“No,” she replies. “A lot of things, but not a liar. Never seems to get anyone very far in life to be anything other than honest.”
She sets her bag down, turns to face me. Up close, I notice the shadows under her eyes, the tightness around her mouth like she’s been holding herself together for a long time.
“I’m Danae,” she introduces. “I’m an RN. I can clean the wound. I can stitch if it’s not too deep. I can’t promise anything beyond that.”
I lower the gun.
“Do what you can,” I say. “I don’t plan on dying in your bedroom.”
Her lips twitch, just a little. “Good, really isn’t on my bingo card for this year.”
She gestures to a chair. “Sit.”
I obey.
And for the first time since coming too in the parking lot, I let myself believe I might actually make it through the night.
One
Miles
Chapter One – Miles
Salemburg wakes up slow or maybe it’s me. It’s a Thursday, but feels like a damn Monday for sure. The stir-crazy feeling is building up inside me and I need a ride soon.
I’m already on my second cup of coffee when the sun starts dragging itself up into the sky, light bleeding through the clubhouse windows. The building creaks as bodies begin to stir. I got here about an hour ago, waiting for Dove who apparently snored naked on the main couch all night. Whoever else was with him never came back. That’s how mornings work here, half of us in a routine, the other half reckoning with their life choices.
I sit at the long table with my ledger open, pen moving steady across paper. Numbers calm me. They always have. Gives me something solid to hold onto when everything else is noise and impulse.
Dues are light this week. Bar receipts are strong. One of our storage facilities has a problem with our gate codes for customers to enter the space, and I make a note to move money before the problem becomes a complaint. It’s a new place we recently purchased from a local family ready to retire. Since it is an established business, we inherited the existing clients along with the previous problems like this intermittent gate problem. We don’t have a good receivables balance on this one just yet. Once we get the units filled again or move some transports through them I can filter money better to give a cushion. For now, though, it’s a game of balancing numbers.
Treasurers don’t get thanked. They get blamed when something breaks. No one holds back when they need funds.
That’s fine.
I didn’t patch in for praise.
Boots thud from the hallway behind me. I don’t look up. I know the rhythm of every man in this club. It’s like a six sense for me. Heavy stride, slight limp—Country Boy. Country Boy when he’s in a good mood and relaxed, the limp from his busted knee is prevalent. When he’s angry the steps come in a faster pace with an even rhythm.
“You sleep any?” he asks.
“Some,” I lie.
He snorts. “That’s the game we’re playing. Got it, brother. Your face is giving you away today though. Sara has some cream for tightening and the box even said it promises a refreshing glow. Might wanna give that shit a try.”
I let out a laugh, “got joke, Pres. Nice. I’ll be sure to give your woman a call and ask for the name and a recommendation for a good face mask too.”
He pulls out a chair and sits across from me, eyes scanning down to the ledger. He doesn’t touch it. He doesn’t even think about it. I keep clean books, but they’re still mine. One thing about Country Boy, we have our roles and once he gives us that responsibility he releases it. He doesn’t micromanage or try to over step.
“Run anything weird this week?” he asks.
“Nothing loud,” I state. “Couple cash-heavy nights at the bar, not stand out though, just some good nights. Smoke’s crew came through twice dropping in dues for Nomad members. No red flags. Reported those to Red so it’s accounted for with Tripp.”
Country Boy nods, satisfied enough for now. Silence stretches between us. We’ve known each other long enough not to fill it just to feel important. Some people get nervous in quiet. I get comfortable. If I can simply be with a person and not have some impulse to fill in the gaps then that I a person I respect and a relationship I appreciate.
“Smoke’s back in town,” he shares after a moment. “Talkin’ about staying put for a bit possibly.”
Now this gets my attention. I look up, pen pausing mid-line. “Thought he was riding with Catawba for a while.”
