Bad to the Bones(12)
“You’re shitting me. Well, bring her by. Maddy should be at the house all morning with Fidelia. Fact, it’s probably smarter if we keep the loony tunes with us, anyway. I’ll be needing you on that job tomorrow. I’ll have Lytton and Turk ride sweep, but I want you riding point. You game for it?”
Knoxie had been expecting this. With the club in the ATF’s crosshairs, it would be smart to use civilians as point men in case things went south. It was implied that he’d be rewarded. The club never failed to reward men for good service.
The more Knoxie got to know Asanga, the more protective of her he became. Last night, watching her sleep the sleep of the damned in his bed, great paternal feelings had washed over him. Maybe it was missing his own kids. But he had vowed never to let her return to that wasteland where everyone seemed to be a few trucks short of a convoy. Since plucking her from that sandy mesa, Knoxie’s fresh point of view on life had opened up new doors of perception. Her pleading face had triggered off something emotional in him.
Now, knowing she had ties to Cottonwood and knew Madison Illuminati only strengthened this vow. He would triumph against these nutjobs. He’d been an incredible idiot for much of his life, had loved and lost, and he’d put himself into some f*cking dangerous places. He knew he could overcome these massive odds. “Sure, I’m in.”
“You’re not needed at the cum factory?”
For the first time, Knoxie actually felt ashamed of his employment at The Triple Exposure. Even though it was one of Ford’s dummy companies, it did make good clean green. The world had been coming to Triple Exposure films for several years now. Knoxie had just been acting to supplement his inking income. There wasn’t a line out the door of his Missing Ink private studio. Pure and Easy was still a relatively small city, not an urban jungle that would have supported a fulltime tattoo artist. So he’d turned to acting, not just for the money, but partially out of boredom, out of missing Nicole.
But suddenly, since meeting Asanga, he wanted to wash his hands clean of the cum factory. “I only did that to amuse myself, Ford. If I decide to patch in with you guys I’m going to give that up. It’s just not compatible with the club lifestyle.”
“Really?” Knoxie knew Ford would be delighted that he was finally kowtowing to throw in his lot with them. “About f*cking time, Knox. You know I’ve been dying to use the road name Flip for you for years now.”
One f*cking time he’d eaten asphalt on his Softail. One f*cking time he had parked it horizontally while canyon carving, and they’d never let him live it down. Hell, he had inked Ford and Madison when they were goofy teens. He thought they might let one tiny crash go. Besides, he still walked with a slight limp from that high side. It had been no laughing matter. Irritably, he said, “You can call me Flip when I’m fully patched. Right now I’m concentrating on this job. Slushy’s questioning Asanga right now.”
“Don’t let him spook her. You know how oily he can be. Scares women off. And listen! Don’t go rogueing. Don’t think you can keep her in your little apartment without her running off back to her flower power friends. They might’ve tried to shoot her, but in her mind they’re probably setting up a surprise party for her, you know?”
Ford could be incredibly bright. “Right. Waiting dinner on her because they miss her so much. Turning down the sheets.” Knoxie knew that no matter how much she might think these people were her friends, they weren’t. That whole community was riding for a rough fall, from what he’d heard. They were strange, twisted, brainwashed zombies who just needed some deprogramming.
“Well, there might be some that miss her. I’m sure she had true friends among the purples. So you’ll have to tread lightly.”
“Oh, and something else. Evidently she’s a f*cking bike mechanic, Ford. I guess they get around on their little crotch rockets up there.”
Ford made a lip fart. “Doesn’t surprise me. I can just see them zipping around their little purple campground going to their meditation retreats. What’s her real name, so I can tell Maddy.”
Ford had a good point, so Knoxie told him to hold while he walked back to the girl’s table. Slushy was leaning forward with his tie in his fries saying, “Seriously? There are a hundred and eight different kinds of meditation?”
Asanga touched her stupid necklace with the round wooden beads. “Yes, each bead is a different sort of meditation. This isn’t really a picture of my Master—it’s a picture of nothingness, because he can’t be photographed.”
Slushy pretended to be floored. “Well, I can’t say as I can wrap my head around all of this just yet. Maybe give me a few of those bhang lassis and I’ll start to get there.”
Knoxie couldn’t wait to get that damned necklace off her. To him, it represented the worst of religious repression. He had been indoctrinated into Catholicism by his Sicilian mother. He’d been an altar boy down in Hondo, Texas, he’d done his time. He’d seen the dark side of organized religion, and it wasn’t pretty. It was the worst sort of brainwashing—just one giant excuse for a few in power to run amok, abusing their authority. Every time he looked at this young woman, he steeled his heart to fight for her salvation. He had seen the damage done by regimental spiritual practices. That sort of thing, in his opinion, was best done on a personal level, in the privacy of one’s own home.