The Word of a Liar (10 page)

Then she pointed her finger at him. “You, sir, are a biker with a stripper girlfriend. Who, by the way, is probably looking for you. And I don’t want to be here when she finds you.”

She put her hands on her hips. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to find Mad Dog.  I don’t want to miss the tow truck. No offense, but I can’t wait to get home.”

Mason rose. His eyes narrowed into hostile enemy lines. “Your hands weren’t shaking because of the cold water. You feel something for me.”

“You are an arrogant bastard! You and that bitch of a girlfriend are a perfect match!”

Ellen turned away, slid down to the lower rock, and then submerged herself in the cold clutches of the river.

Mason watched her swim to shore. Mad Dog stood on the river bank and helped her gather her things. They walked away.  Mason laid down, folding his hands behind his head.  The sun warmed his chest. He thought about Ellen’s sandals stowed away in his saddlebag and a smile crept across his jaw.

CHAPTER ten

The forlorn cry of a blues melody played from an old jukebox. The whine of the guitar drifted aimlessly like a lost child around the Ritz Tavern.  Mason sat at the bar, twirling whiskey around the circumference of a rocks glass. The early evening sunlight glazed the small, narrow windows, underscoring the built-up grime and fingerprints. It cut sharp lines across the worn, gray linoleum. Tired, his wounds still sore, Mason couldn’t believe the rally had ended three days ago. It seemed like years had passed.

Jack hadn’t called, and Mason wondered if Desi had ignored his warning and hooked up with the guy. It certainly appeared that way. He hadn’t heard from her either, but he wasn’t expecting to. Smiling, he thought about how he was going to miss that “you lucky bastard” stare guys flashed him when he had Desi draped on his arm. He gulped down the whiskey, picturing her green eyes.
He’d miss her dancing, too, but he wouldn’t miss all the arguments about him being late, not calling, and not paying enough attention to her. Now he was free to do whatever he pleased.
The price of freedom
, he sighed. Too bad he couldn’t have both.

“Need a refill, Rambo?” the bartender asked.

“Yeah, Nick, make it another double.”

Nick refilled his glass. “Mad Dog coming in tonight?”

“I don’t know. I just stopped in before heading home.”

Nick nodded and then moved away to wait on another customer.

Mad Dog was probably with Ellen
.
Every time Mason thought about the two of them, a vise squeezed his chest.
What kind of son-of-a-bitch am I to begrudge a brother his happiness?

Mason had met Mad Dog a short time after his wife’s murder when Mason was a prospect for the Sons of Thunder. Mason witnessed drinking, drugs, and brawling consume the man. Many times Mason had to stop Mad Dog from pounding the shit out of a guy for some perceived offense. Up until a few months ago, Nick would call Mason to take Mad Dog home because he was too drunk to drive.

One night after getting Mad Dog home, as Mason half-listened to Mad Dog’s drunken babble about finding his wife’s killer, Mad Dog broke down. “I miss her so much,” he sobbed, tears soaking his beard. “I want to die, Rambo. I want to be dead.”

Sitting on the bed, Mad Dog looked up at Mason. His face had contorted in pain as he wailed, “I can’t do this… I can’t go on living without her!”

He curled up on the bed like he was fending off blows and wept into his hands.

It tore Mason up to see his tough, hard-assed brother reduced to such a grief-stricken condition. Mason sat on a chair, listening to Mad Dog’s pathetic cries as he waited for him to sleep. When he finally did, Mason combed the house for weapons, fearing Mad Dog would use them on himself. He stayed the night, dozing in a chair in Mad Dog’s bedroom. In the early morning hours, he was awakened by Mad Dog hollering out Gina’s name.

“Mad Dog, it’s Rambo,” Mason called out in the darkness.

Mad Dog sat up. “Rambo? Why are you here? Where’s Gina?”

“She gone. Remember?” Mad Dog’s confusion brought tears to Mason’s eyes. “Gina’s dead, brother.”

“But she was standing by the bed telling me to wake up.” Mad Dog lay back down. 

“Go home, Rambo,” he whispered.

“No, I’m staying.”

