The Dust and the Roar Read online

  This year was the most carefree in Meager’s history.

  Now, in the light of day, as most people had left and the few remaining were leaving, Sturgis looked different. The morning after. Pale, aching, strained, at least today.

  I’d connected with Steve’s friend and got him and his wife back on their trike and on the road out of town in about two hours. I hit my favorite bar on the main drag and ordered a burger and a beer before heading home, enjoying the view out the large glass window. People saying goodbyes, taking last minute pictures of themselves and the town, loading up, taking off.

  Down the corner from the bar, a group of men in their shiny and new expensive name brand bike gear yakked in the street next to two big trailers piled with bikes inside. Bet they were doctors, lawyers, stockbrokers out here to go crazy for a few days. There were lots of those guys now. I sipped on my beer as they talked and slapped each other on the back. Behind their long, fancy trailers, I spotted a young guy with stringy, dirty blond hair hanging in his face jacking a fancy camera bag that was looped around the handlebars of a BMW bike that was parked there. Right by him slid a dark, skinny guy with longer hair about his age. As a tour bus pulled out, distracting the rich guys, the blonde kid smoothly passed off the bag to his dark-haired buddy and kept on moving up the street. Within minutes the dark-haired guy entered the bar and seated himself a few stools down from me without the bag. He must have stashed it somewhere

  Slick.

  “Two colas on ice,” he said. Bright green eyes seared mine as he took out a pack of cigarettes from his grungy shirt pocket. The blond came in and sat next to him, lighting up a cig from the pack his buddy had left on the bar top.

  They looked like teenagers, but their faces told a different story. Weary, suspicious, cold, especially the dark-haired one. They eyed the food the bartender set in front of me. I recognized hunger when I saw it. I’d felt it, and I’d seen it on the battlefield plenty of times, gnawing at my insides, taking over my brain cells one by one.

  “Do me a favor—” I said to the bartender. “Get ‘em each one of these, on me.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The two drained their tall glasses and scrounged in their pockets. Coins clattered on the bar. The bartender slid a jumbo bacon cheeseburger and fries platter in front of each of them.

  “Hey, we didn’t order any food,” said the blond guy sitting up straighter.

  “I did,” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

  Their bodies jerked, both of them shooting me sharp looks like two darts aimed straight for my eyes. “Why?”

  Just as I’d thought. “You two look like you could use some decent grub.”

  “Oh yeah?” said the blond, an eyebrow quirking, his hard gaze lasering over me top to bottom. “That it?”

  I let out a dry laugh. “You’re both handsome devils, but I sure don’t swing that way.”

  “We don’t like owing anybody for anything,” muttered the dark one.

  “I don’t want anything from you. Eat. No strings.”

  The settled back on their stools. “Thanks.” They dove into the food.

  No, I didn’t want anything from them, but I was curious to see if they’d be good recruits for our club. We could use the manpower, fresh manpower. The past year we’d gotten one new member in our charter, a guy we called Judge because he was the best in sussing out a fair solution—always impartial, objective, logical, a regular Mr. Spock. He was a good balance to someone like Jump who jumped to conclusions and emotional responses, hence his road name.

  Outside, the rich mens’ trailers and fancy truck pulled out and took off, and the two young guys watched as they ate the last of their fries.

  “You got bikes?” I asked the duo.

  “Yeah, we do.”

  I gestured at the trailer. “BMW, maybe?”

  Blondie cast me a dark look. “Harley.”

  “So what are you planning on doing with that camera you took?” I asked them.

  The dark one squinted at me, wiping at his mouth with his hand. He was preparing.

  I passed them napkins. “I saw you before. No big deal. But I usually stick to bike parts, when I’m in need.”

  They said nothing, only kept up the tense glare.

  “Both of you were smooth as silk, got the job done.”

  “Maybe you want it for yourself? Maybe you want us to rip off shit for you?” Blondie sounded like the voice of experience.

  The dark one’s intent gaze lingered on my Jacks patch. “One-Eyed Jacks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” he said.

  “Where did you two come from?” I asked.

  “Why do you care?” the blond snapped back.

  “Where you off to now?”

  He licked ketchup off his thumb. “Don’t know. We wanted to see the big bike rally at Sturgis. We’ve been up here a couple of days. Time to roll out.”

  “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

  “We always do.” He grinned, his tongue swiping at his lower lip.

  “Yeah, Sturgis at rally time is a playground for boys and their toys,” I said following his attention out the window of the bar at the people hovering over the small number of bikes that still lined the main road.

  He turned to me, his eyes landing on my club patch. “So, what’s a Road Captain?”

  “I watch out for my brothers when we ride, navigate, make sure everyone’s bikes are in good order. When we’re on a run—”

  “A run?”

  “A road trip. It’s all about riding, man.”

  They exchanged quick glances. “Where are your bros?”

  “Home. In Meager.”

  “Meager?”

  “Small town. About an hour and half southeast of here.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You two finish school?” I asked.

  “We’re enrolled in the school of life,” the blond one said, a smirk plastered on his face. The other one remained stone-faced, listening hard.

