“Just thinking ’bout something. Were you asking me something?”
“Just asking if you want a joint.”
Diablo nodded. Inhaling deeply, he diverted his attention to the TV screen. Around and around the track the colorful race cars sped. He stared at them and the face of his brother popped into his mind. Beau loved race cars. Diablo remembered the summer he turned twelve was when Beau decided he wanted to become a race car driver. Beau was a year and a half younger than Diablo, and they’d walk together to the local tracks in Salt Lake City. They’d pay the small entrance fee and scramble up the bleachers to watch a bunch of metal heaps drive around a track.
That summer they must’ve seen a couple races a week, and at each one of them Beau had told Diablo that he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. His dreams were spun out during that one summer where their lives almost mimicked a fucking Norman Rockwell painting. It was before the Department of Social Services took them away from their mother and Beau gave up his dreams for the prick of a needle.
“What the fuck’s with you?” Goldie’s voice cut through the memories.
Diablo shook his head. “Sorry, dude.” He looked at Goldie.
“I was asking if you’d gambled on the last fights?”
“Nope. I can’t do that since I work there.”
“Do you have some insider info about the fighters for this weekend’s match?”
“I know a few of them ’cause I’ve seen ’em when I was working the shows in other towns. Spider has a mean punch, so I’d go with him. Danny’s good but it’ll depend on who he’s up against. I don’t know who else will be fighting. That’s usually determined the day of. It depends who shows up. It’s really random.”
“You gonna keep working with this Bloody fucking Knuckles?” Army said while the brothers chuckled.
Haunting hazel eyes from a delicate face flashed through Diablo’s mind. “Yeah.”
Muerto’s chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it out. “I gotta get to the pool hall. Later.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Diablo said as he stood up.
Outside, Muerto bumped fists with him, then jumped on his Harley and took off. Diablo sat on his bike, images of the woman at the fights, Beau, and his mother strung out on crack blazing across his mind. He switched on the motor and his bike vibrated underneath him. He needed to take a long ride to clear away the images that kept running through his head. Ever since the previous Saturday, his head was a clusterfuck of shit from his past, and the chick he’d seen at the fights was front and center. Why a woman he’d only seen for a short moment should stay with him was beyond comprehension, but she did.
He veered his Harley onto the back road and increased his speed. Riding fast always cleared his mind, and he needed to think clearly. The sand-filled wind pricked his skin like a thousand needles. It was good; it made him feel alive.
Picking up speed, he flew down the roads that crisscrossed the desert. He kept going, harder and faster, until it was like he was flying higher than a bird. And it was at that point that he was able to push her out of his mind.
