The Word of a Liar (6 page)

“Yes ma’am.” Mason pronounced each syllable in a controlled and frightening voice then he issued a warning, looking into Desi’s eyes. “Desi. Never hit me again!”

Mason shook her wrist loose then walked over to Ellen. 

“Stand up!” he snapped.

Blood oozed from the side of Mason’s cheek. Ellen didn’t dare mention it. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. The strings of Christmas lights adorning the campsite and the light from the fire lit up Mason’s face. His eyes were the cold blue of a winter’s sky. She looked over his shoulder, fully expecting Desi to come flying at them, but she was gone. Pulling the blanket close, Ellen sat down hoping Mason would sit beside her, but he turned away.

Mad Dog, kneeling by the fire, watched.

“What you lookin’ at?” Mason growled.

“Nothing.” Mad Dog laughed and then threw a log on the fire. “Just your ole lady kickin’ your ass.”

Blue flames hissed.

“Leave him alone, Mad Dog. He’s had enough for tonight.” Dee Dee walked over to Mason and inspected his cheek. Ellen wanted to hug her. Mason didn’t deserve Desi’s wrath. He tried to keep those men from killing each other.

“I need a drink. Where the hell is that whiskey Muck Eye gave us?” Mason brushed Dee Dee off and began searching the campsite.

“They’re over there.” Dee pointed to a case of whiskey bottles near the entrance to one of the tents. “Take a load off, Rambo.”

“Yeah, have a seat, Rambo.” One of the men sitting by the fire, lit a joint and offered it to him.  “You need to relax. You look like you’re strung tighter than a guitar string. Don’t let the bitch get to you, man.”

“I’ll get something for that cut. Sit there by Rat and have a smoke.” Dee Dee ordered then walked to the truck.

Mason obeyed and slumped down in the chair next to Rat and took a drag.

Mad Dog threw a few more pieces of wood on the fire then walked over to the case of whiskey. Removing two bottles, he handed one to Mason then sat down next to Ellen.

“Have a good long swig of this. It’ll take the edge off of things.” Mad Dog said as he passed Ellen the whiskey bottle.

Ellen looked into his face. Handsome as Mason, his classic look--short dark hair, square jaw, round black eyes and a wide warm smile--contradicted his burly arms and menacing tattoos. 

“I’ve never drunk liquor straight out of the bottle before.” Ellen wrinkled her nose, not sure she could do it. “But after tonight….”

Ellen took a big drink, coughed then took another long swig. The warm whiskey slid smoothly down her throat, heating her body. She handed the bottle back to Mad Dog. Ellen looked across the fire at Dee playing nurse. Dee Dee swabbed Mason’s cheek with an alcohol pad and he winced. Ellen pictured herself in Dee’s place, touching Mason’s face, looking into his eyes, her fingers brushing back all that long luscious hair to kiss away his pain.
The alcohol must be kicking in
.
If I don’t stop this, Desi’s going to be coming after me next. 

Ellen sighed, bringing her knees up to her chest and covering her feet with the blanket. She watched the flames encircle the charred pieces of wood and thought of her late husband Paul. She knew he was watching her. If she could, she’d tell him not to worry. She was no longer afraid. She smiled, closing her eyes and feeling
Paul’s presence in the heat emanating from the fire. His strength was all around her
.
Tomorrow she would talk to JD
.
They would be okay.

“That’s a nice little gash, Rambo. I hope this liquid Band Aid stuff works, because I think you should have a stitch or two,” said Dee.

Mason didn’t reply. His eyes were on Ellen. The color was coming back into her face and her dark eyes reflected the campfire. Even though her hair was a total mess, and her mascara had run down her cheeks, Mason thought she looked beautiful. Not the same kind of beautiful as Desi, but beautiful nonetheless. He watched Mad Dog move in and for some reason it irritated him. It shouldn’t, he rationalized. Mad Dog was a good guy and had been alone for a long time. He should be happy for his friend instead of being jealous.

