Chapter Seven
Hoodoo cursed under his breath. His head was down so far that his chin rested on his chest and he stared at the world through his brows like some hungry gorilla. An angry hungry gorilla. From frustration and pique, he walked along the edge of the sidewalk. This was a section of town that was made to look Old West, a way to attract the all-mighty tourist dollar. The roofs, for the most part, overhung the sidewalk and posts sprung alongside the road to lift the burden of the weight of the overhang.
Hoodoo’s fist snapped one such four-by-four like a twig.
“HEY!” Someone shouted, but Hoodoo ignored them. The man who’d protested his wanton vandalism followed him a pace or two before falling back and returning to his place of business, shaking his head. No one was going to face down a giant in a bad mood for the sake of a piece of wood.
He’d not even felt the impact, it was an impulse reaction, nothing more. OK, sure he’d go back and pay for it later. Momma Leonna would rake him over the coals if she knew he’d done such a thing. Usually Hoodoo had his anger under better control than that. But that was the way with Tracy, though. She got in under his skin, she always had. It was a glorious feeling when things went well, it was horrible when they didn’t. Their relationship had never been an easy one—highs that soared, lows that… that left him punching four-by-fours and grinding curse words between his clenched teeth.
He cursed the information about someone stealing the damn bike. He cursed the bike. He cursed the way people parted from him as he strode through the streets. He did not curse the day he met her, though. That he couldn’t curse, that he held on to tightly, that memory was too important, too precious to cover with resentment. That had been luck. Pure chance that the man he was supposed to meet about that bike had not been able to be there. That his scrappy, resentful daughter had been the one to meet his eyes when he came through that door. If the old man hadn’t been sick, she wouldn’t have been there. Hell, they wouldn’t even have been selling that bike. And while he wasn’t one to take delight in another’s misfortune, he also wasn’t fool enough to ignore what fate had dropped right into his lap. Besides, the old man was better now, so it was easy to think it had all been for the best.
Hadn’t it?
OK, maybe things weren’t exactly…optimal…right now. But those weeks where Tracy had ridden on the back of his bike were easily the best weeks of his life. In fact, maybe the fact that she was here, now, was fate giving him a do-over.
Yeah. Fat chance. She’d been pretty damn mad.
Somehow, he made it back to the booth. By then, his cheek no longer stung. By then, he figured that he’d maybe deserved that slap. Or even both of them. Things had been said the last time they’d seen each other that had left a bad taste in his mouth at the time. He hadn’t apologized – and he should have. Hell, even he’d slap himself in retrospect if he could. But did she have to be so pig-headed about things? She could have at least listened.
Even his friends were leery of him. Mad-dog took one look at him and disappeared into a nearby booth and brought two large mugs of beer, fresh and cold from the tap. He handed both to Hoodoo. Without thought, Hoodoo emptied the first in a single swallow.
“When that belch comes back,” Loki whispered to the others, “I’m going to run for it.”
Hoodoo looked up at him as he quaffed the second beer. He nearly choked on the amber as the laugh that he really needed now took him over. Hoodoo lay back in the chair, letting his laugh roll out of him. “Thanks,” he said when he could speak again.
Hoodoo clapped Loki on the shoulder, pretending not to notice that it rattled the smaller man’s teeth. He slammed the last tankard down and stood. “We’re at Sturgis!” he roared, finding his delight in the day again. Let Tracy do whatever the hell she wanted. She was a grown woman. Let her make her own blasted mistakes.
Mad-dog slapped the big man’s shoulder. “That we are!” he said, laughing, “let’s have some fun!”
“Alright.” Hoodoo said, rising. “You’re right.” The companions looked at one another for a long moment. Hoodoo shrugged. “Anything in particular come to mind?”
Val dug under the table, pulling up a tablet. “Let me see if can tap the wifi from the coffee shop,” she said, “we should be close enough…” She tapped the screen several times and leaning back, “Well, they’ve got Molly’s Middle Finger in concert…”
“Who?” Hoodoo asked. He turned to the rest, but they were as confused as he was.
“You know, they did Puff It Up?” Val looked from one to another, eyes wide in shock. “Puff It Up? Really? None of you know that song?” She shook her head sorrowfully, “There’s no hope for any of you… fine.” She looked up and cocked her head to one side, “Lynyrd Skynyrd? Def Leppard?”
“Really?” Loki reached for the tablet. “Damn, not for a couple of days.” Ignoring Val’s cry of protestation, Loki tapped the screen again. He paused, something caught his eye. “Hey, Hoodoo man, don’t you know this guy?” He handed the tablet over.
“AUGUST 8th! CAGE FIGHT EXHIBITION! K.P. KROCKER vs. ROCKY VELIZE!” The graphic fairly leapt off the page, two shirtless men glaring at the camera.
“Hey!” Hoodoo said, pointing at the man under the caption that proclaimed only the word “Rocky.” “I know the guy. He’s a good friend. I ain’t seen him in near two years now, since Hitmon’s wedding.”
“Let me see,” Val insisted. As the shortest member of the group, she was often reduced to tiptoes and straining to see around her friends. Hoodoo handed the tablet back to her and she pointed and raised her right eyebrow. “This one is your friend?” she asked. When Hoodoo nodded she let out a low whistle. “Introduce me,” she said, “I want to be his friend, too.”
Mad-dog let out a loud laugh, nearly a bark. It was one of the ways he’d earned his nick-name. “You go get him!” he said and Val’s cheeks flushed red, although she lifted her head in an angry toss and met his gaze with a glare of her own.
“I might just at that!” she proclaimed, then clamped her lips shut as the rest of the group erupted into a series of catcalls and whistles. “Oh, grow up,” she muttered finally through gritted teeth and flipped them the bird, showing that she was indeed a true fan of Molly’s Middle Finger.
“Alright, in the meantime, it’s noon,” Hoodoo checked his watch. “And I’m hungry!”
“You know that every place in town that serves food is crammed to the gills, right?” Danny asked, pointing to the line twenty deep at the coffee house next door – and that was outside the door.
“But there’s street vendors,” Andy said, eyeing a taco cart some distance away. “And some of them are pretty decent.”
Hoodoo looked at the booth and shook his head. “Let’s shut down for a while. We’ll close for lunch. Rubber hot dogs and mystery meat on a bun are on me.”
“I can deal with that!” Val laughed and reached for the displays. It was a matter of minutes before everything was folded or rolled. The benefit of being an artist was that the bulk of his work would fit into the small hatch in Mad-dog’s trike.
It was worth the time just to have his people riding with him. To head down the road with them at his back and at his side. The Black Hills called from the horizon, the open road stretched in front of him and Hoodoo settled on the seat, feeling the wind in his hair and the thrum of the engine under him.
It was a tempting thought to just keep going. Exploring the twists and turns of the open road, running over the asphalt with the summer sun on his back. Maybe when they’d eaten. A quick run to blow out the rust and dust. The vendor was really little more than a hot dog stand with pretentions of being an eatery, but it was in a prime location.
There were a few sound stages set up for the rally, hosting big-name and no-name music. Hoodoo had a particular attraction for Leonard Skynard, but at the moment, Foreigner was setting up for an afternoon show.
Hoodoo and the rest sat at makeshift tables and on overturned buckets and watched the men and women running cables and stringing lights and setting up the stage. It was fascinating to watch it all come together and see the stage built.
They’d just finished the dogs, nicely made, juicy and spicy with a crisp crunch, when his plans quickly changed.
“Hello, Hoodoo,” Tracy said from behind his ear.