  Enrolled. Odd word choice from a street punk. “Yeah, it shows.”

  “Meaning?” The blond guy twitched. He had a temper.

  These two were hungry, rebellious, aimless. Perfect prospects.

  I said, “Meaning you both have been through some shit. It’s written all over you. I respect that.”

  They both stood up, pushing back from the bar. “Thanks for the food, man. Much appreciated.”

  “I could hire you for some odd jobs. You could make some cash. Hang out for a few days, take a break from your travels.” Our club needed men, numbers, but good men willing to devote themselves.

  “We’re gonna get going.” His eyes flashed at me. “Check out the last of the action.”

  “This? This is pansy ass shit,” I said, throwing cash on the bar top. “I could show you both what living by your bike is really all about. All this out there isn’t what the rally used to be. Now it’s more carnival show for tourists and hobby riders, which, hey, is cool. At the core of it, yeah, the spirit is still there and respected, and I hope it always will be, but it used to be about the love of the bike in a different way. Pushing the bike to the limits. Pushing yourself to the limits.” I slid my leather jacket on. “I had a feeling you two were all about that.”

  The blond’s eyes scanned my colors as he raised his chin. “You would be right.”

  And I was right. More than I ever could have imagined.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  My two prospects fit right in.

  “I’m Jake, and this is Bone,” said the blond one, introducing themselves to everyone back in Meager where they were working on their bikes in the grassy yard of the bar’s shed.

  “Bone? Boner more like. Look at that thing,” said Mick, gesturing at the kid’s long, thick boner in his black leathers. His legs were thin, he was thin, and his dick was pretty fucking huge.

  “Yeah, it’s a problem.” Bone adjusted his form-fitting pants.

  “Bet that kind of b
oner ain’t a problem with women,” quipped Jump.

  “Nah, it isn’t,” Bone said, a wicked grin on his face.

  Jump’s face settled into a scowl. “You’re gonna make my life miserable, ain’t you?”

  “It’s how you use it, man.” Bone swiveled his hips, winking at Jump, and we all laughed. “You should sharpen your skills, Jump. Then you wouldn’t be so worried, now, would you?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Boner,” said Jump, his eyes narrowing.

  Jake and Boner hung around. I didn’t have to tell them to do this or that or monitor them. They cleaned up, picked up, pitched in. They were polite enough so the guys never had an excuse to bust on them. Of course, who needed an excuse? The third day with us, they asked me to look at their bikes, and they not only observed but listened to my diagnosis of their machines. They were invested in learning how to fix them, how to replace certain parts, how to get creative with improvements.

  They called Isi “ma’am” and even offered to help her make deliveries to the store from the store’s warehouse, which was a big help to my woman. Boner started relaxing and talking more. He had an eccentric sense of humor. He reminded me of Zorro—the smart and steely swashbuckler who lay hidden behind a cool and easy breezy exterior he put on for the world. It worked for him. All the better. We all had to do what we had to do to get on.

  Jake and Boner didn’t leave Meager.

  Within a week they were wearing “Prospect of the One-Eyed Jacks” patches on their jackets.

  * * *

  “Hey Wreck, you know Isi’s brother, Leo?” Jake crouched next to me as I worked under a Chevy at Steve’s garage late on my own one night.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “He showed me his greenhouse.”

  “His what?”

  “His greenhouse, man.” He lowered his voice. “He’s got a nice little operation going.”

  I rolled out from under the car. “Number one: Leo is back in town after being away for years? Number two: Where the hell does he have a greenhouse and what the hell is he growing? And Number three: how the hell did you get him to even talk to you, let alone discuss his private business with you?”

  Jake grinned, settling his ass on the cement floor next to me. “I’m a good listener, and I made sure I didn’t come off like some arrogant know-it-all fuck who wants to rip him off.”

  “Aren’t you talented?”

  “I’ve gotten good at reading people. I can tell when to back off, when to apply a little pressure. He’s definitely a crazy cat. You think a screw’s loose or he’s so high he’s got liquid paranoia in his veins, but he’s sharp as a fucking tack and sober, most of the time. Something may be loose in there, but he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Haven’t really ever had the chance to chit-chat much with him.” I went back to the car.

  “Leo keeps on the move. Leaves the area, the state, fuck knows, comes back. Stays under the grid.” He scooted closer to me. “So check this out—he’s like this mountain man, knows the area like nobody else. I’m talking paths in the woods that I’d bet not even hikers know about it. There’s this clearing that’s hidden from view by a small wall of granite formations, gets sun, he’s got a little farm going in there, plus a mini greenhouse he built himself.”

  “I always assumed he got his weed from someone else.”

  “Nope. He’s no ordinary user and dealer. He comes off like some kind of low-life middle man, but Leo ain’t that. Way beyond that. The green is all his. The pills and crystal and whatever else he gets from somewhere else, but I didn’t get into that with him.” He traced the edge of his mouth with his thumb. “I have this idea I wanted to run by you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I have these seeds.”

  “What kind of seeds?”

