Chapter Three
Diablo chomped on his nachos as he watched the race cars zip around the track on the big-screen TV in the main room. He took a long drink of his Corona, then lifted his chin at Muerto and Goldie as they approached.
“Hey, big man, how’re the nachos?” Goldie asked as he looped his foot under a chair and pulled it out.
“Awesome,” he said as he picked up a chip loaded with cheese, beans, and ground beef.
“Heard the fights this past Saturday made a few of the brothers a lot of dough.” Goldie motioned to the prospect to come over.
“Yeah. I was surprised you didn’t go. It seemed like your kind of thing.” He looked at Muerto. “And yours too. Maybe Raven is keeping you home all the time?”
“Bring me a Coors, then go to the kitchen and have Lena make me some nachos,” Goldie said to the prospect before turning to Diablo. “I had two chicks occupying me on Saturday night.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Raven’s cool with me going out with the brothers, but I wanted to take her for a ride over to Cortez. We had dinner and played some pool.”
“Did she hustle?” Army asked as he joined the group.
“Nah. She told the guys she was fucking good, but you know how it is.” He looked fixedly at Army. “A dude always thinks he can beat a chick. It’s the way we’re wired. Anyway, a few played, lost, and she won a bunch of money. I had to beat the shit outta one of the guys who disrespected her before we rode back to Alina. It was a fuckin’ good time.” Muerto brought his beer bottle to his lips.
“When’s the next fight?” Army asked.
“This Saturday.” Diablo guzzled the rest of his beer.
“I’m in,” Goldie said as he dove into his nachos.
“Count me in too,” Muerto said.
“We should enter the fights. It’d be cool to bust someone’s head open.” Brutus joined the conversation.
“We do that all the time,” Diablo replied, and the brothers laughed in agreement.
“The ring girls are hot pieces of ass. It’s worth it just to see them. A few of them came back to the clubhouse with us and partied.” Brutus looked at the food on the table. “Lena’s making nachos?”
“Yeah. Tell Ruger to get you some.” Goldie picked up a tortilla chip and shoved it in his mouth.
“They wear these bras that make their tits look big and up to their chins, these sexy panties, and lace stockings. They wiggle around between the fights. The ones I’ve been to in Silverado and Durango just had the fighters and that’s it. This is more like a legit show but it isn’t. The promoter does a good job.” Army leaned back.
“Now for sure I’m in for Saturday night,” Goldie said.
“Where do they hold the fights?” Muerto asked.
Diablo pushed his empty plate away from him. “About twenty miles east of Tula. The combats are in a small warehouse. From what I could see, Bloody Knuckles owns the building. I think the ring girls and some of the dudes working for him live there.”
“Bloody Knuckles is his road name? Fuckin’ awesome!” Goldie pounded the table with his fist.
“He’s not a biker. It’s his nickname. You know, something he uses for promotion. The guy’s an asshole, but he pays me well.”
“You’re not making enough money from the club’s businesses?” Brutus said as he picked up a tortilla chip.
“I need more.” Diablo’s jaw tightened.
“That’s the fuckin’ problem with money… you always need more.” Goldie pulled out a bag of weed and a pack of rolling paper. “Who wants a joint?”
“You finished your nachos already? Damn, dude, you must’ve been hungry. I’ll take one for later.” Brutus held out his hand.
While the brothers talked, Diablo’s mind wandered to the honey-eyed woman he’d seen the previous Saturday. She’d been on his mind for the past several days. He looked forward to working the next show mainly for the hope of seeing her again. He’d decided if he did, he’d make it a point to go up to her. He wanted to hear her voice and find out how she fit into the gritty underworld of illegal fighting.
“You tuning us out, Diablo?” Goldie’s voice sliced through his thoughts.
“Just thinking ’bout something. Were you asking me something?”
“Just asking if you want a joint.”
Diablo nodded. Inhaling deeply, he diverted his attention to the TV screen. Around and around the track the colorful race cars sped. He stared at them and the face of his brother popped into his mind. Beau loved race cars. Diablo remembered the summer he turned twelve was when Beau decided he wanted to become a race car driver. Beau was a year and a half younger than Diablo, and they’d walk together to the local tracks in Salt Lake City. They’d pay the small entrance fee and scramble up the bleachers to watch a bunch of metal heaps drive around a track.
That summer they must’ve seen a couple races a week, and at each one of them Beau had told Diablo that he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. His dreams were spun out during that one summer where their lives almost mimicked a fucking Norman Rockwell painting. It was before the Department of Social Services took them away from their mother and Beau gave up his dreams for the prick of a needle.
“What the fuck’s with you?” Goldie’s voice cut through the memories.
Diablo shook his head. “Sorry, dude.” He looked at Goldie.
“I was asking if you’d gambled on the last fights?”
“Nope. I can’t do that since I work there.”
“Do you have some insider info about the fighters for this weekend’s match?”
“I know a few of them ’cause I’ve seen ’em when I was working the shows in other towns. Spider has a mean punch, so I’d go with him. Danny’s good but it’ll depend on who he’s up against. I don’t know who else will be fighting. That’s usually determined the day of. It depends who shows up. It’s really random.”
“You gonna keep working with this Bloody fucking Knuckles?” Army said while the brothers chuckled.
Haunting hazel eyes from a delicate face flashed through Diablo’s mind. “Yeah.”
Muerto’s chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it out. “I gotta get to the pool hall. Later.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Diablo said as he stood up.
Outside, Muerto bumped fists with him, then jumped on his Harley and took off. Diablo sat on his bike, images of the woman at the fights, Beau, and his mother strung out on crack blazing across his mind. He switched on the motor and his bike vibrated underneath him. He needed to take a long ride to clear away the images that kept running through his head. Ever since the previous Saturday, his head was a clusterfuck of shit from his past, and the chick he’d seen at the fights was front and center. Why a woman he’d only seen for a short moment should stay with him was beyond comprehension, but she did.
He veered his Harley onto the back road and increased his speed. Riding fast always cleared his mind, and he needed to think clearly. The sand-filled wind pricked his skin like a thousand needles. It was good; it made him feel alive.
Picking up speed, he flew down the roads that crisscrossed the desert. He kept going, harder and faster, until it was like he was flying higher than a bird. And it was at that point that he was able to push her out of his mind.