The room grew quiet. The soft rumble of the furnace chased the ghost away. Mad Dog slept. Mason got up and went to the window.  Moon light hovered over the leafless shrubbery in the yard below. Leprous patches of snow marred the emerging spring lawn. Mason closed the curtain and then walked over to the bureau, picking up a photograph of Gina. Mad Dog must have loved her a great deal. Mason wondered if that same depth of emotion lived within him.

“Rambo, you look like you’ve just committed a murder. Didn’t you hear me, man?”

Mason turned. It was as if he had conjured a ghost. “You fucking asshole!  “You scared the shit out of me! What the hell are you doing here anyway?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? You do a little too much nose candy?” Mad Dog’s brows moved together in a bewildered expression.

“Sorry.” Mason finished the whiskey. The liquid fire helped to clear his head. “I’m surprised to see you. I figured you’d be with Ellen.”

Mason fixed his eyes on the bottom of the empty glass, afraid of Mad Dog’s scrutiny.

“Ellen? Why would I be with Ellen?”

Mason glanced up. “You didn’t fix her car?”

“Yeah, I fixed her car. But I’ve been busy and haven’t been able to stop over.” Mad Dog looked across the bar, “Nick, a boiler maker with Jack.”

“Sure thing.” Nick filled a glass and then poured a shot. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought maybe you’d turned into a teetotaler.”

Mad Dog laughed, “When hell freezes over.”

Nick grinned and then busied himself behind the bar. Mad Dog turned to Mason.

“You and Desi talking yet?”

“No.” Mason rested his elbows on the polished bar. “I think she wanted me to propose.”

Mason rubbed the palms of his hands together. “I can’t see myself married. Sometimes Desi would say, ‘Wouldn’t a little Rambo be nice?’ Fucking scared the shit out of me.”

Mad Dog chuckled. “We definitely don’t need a clone of you walking this earth.”

“Fuck you.”

Mad Dog grinned, looked across the bar and took a long drink.

“Being married isn’t so bad, Rambo. It was nice having a woman looking out for me… giving me hell when I was being an asshole.”

Mad Dog spun the empty shot glass. “The kid thing…. It’s scary at first, but once they start coming, it’s awesome. Kids make you grow up. You become responsible for this life you’ve created, and you forget about being afraid. All your time is taken up with making sure they’re fed and safe. Being a husband and a father are the two best things I’ve ever done.”

Uncertain how to respond, Mason watched his distorted reflection in the polished bar.

“You think the reason you couldn’t make any promises to Desi is because she’s not the one? Take Ellen ….”

Mason closed his eyes, his body tensing into cold stone.

“She’s a good woman… pretty… smart… sexy.” Mad Dog looked at him. “But for me the spark wasn’t there.”

Mason’s eyes popped open. “The spark wasn’t there! It sure the hell looked like it Sunday when she was feeding you pancakes for Christ’s sake.

“I was messing with you, bro.” Mad Dog grinned. “I saw how the two of you were looking at each other all night. You had that gleam in your eye.”

“Gleam in my eye? What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“That gleam! The ‘hey, doll, get your sweet ass over here cause I want to make you scream’ kind of gleam.” Mad Dog chuckled. “It wasn’t there when you were with Desi, but I sure as hell saw it when you were looking at Ellen.”

Mad Dog raised his eyebrows “Be warned, Rambo. That’s what gets you into some serious shit. Before you know it, you’re at the altar.”

“You were jerking my chain about rocking the tent with Ellen?”

“Well… not exactly.”

Mad Dog looked at Mason, screwing his lips to one side.

“Nothing happened between the two of you?”

Mad Dog shook his head. “I wouldn’t say nothing.”

Suddenly Mason wanted to drive his fist right into Mad Dog’s jaw. “So are you interested in Ellen or not?”

Mad Dog grinned. “She’s all yours.”

“Why, you bastard!  I ought to… do you know what kind of a shit head I’ve been feeling like because I thought the two of you—”

Mason stopped to breathe. Mad Dog’s smug smile irked him.

“Rambo.” Mad Dog put his arm around Mason’s shoulders. “As I’ve told you on more than one occasion, I can’t resist fucking with you. You’re too easy.”

Mad Dog threw his head back, laughing a deep baritone that echoed among the bar. The patrons looked up, smiling as they watched. The joyous sound softened the bar’s hard, male edge.

