The Junkyard Boys (3 page)

“Thanks again for everything, Range. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along to save me from the monster.”

“It was my pleasure, Clover. I hope to see you around.”

With a quick nod of her head she was off to work at Fosters’, and I was on my way to take care of business at my pride and joy. Yes, I would see her again. I was going to make sure of it.

Clover

Despite all the chaos from a few minutes ago, I still made it to work on time as usual. The Fosters greeted me with warm hellos and smiles, and my mood shifted to release the last little bit of panic I’d previously felt. Satisfied I would make it through the rest of the day, I relieved myself of my purse and quickly retrieved my apron and hair net, securing them into place. Even though I didn’t work much with the confections, I was still required to wear one due to the health codes and general cleanliness of the store.

Today’s task was a simple one: prepare the molds for the special truffle order we had to deliver the next day. Most of the time, the candies would just pop out once they were chilled and hardened, leaving the molds clean as if they had not been used at all. But on occasion, some of them had to be delicately washed by hand due to a miss fill or spill, which is where I came in.

Eager to start the day, I couldn’t help but think about the poor stranger I assaulted while trying to save my own life from that radiation-zapped creature. Of all the stupid things I had done in my life, this had to be the worst of them by far. Jesus, he could have killed me by slamming me into the ground with just a flick of his strong, muscled arms. Speaking of arms, I thought I would die from another reason entirely when I looked up and saw that hunk of a man staring back at me. His hair was long and wavy, blowing in the wind like some sort of Greek god’s, but he certainly didn’t need a lightning bolt to zap me with, that was for sure. I felt like such an idiot asking him if I was dead of all things. No wonder my sisters teased me about never having any dates. Surely, he must think me a fucking lunatic freshly escaped from an institution or something. I guessed in the long run, it didn’t really matter. I would probably never see him again in my lifetime. And who would want to date someone like me anyway? I was well aware I wasn’t the prettiest Benjamin in the family; my sisters reminded me as often as they could. My strange yet undesirable looks were only part of my burden to carry. Frankly, I was dull and boring, which was not a good combination for a young person who hoped to one day find a man who would love her for herself and not for what was between her legs. I could blame Denny for my lack of sex appeal and outgoing nature, since it was his older age and retirement that pretty much meant he was through with extracurricular activities and running around all over the place, as he often put it. By the time it was my turn at bat, he flat out refused, saying he was too old for that shit and to ask my mother if I wanted something. After the third time she refused my requests, I simply stopped asking and resolved myself to nights spent watching old classic movies and falling asleep, only to wake up each day and do it all over again.

I didn’t blame my mom for marrying Denny at such a young age, but I sometimes wondered what her motives could have been. My dad was over thirty years my mom’s senior, which had to make her feel older than she actually was. He rarely went anywhere now unless he absolutely had to, which mainly consisted of doctors’ appointments for checkups and screenings. Aside from that he could be found on the couch most days, watching soap operas until it was time for the evening news. Once the news was over, it was time for bed. Like me, he followed the same routine each day. I was sure my parents loved each other, considering they had been married for such a long time, but their real passion died years ago, which was just plain sad.

I thought about my parents’ relationship often when I considered what type of man I would want to spend the rest of my life with. At the top of the list was certainly someone who didn’t spend his day watching soap operas. I wasn’t ungrateful for the way Denny took care of us as a family, because lord knows he paid his dues by working for over thirty years of his life, but the one thing I vowed to always have in my life was passion. A love so strong and unbreakable that you could barely breathe without being near each other. I guess this was the reason I enjoyed classic movies so much. The men of yesteryear claimed their women and dared anyone who tried to take her away to a duel or gun fight at sundown. I often wondered what it would be like to have someone claim ownership of your mind, body, and soul to the point where they would die for you. Dramatic, I know, but I couldn’t help but want that for myself. I wanted my Clark Gable or Randolph Scott as my very own. To claim me with a need so powerful, our story would last through the ages, while our children recited our love story to their children and so on, for generations to come. Our love would be epic and swoon worthy to all those who heard it and wish it for themselves. I would hold on to my dream for as long as I could, but for now, I was content with being alone. Unless of course, I was lucky enough to run into Range again without acting like a complete nut job.

