Chapter 15
JOKER
I continue my conversation with Cobra in the kitchen so as not to wake Daisy.
“We’re all set for a meet with the Nomads at nine tonight at The Cathouse,” Cobra’s low rasp filters through my phone.
“Sounds good.”
“There’s something else.” I hear the flip of Cobra’s lighter and then a deep inhale. “Stop by The Gold Mine before you head to your shop today.”
“What’s up?”
“I’ll show you when you get here.”
I disconnect the call just as Daisy pads into the kitchen. She pecks me on my cheek as I busy myself with making coffee. “How’d you sleep last night?”
“Good. Or as good as expected.” She pats her baby bump. “For some reason, this little person waits until I fall into a deep sleep then starts kicking.”
The kids are still asleep, so it’s just her and me in the kitchen.
I try to act as normal as possible, but truthfully, I’m glad she was asleep when I got home last night.
Saved me from the temptation of telling her what Boa said about Warrior’s powers or the ghost or whatever I saw in the parking lot.
“How did you sleep?” she asks, and I can’t help feeling something’s off with her too. Or maybe I’m just projecting my bullshit onto her.
When the coffee is done brewing, I pour it into a to-go cup and snap on the lid. “I wanna get to the shop early now that my head isn’t pounding against my brain.” In truth, I still have a dull headache, but I’m not about to tell Daisy about it, or Cobra’s cryptic request.
I pull her into my arms. “You know I love you, right?”
“As much as I love you.”
I linger for an extra minute. “If you’re too tired, you don’t have to come into the shop today.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”
I palm her ass, and she squeals, then I kiss her one more time and beat it for the door before she has time to ask any questions I don’t wanna answer.
I park my bike in the lot, enter The Gold Mine, go down the back hall, knock on Cobra’s office door, then shoulder through.
Cobra stares at me for a minute before pushing away from the desk. “I wanna show you something Boa found last night.”
I follow Cobra out of his office, and he heads for the staircase leading to the basement. I stop cold because I have no intentions of revisiting anything down there. As far as I’m concerned, if I never go down there again, it’s fine with me.
My logical brain tells me I’m acting crazy, but . . .
Cobra’s blue eyes pierce through me. “You got a problem with going down to the basement?”
I look over my shoulder, then come clean. “I sure the fuck do. The last time I was down there, I took a fall that could’ve killed me.”
“You’ll wanna see what Boa found.”
“Or you could just tell me about it up here.” Yeah, I know I sound like a pussy, but, shit, can you blame me? Two nights ago, I was thrown into some alternate universe where the love of my life and mother of my children got fatally stabbed.
Cobra throws me a look, and I reluctantly follow him down the hard, concrete steps. Seeing how far I fell sends a chill right up my spine, and I grip the banister harder. I’m super sensitive and on the lookout for any weird sounds or movements, but I reach the bottom of the stairs, and all is well.
I look around the dank, depressing cellar, and all I can think of is running up those stairs and slamming the door behind me.
I’m embarrassed as shit to think it, but this place freaks me the fuck out.
Which is saying a lot since I’ve done time, lived in places you wouldn’t put your dog, and survived a childhood in a beat-to-shit trailer with an addict for a father and hot and cold running roaches—yet I’ve never been so scared in my life.
“Boa was down here doing some investigating, trying to make sense outta what happened to you on Halloween.” Cobra nods to the far wall.
“You know how he gets. Everything has to have a logical explanation and conclusion with him. Must be his accounting degree or some shit, but he was like a dog with a bone after you left last night.”
Cobra stops at the opposite end of the basement, an area we don’t even use, and points to a pile of bricks then a hole about four feet wide and four feet high.
“He found a few of these bricks on the floor and then loosened the rest of them himself.” He nods toward the hole. “You won’t fuckin’ believe what he found.”
And right now, I don’t really give a shit if it means crawling through a hole in the wall .
Sure enough, Cobra bends down and steps through the opening, then motions for me to do the same.
Bad enough I’m in this fuckin’ basement again, but now my prez wants me to climb through a small opening to the other side of who the fuck knows what?
I suck it up, then dip my head and follow him.
On the other side, is a room with a low ceiling, wooden floor and a heavy oak bar along one wall, complete with barstools and a brass railing.
Glasses and shakers line the top of the bar.
The only indication to time passed is the layers of dust and cobwebs covering and decorating every inch of space. Like the place is frozen in time.
Fuck, I’m staring at the exact replica of the bar from my vision the other night, and I can’t help thinking this is the wormhole Boa mentioned.
Yeah, if that’s the case, I’m fucked.
Cobra motions to the dust-laden bar top. “Crazy, right?”
“Fuckin’ crazy.”
“When Boa showed me last night, I couldn’t believe it, but it proves the legend of this place dating back to the bootleg days.”
It also proves whatever kind of dream or vision I had on Halloween really exists, or existed at some point.
I move closer and step behind the bar. Vintage bottles of booze, also crusted in dust and grime, line the shelves. I pick up a bottle of gin, blow off the dust and my heart jacks up. The exact same brand Rattler used to make my gin fizz in 1939.
“Of course, after Boa found this, he did his usual in-depth research, and sure as shit, this was used as an underground speakeasy back in the day. Apparently, upstairs was for dining, and if you knew the right people, you got access to the basement and the booze. After Prohibition, Bugsy used it as a private club where he could entertain his buddies. According to Boa, his Hollywood friends got off on thinking they were in some exclusive hideaway.”
“Amazing.” And fuckin’ creepy.
“When did they brick up the wall?”