Mason shook his head. He felt like a fool, but at the same time the vise squeezing his chest had opened. He moved into a different dimension where gravity no longer held him down. “Mad Dog one of these days—”

“One of these days what? You gonna kick my ass?” He smiled. “I suppose I’ll deserve it when you do.”

Removing his arm, Mad Dog took another drink.

“What I can’t figure out is why the hell you’re still here?  I thought you’d be half way to Ellen’s house by now.”

Mason threw his money on the bar. “That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you say.”

Mason slid off the bar stool and then headed for the door with a renewed sense of confidence.

***

Ellen sat out on her front porch. A beautiful evening, the neighbors mowed their lawn and children played down by the street corner, intensifying her loneliness for JD. She couldn’t wait to hear JD playing in their new home. For the past three weeks JD had been staying with his Aunt Samantha who had volunteered to take care of him so Ellen could settle into their new house, prepare for her job as principal, and look for a school for JD. By the time he would arrive they would have been apart for a whole month. That was way too long, but Ellen was proud her son was managing the separation so well.

“Only a few more days
.
”

She sighed, looking across the street at the large maple tree. Red specks freckled green leaves, signaling the approach of fall.

The rumble of a motorcycle as it stopped at the intersection made her look. It was Mason’s bike. Her breath caught. Heat prickled her skin. Ever since the rally, Ellen’s thoughts had been consumed with Mason Hackett. She had secretly wished he’d stop by, but then she would chide herself for being so stupid. Coming up the road, he slowed and turned into her driveway. Ellen stood and then walked to the steps, her knees feeling like the squishy toys she gave JD for sensory play.

Straddling his Harley, he looked damn sexy. Killing the engine, he dismounted and Ellen watched him go to his saddle bag. 

“I found your sandals.” He smiled, pulling out the missing items.

He walked over to the steps and, like a chivalrous knight dressed in leather chaps and denim cuts, bowed.  “My lady.”

He straightened, dangling the sandals out in front of him.

“I, your knight in shining armor, have risked life and limb to procure your slippers from a ferocious dragon.  I expect no reward, but a cold beer would be appreciated.”

Mason grinned.

Ellen smiled and then shrugged. “I only have wine. Will that suffice, Sir Hackett?”

“If it must.”

With an exaggerated sigh, he handed Ellen her shoes.  Immobilized by his eyes, she stood on the step, staring. He looked freshly showered; wet hair clung to his neck, and Ellen could smell Polo cologne.

Mason’s eyebrows arched, and he cocked his head. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Jolted from her stupor, Ellen turned and walked to the door.

“Come in and take a look around. Have you seen the inside?  I mean, Dee said you thought about buying it. So I assume you--’’

“Ellen, you’re nervous.”

Mason stood behind her, his hand on the door frame stopping her from opening the screen. “Are you still afraid of me?”

Ellen thought about lying, but the truth escaped. “Yes.”

She turned, looking at him.

“Why?” he asked.

“You’re not like anyone I know.”

He leaned in closer, whispering near her ear. “That’s a good thing.”

His warm breath caused sweat to trickle down between her shoulder blades. Flustered, she twisted and then tugged on the handle. Laughing softly, he removed his hand. Ellen opened the door, and he followed her inside.

In the foyer, a magnificent oak staircase greeted them.  Perched on an ornate newel, a bronze nymph held up a rose colored globe. A red print runner bejeweled wooden steps picketed with carved balustrades that curved into a balcony above them. On Mason’s right, half-opened pocket doors revealed a cozy sitting room.

“Wow, Ellen! This house is incredible.”

Mason looked up at the ceiling.

“Look at that crown molding. It’s gotta be eight inches wide.” He whistled.

“Now you know why I bought the place.”

Mason smoothed his hand over the railing. “We have something in common after all.”

He looked at her. “We both like old homes.”

Ellen nodded. “Have a look around while I go get the wine. If you’re not in a hurry, I can give you a tour, and then we can sit out on the porch.”

“I have nowhere to be, and sitting on the porch with you sounds like the perfect way to spend my evening.” He smiled. “So where’s the man of the house?”

Ellen looked puzzled.