  “Pot seeds. I got ‘em from this character on our travels. His shit was amazing. Never had better, and I’ve had plenty. He’d brought them over from Thailand, he said. He gave me some.”

  I slid back out from under the car and shot him a look. “Oh yeah? He just gave ‘em to you?”

  “Well, not exactly … but that’s a long story.”

  “Cut to the chase, man.”

  “I was thinking we should come up with our own little farm situation. There’s demand, and I’m telling you this product is like no other. We could make some serious cash.”

  I sat up on my elbows. “Our own cash, from our own business.”

  “Yep.”

  “Meaning, we won’t be beholden to anybody else for it. It’s purely ours.”

  Jake slanted his head. “As opposed to…”

  “Right now the only cash we’re bringing in as a club is our small share of The Tingle and whatever Colorado throws our way through pick-ups and deliveries and odd jobs. That’s fine, but not great. I don’t like being dependent or obligated to anybody even if it’s the mothership.”

  “Exactly right.” Jake nodded, his mouth drawn tight. So serious.

  “And you think you could go into business with Leo?”

  “What I’d like to do is rent a patch of ground from him since his location is tried and true. Learn a thing or two from him about farming and see how the harvest goes.” He laughed. “And if it’s good, we double down, expand. Maybe go into some kind of partnership with Leo. I don’t know if he’d be up for that—we’d be local competition for him, and that he might not like. But if I approach it as a good deal for everybody he might be open to it. I’d have to take it one step at a time with him. I don’t want the idea to snowball into something else in his head right now, then he’d shut me down in a big way and shut me out forever, which would suck. What do you think?”

  Damn, he’d figured out every angle.

  “You’re right, you got to walk softly and slowly with Leo, and you’ve got to honor his trust every step of the way.” He handed me a rag, and I rubbed at the oil on my fingers. “Feel him out, see if he’d be open to renting to you and teaching you the wise ways of the green. This would be on your shoulders. Can you handle that?”

  “I can handle that.”

  I had no doubt. “If he’s open to it, then we call a meeting, bring it to our brothers.”

  “All right.” A warm grin broke over his face. “Excellent.”

  “Now get out of here, I got work to do.”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Jake—”

  He turned, eyes wide.

  “Good thinking, man. Very good.”

  “Thanks, Wreck.” He lifted his chin, his face lighting up. He was proud, and he had every right to be.

  I finished and cleaned up and met Willy for dinner at Pete’s.

  Annie took away our empty dishes and wiped at our mess of ketchup dribbles and bread crumbs we’d left on the bar with a clean cloth. “Y’all want another beer?”

  “No thanks, Annie,” I said.

  “I would, babe, yeah,” said Willy, winking at her. Annie smiled at him and refilled his glass with a draft of a local beer.

  My eyes darted to my watch again. Isi didn’t have a band rehearsal tonight, and she said she’d meet Willy and me here for a drink after finishing up an inventory check at the store. Her dad had let a few things slip this past week. He’d gotten forgetful lately, which was why she worked full time at the five and dime, but now with her singing schedule, she felt that she wasn’t carrying enough of the burden again and had let shit slide. If there was anyone who didn’t let shit slide, it was Isi.

  “Hey, since there’s a lull in the crowd right now…” Willy said.

  “Huh?” My gaze darted around the bar. There were a couple of elderly men playing pool. Two women at a corner table with a pitcher of beer between them, and us. “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to head in the back and see if Annie needs any help in the stockroom with the kegs.”

  “Right, you do that.” I drained the last of my beer. “I’m going to go outside a minute, see if Isi’s on her way. Maybe walk down to the store. I’ll be back.”<
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  “Gotcha.” Willy sauntered down the hallway in search of his late afternoon delight.

  Pushing through the old, heavy, wooden front door of Pete’s, I lit a cigarette, glanced at my bike sitting proudly in its corner of the lot. I let out a stream of smoke and scanned Clay Street. No sign of Isi. The sky was rosy and deep pink, all seeped with a kind of fiery orange.

  A fierce noise shattered the still and humid air. Kaboom. The earth rocked under my boots. A black billow shot up the sunset sky, smudging its delicate glory. My muscles tightened. An explosion. Where? “Holy fuck!” I strode down Clay, people rushing out of stores and restaurants, gasping, staring at the smoke.

  “Oh my God! Where the hell is that?” said the owner of the hardware store. “I’m going to call 9-1-1!”

  “That’s on the west ridge,” said someone pointing.

  “That could be Dillon’s warehouse!” said someone else.

  I ran.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I jumped on my bike and hit the throttle, tearing out of the parking lot, through Clay Street, around the gas station. At top speed, I hit the curve of the road, the pine trees a green blur as I raced to the opposite end of town where the old Dillon’s General Store and Feed Store warehouse stood.

  What would I find?

  Was Isi there?

  Oh God, please, please, let Isi not be there.

  My bike roared up the last curving hill to where the warehouse stood. I was hit by a wall of heat. Acrid smoke filled my nose, my lungs. Sirens wailed behind me. Tires screeched. Yells, shouts. Commands over a radio.