I should keep my damn mouth shut when I think my work is going good. So here's Zeke dealing with news of Grady's death:
Oh, shit...Laila.
He shook his head. Eventually her actions were going to come back to haunt the joint, but he had learned long ago not to come between boys who thought they were about to be taken good care of and the nice, randy, ready biker babe who was going to do the caring. At least she was smart enough not to take things too far. Just a big-eyed plea to help her make this month's rent. Repairs on her non-existent Lincoln, that she really-really needed to get to work. Hospital bills for her sick grandmother...who lived in Cleveland and ran five miles a day. Simple things to make simple boys think they were simply doing good. So, let them have their fun.
He turned off the last of the interior lights, except for one over the rear exit. Without the colorful twinklers and tubes of neon bubble and fat round bulbs glowing, the Cantina seemed lifeless. Just plain bleak. He grabbed a couple of icy Dos Equis and the trash bag, and headed outside.
The moment Loki saw him, he barked for joy.
"Hey, Loki-puppy. Almost done," he called.
He dumped the trash in a bin, locked the door, and limped up the incline to the mobile home. Loki gave him more happy woofs as he unchained him, gave him some good rubbing pets then let him go running around, snapping at a few bugs and rolling in the dirt.
Zeke smiled. "Y'know, if you get too dirty, you’re sleepin’ on the floor."
He hated chaining the mutt up, like this, but not two weeks after Lara's rape, Dax had roared up to the trailer on his Hog, JJ with him, and pounded on the front door, screaming, "Goddammit, you motherfucker, why the fuck'd you tell the cops about that fuckin' video?"
It was about eleven and Zeke had only just fallen asleep, so he was groggy and using a crutch as he hopped to the door to open it, saying, "Dax, what the fuck?"
The second Dax had seen him, he yanked Zeke outside and punched him. Knocked him down. Was about to kick him when Loki had latched onto his boot and hauled him back. Only JJ catching him kept Dax from falling off the porch...which was fortunate, because Loki would happily have shifted his teeth into the man's throat.
Zeke had scrambled to separate them as Dax pulled his gun from a rear holster. Loki kept howling and snapping at the man as Zeke had hovered over him, all but screaming, "Get away, Dax! He's just protectin' me! He's just protectin' me."
JJ had yanked Dax aside, saying, "C'mon, Dax, back off. Back off. Zeke wouldn't do that to us. Stop and think."
"Think about what?" Dax snarled, waving the gun around. "He was the only one there pissed off about it."
"Chase was there."
Dax glared at JJ, shaking his head. "That little fuck wouldn't dare fuck with me. Tell the cops about that fuckin' video? Go against me?!"
By this point, Zeke had pulled himself up to lean against the door, one hand gripping Loki's collar, ignoring the blood trailing from his mouth. "Dax...what?" he'd said. "What video?"
Dax had glared at him. Loki still expressing exactly how much he would dearly love to tear the man's throat open.
"That little cunt, Stasi," he'd yelled. "Shot video of the guys havin' fun with that girl. Uploaded it to YouTube an' put the link on the college's website."
Zeke had gone weak and whispered, "Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh, no."
Dax had eyed him, uncertain. "Then somebody told the cops an' Eldora's pissed as hell about it. It's all over the news."
"I...I never pay attention to that shit."
"You...you really didn't know?" Dax had finally grown calm enough to see Zeke's horrified reaction. He'd stepped back, finally considering. "Chase. Fuckin' Chase..." He had put his gun away. "Shit, Zeke, I'm sorry. You're the only one I thought would have the balls to do it."
Zeke had looked at him, confused. Cut to the core. "You think I...you think I'm a narc?"
That had jolted Dax. "No! No. I...that's what got me so fuckin' pissed off. I trust you an' I...I was sure nobody else would've done it an'...an' I just went nuts. I'm sorry."
Loki had cut down to merely growling, with an occasional bark thrown in for good measure.
Dax had glared at him. "That mutt's gonna go at me, again. I've seen dogs like that. He wants a piece..."
Zeke had made himself say, "Don't worry. Don't worry. It'll be okay."
He had promised from then on he would keep Loki on a chain, when Dax might come around, and knew that was the only thing that had kept his pup, alive...
Well, that and the fact that Dax had actually seemed to feel bad about tearing into him. Especially once he'd verified it was the college who'd told Eldora about the video.
Zeke hopped up the steps to his porch, dropped on a padded folding chair right by the door, and pulled off his boots. Next, he pulled his shorts up then unset his bionic leg. He leaned it next to the chair and sighed, long and easy. He finished his beer while massaging Stumpy, as he jokingly referred to the amputation.
All he had left was his thigh, from just above where his knee used to be. The scarring was hidden by a swirling Viking design that would put Game of Thrones to shame. He had two other fake legs, of various designs, and it seemed alternating them helped keep from rubbing him too raw. Right now, while his stub was throbbing, it was not unlivable...and massaging it helped. But sure as hell ain't goin' two-steppin', tonight.
"Whoop, whoop, Cotton-eyed Joe," he actually said, making Loki look at him as if he were nuts. "Wish I was crazy," he added.
