Hell on Heelz (Asphalt Gods' MC) (6 page)

“Dixie here has brought to my attention that all the sisters help you out, but no one helps her. She needs some help tonight.”

“Mine’s honest work. How can I help Dixie? I ain’t gonna suck a dick for her.”

Dixie smiled, didn’t have to say anything being our President’s favorite whore.

“You’ll help her earn her keep tonight,” the Banshee told me in a tone that meant I shouldn’t argue.

It’s not that I should be fearful of our president. It was just we had a pecking order. It worked, cause to go against the Banshee would mean I’d be at the mercy of all my sisters. 

“What about the run? I promised your mama,” I tried reminding her of the charity run in honor of Legs this afternoon. We were expecting over two hundred riders. At fifty bucks a head, plus extra donations, we’d raise a lot of money. It’d look good in the paper and honestly, I needed some goodness in my life at the moment.

“Doesn’t matter. You two are going to work together tonight. Besides, troubles coming, and I don’t want all my eggs in one basket.”

Just then, the Banshee’s daughter ran in and hugged her mama’s legs. Star was a rare sight because she lived away from the Roost with Shirley’s mom, Legs. At nine years old, she was the spitting image of the Banshee herself, red hair and a fiery expression to boot. Shirley left with Star before the girl could wander too far, leaving Dixie to explain.

“What’s this about trouble?” I asked her.

Dixie was probably running another scam, and I didn’t want any part of it. Everyone in the club knew she’d swindled men out of money to pay her dues when she was hard up. She wouldn’t know who, where or when. “That’s the exciting part,” she’d remarked before like that was how she got her thrills too.

“You’re mine tonight, Edie.” Dixie walked around me and snapped her fingers at Locks who’d been behind the bar.

Our resident hair dresser told me in her thick southern accent, “I’m gonna tease your hair until it cries and runs home.”

I’d never let her touch my hair before, even when she’d asked me ‘bout fifty eleven times. She didn’t just want to do my hair. She wanted to feel the texture like she’d close her eyes and be transported to Africa. The hillbilly acted like I was an oddity, but then she’d try to save face by smiling and saying I was beautifully exotic or some other baloney. I knew she meant it as a complement, in her own way, but people who wanted to bring attention to my color all the time grated my nerves. I ground my teeth together because I knew the Banshee was testing me. She’d put me at Dixie’s mercy, and I’d have to let Locks work on me too.

Locks smiled big as she ran her hands through my hair, and I sighed—It felt mighty good to have my scalp rubbed.

“Just relax. I’ve got my license now,” she assured me.

Shit—God love her. I was proud of her. I knew all my sister’s stories, well as much as they wanted to share, and they knew mine, as much as I told. They all knew about me killing Kelly—and no one had sent me up the river yet.

Locks getting her cosmetology license was a big deal. Having been homeschooled, if you could call it that, she passed her GED first. She grew up a biker brat in Tennessee with her sister Topper. They were known as the Banshee’s rescue girls, like we all hadn’t been rescued from something or hoped to be. However, they both betrayed their “pa”, the then president of the Devil’s Dice MC, for a man no less. Yes, one man simply called Killer—the sisters were sharing him. Killer, the current leader, well, once Locks and Topper’s Pa was out of the picture, he turned around and auctioned the girls off, wanting to be rid of their bloodline all together. He said their family tree was a totem pole, and he’d probably been right. Shirley won Locks and Topper in a game of poker.

Even though she’d said something about teasing, making the 80’s flash through my mind, Locks straightened my hair and curled it up all glamourous like. Dixie picked me out some of her designer clothes and heels for me. I dressed in the back of the bar in the office and admired myself in Shirley’s full length mirror. I looked like a polished, prissy, gold-digger—like Dixie, but with larger than life, gorgeous hair. I was getting ready to head out when 2Kurrupt just waltzed into the office.

“What’s Mutherfukers doing here?” I asked him.

“A security sweep.”

The Banshee talked about trouble and trouble might as well have been 2Kurrupt’s name. Enforcer for the Miami Mutherfukers MC, he’d probably rode ahead with his crew to signal the all clear which meant the Banshee had important business here tonight.

