“Still,” I say, a bit quieter. Thanking someone who is so hell bent on pissing me off is challenging at best. Having had enough small talk for the time being, I settle into my seat and lean my head against the blackened window, hoping sleep will claim me.
When I wake, the sun has already set, and night time is upon us. The high-pitched squeal of the van’s brakes as we stop rouse even my new friend across from me. As his eyes flutter open, I smile at him as happily as I can muster. His eyes land on me immediately and a grimace appears. If he can’t bring himself to be kind, or even tolerant of me, perhaps I can kill him with kindness. Literally.
To my left side, Ruby stretches out, having slept most of the way since we left Brooklyn. “Where are we?” she asks, looking at the men in front.
“Some hick town in Iowa,” the passenger says. The driver puts the van in park and cuts the engine. It isn’t until the guys who have kept time with us turn off their engines that I realize how loud they really are. In their wake is a glorious silence that immediately makes me feel infinitely more at ease.
We climb out of the van and step onto the cracked pavement of the Williamsburg Motel, whose florescent neon sign flashes, sporadically cutting out. For the first time since we locked eyes at that gas station, I see Ryan in the crowd. He’s standing, hands on his hips, surveying the men around him. Ruby takes my arm and gently leads me past him and into the motel lobby, following Jim, who manages to score an impressively low group rate. Upon inspection, there’s ten riders with us, half the number that there were to begin with. As we emerge from the office, Jim tosses out four room keys, then he hands one to Ryan. He hands one of the remaining two keys to Ruby, and finally, one to me.
“Duke, Diesel, and Bear are going to keep watch for the night since they got to sleep in the van. You’ll be safe, but I figured you’d want a little privacy.” I nod, grateful for the consideration.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, and it is perhaps the most genuine thing I’ve ever said.
I rest up, trying to make this situation a little more bearable with a hot bath and lots of sleep. Not knowing when I’ll have a chance to shower again, I load up my bag with the extra soaps and a few washcloths. Though the men never bother me, I hear when they change shifts. Jim told me one would be at the door to my room and the other would be around back beneath the high bathroom window. Not only are the window and the door the only points of entrance in my dusty, rundown room, they’re also the only points of escape. Not that I had been thinking of an escape. I’m not stupid enough to believe that I’d fare better on my own in the wilds of the Midwest than I will with Ruby and Co. Still, I’ve spent a lifetime under Carlo Mancuso’s thumb, and I know better than to assume that the only thing the leather-clad, gun-wielding men are attempting to stop is a break-in.
By morning, I already feel a hundred times better, having rested and cleared my head. I’m still feeling the lingering effects of the anti-anxiety medication Gloria slipped into my milk, but at least now I feel like I have my wits about me again. Today, our trip feels very much like yesterday’s did—long with a series of short stops along the way for beer and snacks, but more often than not we break for bathrooms and to fill up the tank. Today, I’m more aware of my surroundings. I’ve noticed the motorcycles stop more frequently than the van, but before they do there’s always a call in to one of the guys. The conversations are never lengthy, saying only what absolutely needs to be said, and when the bikes pull off the highway to refuel, the van keeps going, but at a slower pace. The bikes always keep up and the remaining riders adjust their formation to fill in the gaps left by the departing riders. Seeing all of this, the way the riders work together, keeping the van surrounded, is fascinating. In all of my years of watching and listening to my father’s business, I’ve never seen such fluid teamwork from such a large group.
When the van stops for gas, all of the riders stop, whether they fill up or not. Ryan stays close to Jim’s side, and Ian stays close to Ryan’s. The three men cast me the occasional sideways glance. For Jim and Ian, it’s almost like they’ve just remembered I’m riding in the van. But for Ryan, the way his gaze tracks me, it’s like he’s making sure I’m still there. Like he’s never forgotten me. I don’t allow myself to forget Ruby’s warning from yesterday, so I don’t engage. I do, however, watch. Despite being among such a large group, I feel so very alone. And Ruby isn’t much of a talker, though she’s trying here and there. There’s so much I want to say to her and so very little I can bring myself to.