Lockdown Day 31: Wednesday 22nd April, 2020

I relaxed into my growing beer buzz and zoned into the mellow acid rock reverberating through the dusky room. There are times I just love chilling in a world of my own with a frosty bottle and fiery chaser listening to raunchy, driving heavy rock, not saying a word to anyone, personal time to a bass boogie beat. I love it.

We all have our own vices. Take Jay. Give him a game, offer a wager and everything else vanished from his world. Nothing existed except the winning. Even the prize didn’t really matter. Winning was everything. He was the worst loser I knew. Take Mack. Some would say coke, cigars or women, but I’d say his main vice was believing in his own well-curated image and those singular sins were all just parts of what he wanted to see in the mirror every morning. Take Randy, his vice was Flick. Nice for a vice, but still a slice of trouble.

  I recognised an odd mood in myself, downtime and feeling down. Never a good combo for me, part of the reason I never sit still. If I’m constantly on the move then there’s always some distraction, even if it’s just traffic. I look at my life and think maybe it’s about time I made something else of it. Over a decade, two lifetimes and three continents later and I’m still rocking the same roadtrip I started when I was sixteen. Except I’m looking about sixty at the moment, washed out and wasted. Bikes and beer and blues. Sex and drugs and Rock and Roll. Wine and women and whisky. Clichéd and clapped out. I don’t really do looking back but there are times I wonder what would have happened if I’d made other decisions, taken other chances, staked a claim, shown more  commitment. But then there’s always another road, another exit with a break in the traffic beckoning, an autobahn to the exotic or some motorway to an undiscovered country. On to the beltway, snick it up a gear and cruise on out through cliché county to Freedom Highway.

  Ah, fuck it. Maybe it’s just that I’m tired. I am knackered. I’ve not had much sleep for a couple of weeks. I need to get some quality pillow time before I head down to Utah. That will get extreme and I’ll need to keep my wits about me. Can’t do that if I’m shattered before we start.

  On a hurried pit stop, Sal slipped on a Blasters CD and the punk-angst guitar proclaimed a Dark Night. Things are moving on, the neighborhood is changing, strangers in the night making me jumpy, choices to be made. Should I stay or should I go now? If I stay there will be trouble, if I go it will be, what? I don’t know. Go or stay and deal with Stonk and Slow-mo and the rest of the savage seven. Could get nasty. Blood that should have been shed log ago. Dark night. It’s a dark night. Bastards are going to try something. Am I being paranoid? No. Jay is so wrong. He doesn’t see them pulling anything. He’s wrong. Is it worth it? I don’t need the hassle. It’s been fun. I love this town, but there are a lot of roads I need to be riding down. Maybe I’ve already been here too long, there are so many things I’ve yet to do, times a’wasting. I’ve thought about Australia again for a while and recently I’ve been thinking west coast. Randy fancies San Francisco but I like the idea of Seattle, the Olympic Peninsula or up to BC. Head out, see what’s what, check it out.

Randy will go soon. He’s just trying to get it together before he talks to Flick. She’s such a home-town girl, cheerleading prom queen, tear-bleeding drama queen, I can’t see her going myself. She’s lost without a gaggle of woo-girl girlfriends. What would she do faced by all those stranger California beach bunnies? San Francisco would throw her completely. Are there any beaches in San Fran? I can’t remember any. I don’t know. Need to find out. I think he’ll go without her, but then he’ll regret it. And I can’t see him staying out there if she isn’t there, he is so caught up in her. Hell, I don’t even know if they have lap-dancing bars in SF. She might have to get a proper job. They must have them. It’s the Wild West after all.

  “Stayin’ on Highway or ya headin’ down the road?” Mack jolted me back to a smoky reality with fresh air disappearing fast as the growing evening crowd sparked up a noxious cloud of stogies, Luckies and Lites.

  “Not decided Mack. I’m warming up to a session but I’m on the bike. Had to pick up some parts from Tommy over at the shop.”