Ellen looked up. He caught her eye and smiled. She smiled back. Mason marveled at the simple, honest warmth it conveyed. She was the kind of woman he could show off to his folks—educated, independent. They’d be impressed that their wayward son found a woman like her. Exactly the kind of woman he’d never been interested in, until now.

“All patched up, Rambo.” Dee tucked her things back into the first aid kit. “Did you know you and I are practically neighbors to Ellen?”

Mason straightened, “Really?  Where do you live, Ellen?”

“On Washington Street.”

“She bought the old Victorian you wanted,” said Dee.

“You’re kidding! So you’re the one who nabbed my house right out from under me?”
Mason sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward. His mood altered.

“I guess so. You must be the biker I see hot rodding up the street, terrorizing the children and the small animals on the block.” Ellen teased. “Wait until I get home. I’m going to have a long talk with the realtor who sold me that house. She said the neighborhood was safe, but if you live in it, it’s hardly so.”

Ellen flipped her hair up off her neck. They all laughed.

Mason enjoyed her sassy attitude and the light in her eyes. She finally looked happy, relaxed. 

“The woman is quick, Rambo.” Mad Dog laughed.

“You have to be quick on your feet when you’ve taught high school for ten years,” said Ellen.

“You’re a teacher?” Mad Dog asked. “What do you teach? No…don’t tell; let me guess. Um…Social Studies?”

Ellen shook her head.

“Ahh…Business?”

Ellen shook her head again, giggling.

“You’re not an English teacher, are you?”

“Well, not exactly. I’m a principal and an English teacher.”

“A principal and an English teacher?  Ellen you can’t be.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, I was picturing you more like a history teacher. You know, wearing a really short plaid skirt and a blouse unbuttoned to here.” Mad Dog put his hand across the lower half of his chest to demonstrate. “You’re wearing loafers and knee socks and of course some frilly black panties.”

Mad Dog’s eyebrows rose. “And when you reach for the maps, the kind that hang from a chalkboard, you have to really reach for it.”

Mad Dog grinned.

Ellen nodded.

“Well, then of course, you have to you bend over to pull it down… and that’s where I come in.” He reached over and patted her thigh.

Ellen promptly placed his roving hand back in his lap “You have quite the imagination don’t you Mike O’Donnell? I bet you were probably a very naughty boy in school.”

She rapped a finger on the arm of his chair.

“And I bet you were sent to the principal’s office quite often for a good spanking.” Ellen’s eyes widened.

Mad Dog threw his head back and roared. Mason laughed, too, observing the others as they joined in.  Ellen’s quick wit charmed the small circle, turning the mood mellow and easy. Mason took a drink of his whiskey, his eyes still on her. He suspected this was the real Ellen Abrams when she wasn’t scared to death.
He stretched his legs out, taking another drink.

A man approached the group. “Rambo.” He looked at Mason.

“Hey, Wolfman,” Mason greeted him. “What’s up?”

“They sent me to find you.” Wolfman’s somber tone made Mason nervous. “The clubs’ officers have been meeting down in the tent of Joe Conley. He’s the president of the
Highway Men
. Your name came up quite a bit.”

Mason looked at Mad Dog, swinging his arms apart, the whiskey bottle in one hand. “Gee I wonder why?”

“Well, it sure as hell isn’t because of your charming personality,” Mad Dog joked.

Mason stood. Taking a long drink, he handed the bottle to Rat. “Lead on, brother Wolf. Take me to your den.”

“Be cool, brother,” Mad Dog cautioned.

“I’ll see you later.” Mason tilted his head to the side. “One way or the other.”

Mason followed Wolfman down the rows of tents and vanished into the crowd.

Ellen saw the look of concern on Mad Dog’s face. She glanced over at Dee, and the other two men sitting at the fire. All of them looked worried.
Now what’s was going on? Is this night never going to end?
She laid her head back on the edge of the chair and braved the question.

“I know I’m being nosey, but what is going on?  Why do you all look so concerned about Mason?”

“Because they might kick him out of the club.” Dee pulled a cigarette out of her jacket pocket and lit it.

“Who are they?” Ellen asked.

