The Word of a Liar (27 page)

“I can’t tell you, Rambo, how hard I grabbed on to that poor man. It’s a wonder I didn’t break his neck. Suddenly I got scared. If Troll knew what Spider did, he’d kill him.  I told Spider to lock me up and go. Spider said he’d made a deal. Overhearing Troll trying to sell me, Spider approached him and asked how much it would cost to buy me for the rest of the night. Spider’s never told me the price.”

She glanced at Mason and then stuffed the remainder of her cigarette into the ashtray.

“Troll accepted the offer. Spider came in, but I was unconscious.  He sat in the room making sure no one else would touch me. Then as the party wound down, he left to proposition Troll.”

Mason stirred restlessly again in his seat. He picked up the pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, and then began tapping the filtered end on the table. Rattled, he tried to decide whether to light it or not.

“Shortly after, I must have come around because Spider and Troll heard me screaming for help and my hands pounding against the wall. Troll told Spider he couldn’t believe a woman as small as I was could take on five guys and still have the stamina to fight like a wild cat. Spider had a pistol and he’s told me how close he came to using it. Spider asked Troll if he’d be willing to sell me to him, but Troll didn’t want to give me up. He said he had an obligation to my father, and since Spider wasn’t a member he couldn’t. And then Spider did something I can’t fathom any biker doing for anyone, much less a woman.  He offered Troll his beautiful chopper for me.” 

Dee dropped her head.

“That bike was Spider’s pride and joy. With his own two hands, he’d turned that old Harley into a show piece.”

Dee Dee shook her head and then looked at Mason.

“Troll couldn’t refuse an offer like that. They exchanged keys. When Spider walked over to the door to get me, Troll threatened to stick a flagpole up his ass and tie me naked to the bottom if we were still there when he got back from taking a scoot on his new motorcycle.”

Dee blew a puff of air, lifting auburn curls that dangled across her right eye. Mason arched his back against the wooden slats of the chair.

“That’s when Spider rescued me from that horrid room. He covered me with his shirt and then carried me to a nearby gas station. I was hurting so bad, I didn’t even think why we weren’t riding Spider’s bike. He called his dad. When Ray Mullen Senior picked us up, he didn’t ask questions, but he told Spider they should take me to a hospital. I didn’t want to go, but Spider was so worried.  My lip needed stitches and God only knew what the inside of me was like, so they took me.  We made up a story that I had been accosted by some men on my way home from the restaurant saying their faces were covered so I couldn’t identify anyone or where it happened.”

Dee raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

“Of course no one believed us, but there was no proof things didn’t happen the way we said they did.  I went through that awful rape examination, pictures, and questions from the cops, but Spider never left my side.  Even when the doctor told him he had to leave so she could examine me, Spider wouldn’t go.  He stood alongside me, his eyes focused on mine, and held my hand. Every time I’d flinch, he’d squeeze tight and reassure me everything was going to be okay.”

Dee took a deep breath and then sank back in the chair.

“He’s not left my side since, Rambo. If you love Ellen like my old man loves me and I him, you make sacrifices. And one more thing, before you get called down. I want you to remember why you worked so hard to become a member of the Sons of Thunder. Spider started the club because he loves to ride with men who share his passion. They might be wild and rough around the edges, but they’re good people who cherish the biker lifestyle. They don’t rape women. They don’t incite violence. And they don’t bring trouble down on the club for their own selfish gain. Don’t ever forget that, Rambo.”

Dee’s dark eyes chastised Mason. He leaned back in the chair. All the whiskey he’d drunk and the nicotine from the cigarette, kicked in and made his heart race. Dee’s tale hit him like a gut shot. He looked at her but couldn’t speak. 

The basement door opened and a prospect approached the two. He looked nervous.  “Spider says to come on, Rambo.”

Mason nodded, grabbed the whiskey bottle and took a long drink. “Let’s go face the angry mob.”

Mason smiled as he set down the bottle and then followed the prospect downstairs.

In the basement, the club members waited.  Their stoic expressions offered Mason no comfort. The musty smell of fall seeped through the open windows. Bare bulbs cast a yellow hue over the men’s faces. The gray block walls made for an impenetrable fortress. Mason tried to corral his disjointed thoughts, but the tension in the air made it an impossibility.  He took the only vacant chair. Sitting directly in front of the long table reserved for the officers, Mason folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head. Spider addressed him.

