Page 12 of Watcher

“Scoot over, bitches,” Diablo says and scoots in next to me. “Doctor says the knees will be fine. Hyperextension. Nothing to write home about.” She chugs a beer and slams it on the table. She’s wearing tight blue jeans, chaps, and riding boots. Her black leather visit has her name on the right side, and the remaining vest is covered in national park pins.

“You ride?” Emily asks.

“Since I was a teenager. My father taught me. Said as soon as I was old enough that I should get my ass out on the road and let the wind blow through my hair and get dirt in my teeth.” She waves at a waitress and raises her beer bottle. “Another one!”

“One of those is your bike?” I gesture over my shoulder at the door.

“Loudest motherfucker in the parking lot!” Diablo grabs the beer from the waitress’s tray when she comes by. The waitress puts our beers on the table and turns to me.

“I need to see your ID,” the waitress says. “We don’t serve minors.”

Diablo belches and slams her hand on the table, laughing and cussing like a sailor. “This ain’t no minor. This is Jessica Stallone! She owns the Memphis Macabre roller derby team!” She motions for the waitress to bend over so she can whisper something. “Now, Bella,” Diablo says and I notice her hand reach between Bella’s legs. “I think Jessica will leave you a mighty big tip.”

Bella nods and smiles at me. “Thank you.” She walks away, and Diablo watches her ass twisting. Diablo then smells her own fingers. What happened to the shy woman I met earlier?

“I had a twelve-inch strapon in that pussy last week. Fucked her like a Saturday night whore.” She laughs again, and Emily and I join in. “Who’re looking for?” she asks when I crane my neck to look around the bar.

“The two bikers at the rink this afternoon,” I say. “One keeps hitting on me.”

“Hope it was the smaller of the two,” Diablo says. “I’d ride that bigger motherfucker like a ball-strapped bull at the rodeo.” She looks around the bar and sighs. “They were from the Brothers of Choas Pine Bluff, Arkansas chapter. Probably gone home by now.”

“I need to use the lady’s room,” I say, and Diablo scoots out.

I walk to the back of the bar and down a short hallway, passing half-naked women on posters, a pay phone, and a biker practically fucking a woman against the wall. I enter the Women’s bathroom and take a deep breath while looking in the mirror. A woman’s shoe slides out from beneath a stall door, and then the door swings open.

They don’t see me, but I see them. The biker has the woman pressed against the stall wall. Her left foot—no shoe—is on the toilet seat, and her other foot is on the floor. The biker’s hands are so tight on the woman’s hips that his nails dig into her skin.

“Fuck yeah!” the biker says, his massive biceps flexing with every animalistic thrust.

“Come on, Brady,” the woman pleads.

The biker glances at me and winks but doesn’t stop fucking the woman. It’s like a car accident on the highway—I can’t turn away. The biker grunts like a grizzly bear and shoots his load into the woman. She bucks a couple of times and smiles when she turns to see me watching.

They step out of the stall and pull up their pants before nonchalantly walking out of the bathroom. I stay exactly where I’m at, staring at the stall. The other stalls are out of order and if I want to go pee, I only have one choice.

One step forward, I see a splash of the biker’s spunk on the floor. Life could be worse. I step over the shimmering spot and use the toilet. I finish, wipe, pull up my jeans, and open the door.

“What the actual fuck are you doing in here?”

“You forgot to flush,” he says. He sees the spot on the floor. “You do that?”

“Move!” I order, and he does. “Isn’t there a men’s bathroom?”

“Says out of order.”

“So, you came in here? Can’t you go outside like the other barbarians do?”

“Watcher,” his buddy says when he opens the bathroom door. The other biker sees me and leaves.

“We got off on the wrong foot,” he says. His eyes have a slight sparkle that I hadn’t noticed before. He smiles and leans against the wall as I wash my hands. “The name’s Johnny Walker. The club calls me Watcher.”

Although he holds out his hand, I decline his invitation. “My friends are waiting for me.”

He steps to the side so I can leave. “See you tomorrow,” he says. As I walk past, I get a strong whiff of the man and almost pause. Almost.

I’m stopped in my tracks before I even make it back to the booth. Watcher’s biker friend sits in the booth with his arm around Diablo. Emily is nowhere in sight. I take a deep breath and continue to the table. I slide into the booth and watch the two swap spit.

“Where’s Emily?” I ask, but Diablo can’t seem to hear through the kissing. They take a short breath, and I ask again.

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