Weekend Warriors (Sisterhood #1)(50)

The night was pitch black as Kathryn led the group out to the main road. She looked both ways before she peeled out onto the macadam, Alexis and Julia behind her. She could feel Yoko’s death grip around her waist. Hysteria bubbled up to her throat. We must look like something out of a scary Halloween movie, she thought as she crawled along the highway.

The minute she saw the blaze of neon lighting ahead she felt all the tenseness leave her body. She swerved into the parking lot of the Lone Pine Retreat, tooled around to the back and cut the engine. The others parked next to her.

“The temperature’s dropping,” Julia said.

“Is that important?” Alexis asked anxiously.

“No. I was just making conversation.”

“Listen up, we wear these ponchos till we get inside. We hang them up and then we strut, ladies, to the bar. Strut. We do not sashay, we do not slink, we do not walk, we strut. No fancy drinks. Hard liquor. Scotch. That’s what biker chicks drink. I read that in one of Charles’s magazines. We are on the prowl, so look obvious. We’re easy but make them work for it. You ready?”

Three ponchos bobbed up and down as the quartet ran for the main entrance.

It was like a million other bars, steamy, smoky and sleazy. It was just one big room with tables positioned around the bar. They were greeted with whistles, hoots and explicit suggestions. They waved and smiled as they swung their legs over the bar stools.

“What’s your pleasure, ladies?” the bartender leered.

“Scotch on the rocks. A double,” Kathryn said.

“I’ll have the same,” Alexis said.

“Make that three,” Julia said.

“Four,” Yoko squeaked.

Kathryn had to stand up to fish in her jeans’ pocket for money. She half-turned so that the group at the long table could get a better view of her right breast and the tattoo. She slapped a fifty dollar bill down on the bar.

Julia reached for her drink and downed it in two swallows. She thumped the glass down on the bar and swivelled around, her long legs stretched out in front of her. She looked pointedly at the men sitting at the table. “That’s some impressive machinery out front. We’re on our way to the Harley-Davidson show. Would any of you be interested in buying an FXSTB Night Train? Sugar here is selling her ’93 Softail, too.”

“I might be interested in the Night Train,” Charles said, getting up from the table and walking over to the bar. “Is it outside?”

“Sure is, honey. Be glad to show it to you after we get something to eat. We’ve been riding all day.”

“Why don’t you ladies join us. I placed our order but I don’t see a problem adding four more steaks. Hey guys, swing four more chairs over here.”

“Well sure, we’d love to join you. We got nothing better to do and we want to wait out the rain. Y’all staying around here or what?”

“We’re camping in the Alabama Hills,” Charles said.

“You guys on a run?” Alexis asked.

“Yeah,” someone shouted from the far end of the table.

“We did it for victims of violent crimes,” someone else shouted. “You ladies want to kick in some bucks?”

“Sure,” they said in unison as each one of them handed over a hundred dollar bill.

The men sat up a little straighter when Charles scooped up the money and thanked them.

“So, where are y’all from?” Kathryn drawled.

“L.A.” someone said. “How about you?”

“Oregon,” Yoko said.

“So what do y’all do, do y’all work or do you just…ride around?” Kathryn asked as she maneuvered herself to the far end of the table to get as far away from Wagstaff as she could.

“Both,” Dr. Clark Wagstaff said. Julia sat down next to him. “So what do you do?” she purred. “Claudia Abbott,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Clark Wagstaff.” He pumped her hand for a full thirty seconds. “I’m an oral surgeon. How about you?” Wagstaff asked as he eyed the tattoo on top of her left breast.

“I paint murals inside churches,” Julia said. “The bikes are just a weekend hobby.”

“What about your friends? By the way, I might be interested in the Night Train. I’d like to take a look at it later.”

“Well sure, that’s okay by me. Goes to the highest bidder. Candy down there at the end of the table makes muffins. Best muffins in the state of Oregon. Stella, over there, has her own bike shop in Portland. Makes money hand over fist. Mei Ling is a massage therapist. When she walks on your back you’d swear you died and went to heaven. She knows exactly how to please a man. So, what’s good to eat in this dump? This is a dump, you know. Excuse me, I want to talk to that gentleman over there about my Night Train.”

Julia wiggled her way over to where Charles was sitting. He looked at her with open admiration. “It’s hard to believe you ride a Night Train,” he said.

“You wouldn’t believe the teacher I had. How’s it going?” she asked under her breath.

“Another hour and they’ll all be rolling on the floor. They’re all heavy drinkers except our two. They pretty much have their wits about them,” Charles said, sotto voce.

“The food should be coming out any minute now.”