Chapter Forty
FORTY
The back bedroom, and the most likely spot for the clown painting to have been stashed, was currently occupied by other couples.
Shepherd and Ginny shuffled in and found an uncrowded spot on a twin bed.
She sat in his lap and looked at him with wide, terrified eyes.
He, too, maintained eye contact, lest he saw something unseeable.
“So,” she whispered, “I guess this is the room meant for orgies.”
“I just think group sex is a popular hobby among degenerates,” Shepherd whispered back. “A tie that binds them all together, if you will.”
Her eyes narrowed. “‘Degenerates’ is rude. The Tire Irons run a very successful Toys for Tots program every year, and all their members sign up to help escort children who are called to testify against their abusers. The president was talking to me about it earlier. Their community outreach is quite impressive.”
Someone moaned.
Ginny grabbed onto Shepherd with both hands and tried to hide.
He squeezed her thigh with one hand, pressed her face against his neck with the other. “If you had let me bring my phone,” he whispered, “I’d know how long we have—”
There was a loud but distant explosion.
Even knowing it was coming, Shepherd still grabbed Ginny tight and held on until the noise subsided. The other people in the room all gasped, and not from the group fun they were having. “What was that?” they asked each other, re-zipping and re-leathering.
“It sounded like it came from outside!” Ginny jumped to her feet and pointed. “We should all go see what it is!”
Everyone cleared out of the room in a hurry. Shepherd and Ginny followed behind, but only as far as the mouth of the hallway. There was a run on the exit, as everyone inside the clubhouse was trying to get out and see what happened. Outside one of the windows, black smoke was visible.
Shepherd sighed. “I had big plans for that truck.”
“Come on,” Ginny grabbed his wrist and yanked him back to the bedroom. “Before they all come back!”
Shepherd went down to his knees and then onto his belly, slithering under the furthest twin mattress like a snake or, at the very least, a salamander.
There was an alarming number of socks under the bed, but bravely, valiantly, like Luke Skywalker or some sort of paladin, Shepherd shoved his hand underneath the pile of questionable cleanliness. His fingers grazed canvas.
Throwing a grin over his shoulder at the woman standing behind him, Shepherd said, “Got it.”
“Shepherd! Amazing!” Ginny grinned, but her grin faded as she glanced around the room. “How do we get it out?”
Shepherd sat on his knees. The painting was almost the same size as the twin bed it hid under. The only exits to the building were currently filled with gawking bikers and old ladies. He swore, then swore again for good measure.
“We have to try the window.”
Ginny pointed at the window above the bed. “That window?”
“That’s the only window in here, Ginny.”
“The sad clown isn’t going to fit through that, Shepherd!”
Shepherd lifted the bed frame up and kicked away the socks. The sad clown frowned up at him. “He’s not gonna like it,” Shepherd agreed, “but it’s gonna happen whether he likes it or not.”
The canvas framing cracked as Shepherd shouldered it through the open window.
Ginny gasped. “Don’t hurt Hector!”
“Who the hell is Hector?”
“He is.” She pointed at the clown face, its frown warping into something even more sinister. “Doesn’t he look like a Hector?”
Shepherd glared at her. “Would you just help me shove, please?”
Ginny pushed while Shepherd helped the canvas bend. It finally slid through the window and landed on the asphalt outside with a pathetic whomp. Ginny went next. But she tried to get through it by sitting on the windowsill like it was a horse.
“Oh. Oh no,” she said, her shoulders crammed under the window, her nose touching her knee. “OK. I’ve got this.”
“You want me to push?”
“Don’t you dare push me, Preston Shepherd! I have this handled!”
Shepherd stepped back to get a better view of how she was handling it. “You look like a pretzel.”
“Just. OK.” She inched a little more outside. “Ow. Ow. Ow.” Finally, her head made it from underneath the window. “Oh, thank you, Jesus. Watch out, Hector!”
She eased herself the rest of the way out. “I can almost touch the grou—” She fell out of view.
Shepherd rushed to the window, hands bracing on the sill.
Ginny had landed ass first on Hector. She was lying over him, arms and legs spread-eagled, with a grimace on her face. “I’m OK!” She waved. “Come on down!”
It was maybe a six-foot drop. How this clubhouse hadn’t been damaged in previous hurricane storm surges, Shepherd had no idea.
His arms and head got through the window fine.
Shoulders hurt a bit, but he winced and pushed through.
It wasn’t until his feet were dangling inside the room and the rest of him was outside in the heat that he realized he’d run into a bit of trouble.
Ginny wiped dirt off her palms. “You stuck?”
“No,” Shepherd lied. “I’m just … thinking about landings, is all.”
“You look stuck.”
“Well, your eyes are lying to you.” He wiggled, testing his freedom. Breathing in deeply, he sucked in his stomach as tight as he could and eased forward. His belt buckle held tight to the lip of the window closure on the sill. He exhaled and swore at the same time.
“OK.” Ginny grabbed his wrists. “You’re gonna suck it in, and I’m gonna yank.”
She did, indeed, yank. Shepherd yelped, remembered to suck it in too late, and slid out of the window.
She didn’t let go of his arms, instead backing up and pulling him as he went.
Sensitive things hit the window that should not have hit the window.
Shepherd gasped out what was supposed to be her name, but was actually another curse, and belly-flopped onto the ground.
Hector lay next to him, full of stolen money and judgment.
Shepherd rolled on to his side, holding himself, tears in his eyes.
Ginny clapped her hands. “We did it! Now, where’s Noah?”