Page 45 of Bourbon & Blood

I nodded slowly and said, “Keep diggin’ for me. See what rocks you can get turned over and what comes a crawlin’ out.”

Saint nodded and Cy said, “You got it, boss.”

“Keep the dirty side down, boys,” I told ‘em.

“You keep the shiny side up,” Saint said, shooting a finger gun at me. I nodded and watched them mount up and ride off.

The door to Alina’s building opened behind me and I turned to see her emerge. She had a pleather jacket on that was more fashion than function and big on her. Had to be her roomie’s. I couldn’t keep the scowl off my face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked and leaned away from me.

“First thing’s first. We gon’ get you a proper jacket. That ain’t no good. I doubt it’s even real leather.”

“It’s not, but it’s the best I could find,” she said and she continued to quail a bit. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t say as I blamed her.

“You ever ride afore?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Awright, c’mere…” she drew nearer reluctantly, and I got on the bike.

“Get on behind me,” I told her. “Step here.”

She did, and I told her, “Make sure you keep your feet on these pegs or you’re liable to melt the soles off them boots.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

I handed her a helmet. I’d brought extra, just in case, and she put it on while I brought mine off the handlebars. No fuckin’ way was I gon’ let any pig have an excuse to pull my ass over. That was another thing I had to get her, a proper helmet that fit her good. One with a facemask maybe. Better safe than sorry with a pretty face like she got.

“Hold on to me, lean with the bike and not against when we turn, and you should be fine!” I shouted over the roar of the engine once I’d started up the bike.

She snugged herself up close to my back and put her arms around me.

I checked traffic and pulled us smoothly out and away from the curb.

The city traffic was slow enough to get her used to the bike, and we weren’t goin’ all that far – just over to the big Harley-Davidson right there over in Metairie. There was a Harley store just around the corner from her on Decatur, but that place was fuckin’ useless. Just tee shirts and shit. No bikes, and certainly no real riding gear.

No, you wanted the good stuff? Boots and chaps, leather and helmets? You went to the big Harley store and dealership over in Metairie.

I kept us on the surface streets. It made for a longer ride, but the speeds were slower. I checked and rechecked at stop signs and cross streets and felt like the woman behind me was made of fuckin’ glass.

It was weird for me. I didn’t worry about a thing, usually… but I was a cursed bastard. Felt like most days if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all, and I didn’t want that on her.

Once there, we parked and got off my bike. I took her inside and was pretty much immediately assailed by a fuckin’ salesman.

“Welcome to Harley-Davidson, how can I help you?” He came up to us and he was a dumb shit. He thought he was some kind of shark, smellin’ blood in the water, but in reality, I was a bigger shark than he could ever be.

“Need someone to help her find the right fit. Helmet, good boots, and a jacket,” I said, and the guy wilted a little.

“Sure, no problem,” he said and was all too happy to pass us off to somebody else for the smaller commission.

I didn’t care. I just wanted my little Alina taken care of. Cost was no object.

We walked out an hour later, over her innumerable protests with her delicate herbal scent crushed under the smell of new leather.

She was good, that was all that mattered to me.

The sun was starting to dip when we hit the highway out of the city. She held on for dear life when I punched through the bullshit city traffic and sent us screaming out in the direction of the country.

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