Rescued MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 13) Page 13

  “Trace,” said Alvitr. “Who else?”

  Chance stepped forward. “I want to learn the bikes first, but I’ll help Trace do whatever she wants.” They bumped fists.

  “Let’s go,” said Keiran. They followed, walking, as Keiran and Pavel drove the van.

  The kids spilled out, a boy in a blue shirt and shorts, who looked at the ground. He had dark skin and pale blue eyes. The girl had brown wavy hair, olive skin, and was wearing a red and white soccer uniform. She stared at the van, and began jumping up and down. Their mother Teddi, was a woman with coffee-colored skin, wide brown eyes, and a wide smile. She was dressed in jeans and a Moms Rock, blue t-shirt, and stood in the doorway with another girl, a girl with blonde pigtails in the same red and white soccer jersey, and an artificial hand.

  Pavel and Keiran introduced themselves, and the kids stared at the back of the van. Pavel took out the golden retriever, and Keiran took out the cocker spaniel. The girl ran over, knelt, and petted her new spaniel. The boy let the golden retriever sniff and lick his hand.

  Chance and Rhodes came up and tried to help by taking out the dog crates. Trace rushed up to help. Freya held back; let her kids take the lead. The kids introduced themselves, and they all went into the house. The others went in the back gate, and spread out, looking in the windows.

  The dogs found their water, introduced themselves to the other dog, and followed their people. The boy rocked, and the golden laid down. The boy sat down next to the dog. His mother gave him an e-reader. The boy lay down on the dog, and began to read aloud.

  The others stood back as Rica sat down. Rica looked up at the soldiers, and then she began to breathe more quickly. Trace and Chance both sat down on the floor, trying to make themselves smaller. She started wheezing, and the dog Belle laid on her lap, licked her hands and face, and blew her dog breath onto the girl’s face. The wheezes slowed, Rica began to breathe easier, and she went from clutching the dog’s long, silky fur to gently petting her. Finally, she was able to talk normally. Her mom brought her a cup of hot cocoa, and she also brought a sealed cup to Warren. Becca sat down with her own cup, and played with her own dog.

  Kieran and Pavel went over how to take care of the dogs, their shot record booklets, and furthering their training. Everyone said goodbye, and they walked out.

  They all met up at the convenience store. Alvitr hugged Pavel and Kieran. “That must suck, giving them up,” said Trace.

  “Yes,” said Pavel. “But the children are very happy, no?”

  “The girl had an anxiety attack right there,” said Chance. “That dog had it covered.”

  “Literally,” said Rhodes. Both girls laughed.

  “And that’s why we do this,” said Kieran.

  “How does an adoptive mother afford two therapy dogs?” asked Trace.

  “Good question,” said Pavel. “We ask for donations on our site, and the Nighthawks have raised money for us. Some churches, synagogues, and a mosque in our area donate as well.”

  Keiran grinned. “And Valkyries.”

  Alvitr grinned. “That was a good ride.”

  “It’s gotten so every third dog is a donation. Low-income parents shouldn’t have to worry about not getting a service dog for their kids,” said Keiran. “And, most of them don’t start out low-income, but the medical costs of getting the kids treated wipes a lot of the parents’ funds out.”

  “I want to do it,” said Trace.

  “Bikes first,” said Alvitr. “Gotta feed the dogs, and get them trained, and that takes six months to a year.”

  “Sometimes two years,” said Pavel, “But, mostly not.”

  “The dogs have to pass tests,” said Keiran. “And what will you do with the sweet dogs who don’t pass the tests?”

  Trace nodded. “I’ll end up with more dogs than I sell.”

  “Or find people to take them,” said Pavel. “Our dogs are well trained, and families love getting well-trained dogs. And, school systems and libraries need dogs that kids can read to. We literally have teachers, librarians, and the parents of kids with learning disabilities or who are learning new languages. They’re begging to adopt our dogs.”

  Chance and Rhodes looked at Freya. “You want to read Latin to a dog?” she said. They both nodded.