  “Yeah, saw it outside. Ya cin chain it up in the yard out back, if ya want. The gates’re open just now, but ah’ll lock up later. Stick around, have a few, take a cab home, pick the bike up tomorrow. We’re gonna have a good time tonight. Boys just called to say they’re on their way.” 

  “Why the fuck not? You talked me into it. I’ll wheel it round in a bit. May as well make a night of it. It is Tuesday after all.”

  I raised my tumbler to the day, Tuesday’s child so full of grace and good bourbon. As the door creaked open I turned to watch dark angels enter, Flick and her friends, manna from hedonist heaven, all short skirts and long legs, tight tops and big … personalities. Great decision staying, God was good to the faithful. Flick was a goddess, six foot tall, long spiralling blonde hair, legs up to her neck, a body to die for, slim, sexy, silky-skinned, unfortunately a bit young for her years though, impressionable and easily led. Probably what attracted Randy. Twenty-five years old and acted fifteen. Did my head in sometimes, all giggles and hair flicks, girly huddles, catfights and cuddles. Her friends were all pretty much the same, gorgeous to watch but hell to spend time with. Or maybe it was just me. Maybe I was getting old. 

  No sign of Randy with her. It looked like the girls had come straight from step class at Bally’s. They glowed, radiating an elusive promise of hot wild sex into the dusky room. One of these days I’d have to sign up for that class and see if it was as good in real life as in my dreams, all lycra tights and body-hugging leotards, bouncing bikini tops and big booties, high kicks and low necklines. Wet dreams and life is sweet. Flick was a darling but I had real doubts about some of her crew. Sure, they all looked gorgeous, they had to in their line of work, there wasn’t much call for rancid lap dancers. But mostly they didn’t do much for me, augmented reality, artificial, fake lips and tits and even butts. And while I knew they were up for a good time, I was seeing a few warning flags among all that red, white and blue, darker indulgences rekindling the flames of my teenage nightmares.

  The girls all worked at that other industrial icon of these parts – the House of Babes.  The local titty bar, proudly owned by our industrious chapter although due to the county licensing regulations we couldn’t even park our bikes in the parking lot, was a bit frontier, difficult to tell the cowboys from the Indians. Who the good guys are and who the bad guys are can be hard to make out at times. But there was little trouble. It was a class club, proper toilets and the beer was cold, not that lukewarm watery piss you get in some other joints. Well, ok, most self-respecting euro-trash would say all American beer was watery piss. Sooner they started selling the export strength stuff domestically the better.

  Flick waved over as they trooped in, slung her bag by the table they spilled around and came across, “Hey Trick, where’s Randy?” she asked, looking like I felt, as if she hadn’t slept for days. Her trademark eyes never stopped moving, flicking around the room, here and there and back again, focussing and refocusing, flick, flick, flick, flick, although bloodshot as they were they lacked some of their usual vitality. 

  “Got no idea, Flick. Haven’t seen him for days.”

  “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? Is he avoiding me?”

  “I really don’t know Flick. I haven’t seen him since Memphis. Have you called him?”

  “Sorry,” she sighed, “didn’t mean to come over like that. But he’s not answered my calls, he hasn’t been in touch and I didn’t even know if you guys were back.”

  “It’s OK. You’re looking pretty strung out. What you up to? Anything I can help with?”

  “No, could you just let Randy know I’m looking for him when you see him.”

  “Sure thing. I’ll chase him up tomorrow.”

  She glanced back as she rejoined the girls, “Thanks. ‘ppreciated.”

  Jay sauntered over from the board where Sal was now fast losing interest but unable to escape a serious beating, “So what’s up with Flick?”

  “No idea. But she looks wasted and she’s acting a bit weird. Have either of you seen Randy?”

  “Not for a week or so.”

  “Not since Memphis.”

  Mack pottered over, trash bag in hand. “Come on, Highway. Let’s stick that cycle in the yard and I’ll introduce ya to ma friend Charlie.”

  “Well, when you put it like that Mack. Lead the way.”