November 19 — 7:17 am
Balls to the Wall
Myra never did call. She stood smoking in the parking lot of the Travel-Inn as Big Ed pulled in. The motel behind her was two stories of cinder block and slumping composite siding. A reek of urine hung in the air. Big Ed didn’t know how Myra could sleep in such a joint, but then enough crystal had gone up her nose she probably couldn’t smell urine if you pissed on her head. She looked like she’d been run through a thresher, her face blotchy and gaze dead-eyed, her orange quilted coat tattered and greasy. She wasn’t alone. A bald-headed brute in biker’s leathers waited next to her, fingerless gloves on his hands, ears full of metal, braided beard down to his dick. He loomed over a Harley Super Glide, late model, polished and pearl black.
Hiram didn’t wait for Big Ed to stop the Suburban before he threw the door open, grimaced as he swung his bloody leg out and rested his foot on the pavement. “You the guy can get my leg fixed up?”
The smooth head dipped half an inch. “If you got the cash, I am.”
“Cash ain’t the problem. Time is what I’m short of.”
Big Ed didn’t feel particularly protective of Hiram as a human being, but he was disinclined to leave his income source in the care of a stranger, particularly not some outlaw Myra had scared up. He lifted the larynx to say as much, but Hiram cut him off with the wave of a hand.
“What’s your name, fella?”
“I go by George the Flea.”
“Who do you ride with?”
The biker looked down at his chest, and for a moment Big Ed thought he needed to check to make sure. But all he did was point with his chin at the crest patch on his battered leather vest. sub rosa motorcycle club. Red gothic lettering circled a rose growing from a tangle of barbed wire.
“Don’t the Free Souls run Portland?”
“They can think what they want, don’t make it so.”
That yanked a sharp laugh out of Hiram. “Good enough. How you feel about driving me? My associate here has an errand to run.”
“Ain’t leaving my bike anywhere near this rat hole.” He glanced around the lot, at the beater cars and broken glass.
“Fine, we’ll follow you, but we gotta be quick.” Hiram looked at Big Ed. “After we get to the doc’s, I’m keeping the Suburban.”
“You will not be able to drive.”
“I expect George here can find someone to drive me”— he tilted his head the Flea’s way — “since I got the cash.”
The Flea seemed to think for a moment, then offered another terse nod. “Sure.”
“What am I supposed to drive?”
“I don’t give a shit. But you get caught nicking a car, I don’t know you.”
“You do not know this insect either.”
He’d kept his voice low, speaking only to Hiram, but the Flea heard anyway. Leather-clad shoulders suddenly squared, hands balled into fists. “You wanna step out of the truck and repeat that, robot man?”
Fucking bikers, balls to the wall all the time. Big Ed fixed George the Flea with a cold glare and set the larynx in the center console, dropped his hands between his legs.
But Hiram stuck out both hands, one toward Big Ed and the other toward the Flea. “Boys, boys, we all got monster cocks, okay? No need to be whipping them out and scaring the women folk.” The Flea’s eyes bounced from Hiram to Big Ed, perhaps balancing the cash Hiram promised against the pleasure of cracking Big Ed’s skull. Big Ed had no plans to let it come to that. He brushed the floor mat with his fingertips, feeling for the Desert Eagle.
“Dickheads.” Quiet to this point, Myra drew hard on her cigarette and exhaled a brown fog. “Ain’t seen a pecker yet scared me none.”
The Flea’s mouth fell open and for a moment no one moved. Then Hiram busted out laughing and Big Ed found himself fighting back a smile of his own. The Flea shook his head and looked at Myra, then relaxed. “Tell you what, I’ll call a guy to come meet us here. That leg don’t look like it needs to be dripping all goddamn morning.” He pulled a cell phone out of his vest and dialed.
“Best damn idea I heard yet.” Hiram leaned back in his seat, let out a breath. Big Ed could see the pulse in Hiram’s temple. “Ed, whyn’t you take Myra’s car? The morning’s getting away from all of us.”
“Nobody’s driving my car.”
Hiram scowled. “I wasn’t asking your opinion, Myra. You know what needs to be done.”
Ed picked up the larynx. “Boss—”
“I ain’t asking you either.” Hiram’s gaze was hard, half with threat, half with the pain he must be feeling. “Grab the bag for the kid out of the back.”
Big Ed nodded and looked away. “Okay, boss.” He was thinking about how Hiram had no reason to trust some goddamn outlaw biker, no matter that they’d shared a laugh. But he also knew Hiram couldn’t be deflected once he fixed on a decision. Big Ed could do little more than wear his misgivings on his face as George the Flea rode out ahead of the Suburban, some nameless outlaw the Flea scared up behind the wheel, taking Hiram who the hell knew where. Hiram returned his gaze, way too comfortable for a man with a hole in his leg. But all he could do was set his mind to finding the boy as quickly as possible. Sooner he got their leverage back, the sooner he could get Hiram out of the hands of outlaws and they could beat feet back to Givern Valley.