“The other presidents. Whatever they decide to do, Rambo’s got to abide by it.” Dee took a long drag off the cigarette and exhaled.

“Why would they want to kick him out?  What did he do?” Ellen asked.

“Shooting that rifle off.” Mad Dog took a long drink from the whiskey bottle. “I don’t think he had much of a choice, Dee. I really don’t.”

“I hope the others see things the way you do, Mad Dog. I kinda like that guy.” Dee Dee blew rings of smoke into the air and watched them dismantle.

CHAPTER SIX

Mason followed Wolfman down the field to a large army surplus tent pitched under the cover of a decaying maple tree. Its solitary location signified its importance. The lit interior projected human shadows upon the canvas walls. The murmur of male voices carried upon the still night like a slow moving river.

Wolfman stopped.

“Wait here,” he commanded as he pulled back the tent flap and then disappeared.

The men inside quieted.

Mason paced. He didn’t think Spider would allow the presidents to get rid of him. Hell, Spider couldn’t stand half the guys himself, but Mason dreaded the likelihood of the boot line. He knew he couldn’t appear to be nervous. The men would smell his fear a mile off--and if they did, things would go a lot worse. Right now, he could use a shot of whiskey. Wolfman reappeared.

“Go on in. They’re ready for ya.”

Mason nodded, inhaled deeply, than stepped inside.

In the corner of the tent a large cooler overflowed with ice and beer. Bottles and cans littered the grass floor. Tobacco and marijuana smoke hung in the stale air like smog over a polluted city. Sweat trickled down the back of Mason’s neck. He stood erect, pulling his shoulders back and cocked his head. Spider sat at a rectangular folding table with eleven other long haired and bearded men. Arms folded across his chest, Spider’s poker expression gave nothing away.   The scene reminded Mason of a surreal battlefield where the generals had assembled, except these generals wore leather and denim and their medals were tattooed on their arms.

One against twelve. No… thirteen, counting Wolfman standing guard
, Mason deliberated.
I’ll never be able to fight them all. I’m a fucking dead man.

“You gentlemen wanted to see me?” Mason asked, keeping his voice steady.  

The eyes of the bikers rode over him. A tense silence charged the air. A kerosene lamp, hanging in the middle of the tent, popped and hissed. Mason swallowed, hitching his thumb around his dual belt buckle that also served as a dagger.  An older man stood. His long blond hair, streaked with gray, hung down around his weathered face. A straggly white goatee touched the collar of his black T-shirt. He moved towards Mason. His dark puffy eyes sized Mason up with a cold intense gaze. Mason waited. The man held a joint to his lips, took a hit, held the intoxicating smoke, than exhaled through his nose.

“I’m Joe Conley, the president of the
Highway Men
. You do know why we sent for you Rambo?” It was a rhetorical question. “You risked bringing a lot of heat down on us by shooting off that fire arm of yours. What if you would have killed someone? None of the clubs here want that kind of attention, especially from some wanna be outlaw biker--a fucking lame!”

Joe arched his brows, jabbing his index finger into Mason’s shoulder. “You understand?”

Forcing himself to remain calm, Mason squeezed his belt buckle, looked down at Conley’s finger, then up to his accusing bloodshot eyes. Mason could drop the mangy old son-of-a- bitch with no problem, but they all knew he wouldn’t. They wanted to know how much shit he’d take before he had enough, then they’d cut him loose. He wasn’t biting. He’d take his licks.

“I understand.” Mason said, nodding. “I’ll take whatever I got comin’, but don’t any of you mistake me for a lame.”

A slow grin spread beneath Joe’s gnarly goatee. Yellow stained teeth appeared. Several of the men began to chuckle. Spider stood up, a beer bottle in his hand. “I told you, Rambo ain’t no pussy!”

Joe slapped Mason hard on the back. “Rambo, you’re a righteous brother. Squinch is an asshole. I signed the agreement that only those assigned to security would have weapons and Squinch dishonored me.” He took another hit off the joint. “Because Squinch belongs to us, we’ve decided his punishment will be up to the
Highway
Men
. These presidents and the clubs they represent have no hard feelings toward you or your people. You’re welcome to ride next to me anytime.”