“I called this meeting, Rambo, because I heard from reputable sources that you’ve been hanging out with officers of the Long Riders MC. On three separate occasions you’ve been spotted with them. A month ago. Dee Dee and I both witnessed you and Muck Eye going into the Alley Cat with their president and sergeant at arms. Every brother in this room knows the Alley Cat is a favorite haunt of the Long Riders. They’re a one percenter club and enemies of Sons of Thunder. You know that.”

Spider stood. Hands on the table, he leaned forward. His outraged eyes snapped.  “Since then, two more brothers have come to me with similar stories.”

Mason remained expressionless.

“We know you tried to keep it a secret that you work for Jack Nelson. And after the rally, we know Muck Eye is Jack’s whipping boy, and we all know what Muck Eye does for a living. I’ve heard rumors that the president of the Long Riders is looking for new opportunities to finance the club’s operations.  I have a sneaking hunch Jack Nelson doesn’t only sell fancy cars.”

Spider slammed his hand down.

Mason straightened, glad the table separated them.

“Do I need to remind you of the RICO laws, Rambo? The law states that your illegal activity can bring the heat down on all our heads, and none of us want that kind of trouble. It was bad enough having the pigs up our asses when Mad Dog’s wife was murdered.”

Spider stood up, came around the table, gripped the back of Mason’s chair and shouted in his face. “We don’t traffic drugs, you bastard! We ride motorcycles!”

Mason held his breath. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with fear. Mason had never seen Spider so angry. Mason swallowed.

“May I speak?” Mason asked in a low, hoarse voice, meeting Spider’s deadly gaze with repentant eyes.

Spider exhaled and then stepped back. “Speak!”

Mason took a moment to catch his breath. His pulse roared in his ears. What could he say? They knew the truth.

“I’m not dealing,” he lied with the skill of a politician.  “The day you saw me in the Alley Cat, I was there buying some weed from Muck Eye. I wasn’t wearing my colors. I didn’t want any trouble. I bought those men a drink, got my pot, and left. That’s all there was to it. I don’t know what dealings the Long Riders have with Muck Eye. I don’t want to know. And as for Jack, I drive his fancy cars to his customers.  If he has any side businesses, I don’t know about them.”

Mason sat up straighter in his chair.

“I’m well aware of the RICO laws, Spider. I love this club. You’re the men I’ve chosen to be my brothers, and I’d never bring harm to any of you.”

Mason looked over at Mad Dog, sitting at the officers’ table. Mad Dog’s rigid posture exposed his anger. Mason stood and pointed a finger.

“You know best of all, Mad Dog, what kind of a brother I am. How many nights did I drag your drunken ass home, put you to bed, and wait for you to fall asleep when you were grieving for Gina. I hid your weapons so you couldn’t do anything stupid.  And you sit there and accuse me of endangering this club?”

Mad Dog jumped to his feet. “I haven’t accused you of anything yet, brother. But I know you to be a liar.”

Mad Dog’s hostility made it apparent he’d been talking to Ellen. Perhaps he’d even changed his mind about the two of them becoming involved.

“You know nothing!” Mason shot back. “You only think you do.”

Mason turned to the men sitting behind him to plead his case. Arms folded across their chests and hard lines etched into their impassive faces, Mason had never given these brothers a reason to doubt his loyalty.

“Everyone sitting here knows what I’m about. I respect these cuts I wear and the culture they represent.  I’m no wanna-be biker. I don’t hide who I am.”

He grinned, hoping a little humor might soften their hard hearts.  “I admire pretty women, especially topless pretty women.”

It worked. The men chuckled.

“I ride hard and party hard, but I do not put my brothers in danger.” Mason continued. “You all know I’m a brother you can count on to watch your back. And if you don’t believe that, then I should go because the Sons of Thunder should never sanction a brother they can’t trust.” 

Mason fell silent, allowing his words to sink in like a man waiting to hear his echo from across a wide, deep canyon. The men shifted in their chairs. He took his seat, rested his elbows on his knees, and looked down at his boots. Loneliness overtook him. If expelled, he’d have no friends, no lover, and no bike.

