Page 16

SYMPHONY

“ S hould we bust out of here?” Marietta asks. “I’m imaging them putting us in a leaky dungeon under the bar.”

I pace the small space. “It’ll be fine.”

But I don’t know that. Not really.

“We’ve been in here half an hour!” Marietta bangs on the door. “Let us out!”

Then it opens. She backs away in surprise.

It’s Diesel. “We got everybody settled, but there’s no way you can go back out there without stirring them up again.”

“Oh, gosh,” Marietta wails. “This is all my fault.”

“You’re not the first one to cause a riot,” Diesel says. “But I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Our car is out front,” I say, but Diesel shakes his head.

“No, there’s always a crew standing around outside. They’ll see you. I’ll have to drive you out.”

“Don’t they need you to work?” I ask.

“Nah, they’ve got it handled.” He steps aside. “Let’s go before anybody gets a wild hair to come back here.”

We follow behind him through the kitchen and stockroom, boxes stacked all around. He’s slowed down by a row of locks on the back door.

“I don’t think that’s allowed by the fire code,” Marietta says, but I shush her.

When we’re out back, the cool night air tickles my bare arms. Diesel takes off across the gravel to a truck. There aren’t many cars back here, although I spot his motorcycle.

I hurry to catch up with him. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere else,” he says. “We’ll bring you back to your car when the bulk of the crowd has left, or we close, whichever comes first.” He opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

I glance over at Marietta, whose wide eyes glint in the dark. I step up first and scoot to the middle. She gets in beside me.

Diesel strides around the front and slides in behind the wheel. “I want the two of you to get down as we circle the building. The last thing I need is for some of them to give chase.”

“They’d do that?” Marietta asks.

“I’ve seen them take off like a swarm of bees.”

I glance at Marietta. “You wanted your biker. You got a whole hive.”

She sinks down in the seat.

The engine roars. I wonder if this truck is Diesel’s, too, or maybe his brother’s. But I’m not going to ask. Not about where we’re going, either.

It’s time to shut up and do what he says.

We bump along the back side of the bar.

“Get down,” he says. He snatches a ball cap from the dash and pulls it on, bringing it low over his eyes.

Marietta folds herself forward, head between her knees. I can’t bend as gracefully, especially with the gearshift in front of me.

Diesel grabs my shoulders and shoves me onto his lap, his hand on my head.

My nose grinds into his crotch. I shift my head so I can breathe. The steering wheel brushes against my forehead.

The road is rough, and I bounce against his zipper, feeling every seam and stitch. I’m pretty sure my ear is on his junk. I can only see his legs ending in boots, one on the gas pedal.

He reaches over my back to shift gears.

“Stay down,” he says. “Quite a few are out front.”

I hold my breath. I can’t see Marietta. I assume she’s still folded over.

We lurch onto a crunchy surface, cruising slowly. My shirt rides up my belly, but I can’t do anything about it. I’m afraid to move.

Diesel’s arm rests on my side. A bump causes his arm to touch my bare skin. I feel a jolt of electricity as we connect.

He must notice because the bulge near my jaw twitches. This sends another flash of heat through me. I imagine what I could do if Marietta weren’t here, unzipping these jeans, turning my head.

I’m dying to see the things I didn’t get to last night, parts of him I only felt through his suit.

The truck jerks forward, and his fingers graze my exposed belly. He trails his touch along my skin, and fire licks through me.

The ride gets smoother. We must be on the highway.

I don’t want to get up. I want him to keep touching me, to feel his reaction against my cheek.

But Marietta asks, “Are we past them?”

“Yeah,” Diesel says. “We’re on the road.”

I feel her shift next to me. I guess I have to sit up next.

I push against his thigh to lift my body up. The long dark ribbon of highway spreads out before us, dotted with random houses.

“Where are we going?” Marietta asks.

“My place,” Diesel says.

My heart speeds up. Another piece of Diesel will open up to me. I’ll know where he lives.

Maybe I’m not mad about Marietta flashing the bikers after all. Of course, she’s with us, so there’s only so much that can happen.

We drive for a while, almost half an hour. Marietta leans her head against the window, eyes closed. Those shots are knocking her out.

I feel mine, too, but it’s happy and light, like I drank bubbles.

“She all right?” Diesel asks.

“Marietta doesn’t drink a lot. She’s feeling those shots.”

He grunts. “Every time I’ve seen her, she’s been drinking.”

“It’s been a weird few nights.”

I glance over at my friend. I think she’s asleep.