Joe held out his hand.

Mason relaxed and shook it. The mood changed to one of camaraderie.

“I do apologize for the actions of that dumb ass. He rides with us but not for long. You have my word.  I’d be honored if you’d join me for a drink.”

Mason smiled. “I’d love to.”

Joe went to the table, picked up a mason jar and drank.

“Damn good shit.” Joe said and clicked the back of his teeth with his tongue.

Joe handed it to Mason who sniffed the clear liquid. It smelled like whiskey. He chugged it down. Burning his throat raw, the fiery liquid snaked down to his belly, torching his blood. He coughed.

Joe watched with a wryly smile. “Potent, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, what the hell is it?” Mason could barely breathe and his stomach was on fire.

“Moonshine.”

“Really?” Mason shook his head.  “Never had any before. You make it?” 

Joe ignored the question, taking the jar from Mason.  “That’s all, brother. You can go back to the party.”

Mason turned to leave.

“One last thing….” Joe stopped him. “Would you have really greased ole Squinch?”

Mason considered the question.

“Like a squeaky hinge,” Mason replied and then stooped to clear the tent’s entrance.

***

Mason returned to Dee’s tent. Desi was there. Ellen sat next to Mad Dog, roasting a marshmallow, laughing at something he had said, no longer looking afraid.

“So what happened?” Mad Dog asked as Mason approached.

All eyes were on Mason.

“I had a drink with the president of the
Highway Men
and shook his hand. He invited me to ride with him any time.” Mason smiled, sitting down next to Desi. He put his hand on her thigh. “You feeling better?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m sorry I hit you. I didn’t know Squinch cut you.”

Desi traced her fingers lightly down the wound. “I was really scared, Rambo. I thought he was going to stab you.”

Mason kissed her, smoothing back a strand of blonde hair, her green eyes stoking his desire. Resting her head on his shoulder, she watched the fire. Mason looked over at Ellen. “How are you feeling?”

“Me?” Ellen’s eyes widened. “I’m feeling great. I’m happy… giddy… and everything is happening in slow motion. I’m glad you’re still in the gang. If you had been kicked out, would you have had to leave immediately, or would you have been allowed to stay? And what about me? You’re the one who found me, would I have had to go, too?”

Ellen blew a puff of air from her mouth and began to laugh.  “I could never stay on that motorcycle all the way back to Milwaukee. You’d have to bungee cord me to that bike for sure.”

Still laughing, Ellen looked up at the sky.

“What’s with her?” Mason asked Mad Dog.

“Our little teacher friend has never smoked weed, so I gave her a lesson in Pot Smoking 101. She’s a fast learner.”

Mad Dog patted Ellen’s knee. They both laughed. He held up the nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels. “Our buddy Jack may have helped matters out some, too.”

Mason shook his head. The mellow effect of the moonshine turned sour. It was all he could do to stay seated and not jump across the fire pit and punch the shit out of Mad Dog. He should have been more responsible and not given Ellen pot and all that alcohol. Drunk, she was no longer capable of defending herself in this kind of crowd. She was now more vulnerable than she would have been if she had stayed at the road.

Dee came from the direction of the tents. “Well, what happened, Rambo?” she asked but didn’t let him answer as she rushed on. “If they voted to kick you out, I swear to God, I’ll never let that old man of mine live it down. I know things like this aren’t a woman’s business, but I helped him start this damn club and—’’

Mason got up and went to her, placing his hands on her small shoulders.

“Easy, Dee Dee. I’m still in.”

Mason looked down into her dark fierce eyes. She blinked, then unexpectedly hugged his waist. Taken off guard, Mason hugged her back. During his time as a
Sons of Thunder
member, he had come to truly respect this woman.  Dee Dee’s small frame belied her inner strength. As unexpectedly as she embraced him, she let go.

“What the hell is going on here?” Spider called from the shadows. Swaying, he took a drink from the bottle in his hand.

“I just ran into your friend Jack. Some of the brothers asked him to be an impartial judge at the wet T-shirt contest. I hope he behaves himself.” Spider said, shaking the bottle at Mason.

