Page 82 of Taking What's Ours
“Here. Here,” Kate says.
“To girlfriends,” Isabella says.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Baja—
We’re about a mile out from the clubhouse when Rock calls Night Train on speaker.
The man picks up. “Yeah?”
“Are the women there?”
“Nope. They dropped off your costumes earlier and said they were goin’ to that Mexican place on Main Street. Probably at Lola’s by now.”
“Is the place set up?” Rock asks.
“Looks spooky as hell in here, so yeah. Prospects put out these gothic iron candle things that stand five feet tall. Where the hell did your ol’ lady get those?”
“God only knows.”
“Well, there’s a bunch of ‘em.”
“We got the booze stocked?”
“Oh, yeah. We’re ready. Who all’s comin’?”
“Hell, probably the same as last year. She put out the word to the support club’s ol’ ladies. I’m sure they’ll be some hang-arounds, probably some of the dancers from the Cherry Bomb who aren’t working. Lola’s brat pack, Kate’s friend Lizzy and her husband. Maybe more.”
“Great. You know I hate crowds, right?”
Rock chuckles. “You and me, both, brother. We can hide in my office.”
“Not if your ol’ lady has anything to say about it.”
Rock disconnects, and Darko drives us into the clubhouse parking lot.
Standing and stretching, I crack my back and relieve some of the tension. We’re all exhausted and need to clean up. I brush some of the desert dust off my jeans and follow the others up the stairs and inside.
Night Train is sitting at the bar, Hondo and Rosie at his feet. The lights are on, so the place is bright. Two prospects are putting up fake spider webs. Monster Mash plays through the speakers.
“Cut that shitty music off,” Rock yells.
Night Train twists on his stool. “How’d it go?”
“Come on, boys. Have a beer.” Rock takes a seat at the end of the bar, and we all follow.
One of the prospects scurries over to wait on us, but Utah waves him off. “Go back to what you were doing. I got this.”
Utah passes out a round of longnecks.
I press the cold bottle to my forehead, and the sensation is pure relief. “God, I fucking hate the desert.”
“So, what happened?” Night Train asks.
Rock twists off the top to his beer and swallows half the bottle before answering. “We rode northwest through Dolores and across to Monticello, Utah. Then it was another hundred miles north past the Canyonlands National Park to Interstate 70. We picked it up and headed east to Thompson Springs.”
“Which is a little piss-ant town,” Darko adds.