Chapter 10
JOKER
I squint against the light. Lids fluttering as I try to make out the faces hovering above me. Foggy and blurry, like a camera out of focus.
“Joker, hey, you all right?”
Why was my head pounding? I draw in a deep breath, then carefully touch my head praying I don’t feel a deep gaping hole.
“Shit, man, he’s lucky he didn’t break something.”
“Don’t move him; let him get his shit together.”
The male voices float over me just out of reach.
“Baby, please open your eyes.” A soft female voice I know, but I can’t come up with a name.
I slowly open my eyes, but the bright light makes me squeeze them shut again.
“Hey, Doc, he just opened his eyes.”
I try to open them again, and this time someone holds the lids open, and my pupils are scorched with light.
“Can you hear me, Joker?” Again the familiar female voice. “Please tell me you’re okay.”
I part my lips, but no sound comes out. Then I focus on her face, wet with tears. Shit, why is she crying? If only I could remember her name. Desiree? No, that’s not right. Desiree’s gone a long time ago. I stare into her face longer, willing my damaged brain to recall.
I swallow hard and try to clear my throat. “Daisy?” I croak out, and the beautiful face smiles through her tears.
“Yes, baby, it’s me.”
The same guy who shined the light in my eyes is now pressing different parts of my body while asking if I am in pain. Right now, the only pain I have is my head feeling like a balloon about to pop.
Slowly, very slowly, my brain clears, along with my vision. The cold, hard concrete floor is under me, with Mamba, Cobra and Rattler’s faces peering down at me.
“Shit, brother, you took some fall.” Python kneels on my other side, his face unusually somber. “Gotta say, you scared the shit outta me. You were unconscious, so we called the Doc.”
The man examining me isn’t Doc Henderson, who we usually called. This guy is much older, dressed in a tweed suit like something out of an old movie.
“I don’t think there’s any permanent damage,” the doctor says, “but you probably have a slight concussion after falling.”
I struggle to recall the last few minutes, but my mind blanks. All I can remember is an intense pressure and a high-pitched screeching vibration.
“Why don’t you see if you can sit up?” the doctor suggests.
I push up with Python’s help and wait for the room to stop spinning, then I struggle to a standing position.
Daisy wraps her arms around me. “You had us all so worried.”
I kiss the top of her head as I regain my balance, struggling to get my bearings. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck .
Cobra shakes his head, motioning to the concrete stairs. “Fuck, man, falling down all those stairs, you’re lucky to be standing.”
Python’s heavy hand hits my shoulder. “He’s too hard-headed.”
Mamba laughs. “Yeah, you’ve been hit harder than that in the ring.”
I laugh along with them, then narrow my eyes at Python dressed like a cowboy in the Old West. “How come you’re dressed like that?”
“The Halloween party, remember?”
“Halloween, right.”
Daisy leads me to the stairs. “But of course you, Cobra, Mamba and Rattler refused to dress up.”
I look down at myself, then at Cobra, Mamba and Rattler. We’re all dressed in double-breasted three-piece striped suits with wide-leg pants and two-tone shoes.
“These aren’t costumes?”
Rattler throws his shoulders back and preens. “Fuck no, I paid fifty bucks for this suit.”
Daisy brushes the back of my jacket. “Yours is just as expensive, and now you’ve got dust from the floor all over yourself.” When we get to the stairs, she warns, “Hold on to the banister. We don’t need any more accidents.”
When we get to the top of the stairs, I stop and take a breath. Seems my tumble took more out of me than I thought.
Cobra looks me up and down. “I think you need a drink.”
Daisy hugs me. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’m going to sit with the women.” She points to an old-style wooden table and chairs.
I look around and take in the western decorations replacing the usual biker theme, along with an old oak bar with brass foot rail, and wagon wheels decorating the walls.
It looks just like the photo Cobra showed from when The Gold Mine first opened. The one that was framed and hung behind the bar.
The women must’ve done all this as part of the Halloween decorations.
“We thought you were a goner.” Samson slaps me on the back, and I struggle to keep my balance. “Would’ve hated to see you miss the party.”
“The women really went all out with the decorations.”
“They even got some new records for the jukebox,” Samson adds.
Jukebox? We just installed a new Bose system last year.
He furrows his brow. “At least I got into the spirit of the party.” He motions to his gladiator costume, then flings his hand at me. “Not like you guys wearing the same shit you always wear.”
“But I don’t wear?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Worried about your image now that you’re building that big casino. Shit, if this takes off, you guys are gonna be rolling in it.”
“What?” I have no idea what Samson’s talking about.
“Hey, I get it. I just got a little club on the boulevard, but you gotta keep up your image. Who knows, maybe in a couple of years, more casinos will pop up, and you’ll have some competition, but for now, you guys are the only game in town.”
I stare at him, trying to decipher his words, but the pounding in my head only gets worse. “I need a drink.”
“I don’t blame you after the fall you took.”
I slide onto one of the wooden stools, examining the vintage glasses and the old-time cash register. I can’t help wondering what bringing in all these antiques cost.
I flag Rattler over. “I need a drink.”
A few minutes later, he slides a coupe glass in front of me filled with clear liquid. “What the hell is this?”
“Your usual, gin fizz. ”
“I’m all for this Halloween shit, but where’s the Jack?”
“Jack who?”
“Jack Daniels. Quit busting my balls and get me a real drink.”