Spider sat back down at the officer’s table. It was agreed that a show of hands would decide whether Rambo should stay or go. If allowed to stay, the vote had to be unanimous and, regardless of the outcome, Mason would face the boot line.

Spider called for the vote. “All those in favor of Rambo staying in the club raise your hand.”

Mason glanced over at the officer’s table. Spider and Mad Dog kept their hands down.

CHAPTER twenty-five

At the bathroom sink, Ellen stared at the pink plus sign. Not believing the horror of the demonic omen, she grabbed the leaflet with trembling hands and reread what should appear if pregnant. There was no denying it. The test was positive!  She was pregnant!

Ellen heard her father cuss on the heels of Samantha’s loud cheering through the heat register. That meant the Packers must be losing and the Lions winning. The world had certainly spun off its axis.

Nausea sent Ellen retching over the toilet bowl again. She lifted her head and then went to the sink. Splashing cold water over her face, she looked into the large mirror and studied her desperate reflection.
How could this happen?
  She’d only missed taking her pills a couple of times… well… maybe a few times.

“Now what are you going to do?  You stupid, stupid woman!” she scolded. “You’re as bad as the knocked up girls you teach. Worse! You’re a grown woman!”

She pinched her cheeks to bring back the color and groaned.

“Ellen, are you up there?  JD is looking for you,” her mother called from the landing.

“I’ll be right down, Mom.”

Ellen wrapped the pregnancy test in a plastic bag, stuffed it in her sweater, and then ran a comb through her hair. Taking a deep breath, she walked down the hall to the room she and JD were sharing and buried the shameful evidence in her suitcase.

In the kitchen, Ellen fell under the scrutiny of her mother’s dark eyes. A slight woman, with thick brown hair cut into a short, stylish haircut, Gloria Dominetti epitomized the 1950s housewife.  At sixty, Gloria still believed a woman shouldn’t leave the house without make-up and pearls. 

“Are you all right dear?” Gloria asked.  “You look so pale. And at dinner you barely ate a morsel of food.”

She came over and patted Ellen’s arm. “You aren’t getting that stomach flu, are you?”

“Maybe. I’m around kids all the time.”

Ellen wished it was that simple. She joined her sisters at the table.

Jennifer, the oldest, looked at her and said, “I’m so glad you and Samantha decided to come home for Thanksgiving instead of having it at your new house. We haven’t been together in so long. Samantha was showing us the pictures she took of the bikers.”

Jennifer shoved an envelope in front of Ellen. Ellen swallowed. She didn’t want to see any photos of Mason. She hadn’t seen him in three weeks, and his face still haunted her.

“Those men look like Hollywood actors not bikers,” said Jennifer.

“And how many bikers do you know, Jenn?” Samantha asked.

“None. But when I go visit Ellen, I want to meet them,” Jennifer said, smiling. “I’ve been fantasizing about running my fingers through their hair. You know, like Daniel Day Lewis in
The Last of the Mohicans
or Brad Pitt in
Legends of the Fall.”

To stall opening the envelope, Ellen got up and got a glass of water. She looked out the kitchen window, blinked back tears, and then took a deep breath to steel her nerves. She sat back down.

“Don’t tell your bald husband you fantasize about guys with hair; you might hurt Thom’s feelings,” Ellen said.

“Thom doesn’t care, as long as he’s on the receiving end,” Jennifer said and arched her brow.

“Right.” Ellen smirked, picking up the dreaded envelope.

Hesitant, she pulled out the photos. The first few were of her, JD, and their new house.  Ellen bit her bottom lip when she saw the picture of Spider, Mad Dog, and Mason on their motorcycles the evening they all rolled into her driveway. The next photo of Spider and Dee sitting on her porch intensified Ellen’s loneliness. Not only had she lost Mason, after what she’d done to his bike, she’d lost them as well. Samantha had caught the couple looking at one another with contented smiles which portrayed their deep devotion.

“I think I’ll frame this picture and give it to them as a Christmas present. I know they’d like it,” Ellen said and flicked the photograph behind the others.