Range. His name was so powerful, I wondered how he got it. Maybe it was a nickname and his real name was Beauregard. I hoped life wouldn’t be that cruel to him. He needed a powerful name to go along with his powerful features. Strong arms made for holding on to well into the night. Tall in stature in case I needed something from a top shelf. A beautiful smile reserved just for me. Yeah, Range suited him just fine, and hopefully one day, I would get to ask him where he got his name.

Range

My monthly routine spent at the laundromat took no time at all, just as I’d predicted. Mainly because Ming, the old lady I hired to take care of the drop-off service I started six months ago, was working as hard as ever in the back room and was able to quickly bring me up to speed on what was needed.

Ming was a grandmother to eight, who relocated here from New Jersey when she was ready to retire. She came to me with the idea of the drop-off laundry service. Since she was a previous owner of this sort of business in New Jersey before she retired, her good insight helped me a lot. In compensation, Ming only asked that she be paid enough money to help one of her grandchildren through college, and a quiet place to work in the back. Since I had the space and couldn’t see a downside to the idea, I went for it and have been pleased with the results ever since. Ming always arrived on time, never complained, and was the kindest lady I had ever met. The customers who used the service raved about her every chance they got to the point that the service was more popular than I could have ever imagined. She was so busy I was thinking of hiring someone to help her out, especially since she was up there in age, but of course she declined the offer, simply stating she would let me know when she needed any help. I would keep an eye on it for now and play it by ear.

As I exited the laundromat, I couldn’t help but look over at Fosters’ and wonder how Clover was doing after her breakdown. Talk about arachnophobia to the fucking extreme. If she weren’t so young, I would have thought she was having a heart attack. I hoped spiders were the only things she was afraid of, ‘cause that girl was reckless when she was scared. I mean, to jump on the back of a complete stranger, all because of a little bug, was straight up crazy. I wasn’t sure why I even gave a shit, but there was just something about her that seemed kind of sad and lonely.

Shaking my head at my dumb-ass thoughts making me sound like a complete pussy, I made my way to my truck to drive home, but before I got there I heard my name being called. I turned around to see Mace Fox, the owner of the tattoo parlor, waiving me over to his shop with a huge smirk on his face. Fox was a good guy, who opened his shop right around the same time as I purchased the laundromat. He ran a tight ship, never letting any assholes hang out in front of his shop or cause any trouble for the area. He knew his shop could be a haven for crime, considering it was open late and tended to have all sorts of hooligans coming in and out of there, getting tatted. Considering Fox was an ex SEAL, I was certain he could handle whatever came his way.

When I reached him, I extended my hand for a shake in greeting.

“What’s going on, Fox? How’s business?”

“Oh, you know. Same shit, different fucking day. I had my bat ready to come and save your ass when you got assaulted earlier, but I see you handled it.”

Fox was a big motherfucker, taller than me by an inch or so and built like a brick shithouse. For some reason, he had a knowing smirk on his face like he knew a secret joke nobody else knew and he wasn’t going to let me in on it.

“Yeah, that shit was crazy. Thought it was one of your boys from your place, ready to throw down.”

Fox made a grunting sound like that was the stupidest thing he had ever heard in his life. “Now, you know that shit ain’t happening on my watch. I’ve seen that girl walking to Fosters’ the last few weeks. She keeps her head down, walks alone most of the time, never says a thing to anyone. I try to keep an eye on her when I see her leave for the evening, just in case one of these assholes gets any ideas.”