Rattler shrugs and goes to help another customer, leaving me no choice but to drink what’s in front of me. I gulp at it, and it’s not half bad.
Cobra flanks me on the other side. “How you feeling?”
“A little off. Nothing makes sense.”
“You got a pretty good whack on the head.”
“Where are all the TVs?” I nod over the bar where three big screens are usually suspended from the ceiling.
“What?” Cobra gives me a look like I’m speaking a foreign language.
“The hi-def flat screens where we watch baseball, football . . .”
Cobra’s brows draw together, amping up my anxiety. “Put the radio on in my office if you wanna hear the scores.”
I pat my pockets, looking for my phone. That would tell me the exact date, ending this bullshit once and for all. One thing they couldn’t argue with was technology.
“What are you looking for, your smokes?” Cobra asks.
“Nah, my phone.”
“Your phone?” Cobra makes a face. “You wanna make a call?” He digs a nickel out of his pocket and slaps it on the bar. “Use the payphone in the back.”
“I don’t know what the hell is goin’ on here, or if you guys are just fuckin’ with me, but something ain’t right.”
“Yeah, you seem a little confused. Maybe you oughta go home and rest.”
“It’s not me who’s confused.” I motion around the room. “This place looks exactly like the picture you showed me when The Gold Mine first opened in the late 30s.”
Cobra cocks his head. “You mean that one?” He points to the newspaper folded on the other side of the bar .
“Hey, Rattler, give me that paper.”
Rattler hands me the paper, and below the fold is an article about The Gold Mine. Then I look at the date in the margin: October 31, 1939.
“Where did you get this paper?” I ask him.
“The kid delivered it this morning.”
“Like something special for the party.” My heart is pumping faster, and what’s worse, Rattler and Cobra are looking at me like I’m fuckin’ nuts.
“The same kid who delivers the paper every morning.” Rattler takes it from me and puts it back behind the bar. “I’m saving it to read later, then I’ll cut out the picture and tack it up behind the bar.”
Right, the same yellowed, wrinkled picture framed behind the bar in 2025. Something very fucked up is going on here, but I realize if I don’t play along, they’ll think I’m crazy for sure.
Python joins us at the bar, then leans into Cobra. “You hear anything yet, Boss?”
“Nah, all quiet so far. Maybe they’re gonna lay low and let us enjoy our Halloween.”
“Who’re you talking about?” I ask.
Cobra and Rattler exchange a look. “Warrior and his crew from up north.”
“Refresh my memory.” I rub the back of my head where a golf-ball-size lump has popped up. “I’m still a little foggy.”
“The Shoshones got all of Northern Nevada, and up past Oregon, but when they heard we were building a big casino up on The Strip, they got greedy. They wanted a piece of it, claiming all this land was originally theirs.”
“It probably was theirs.”
“Yeah, well, we got The Gold Mine, and we bought the property on The Strip, fair and square. Just ‘cause Warrior’s young, he’s trying to prove himself, but he can forget it.”
“Warrior’s young? ”
“Shit, how hard did you hit your head?” Python laughs. “You were with us the other day when we had the sit-down with him.”
“Yeah, right.” Only the sit-down I remember took place in 2025, not 1939, and Warrior was an old man.
I let Cobra and Python continue the conversation without me. I remember going down the basement with Python for a case of beer. Then, on the way back up, I heard that fucked-up sound, and then I fell—like someone or something pushed me.
Did I wake up in some kinda fucked-up alternate universe where we weren’t bikers?
“You guys ever think about riding motorcycles?”
“Motorcycles?” Python screws up his face. “I just bought myself a brand-new Duesenberg. What the fuck would I do with a motorcycle?”
Cobra chimes in, “Yeah, I can just see Sheena and Daisy straddling a motorcycle.”
I finish my drink and push away from the bar with the excuse of finding Daisy, but nothing makes sense.
I skim the perimeter of the bar, looking for some sign that what I’m experiencing is a dream or some kind of weird seizure from my fall, but aside from the turning back of time, everyone seems to act normally. No crazy smoke coming out of the floor or hidden passageways.
I search for Daisy as I make my way to the other side of the room, but I can’t find her or the table she was sitting at with the other women.
Out of my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of a man dressed in full Indian regalia.
I turn for a better look and freeze. Exactly the same costume as the guy I saw before my fall, before the clock turned back eighty-five years.
I rush toward him, but I can’t make it through the crowd, so I backtrack around to the bar. I look over my shoulder, but I can’t locate any of the Serpents. The guy dressed as a Shoshone Indian turns and closes the distance between us.
“Joker?” Daisy’s voice comes from a great distance, but I can’t turn my head to look at her. My eyes are fixed on the guy coming closer and closer. His dark eyes staring straight through me.
He’s the Nomad from the safe house. The Nomad who put a curse on me. The Nomad who’s supposed to be dead.
“Joker?” Daisy’s voice rings out closer this time.
The Nomad slices a blade through the air, and I jump back just as Daisy steps between us. He pounces, and the blade disappears into her abdomen. Her eyes grow wide seconds before she doubles over, collapsing to the floor.
I pull out the silver feather, and the Nomad swipes it away. “Nothing will help her now.”
I lunge for him, but he vanishes into the crowd.
Everyone stares, transfixed, at Daisy’s blood pooling around her.
“Joker?” Daisy cradles her abdomen.
I lean in to hear her whispered words.
“Joker, the baby . . .”
My head spins. The room tilts. I gasp for air, then darkness.