Next, the cocky grin of Mad Dog made her smile. His laughing dark eyes so full of mischief reminded Ellen of a swarthy sea captain. Mason’s image followed. His expression made her heart race, reminding her of how he had looked after they had made love. Sitting on the edge of the bed or lying next to her, he’d watched her with those same tender eyes. She fought back tears.

“He’s beautiful,” Ellen whispered. She tucked the photographs back into the envelope and placed it on the table. “You’re truly gifted, Samantha. You caught the heart of them in such natural poses.”

“Thanks.” Samantha smiled. “I e-mailed Mad Dog the pictures. I wanted to enter his photo in a portrait contest, but he absolutely refused. I don’t know why. I’m sure it would win first prize.”

“Maybe he’s afraid of notoriety,” Jennifer said as she picked up the envelope, removed the picture of Mason, and laid it down. “This is the guy you should pursue. Isn’t he the one who found you the night your car broke down?”

Ellen nodded.

“His eyes are so damn blue. He doesn’t wear colored contacts, does he?” Jennifer asked.

“No, his eyes are that blue.”
And so incredibly deceptive
, Ellen thought.

Ellen’s mother picked up the photo.

“Your friend is very good looking,” Gloria Dominetti said as she looked intently at Ellen. “That’s all he is, isn’t he? A friend?”

“Why do you ask?” Ellen said. Ellen’s mother had a knack for putting her on the defensive.

“Because I hope you have enough sense to realize a woman in your position shouldn’t be involved with a biker. For Heaven’s sake, no school board is going to stand for something like that.”

“Mom this is the twenty-first century,” Jennifer said, frowning as she picked up her wine glass. “It’s nobody’s business who a teacher or principal chooses to date.”

“I agree with Mom,” Samantha jumped in. She shot Ellen an apologetic look as she explained. “Working in a school is different from other professions. Parents and kids look up to you. Mom’s right: you have a reputation to maintain. And you’re the mother of an autistic child!”

“A child with autism,” Ellen corrected, not surprised by Sam’s lack of support.

“What kind of a role model would a biker be for JD?” her mother asked, rapping her manicured fingernail on the photograph. “You want JD to wear his hair down to his knees and sport tattoos? These men don’t even have real names. Mad Dog… Spider… Rambo. They sound like cartoon characters! And I can only imagine the sleazy sort of people they associate with.”

Gloria shook her head in disgust and continued, “You have enough problems with your son, Ellen. Involving yourself with people of this ilk is plain foolishness.”

Gloria Dominetti got up from the table, poured herself a cup of coffee, and then sat back down.

“She doesn’t have to marry the guy,” Jennifer said as she patted Ellen’s shoulder. “Let her have a little fling for goodness sakes. Ellen hasn’t been in a relationship since Paul died seven years ago. I say its time she stopped being the grieving widow and enjoy herself. This guy looks like he’d be one hell of a good time. I bet a few rolls in the sack with him would bring you back to the world of the living.”

Jennifer smiled at Ellen.

“Jennifer!” Gloria shook her head. “Sometimes you are--”

“Are what, Mom? Don’t tell me you and Dad have gone without sex for seven years. Paul never impressed me as being too adventurous in the bedroom department anyway. For God’s sakes, he’d blush when anyone would catch him kissing Ellen.”

Ellen jumped to her late husband’s defense. “Paul was a good lover.”

At least he never lied to me
, Ellen thought.

“When you girls started dating, I tried to impress upon you that a person’s integrity was more valuable than good looks. I guess I didn’t do a very good job. You need a good father for your son, Ellen, not some handsome criminal. This isn’t a Hollywood movie. This is your life and your son’s life we’re talking about.”

Ellen covered her face with her hands. The truth of her mother’s words stung like a good lashing with a willow branch. Sliding her hands to her neck, Ellen looked at her mother, thinking how disappointed she’d be if she knew the truth. Ellen wondered what kind of role model she was to JD and her students now that she was pregnant. Would Gloria grieve over her daughter’s lack of integrity if she knew that up until three weeks ago the sleazy people she referred to had been Ellen’s friends?

