Take Me, Outlaw(9)

Rafe actually threw his head back and laughed. For a bizarre moment, I felt like Alice in the looking-glass world. How could he possibly laugh after being shot at? Had everything turned backwards? Why couldn't I just wake up from all this?



“The helmet, Jewel,” Rafe said, pointing to my head. “I mean, I guess you can keep wearing it if you really want, but the front desk clerk will probably think you're a special-needs kid or something.”



Embarrassed, I reached under my chin and undid the strap, handing the helmet to Rafe. He hung it from one of the handlebars, still shaking his head and chuckling. Part of me hated being laughed at while the other part kept insisting that it didn't matter because none of this was real.



“Come on,” he said, heading toward the motel office. “You should probably let me do the talking.”



The office was decorated in a hideous beige that briefly reminded me of Bertrand's office. The surface of the front desk was ugly chipped formica, and there was a scuffed, tarnished table bell resting on it. Rafe smacked the nub on top to ring it, and the sound almost made me jump out of my skin. I realized that my mouth was starting to taste vaguely like copper, with a sour undertone that almost seemed like ozone.



The man who waddled out of the back room looked like a squashed pumpkin dressed in a flannel shirt and overalls, with a stained and crusty hunting cap on his head. His lumpy face was covered in warts. When he saw Rafe, he smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth.



“Well howdy, Rafe!” he exclaimed in a raspy voice that sounded like a rusty hinge. “Ain't you a sight! I didn't know you'd graduated from ol' Gray Bar University.”



“Hey Chucky,” Rafe answered, smiling. “Yep, graduated with honors. Got my degree right here.” He pulled up his shirt, displaying a faded blue tattoo on his side with the letters “P.C.C.” with a knife running through them.



As shaken up as I was, I still couldn't help but notice how well-defined his abs were. His muscles were tight and chiseled, like a statue in a museum.



Chucky wheezed with laughter. “Yep, that's the one! Got me one just like it, only I don't wanna show you where it is, on account of how it might scare the lady.” He turned to wink at me. “Now what can I do ya for?”



“We've got some heat on us, so we need to bed down here for the night,” Rafe said. “You know the drill...”



“Yeah, sure. If anyone comes by, I never met ya an' ain't never seen no one who looks like ya,” Chucky nodded. “Who're we expectin'? Cops? Staties?”



“Could be either or both,” Rafe said. “Could be worse, too, come to that.”



“Fair enough,” Chucky replied. He handed over a room key. “Room 27. It's got fresh towels, cable, the whole nine.”



“Thanks, man,” Rafe said, reaching for his wallet.



Chucky waved his hands at him. “No, now come on! You know yer money ain't no good here, boy! Bard's always taken good care of me so you guys can use this place when you gotta.”



Rafe leaned in and looked at Chucky with intense eyes, his voice lowering almost to a whisper. “This ain't no Bard thing, Chucky.”



Chucky looked confused for a moment, and then the smile dropped from his face. He peered at Rafe solemnly. “Huh. I see. Well, then I reckon you'd better hang onto that cash anyway, just in case you need it later on. You c'n square it with me some other time.”



“Thanks,” Rafe said. He turned to me. “Let's go.”



I followed Rafe to the room. It was small and musty, with a pair of twin beds, a TV on a rickety table, and a narrow door leading to the bathroom.



“Okay, you get settled in,” Rafe said. “Go splash some water on your face or something, watch some TV, and try to chill out. I've got one more quick thing I need to talk to Chucky about, but I'll be back in about ten minutes. I'm taking the key so I can let myself in. If anyone knocks on that door, I don't care who the fuck they are or what they say they want, you just keep the door shut and scream your motherfucking head off, okay? I'll hear it and I'll come running.”



Without waiting for me to respond, Rafe left, shutting the door behind him.



I looked around at the dingy surroundings. The grubby reality of them was too much, and suddenly, I realized that this had all really happened to me after all.



I had watched a man get murdered. I had been shot at. I had been on the back of a motorcycle as it jumped over a car, all while other men chased me and tried to kill me.



My knees turned into water and I collapsed on the floor, the dust from the cheap carpet filling my nostrils. I opened my mouth and a loud sob escaped me as hot tears stung my eyes. My lungs felt like they were being squeezed by invisible hands.