  Keiran handed each girl a business card, and handed one to Trace. “Think hard. Look at our website. There are links to a lot of information about therapy dogs on there. It costs a lot of money, which is why this is so expensive. We cheat a bit; have students at the school help with the training. You have each other. But, this is like raising a child and giving that child up for adoption. It hurts.”

  A man drove up in a huge, blue, king cab truck. He was tall, with buzzcut hair and a thin brown beard. He wore steel-toed boots and jeans.

  He strode over. “Keiran and Pavel?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Keiran. “You John?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Have both of them in the truck.”

  Everyone else stayed by the van while Kieran and Pavel went to the truck. They came back with two spaniels, one black and white and one brown and white. Kieran signed something; the man helped haul over the crates, and the man drove off. Pavel and Kieran walked the dogs, petted and loved on them, watered them, and fed them little dog treats. They cleaned out the crates, and put the dogs back in their crates, lined with fresh liners, water, and food.

  Alvitr kissed Pavel and Keiran on the cheeks, and sent them off into the night. “Sonic,” she said, and they all went for shakes. They sent Freya, Chance, and Rhodes back to the farmhouse where they were staying. Then, everyone else went to Dirty Rock.

  Despite the rocking music, the soldiers talked at their table about the dogs. “Be heartbreaking,” said Champ. “Giving them up.”

  “Saving lives,” said Chick. “Those are all rescue dogs.”

  “End up keeping some,” said Desert. “I love dogs.”

  “Be really hard,” said Rayne. “Lotta work.”

  Champ snorted. “We’re working hard now.”

  “Be good business,” argued Trace. “Plus, it helps kids. Just like we saw.”

  “We’ll investigate,” said Champ. “No making fast, stupid decisions. Investigate, set everything up. Make it work right. Be sure we are making money with the bikes first.”

  “Agreed,” said Queenie. “We research, we do it right. We got dogs and kids relying on us to get it right.”

  “To doing it right,” said Trace. They clinked their bottles of spiced apple juice, and relaxed to enjoy the band.

  They put in another long day, getting both bikes in their final stages, chrome and all. A man unfolded himself from an Uber, his massive bulk dwarfing the Prius driven by the driver. The man strode forward, slightly bow-legged. He was in full Harley regalia, with a vest, black jeans, and a leather wallet attached to his pocket with a chain.

  “Who’s Allvit?”

  “Alvitr,” she said, striding out. “Mack, you want to see your Harley Fat Boy?”

  “I do,” he said. “He in the barn?”

  “He is,” she said.

  Mack moved quickly for such a huge, grizzled, Harley veteran. He walked in, stared at the bike in the center just inside the barn doors, and circled it twice.

  He got on. “We good?” he asked Alvitr.

  “We are,” said Alvitr.

  He made the bike roar, pulled out his phone, came up with a map, hooked the sound to his earphone, slid the phone into its holder, and roared off in a cloud of dust.

  “And that’s how you make thousands of dollars in one day,” said Alvitr.

  “Lets do this,” said Chance.

  Freya rubbed her daughter’s head, and they went back in to start a new bike. The other bike went to a woman with long black hair and wild gray eyes. She, too, came in on an Uber, and had gray jeans and a gray jacket. They watched her prowl around her bike, then sit on it, just revving it. Then, she slid out onto the road.

  “Never gets old,” said Alvitr, a
nd they did a round of fist-bumps.

  “They love them,” said Chick.

  “They live, breathe, and love them,” said Freya. “Now you see why we do what we do.”

  “Almost as good as a kid getting a dog,” said Trace.

  “Don’t get the dogs without this,” said Chance. “Let’s do more,” she said, clapping Trace on the back.

  They blared rock, then had a huge salad lunch —potato, crab, and chicken salads, and bread with a green salad with cherry limeade. They rockers woke up and rocked, while they worked to finish a bike.

  Sigrun, Wraith, Saber, and their brood came over. Warren ran out, and fought with Alvitr in the yard. Rhodes and Chance hugged Dina and Sondra, and they chattered away about Roman generals, the bikes, and rock music. They took up wooden swords and shields, and attacked each other, while the Soldier Pack and Valkyries cheered them on, shouted out advice, and exclaimed over moves.