Looking down at Mason’s picture, Ellen sighed. After all he had put her through—and now all she would have to face alone—she didn’t hate him. Tears threatened. Feeling sick again, Ellen lifted her gaze and attempted a smile. 

“The two of you don’t have to worry.  Mason is only an acquaintance. He’s not my friend, and he’s definitely not my lover.”

***

The Allman Brothers’ song
The Whipping Post
played on the jukebox. Mason sat in a corner booth, thumping the toe of his boot to the beat of the bass guitar. The song’s lyrics spoke to him on a deep level. He was beaten down by a profound sense of betrayal; anger and grief stomped all caring from his broken heart. He wondered how a man’s world could come crashing down so quickly.

Mason realized being in the Ritz could incite trouble, but the dark pit he’d fallen into lacked any rules of fair play.  If the Sons of Thunder showed up and started something, they might leave but many of them wouldn’t be walking. He finished his third glass of whiskey and then yelled to Nick for another. After all, it was Thanksgiving. A time to remember the blessings in his life or, better yet, the lack thereof.

The bartender set down a glass and picked up the empty one. “You want me to rustle you up something to eat, Rambo? Rhonda made turkey sandwiches for all you homeless people.”

Nick smiled. Mason closed his eyes. Nick’s teasing only added to his foul state of mind.

“Just keep the booze coming and leave me the fuck alone.”

Mason eyed the man. Nick’s smile faded.

“Whatever you say, Rambo.”

Nick walked away. Some pathetic bastard changed the music to a country song, and a male voice cried about his cheating wife and rusted out truck. Mason rubbed his temples. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about Ellen? He might have gone back and tried to explain what happened with Desi, but he couldn’t get past the bike debacle. Dee Dee’s story hadn’t budged his heart toward forgiveness. Ellen taking the high road and not speaking ill of him, however, intensified his cavernous sense of loss. 

Mason sat upright, picked up the whiskey, and then slugged it down. His stomach burned. Maybe he should eat. He turned his head in the direction of the bar and noticed Mad Dog heading his way carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and a whiskey glass.

“Oh shit!” Mason groaned. Looking straight ahead, he pressed against the high wood panel separating the booths. He blew air from his mouth, like a bull preparing to charge the matador.

Mad Dog slipped into the opposite seat. “I’m surprised to find you in here, Rambo.”

“Why? Sons of Thunder don’t own the place. A man can still get a drink where he damn well pleases, can’t he?”

Mason’s ankle nudged the knife hidden in his boot.

Mad Dog poured whiskey and then drank it. He leaned back. Stern-faced and eyes steady, he looked across the table at Mason.

“I’m going to miss riding with you, Rambo. We always had a lot of fun, and I owe you a huge debt for helping me out of a very deep hole.”

“Why did you vote me out then?”

Mad Dog looked down, twirled his empty glass, and then met Mason’s gaze. He sighed.

“I don’t like where you’re heading, and after what you’ve done to Ellen and JD—not to mention Desi—I’m not sure anyone can stop you. You fuck with people’s lives, Rambo, and I don’t like that. There’s no way I could stand by and allow you to drag the Sons of Thunder down, too. And there’s no way I could put my life on the line for a liar.” 

Mad Dog poured another drink. “Now you’re free to patch over to the Long Riders, and then we’ll be sworn enemies instead of trusted friends.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend.”

Keeping his eyes on Mad Dog, Mason placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “You’re so worried about Ellen, but did she tell you what she did to my bike?”

Mad Dog nodded.

“A woman does that to a brother’s bike and you’re worried about her?” Mason shook his head and grinned. “You must be fuckin’ the bitch.”  

Mad Dog lurched forward, slamming his hands down on the table.  The whiskey glasses rattled. His narrowed dark eyes burned with sudden hostility.

“I’m going to go play some pool before I shove my fist through your teeth, you mother fucker,” Mad Dog hissed. He slid out of the booth. “The bottle’s yours. Consider it a going away present.”

Mason watched him go into the poolroom. Remorse buried Mason’s face in his hands.  He should call a cab and go home before his anger got the best of him again. A blast of cold November air made him shiver. He looked across the dimly lit bar to the entrance. Muck Eye stood in the doorway holding open the heavy oak door. He looked like a worn out traveler from a Jack London novel.