“On who’s authority?”

2Kurrupt happened to be one of the few black outlaw bikers I’d met, although his club was mostly Latinos. If nothing else, Mutherfukers were a diverse group of assholes. Wearing chain after chain, he liked his jewelry. All of them did. Shirtless besides his white cut, he was showing off his black lined tattoos. He also had three dots under the corner of one eye, like most of his brothers. Cracking his neck, he said, “Your girl knows I’m here. Banshee knows she’s not gonna meet with my boys unless I give the go head.”

A couple of Mutherfukers named Luci and Little Ricki, I shit you not, were up in Shirley’s cabin all the time, shooting drugs, so 2Kurrupt didn’t know shit from Shinola. Nevertheless, him being here meant something official, which was always bad news.

“I wasn’t told about no sweep.” I crossed my arms. “How about your boys clear out before things get nasty up in here.” It was a threat even though I didn’t have anyone to back me up.

2Kurrupt looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. He came closer, circled me and then raised his hand up like he was praising the lord. “Mama, you look like a tall glass of water, and I’m tellin’ you I’m thirsty.”

I kept my ground. “I’m serious. Y’all need to get lost.”

“How about we shut the door, and I put some more black in you. Much more.”

My mouth took on a snarl. “Psst… I bet I wear heels taller than your dick.”

“Lady, you know how some men have big cars to compensate—I don’t even own a car.” 2Kurrupt was all up on me, and I could see evidence of his big package outlined in his pants.

He tried to grab my ass, but I punched his hand away, bellowing, “I’m gonna get my baby daddy to rip your balls off.”

“See now, why can’t you bring black Rage to the party more often?”

I pushed past him. Like many, he wanted me to identify as something I wasn’t. I was just me, not just black, not just white. And for fucking sure, I wasn’t just any woman either. I was a Heel. I went for the rifle above the bar and pointed it straight at his chest as he walked out of the office.

“Now, girl you don’t want to go pointing no gun at me.”

“I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen. Want to talk some more, say something else about me being whitewashed. I’ll show you, you’ll be a red smear on that wall like everyone else.”

2Kurrupt didn’t go for his weapon. He was still being smooth. “Girl, calm your tits.”

“Do you want to tell me what you’re actually doing here?”

“Dixie can explain.”

Her heels clicking and eyes wide, Dixie walked in and over to me. Casually, she grabbed and lowered the barrel of my gun. “Rage your coming with me tonight as we provide protection for our friend here.”

2Kurrupt relaxed even though he tried to play it off by raising his shoulders while he flashed his piece. “That’s what I’m doing here. Picking up Dixie. So, lace up.”

I’d underestimated Dixie. She wasn’t just swindling a man tonight. She was posing as 2Kurrupt’s date. Adding me, he’d be walking into a meeting where he was supposed to come unarmed, bordered by two seemingly harmless women who were packing heat in the most unchecked of places. I wore mine down my front, under the spanks I was wearing tonight. I didn’t want to know where Dixie stuck hers.

You’d think since we were dolled up we wouldn’t be riding, but you’d be wrong. It was the Banshee’s original plan for us all to ride our motorcycles in heels, so we all had to while prospecting. We wouldn’t be wearing our cuts tonight though. Shirley also taught us all how to shoot and how to fight. And since I’d been clean when I’d come to Roost, the Banshee took me to register for a gun.

She picked it out.
“This pistol come in Pink?”

It didn’t make a lick of sense at the time, why outlaws would want a gun by legal means. But the Banshee kept that gun that was legally registered to me. Something more to hang over my head, I supposed.

As much as I longed for excitement, 2Kurrupts meeting with some mob boss went so well all I did was sit at the bar and watch the door. Problem was, Dixie went into the meeting. That had me wondering about what could possibly be going down, wondering what I didn’t know about.

More than one man tried to pick me up while I sat at the bar. One of them asked, “What are you?”

“A fucking unicorn,” I told him, sick of this scene already.

After the meeting, I was more than ready to go, but Dixie and 2Kurrupt didn’t want to go home right away for some reason.