“You don’t need to worry, I put one of the prospects on his tail for the rest of the night.”  Mason assured Spider.

Ellen scrambled to her feet “I’m making s’mores, Mr. President, sir. Would you like one?”

Mad Dog grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down into the chair.

“What?” Ellen grumbled. “I’m just being polite. After all, the old curmudgeon didn’t kick Mason out and he let me stay here, so the least I can do is fix him a s’more.”

Ellen popped two marshmallows on a stick. Holding them over the flames, she turned to Spider. “Mr. President, how do you like your marshmallows? Burned crisp or a delicate golden brown?”

Taking a seat by Dee Dee, Spider watched Ellen curiously.

“What the hell did she call me?” Spider asked.

Dee Dee shook her head. “I don’t know. Ask her?”

“What the fuck did you call me, woman?” Spider leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees.

“Curmudgeon,” Ellen replied, never taking her eyes from the browning marshmallows.

“What the hell does that mean?” Spider stood up, hands on hips.

Mason volunteered. “I believe it means someone who is a… killjoy, disagreeable, or a wet blanket.”

Mason grinned, waiting for Spider’s reaction.

Ellen looked across the fire at Mason. The marshmallows sizzled. She pointed the burning clumps at him. “Mason Hackett, you’re a very smart boy.”

One of the marshmallows fell into the flames. “I give you an A plus.”

Ellen laughed, then noticing the dire condition of the surviving marshmallow, jerked the stick back. The luscious prize dropped into the fire and burst into a glorious flame. Ellen sighed.

“Looks like I’ll have to cook you a couple more, Mr. President. Mad Dog, hand me two more, and I’ll have another drink of whiskey.”

Spider slowly sat down. His eyes narrowed then a wide grin appeared under his handlebar mustache. “Mad Dog, what have you done to her?”

“I’m innocent of any wrong doing. She’s a consenting adult. You are over twenty-one aren’t you Ellen?” Mad Dog asked as handed her the whiskey.

“Hell, yes,” Ellen answered with too much enthusiasm, taking a drink.

“See?” Mad Dog said, his eyebrows raised in innocence.

Ellen swung around to give Mad Dog back the whiskey and nearly took out his eye with the stick. He grabbed it. “You’d better let me have that.”

“But I really want a s’more.” Ellen slumped down in the chair. Mason couldn’t help but smile. She looked like a spoiled child, sulking because Daddy had taken away her toy.  About to offer his services, Mad Dog beat him to it.

“Allow me,” Mad Dog said as he speared two marshmallows and then held them over the coals.

“I don’t like them burnt.” Ellen pouted.

“I won’t burn them. I’ve got three kids. I think I know how to roast a marshmallow by now, Mrs. Abrams.”

“That reminds me.” Ellen’s sullenness disappeared. “You both promised I could use the phone to call JD tomorrow at nine o’clock.” Ellen sobered a little, looking at Spider. “My son will go crazy if I don’t call him on time. He has autism.”

Dee spoke up. “Of course you can call your son. I’ll take you up to Granddad’s myself. You certainly have your hands full, don’t you Ellen? A single mom and a son with autism.”

“How about a single dad with three kids to raise?” Mad Dog mumbled.

Dee Dee eyed the two of them. She took a drag off her cigarette. “Mad Dog, Ellen lost her husband in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry, Ellen. How long has your husband been gone?”

“It was seven years on June twenty-fourth.” Ellen gazed into the flames, her thoughts turning inward.

Mason shifted, rested his elbows on his knees, and studied the two. Ellen looked up at him. Firelight flickered in her somber dark eyes.

Mad Dog carefully peeled the marshmallows from the stick with the edge of a graham cracker, but it broke in half and the precious treat fell in the dirt. “Shit!”

Ellen looked down, staring at the melted concoction as if it were a small dead animal.

“They were perfect,” she sighed, then picked them up and tossed them into the fire.

Mad Dog snapped the stick in two, dropped it into the flames and then took a long drink from the whiskey bottle.