Instead of feeling trapped.
That idea had been growing stronger and stronger in his head, since the rape and suicide. A sense of guilt accompanying it. And the simple inability to decide what to do next. He did not want to stay here. He had his benefits and money from his tips put aside, but where else would he find a place that was as quiet and easy as here? And after all Dax had done for him? How could he dump on the guy? Sure, he was an asshole, sometimes, and the only thing standing between them and a raid by the Feds was Eldora, but Dax was usually okay.
And hell, even when he wasn't...well, Grady'd had his moments of freak out, too.
Like the one Tuesday night he'd burst in on Zeke, in full paranoid mode, sure someone was messing with him. Not six months ago. Certain it was the Feds looking to drive him nuts.
"I'm gettin' all kinds of shit calls on my phone," he'd muttered. "Calls from all over the States but when I try to call 'em back, it's a banned number."
"Just robo-calls, Grady," Zeke had said in his calmest voice. He'd guided the guy onto the couch and Loki had jumped up to beside him and just lain there, watching them both.
"But the phone numbers are shit," Grady had snapped. "It's the DEA...I know it. I'm gonna go to jail. I never been! Shit, the Army was bad enough."
It had taken Zeke an hour to calm him down enough to where he could watch an old episode of Lassie on Zeke's laptop, feeding himself strips of beef jerky and Loki treats as both were locked on that damn collie rushing back to the farm to bark that Timmy was in trouble.
When Grady had said, "Stupid fuckin' kid, always gettin' himself into shit," he'd known everything was cool, again.
Now Grady was dead.
Dead.
Shit.
And Zeke had to make it through the night.
Dusk to dawn had never been easy for Zeke, even before he almost died. His mind just would not shut down. Far too often, the thoughts hitting him were vicious, cold and out of nowhere. Like remembering the second the blast happened. Or the pain of physical therapy. Or thinking of when he'd had both legs and would go climbing in the hills or swimming in the lakes of Minnesota. Now mixed in were imaginary visions of being jumped by a wild beast intent on tearing him to shreds, visions that sometimes were so real it was hard to convince himself they weren't. That was why one of the greatest blessings he knew was drifting into slumber, because he never remembered his dreams.
Well...that not going to happen, tonight.
Not with Grady dying.
It had been a two-way street, with Grady. Sometimes in the first few years, he had just shown up to sit with Zeke, on the edge of the porch, saying nothing as he sipped his beer. Knowing...just knowing when he'd been needed, without a word spoken. Let Zeke run the moments of silence as long as he wanted...as long it took to regain his center. He'd shown up that day, after Dax's attack, and silently tended his cuts and quietly sneered, "Gonna have another scar, bitch. As if you ain't got enough."
Zeke had smiled and shrugged and said, "Road trip to Juarez, eh?"
Not anymore.
His brain kept drifting back to the horror of Grady's death. Left outside, alive, bound, to be feasted on by the creatures of the desert. It was beyond comprehension that anyone could do that to anybody, no matter how much they hated them. The pain. The suffering. He could see it. Almost feel it. Made his skin cringe in sympathy. And now the only person he'd ever thought of as family was gone.
He needed something to shift away from the horrific images that began to pound into him, so opened the screen door and pulled out an acoustic guitar. Still sitting on the chair, he fiddled with the strings, then played a gentle version of Romance de Amor.
The melody had been playing in the bar, in Juarez, the night Zeke got the first part of his arm inked. Grady had pushed him across the bridge in his wheelchair and complained the whole way. "I ain't that strong. My feet hurt. Should've grabbed an Uber. My arms are achin'. Ain't doin' this, again." On and on, and never mind this wasn't the first time he'd done it.
But after the tattoo shop had come beer and burritos, on Zeke, so he hadn't said a word while pushing him back. Probably helped they were both seriously on the drunk side. And...that Grady had tried to work his charms on the immigration clerk. Which had nearly gotten them arrested for harassment. It was only Zeke laughing out of control that had gotten them off the hook. That and Stumpy being very visible.
The next time they'd gone, Zeke had made himself walk on his new bionic leg. It had hurt like shit. But Grady had been solicitous the whole way. That was when Zeke had finally begun to accept he could make it back to life. So he'd bought this plain guitar in a shop near the bridge. For a hundred pesos.
Self-taught, he wasn't as smooth as he would have liked. It took him more focus than most people, he was sure, but that's why he liked playing it. The melodies seemed to come out like they were his, and they did a lot to lift his mood. He'd never make America's Got Talent, but he wasn't interested in that crap, anyway, and...
Loki skidded to a halt.
Zeke stopped playing.
The dog turned.
And sniffed.
And listened.
Then growled towards the Cantina...and carefully positioned himself beside Zeke, in a warning stance and attitude.
Okay...this was serious. It wasn't Dax returning, because Loki would be barking and tearing off after him. Still...
He carefully set the guitar by his chair and reached back around into the trailer, his eyes scanning the area. He had an old M-16 that was in top condition propped just inside the door. He brought it out and held it, ready to fire.
Into darkness.
Into silence.
Into nothing?
"Careful," he finally said. "Loki don’t like surprises."
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