“After Bugsy’s murder, the place fell on hard times, and they closed this room up.
Seems he brought in most of the customers, and Nevada was starting to crack down on crime.
Boa’s research said the place was sold plenty of times over the years.
When me and Python came around, we snatched the place up for practically nothing. ”
“I’ve heard places like this existed around Vegas that were either used as speakeasies or storage for the illegal booze.”
“Yeah, there are a couple of famous old ones downtown, and the Venetian just opened one with a secret entry and everything.”
“Might be kinda cool,” Cobra adds. “Open it up to the public and make it exclusive for members only. Boa and I looked at the blueprints for the building last night, and we can make a separate door in the alley, then open up the wall down here.”
“What about our storage space?”
“We partition it off, so we’ll still have storage. We never use this side anyway.” Cobra waves his hand around the room. “Clean it up, but leave as much of the original bar as possible. Crazy we never would’ve known it was here if you hadn’t fallen and Boa didn’t start poking around.”
“Yeah, crazy.” My eyes rest on the exact spot Daisy lay bleeding out in my dream.
“It’s a no-brainer, and another legit business. We already have the liquor license, and you see the crowds we get when we open The Gold Mine to the public one Friday a month, so this—” Cobra opens his arms wide, “will be a fuckin’ win all around.”
Once Cobra gets something in his head, it’s all gas, no brakes, and I had to admit it could work. Plenty of places around Vegas made money off its history, and The Gold Mine’s history was actually legit.
“Who’s gonna run it?” It sure as shit ain’t gonna be me coming down to this dark cave.
“Rattler will get it up and running, then the prospects can take shifts. I’m telling you, this is gonna be a win-win.”
I run my hand over the bar top, and I swear to fuck I can almost sense a presence like a pulsing vibration of whoever or whatever came before us.
Cobra stares at me. “You’re not up with this.”
My prez and I can read each other from fifty feet away without a word, so I’m not surprised when he figures me out in the close confines of the damp, dusty basement.
“Seems like a lot of work for little profit.” Yeah, that sounds logical and like I’m not scared shitless to come down here on a regular basis.
“It’ll take some work, sure, but people can’t get enough of these speakeasies.
We fix it up, advertise it right, then charge a hefty fee to be a member of a real old-time speakeasy.
We’ll even throw in the Bugsy Siegel angle since, according to Boa, all that shit about this being his private club is true, and now we got the proof. I’m telling you, it’s gonna be huge.”
“Won’t it interfere with us using The Gold Mine as a clubhouse?”
“People will enter from the alley and go straight down to this room. We keep the other side of the basement locked off.”
“Sounds like you got it all figured out.”
“I’ll have Boa work up the numbers, then we’ll put it to a vote at the next church meeting. If it’s all a go, I’ll start looking into contractors.”
“I gotta get to the shop.” Truth is, I gotta get out of this basement, but at the same time, I dread climbing those stairs again.
“I was kinda hoping you’d be more into it.”
“I got a lot on my mind.” I wait for Cobra to go up ahead of me, then follow close behind. When I reach the mid-point, I hear a slight humming but nothing compared to the other night. I don’t mention it to Cobra, and by the time I’ve reached the top stair, it’s gone. Thank fuck.
“Tonight, we take care of our business with the Nomads.” Cobra holds out his fist, and I do the same. “Settle this shit once and for all.”
If I could only shake this wonky unsettled feeling, I’d be all in. Hopefully, tonight we’ll straighten shit out so I can get back to my life and shake off whatever cloud is following me.
DAISY
I make sure all the purchase orders and billing are up to date, then amble, more like waddle, into the garage. Sounds crazy, but even though I’m pregnant, I still love the smell of oil and gasoline that surrounds me. It actually calms me and reminds me of what Joker and I have built together.
I watch, unnoticed, as Joker works on a bike in the last bay. His level of concentration and dedication when he works amazes me. Where my thoughts most times are all over the place, he is centered and focused always.
It’s not until I’m three feet away from him that he looks up. “You all right?” The anxiety in his voice saddens me.
“I’m fine.” I massage the small of my back. “Just a little stiff. I’m thinking of heading home for a nice warm bath since Derek is picking up Deana after school today.”
Lately, I’ve been leaving the shop earlier than usual because I’m at the point in my pregnancy where no position is comfortable. If I sit too long, my hip aches; if I stand too long, my lower back aches, plus my ankles are swelling. Good times.
“Wish I could join you, but I gotta get this done.” Joker motions to the Softail Harley. “The casino manager from the Bellagio is picking it up later.”
“Gotta love these guys with a mid-life crisis.” Most of them hardly ride the bikes, but they all come to Joker for custom work.
“I’ll see you at home.” Joker wipes his hand on the rag hanging from his waistband, then closes the distance between us. “I won’t be late.” He kisses me full out, but since this is a normal occurrence, none of the other mechanics bat an eye. My man loves me and has no trouble showing it.
Gus catches up with me in the lot. “You okay?”
I smile at his concern. “Just a little stiff. Looking forward to going home and relaxing for a bit.”
Gus nods. The old man is like a father to both Joker and me, but he doesn’t waste words, so I wait.
“Joker seem okay to you?”
I wasn’t expecting him to ask that. “Yes, a little tense about the baby coming.”
“Yeah, well, after the last time, who can blame him? Just you take care of yourself.” His callused hand squeezes mine. “Can’t have anything go wrong with my favorite girl.”
I peck him on the cheek, and his leathered skin flushes. “No worries, everything is going to be perfect this time.” The image of the photos skitters through my brain, but Gus’s concern about Joker only convinces me hiding them was best.