  Warren sat down next to Saber. “I feel kinda like… I don’t fit in,” he said.

  Saber rubbed his son’s back. “What? Why?”

  “The girls are always learning languages, and attacking each other, and listening to music so loud and raw it makes my ears bleed.”

  Saber laughed. “They are a wild bunch.”

  “But I’m not… like that,” he said. “I like movement, and learning to defend myself.” He smiled, gently. “The bullies haven’t gone away.”

  “No,” said Saber. “They don’t, do they?”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” said Warren. “I know the Nighthawks school exists, and the Wolfpack. I may end up joining either one. But, I’m really liking the new schedule, with three-week breaks instead of three months off. Makes more sense to me.”

  He cheered as Sondra did an excellent move, ducking a blow aimed at her head. Dina bowed out, her post-surgical body still sore, but her pain much less. Sigrun helped her take off her padding, and then helped her stretch; she also helped to rub in her pain cream.

  “I wanna help people,” said Warren. “Science class is great. We got to go see Mama’s printing class. The school got a grant to get two 3D printers, and now we’re printing hands and putting them together. That’s real, Dad.”

  “It is.” Saber sipped more lemonade. “I like what you’ve been telling me about your classes. You’re in Spanish and Mandarin, and you’re in gifted class, and making those hands and learning coding. And lots of advanced math and science.” He smiled. “You’re a bright kid, Warren.”

  “I’m six,” he said. “I finally found teachers that don’t talk down to me, you know? Some of them forget I’m six, get into debates, sometimes. Henry’s major cool, and I’ll probably end up there, but for now, things are good. And, I get to play soccer, and I’m on the youth science team. And I’m learning how to code, and not just baby stuff, like Logo. Really learning how to do websites. Zooming through Free Code Camp in our club. Most of the people there are girls, and they’re older, but once they got over seeing me as “cute,” they started really working with me. I zipped through some, got stuck in some. Doing a lot better.”

  “So, you have valid reasons for staying,” said Saber. “I get that.”

  “Good,” said Warren. “I’m not a warrior like my sisters, or not yet.”

  “You are,” said Saber. “But, it’s internal. You fight for knowledge, to turn knowledge, science, into real things that people can use to make their lives better.”

  “That’s… that’s so cool.” He threw his arms around his father’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.” He stood up. “Wanna kick around a ball?”

  “Sure,” said Saber.

  The other three girls came up, and Sigrun and Wraith helped them get out of their padding, and gave all the girls cherry limeade. Wraith took them to the pump —the farm had a well, and had the girls put cold water on their heads.

  They stood there, dripping, as Freya walked over. “Mama,” asked Dina. “Can Chance and Rhodes move here?”

  Sigrun and Freya met eyes. “Can’t,” said Rhodes. “We’ve got a cousin named Dee. Kema is her mama, and Tallee her grandma. We’ve got to raise her up right.”

  Freya sighed. “Thank Odin,” she mouthed to Sigrun.

  “We’re cousins, too,” said Sondra.

  “We are,” said Rhodes. “But, we’re only an hour and a half away. Our mamas are sisters in the Valkyries. We’ll see each other all the time. Have sleepovers. Do stuff together, like take trips.”

  “That’s true,” said Dina. “But how will we learn Latin so we can talk to you?”

  Chance shrugged. “We’ll make videos.”

  “We can make money if we turn it into a good Udemy course,” said Rhodes.

  “Can we help?” asked Dina. The girls headed toward the picnic table for chips and salsa.

  “Oh, Odin,” said Freya. “I’m dug in where I am, and none of our adoptions have gone through.”

  Sigrun hugged her. “At least they talked themselves out of it.”

  “For now,” said Freya. “I came down here to learn how to do this up there. Too many people on the list, not enough slots.” She looked over at Fire, and shuddered. “Our refugee no-food person really makes me see how damn important this is.”

  “It is,” said Sigrun. “Thank you for helping.”

  Freya waved her hand. “Training.”

  “Life is training,” said Sigrun. Freya laughed, and they hugged again.