Until he mentioned it, I hadn’t even thought about her walking home alone. I just assumed someone picked her up after work, considering it was dark by that time. What the fuck were her parents or boyfriend thinking to let a girl like her walk home alone at night? The more I thought about it, the more pissed I got. What if another spider crawled on her and she went bonkers, ran into the street and got hit by a car? What if one of those tattooed bikers got an itch he wanted to scratch and followed her home? What if …

Before I could get my anger under control, Fox talked me down from the ledge I was about to jump off of. He must have sensed I was not happy about the idea of her out alone in the dark in a place like this. I mean if it weren’t for our three businesses, this area would be a ghost town.

“Hey, man, take it easy. Like I said, I usually keep an eye on her, and I think she only lives a few blocks over near Elm. I’m sure she’ll be just fine walking home on her own like she’s been doing for the past few months.”

Fox was a smart man, but for some reason, I still couldn’t shake the thought of her walking home alone as being a very bad idea. Regardless, I had to get over it. She wasn’t mine to worry about. I didn’t know this chick enough to be worried about her safety in the first place. I said my good-byes to Fox with a lift of my chin and made my way to my truck. I still had a busy day ahead of me at the junkyard and certainly no time to worry about some sad-faced girl who worked at a candy store. She was somebody else’s problem and I wasn’t about to make her mine. At least that’s what I told myself on the drive home. But what if…

Range

Pulling up outside the junkyard, I saw the sign that still read “Buck’s Junkyard” in the distance. That old bastard wanted me to change the name when he signed everything over to me, but I flat out told him no. This place would always belong to him, regardless of what the paperwork said. That was something he had to get over and fast, because I was not budging on it. Of course he gave me shit, up until the day he left, giving me all sorts of reasons why I should change it, but in the end he knew his arguments were useless.

Buck had decided a couple of years ago he wanted peace and quiet for the last years of his life. He claimed his lifestyle and the choices he made in his lifetime were something he could never make up for, and solitude was his only recourse. He purchased a small cabin up in the woods and now lived there alone; well, not alone. He owned a cat he named Pussy. He used the peace of being alone to reflect on the things he wished he could change, and the isolation to atone for the things he knew he couldn’t be absolved for. Buck’s time with his MC was something he rarely talked about, but I knew it must have been pretty bad for him to feel like that about life in general. It was one of the reasons why he decided to help me all those years ago. To make up for the one life that was lost due to the choices he had made. To make up for the boy who would never become a man. To make up for the son who was lost to the drugs he sold for the MC he considered family.

Buck got out of the game, and with the money made from his time spent in the MC, he purchased this lot and a few more adjacent lots over the years. When I was younger, I wasn’t aware of how big this place actually was. Buck even built a massive house at the very back of the junkyard, which was where I lived along with a few others who found their way here over the years. Each one of us had our own reasons for turning to Buck, and he never sent us away or denied us what we needed. For some of us, it was a safe place to hide out for a short time. For others, it was a hot meal or a clean change of clothes. For me, it was all of the above. He saved us all in one way or another, but he never felt it was enough to redeem himself for the one person he couldn’t save. Buck would never understand or accept the fact that for us, he was our father, our provider, and our home. He was our lifeline and our oasis. He was the man we all strived to be one day, regardless of where we began in life.

As I pulled up to the driveway in front of the house, I noticed two cars parked out front. One I recognized right away, since it belonged to Maxwell; the other was a BMW that unfortunately belonged to the biggest skank in town. Hoping like hell I was wrong, I made my way inside and was immediately assaulted with what could be described as live audio from a very bad porno.

“Oh God, Max, you’re so big. Fuck me harder.”

“Yes, Max, yes. Fuck my ass harder. Please fuck me harder.”

Maxwell had been away on business and had clearly returned. Just when I was about to lose my breakfast all over my living room floor, the front door swung open and in walked Sebastian—or Drama, as we liked to call him. Looking as flustered as ever, he quickly started rambling on about his crisis for the day.