Page 10 of Devil's Marker

It was his first weekend in Austin. He’d planned on having a look at the sights, stopping by the custom bootmaker Brand told him about, maybe even taking in a movie. With popcorn.

He was starting to feel settled in. He’d finished his first work week. Knew his way around the clubhouse. Knew most of the members’ names and some of their women, in a purely platonic sense.

After a shower and clean clothes, he made his way to the kitchen. The house mother, May, was standing at the sink. Win couldn’t tell if most of the members had eaten and left or if they weren’t up yet.

May swiveled her head and gave him a warm smile. “Hotcakes or eggs or bacon?” she asked.

“Yes.” He smiled.

She laughed. “Comin’ up, hon. Sit yourself down.” She slid a mug his way and poured coffee from a carafe with an orange lid.

“You make good coffee, May,” he said.

She scowled. “I make good everything, fucker.”

“Well, sure, I wasn’t sayin’ that…”

Red chuckled at Win’s dilemma. “Got caught in the tender trap. Rookie mistake where women are concerned.” Win shook his head to indicate that he had no idea what Red was talking about. “That’s what women do. ‘That’s a nice dress,’ you say. Then instead of bein’ pleased, she says, ‘What’s wrong with the other dress?’”

“That’s bullshit. Do not listen to that old douchebag,” May told Win.

“Christ. I miss Bud,” said Car Lot into his over easy eggs.

She wheeled on Car Lot looking like a demon wielding a spatula. “You did not just say that to me!”

Car Lot looked up. “I didn’t say anything to you, woman. Matter of fact I didn’t say nothin’ to nobody. I was talkin’ to myself. And I got a right to it.”

“Humph,” she said, turning back to Win’s pancakes. “If you idiots knew anything about women, you wouldn’t be sittin’ around a kitchen table with a bunch of guys and a hired girl servin’ you food.”

Car Lot looked up at her. “So I guess your situation makes clear what you know about men, then.”

She gaped at Car Lot, tears springing to her eyes, and rushed from the room, leaving food cooking on a Vulcan ten burner gas range.

Win quietly got up, walked to the stove, picked up the spatula, turned the pancakes and bacon that were destined for his consumption, then cracked three eggs open into an omelet pan.

“Say,” Car Lot said, “You look mighty handy there. And you’re every bit as good looking as May.”

Arnold heard the tail end of that exchange. He gave Red a cool and measured look that stopped his laughter. To Car Lot, he said, “Maybe we should put you in charge of personnel since you seem to be so particular. You want to find a replacement for May?”

Car Lot looked up at Arnold. “No. But we need somebody who’s not so damn sensitive.”

“Not so damn sensitive?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So you want somebody who’ll plan the meals, get up early and cook breakfast, do the cleanup, do laundry, keep the kitchen and bar inventory stocked, direct the cleaning crew, cook dinner, then mind bar until ten? Pretty much seven days a week. And you want that somebody to be good-looking and have a great personality, too.”

“Bud was all that.”

“Well, she was one in a million for all I know. And I guarantee you this; if somebody like Bud waltzed in here and took this damn job, some biker would ride in saying, ‘Call me Prince Charmin’, sugar. I’m takin’ you away from this.’ Think back about what happened to the last three women.” Car Lot had to admit that was true. He shoved his plate away like it was offensive. “You need to stop punishin’ May for not bein’ Bud.” Arnold waited for Car Lot to say something. “Do we have an understandin’?”

Car Lot nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

“No, you don’t guess. You’re sure or I’m not leavin’.”

“Christ, Arnold. I get it. I’ll be a good boy.”

Win slid his plate of perfectly cooked breakfast onto the table, took a seat and reached for the syrup.

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