost with the info, and got one back.

“You wanna meet the ladies at one tomorrow at the house? They’ll give you free Sonic.”

He laughed. “Can’t turn down free Sonic.”

Bella sent a text back to Ghost. “We’re on,” she said. She put her phone in her pocket, and filled up a tray full of whiskey.

“Great,” said Bruiser, then he got lost in the crush.

“Sometimes you have to leave what you love for the greater good… but it still sucks.”