  They walked over, and helped make the nachos, and fed the hordes. They laughed, played soccer, said goodbye to the band on their way to Dirty Rock, and went inside to watch a movie. They popped popcorn, drank sodas, and laughed until the soldiers kicked the kids out and went to bed. They were so tired that the nightmares were silent.

  “Sometimes, just pack up your stuff and go. Clear you mind, open your heart.”

  4

  Rock House

  “Choose your friends, and make them family.”

  Jerry was delighted with the midnight-blue Harley Low Rider he had partly built with his own hands. It didn’t take him long to realize they were trying to protect his hands for his trumpet-playing. Henry had taken pity on him, and bought fingerless gloves with knuckle protection. Robert then allowed him to do more work, but soldering was off the menu. The two men could make bikes faster, trading off tasks, working in shifts, so they got two bikes on their horses and began working on them.

  He worked in the afternoons before he went to play the trumpet. He only played four nights a week, so the fifth day he put in a full day, and two days he relaxed. He picked up extra work to pay back his brother from Wraith, the Gunny of High Desert Security and Protection. The woman saw him as ex-military, therefore “hers,” and on her payroll. Her people were running around like wind whipping down the mountains. He picked up the slack. He ran equipment, private messages and plans, forgotten items, and delivered food to operatives all over the city. He handled diva and band fits by bringing strange items such as giant bags of peanut butter M&Ms or a favorite brand of water. Once, he brought blue LED lights to an actress’ dressing room. Another time, he brought favorite jewelry to a star who had forgotten the bracelet just before going onstage.

  He liked the work. He began to know every back street, every street whose name changed three times, every traffic snarl. He dressed as a motorcycle messenger in all black with High Desert Security and Protection on his bulletproof leather vest. And also with the Nighthawks logo on his leather jacket. Robert got him in the Nighthawks, on his say-so. If Jerry got lost, or confused, or just didn’t know what to do next, Robert or his buddy Pomp (or Henry or any other Nighthawk) would help him.

  He also had to take the Evade course on his motorcycle. Getting the license was hard enough, an entire day in the punishing desert sun, but he’d been in deserts before. The taste of dust and the smell of creosote didn’t faze him. The Evade course sucked. He had Pomp take him out to the course and let him participate in the training, jumping out of nowhere to “attack” the client with a las
er pointer. He took his flashback on the side, out of view of the clients, and Pomp taught him the breathing to bring heat into his chest to dissipate the tightness. It took him three tries to help on the practice course before he could do it without a flashback. Then he took it himself, and passed.

  Gregory pulled him aside. “I could use you,” he said. “More than a messenger. But, take your time; be sure it’s what you want. Relax, take it easy, and get back to me when you decide.”

  “Thanks, Gunny,” said Jerry.

  He needed to send more money to his brother. Frank and his wife had two part-time jobs, three kids, and no health insurance. Jerry talked to Wraith about it. Wraith got Jerry on a health and dental plan, and found some weird-ass; part-time, remote, dispatch job for Frank to do that put them on insurance for some security company in Birmingham. Some guys came in and put a special line into their house, and gave Frank a special computer and headset no one else in the house could touch. Frank did dispatch all over the damn state, and loved it. They had insurance, which was good because Sadie ended up with asthma.

  So, Jerry learned how to drive the limo, took an Evade course for it, and picked up and dropped off clients from the airport if no one else could do it. Frank said Jerry didn’t owe him anything, but Jerry knew that was bullshit. They had bills to pay and no way to handle things if something went wrong, which it always did.

  He talked to Robert about his worry about his brother, who made him talk to Wraith. “Dumbass,” said Wraith, into the mic as Jerry drove to the airport. “Lily. She’s our accountant. Fucking call her tomorrow and she’ll set up educational accounts for the kids, an emergency fund, whatever the fuck you want. Plus, dumbass, you need a fund for your own damn self. I’ll text you the damn number and I expect for you to call Lily at o-nine-hundred.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Jerry. Wraith called people “dumbass” when they forgot to take care of their clients —or themselves. So, he set his alarm, and at nine sharp, he called Lily.