“You were in the Vietnam War?” Blaze says.
“No, son,” Max answers. “I was there on vacation because I got a got a good deal on a fucking cruise. Of course I was in the fucking war, as was every unlucky soul my age in the sixties and seventies.”
Blaze takes a threatening step toward the old man, who just rolls his eyes in response.
“How long do you think it’ll take you to fix it?”
Max squints, leans deep under the hood, and spends a minute there before surfacing again. “How long is a piece of string? You shot this damn thing to hell and I’m going to have to put it up on a lift and give it the kind of deep examination that would make my proctologist blush. Best-case scenario, assuming I got the parts, I get her running in a day or two. But if I have to order something special, well, I’m sure you boys know all about the road conditions out there, cause I imagine ain’t nothing except those highway closures would have some bikers from Lone Mesa spending the night in a town like Carbon Ridge. Not unless you’re hoping to get an early start on skiing up at Aspen?”
“No,” Blaze says. “But I’ve always wanted to go there.”
I give him a sideways look.
“What?” He says. “I like skiing. And the mountains. I had a great fucking time with the smokejumpers. Don’t judge me because I enjoy the outdoors, Crash.”
“You’re an odd one,” Max says.
“Pray you never meet Snake,” Blaze responds.
“Met plenty of snakes in Vietnam. They’d come into your tent and set up a nice little den in your bunk if you weren’t careful. Each night, you gotta check for them, or else you’re be waking up with a bite on your ass, and I’m not talking about the fun kind.”
“Just tow our truck back to your shop and we’ll be by in the morning to figure it out. I want this thing fixed as soon as possible and I don’t care about the cost.”
Max nods. “Then I’ll see you boys at eleven tomorrow.”
Frowning, I shake my head. “Eleven? Why so fucking late?”
He laughs. “Because I’m old and I just don’t give a shit to get up any earlier. I start when I start, and if you don’t like it, you can shove it up your ass.”
Stunned and angry, I watch as the old man hooks his tow rig up to our truck and drives off into the night.
“I like him,” Blaze says.
“Yeah, me too. If only we weren’t depending on his old ass, I’d want to have a few drinks with him.”
Blaze gives me a knowing look. “You know, I have a feeling we’re going to be stuck here for a while.”
“Me too.”
“And I have a feeling that we will not escape this local bullshit you keep trying to keep us out of.”
“No, we’re not.”
“But hey, look on the bright side, Crash: at least you’ll have more time to spend with that bartender you like.”
“Fuck off, Blaze.”
Chapter Five
Violet
I wake up on a couch to the sound of clattering pots and pans and a set of small, child-sized feet pounding down a staircase. My head is pounding, courtesy of some heavy drinking after spending a night beside Teddy and Kendra in the emergency room, but even the dull throb of a hangover isn’t enough to keep me on this couch, wrapped up in blankets, once my nose catches scent of some eggs frying in butter.
“Are you making breakfast?” I call out.
Josie, Kendra’s daughter, pokes her head out of the kitchen. She’s bright-eyed and smiling and has no idea what happened to Teddy.
“Aunt Vi, mom’s making omelets. With cheese and bacon,” she says.
I sniff the air. And realize that I’m so hungover that I didn’t pick up on the smell of bacon — one of the most blessed smells in the entire world — until just now. Why did I have to have that seventh glass of bourbon?
“Save me one,” I call out. “Actually, make it two.”
“Josie gets hers first. The school bus will be here any minute and I am running so behind,” Kendra says.
Groaning, I heft my achy butt off the couch and, still wearing last night’s clothes, shuffle my way into the kitchen. Somehow, Kendra is just as much a flurry of energy and activity as her daughter, which is amazing considering she matched me glass-for-glass last night. Maybe she’s too worried to feel hung over, I think.
“Aunt Vi, are you OK?” Josie says, looking at me with concern while shoving a big forkful of cheesy, bacony goodness into her mouth.
“I’m fine,” I croak. “I just need some coffee. Like, eighteen cups, and I’ll be fine.”
“Here, let me,” Kendra says, turning away from the stove to reach for the burbling coffee pot. But, before she can get there, Josie is up and out of her seat and pulling a coffee mug down from a cupboard.
“Would you like me to make you a latte, Aunt Vi?” She says. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Sure, Josie. I’d love that,” I say, settling into a chair.
Josie takes the coffee mug, fills it half full of coffee, then pulls a pitcher of milk out of the fridge. She dumps a bunch of milk into the cup — spilling half of it onto the counter — and then adds two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into the cup. She stirs it vigorously, while making whooshing sounds like an espresso machine with her mouth. When she’s finished, she hands it over to me with the biggest smile in the world on her face.
I take