“I should apologize for calling her a wild woman.”

“Oh, no.” I straighten my tank top, which migrated while lying on Diesel’s lap. “She liked it.”

Diesel shakes his head. “What I understand about women could be written on a toothpick.”

“It’s good that you know it. Most men assume they have us all figured out.”

“Does she usually go around flashing people?”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Mister, I’m one of her best friends, and that’s the first I’ve seen of it.”

He grunts again. “My bar gets rowdy.”

“Yes, quite the clientele on a Sunday.”

“Every day. Bikers don’t have weekends.”

“What do they do? Like, for work? To pay bills?”

He shrugs. “Some of them work. Construction, mostly. Lots of blue collar. Others collect veteran benefits. Or social security. A lot of them are fully migrant, rolling from town to town.”

“Where do they sleep?”

“RV parks, mostly. Other places let them park overnight. There’s a number of houses along highways willing to put them up. It’s a tight, proud community.”

“It’s not all drinking and hell raising?”

“Nah. They got all kinds, like any random assemblage of humans.”

“Do they get that rowdy every night?”

“Not really. There are fights. Rivalries. But a woman flashing the crowd is going to cause a commotion.”

“I don’t know what got into her. Now she wants to be a stripper.”

Diesel glances over at Marietta. “That’s a tough gig.”

“Hopefully, she won’t remember a thing tomorrow, and we’ll be back to my sweet, naive friend.”

“So, all this isn’t her scene?” Lights flash over Diesel’s face as a car approaches then disappears.

“Not at all. We’re grad students. All four of us. Bailey finished her coursework. She just has to complete her thesis. Jenna, Marietta, and I have a ways to go.”

“What are you studying?”

“Political science.”

He grunts. “What will you do with that? Work in DC? Be a talking head on the news?”

“Politics are everywhere,” I say. “I’d like to be a clerk or an assistant in a state office or maybe work for a senator.”

“Going to make a difference?”

“Is that an insult?” Heat rises in my face. “Like I can’t?”

“No, no. I’d bet on you any day.”

Would he? “Why’s that?”

His grin is wicked. “Because a woman who can get a knife run along her skin and not flinch is exactly the sort of person those pale-faced, weak-willed senators need to get them off their asses and actually accomplish something.”

I can’t help but smile at that image. “A good staff can get things done.”

He turns on a blinker. I can’t see anything in the unbroken wasteland of rural Florida. There are no lights anywhere, no houses.

When he makes the left, I hang on to my seat because it looks like we’re turning off into the void. But there’s a tiny sign and a crumbling asphalt road crossing the expanse.

Thank goodness for Google maps. I’d never find this again, but I can always drop a pin when I get there.

We drive for another several minutes before I spot a small cluster of houses.

“There’s a neighborhood way out here?” I ask.

“Yeah, it happens. Somebody buys some acreage and adds a house for Grandma, then their siblings and the whole extended family end up close by compared to whatever else is out there.”

His story bears out because there’s one larger house with two on each side, all on the same side of the road.

“And different families own them now?”

“Yeah. The land was all divided up years ago.” He pulls up to the last house. “This one’s mine. The one next door is Merrick’s.” He laughs. “We stuck to the plan in a way.”

Before my brain can stop my mouth, I hear myself ask, “But no other Pickles can live out here with you?”

The truck continues to rumble in the night. Diesel frowns, his face glowing red from the dials on the dash.

He must be mad at what I said, with his hands locked together at the top of the steering wheel.

I draw in a breath to apologize, to say it’s none of my business, when he finally says, “Exactly.”

He kills the engine and opens his door, flooding the cabin with light. Marietta startles, then presses the back of her hand to her forehead. “Oh, I feel awful. What was in those shots?”

“Tequila,” Diesel says, sliding off the seat. “And not the good kind.” Then he slams his door.

Marietta looks at me. “Are we in danger here?” She glances around. “Is this the middle of nowhere?”

We sit in the truck, watching Diesel walk up to his door and unlock the deadbolt. He goes in without looking back.

“We have our phones,” I tell her, suddenly not sure of the answer myself. “We can always call for a ride.”

“Might take a while out here.” She leans her head on my shoulder.

I have to take charge of this situation. “You wait here,” I tell her and scoot beneath the steering wheel to open Diesel’s door. “I’ll figure out what’s going on. Keep your phone in your lap.”

As Marietta opens her belt pack to pull out her cell, I step onto the concrete drive and close the door.

I’ve pissed the hell raiser off again.

But this time, I’m not backing down.