This was no dream, and I had never been so frightened in my entire life.





Chapter 8




Rafe



I walked back to the motel's front office and tapped the bell again. Chucky emerged from the back room again, holding an old porno magazine in one hand and zipping up his overalls with the other. He looked annoyed for a moment until he realized it was me again.



“Damn, sorry!” Chucky said. He tossed the magazine aside and briskly wiped his hands on his shirt. “Thought you two was all squared away. What'sa matter? TV don't work?”



“I'm sure it works fine,” I replied. “I just had a couple questions I figured you could answer for me, since I've been away so long.”



“Uh-huh,” Chucky answered, looking me up and down. “Reckon ya wanna know 'bout Jester an' that fucked-up niece of his, since they had ya locked up, right? Lookin' fer a li'l payback? Heck, I knew them stories 'bout you beatin' that girl up an' so forth were just a buncha bull. I known you a long time an' seen you do plenty a' fucked-up stuff, but the day you smack the fuck outta some girl like that? Sheeeit, that's the day I eat my hat.”



Chucky may have been a redneck slob, but he wasn't stupid. With his whole corn-fed, aw-shucks routine, sometimes it was easy to forget that. His motel was used by other gangs besides ours, so he kept his ear to the ground. “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks. So Jester still rolls with the Mancusos, right?”



“Ayuh,” Chucky nodded. “He ain't pullin' no triggers for 'em no more, neither. Got hisself promoted. Got plenty've people to do his dirty work for 'im. Hell, he's practically a ghost out on the streets these days. No one sees 'im anymore, 'cept fer Abby an' a couple've his closest guys who pass along his orders to the rest.”



Shit, I thought. “So if he ain't on the streets anymore, where is he?” I asked.



“Pffft, dark side a' the moon, fer all I know,” Chucky shrugged. He slid the office window opened, hocked, leaned out to spit, and closed it again. “Some folks say he's maybe involved in somethin' deeper than the usual mob shit, but them's mostly campfire stories. Anyone who claims they really know for sure is fartin' way above their ass.”



“How about Abby?” I prodded. “Where's she hang out these days?”



Chucky was already shaking his head before I could even finish. “Ain't happenin', kid,” he said sadly. “Any time she goes out, Jester sends about a dozen guys with her an' they never take their eyes off 'er. He ain't takin' no chances that some other gang's gonna grab 'er an' ransom 'er. You get close enough ta point a gun at 'er, an' ya may as well put it in yer mouth instead. 'Sides, they gotta be lookin' out for ya, now they know yer outta the slam an' all. You ain't exactly no master of disguise, neither. May as well have 'biker' tattooed on yer fuckin' forehead, even without yer patch.”



“So he's invisible and she's untouchable. Is that what you're telling me? There's no way to get to him?” I demanded.



“None I know of,” Chucky answered. “Sorry, boy. Reckon if there were, he'd have had me killed by now just fer knowin' 'bout it.”



I knew that meant I'd need to get some useful information from Jewel. Otherwise, I might as well have started looking for a lifelong place to hide. Just because I couldn't find Jester didn't mean he wouldn't get around to finding me.



“Okay, just one more question,” I said.



“Shoot,” Chucky replied.



“When I got put away, the Mancusos didn't have a lot of juice with the cops. I mean, a couple guys on the force here and there, enough to plant some stuff on me for a quick frame-up, but nothing major. Is that still true?” I figured I'd better ask so I'd know whether to suspect any cops we run into of working for Jester.



Chucky pulled off his hunting cap and scratched his flaky scalp, thinking it over. “Hard to say. Used to be the Bonaccorsos controlled a lot've the higher-up cops an' judges, but their whole outfit got damn well nuked last year. Heck, Bard prob'ly told you 'bout that, seein' as how he was the one what nuked 'em. Since then, most've those lawmen have been scramblin' to find someone else to line their pockets. So it could be the Mancusos bought up a few of 'em, but if yer askin' fer a list...”



“No, I understand. Thanks again, Chucky,” I said. “I really do owe you for this, big-time.”



Chucky was sizing me up again and squinting. “You're serious 'bout this, huh? Ain't gonna rest 'til you find a way to bring 'im down?”