“You’re my bitch tonight. Job’s not finished,” Dixie sang.

We watched 2Kurrupt play poker, whoop de do, but at least the drinks were free. Dixie and I hung out at the bar until almost everyone had cleared out. We passed the time with a contest, trying to see who had more men ask her out. Neck and neck, we’d been laughing as the pickup lines and men got more and more desperate as the evening wore on. When only the bartender and one man was left, 2Kurrupt came over and asked for our guns. Dixie handed hers over, but I refused. He turned and quickly shot the two men, dead, went behind the bar and retrieved a package, probably drugs.

My heart raced. I’d never been in this situation before, witnessing a flat out cold blooded murder, two. Sure, I’d been around when we’d been shot at and we’d shot at other gangs. My sisters and I’d done some questionable stuff, like sabotaging the gas station that was moving in across from the Banshee’s shop and stealing the large hamster at the car dealership when the owner called our club a menace. And yes, my president hired me out to clean up other gang’s messes, but I hadn’t thought we had a hand in them.

I looked to Dixie who’s nose scrunched up. She looked as disgusted as I felt. “What the hell are you thinking?” she asked 2Kurrupt.

Just as I thought I might’ve been wrong about her, Dixie took her gun back from 2Kurrupt and walked over to the dead bartender and shot him again, making blood splatter nearly everywhere this time. Dixie told him, “That’s how you do it.” She turned to me but was still talking to him, “It’s a good thing we brought the maid.”

“Fuck this,” I turned to leave just as Dixie got a call.

Her face turned as white as a ghost. “We’re both leaving.
Banshee’s dead
.”

“Banshee’s dead,” Short told us the news again before we could even get off our bikes. Our President and her Mutherfuker friend, Luci, short for Lucifer were found dead in and in front of her cabin while we were gone. Little Ricki, having been only stabbed lay unconscious. 2Kurrupt tended to him.

Long story short, Scar, the Banshee’s old buddy had come for a visit. No one knew why. And moments ago, him and his woman, an Anne Marie peeled out in Shirley’s Dodge Ram. Most of the girls left after them.

“Are you sure?” I asked Short because we all knew Scar was the Banshee’s boy toy. See, even I knew he was the son of the General, the head of the Asphalt Gods’ MC. They had headquarters all over. The only reason they weren’t in Florida was because of Shirley. She used to be one of them.

Short told us, “Yeah—I’m sure. He brought another woman here. It may have been a fight. Looked like a fight.”

Dixie was way too quiet, thoughtful even. She knew everything going on with Shirley, I was sure of it. She marched off to the Roost and I followed.

Dixie and I had missed church, but we found Legs still in the backroom.

The old woman leaned on the table, her palms flat against the wood. Two long gray braids, still tied in pink ribbons from the charity run hung in front of her. Her head was way down. She took a breath in and exhaled.

Not meeting our eyes, she told us, “You girls are going to have to take care of this for me. Go after them.”

“Which way they heading?”
I went straight to the gun cabinet to load up but saw that everything had been taken but a snub-nosed revolver.

“But the others…” Dixie started.

“No, really go after them.” Legs beat her fist on the scarred wood table and finally raised her head. She looked as I’d expect a mother to look when she loses a child, like a ghost herself. Her eyes were red but past that, past them, she was long gone. “Scar’ll head to the Gods in Alabama and then on west. He’ll run to his daddy in Arizona. You need to catch him in between.”

“Whatever you say, you’re the boss,” Dixie told her.

She blinked, and when she looked at us again, she looked more like her old self. “No. I’m retiring. Star and I will be moving away when y’all get back.”

Good—she remembered she had something to live for, the Banshee’s daughter, Star. I knew Legs never liked all the illegal shit Shirley was into, and I was glad she planned to leave with her granddaughter in tow. She had more grandkids who I knew she probably didn’t see enough of.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Legs broke down, crying, and I didn’t feel my own loss for Shirley but hurt for a mother losing her daughter. It about killed me, knowing I hadn’t seen my own kids in too long.

