Boiling tears were just welling in my eyes when I heard some guy yell, “Hey, Pippa!”
I stopped stomping. Through the blur I saw a guy in a black leather cut waving cheerfully, a giant red beer cup in his other hand. A girl standing next to him called out,
“Over here! In a rush?”
I thought I recognized her. Tracy. The guy must be Wolf. Trying to seem inconspicuous while wiping my tears with the back of my hand, I went over. They were waiting in line for some crap or other. Under his cut, Wolf sported an official rally T-shirt that said “Home of the Burning Bike.” He already had a Run-a-Mucca pin clipped to his do-rag.
He said, “Hey Pippa, you coming to the tattoo contest tonight? Tracy here’s gonna get a skull and crossbones tat with my name on it.”
Tracy didn’t seem too sure of herself. “Well, maybe. Or it could just be the head of a wolf.”
Wolf was unfazed. “Hell yeah, that’d be good too. We need to commemorate how I saved Tracy from some drug-riddled shooting gallery down in Tucson. We were lucky to get out of there alive. Man, semiautomatic machine gunfire, flying bodies, and smoke were everywhere!”
“Yeah, well,” Tracy said fondly, “most of that was due to you.”
Wolf seemed to remember. “Oh yeah. That’s right. So Pippa, you want a beer?”
“Hell to the yeah. I need something to settle that bum wine I drank last night.” I guessed Fox wasn’t coming for me, but I felt better now that I was with friends. We started to walk to a beer truck.
Tracy had to ask, “So where’s Fox?” She giggled. “What an appropriate name. I don’t usually go for redheads, but that guy is one massive hottie.”
I was glad when Wolf called, “Hey, Tracy. Should I put this patch on the back of my cut?”
I squinted at the patch he held up from a vendor’s table. It said, “If you can read this the bitch fell off.” My jaw hung open, but Tracy laughed good-naturedly.
She said, “Hell yes. You can put it next to the one that says ‘Mouths Don’t Get Pregnant.’ Whoa!”
One moment Wolf was standing there, an inane grin on his face, holding up the offensive patch. The next moment he’d nearly jumped into a burly biker’s arms—and the biker shoved him back.
Why did Wolf jump into the biker’s arms? The next thing I knew, a vaguely familiar form stood where Wolf had been, his spindly arms and legs pinwheeling like an acrobat. It was like Tobias wasn’t sure whether to kick or punch Wolf, but was afraid to do either.
“Aha!” Tobias accused. “I thought this was where I’d find you! Someone told me you went to some typical jizzmonger biker rally, and had the nerve to bring along my woman!”
Well, “jizzmonger” and “biker” weren’t two words you’d use together around there if you wanted to stay on this side of the veil. But I guess the bikers could see that Tobias was a man scorned, and soon after they started for him, they hung back and laughed.
Wolf sputtered, regaining his equilibrium. His Run-a-Mucca pin was all knocked askew, and his cock-eyed do-rag made him look like a pirate. “Well! Tracy is her own woman, you lily-livered sack of shit! Maybe she didn’t want to be with a skinny nerd who looks like Pokey.”
Tobias jammed his hands onto his narrow hips. I couldn’t believe he’d had the gall—or the ignorance—to wear a white patent leather belt to a motorcycle rally. “That’s Gumby, you moron! Pokey is the horse. And you’re so damned ugly that Hello Kitty said goodbye to you.”
The bikers gathered around and murmured their appreciation of this fine, sharply-honed insult. Tobias finally looked around as though aware of his surroundings for the first time, his face draining of all his rage.
Wolf, too, became mortified that he seemed to be losing the battle. “Oh yeah? Well, tell your mom that I need change from yesterday, you dumbass!”
When the crowd roared their appreciation, Tobias became enraged again. He took three furious, jerky steps toward Wolf. “I’d watch what I was saying, School Band Boy. You don’t even have an ass. It’s like you used butt-be-gone on your rear when you should’ve used chia-butt.” And he poked Wolf in the chest.
That was when all hell broke loose. Wolf took a swing at Tobias’ head, but Tobias adroitly ducked. Wolf spun around and wound up sort of softly hitting a burly guy in the upper arm. Another guy held Wolf still by his shoulders, giving Tobias an easy shot at him. Tobias gave Wolf the ol’ one-two punch in the gut he’d probably learned from cartoons.
In the uproar someone stepped on my foot. “Hey!” I yelled, trying to shove the heavyset girl off me.
“Don’t yell at me, you bitch,” sneered the scary-looking bitch with black lipstick and at least fourteen facial piercings.
I wasn’t afraid—I really wasn’t. But someone stepped between us, his back to the bitch, and that was fine with me.
Fox held up his hands in the surrender position.
And then he winked at me. And I knew everything was going to be all right.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FOX