Dixie chimed in through her own tears, “Which one of us will it be?” She was rudely asking who’d be our next president.

“Now’s not the time,” I said, wanting to punch her teeth in.

Legs spoke up, “No, she’s right. You two were her favorites.”

I shook my head, unsure if that was really true. “What about Miss B,” I asked because she was basically a younger version of our president.

“Enforcers can’t run a club. Whoever can bring me that bitch, Anne Marie can take over.”

I nodded, knowing Legs was pitting Dixie and I against each other. I didn’t know if I wanted the responsibility, but I sure as hell didn’t want Dixie having any power over me, ever. There was one problem though. I’d never killed someone, on purpose.

Dixie agreed. “Kill the bitch? Okay, I can handle that, and I’ll kill golden boy too.”

“Bring the girl to me.” Legs almost laughed the next part, “And you can’t kill Scar.”

Dixie’s wet eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck not?”

“He’s Star’s daddy.”

“You’re shitting me.” Dixie was shocked.

The Banshee’s daughter—I’d always assumed she was the General’s, if she was anyone’s kid—well—anyone who mattered to the club. He was THE president of the Asphalt Gods’ MC, over all the other chapter presidents and was around the Banshee’s age, so I’d always just assumed. Scar his son, was younger than me, and Star was nine years old. Even with the odd revelation, I latched on to the fact, I wouldn’t be expected to kill him or Anne Marie for that matter—whoever she was. What a relief!

“Does he know?” Dixie was still on about baby daddy business.

Legs said, “No one knew but Shirley, me and God.”

“Why didn’t she tell him?” I asked since we were going there at such a time. 

“As soon as he was considered a man, Shirley took that boy and used him. It wasn’t right. Sure, she loved him in her own way, and he loved her too, had to, but not the right way. She couldn’t tell him.”

I didn’t know if I agreed with not telling someone they fathered a child, but I wasn’t about to tell Legs’ her dead daughter had been wrong about anything.

“My daughter was a lot of things, but she knew she’d done him wrong, so she left the Gods rather than shackle Scar to her forever.”

That wasn’t the official story she’d told everyone about why she left the Asphalt Gods’ MC. Shirley had said the men couldn’t stand that a woman might become the General’s right hand—that next thing you knew, she’d be president herself. She’d told us all the trouble they put her through, ruining her life with the club and in Arizona all together. Wanting her to start a sister club, the General let her leave. Shirley said, “fuck you,” and ran as far as she could and started her own club.

“Now get, get going.” Legs was shooing us out.

I hung back, asking, “Shouldn’t we wait for the others.” I didn’t see the sense in going after Scar alone.

“Take Short, she knows what the woman looks like. Take whoevers still around. Mutherfukers want that bitch too, so you’ll run into trouble. We need her first. Everything depends on it.”

Legs shut us out of the back room.

“Shouldn’t we ride together?” I asked as Dixie headed to her Barbie bike, a pink Vulcan softtail. Like Shirley, she liked the color too much for my taste.

“If you can catch up.” Dixie was leaving me.

Our enforcer, Miss B, short for misbehaving, no joke, must’ve taken Topper, Duchess, Butterbean, Locks, Boots, DDD, Pepper, all members who actually lived here at the Roost, who’d been around tonight when the Banshee was shot—all girls I’d like at my back. Hell, even Twink was gone—she at least was good in a fight, was a good shot. Left with no choice, I gathered a crew of Short, Flossy and Sugar.

Short was fun-sized, she liked to say, but the Banshee called her Bantam sized. Shirley’s best mechanic, she didn’t usually get her hands dirty outside of the shop, so I had to tell her twice she was coming. Flossy, named so because she was thin as floss, didn’t do much heavy lifting. She’d been invaluable to our President because she knew everyone in this town’s business. Sugar was eager to leave. I knew he didn’t like to be around death. He thought it was bad luck or some voodoo shit. At least he’d be of some help on our mission. I had to change into something to ride in, some boots and jeans then we were off, headed toward the Mobile, Alabama chapter of the Gods, maybe further. I didn’t know if any of us would make it back alive.