Saving Della Ray

Henry looked surprised. “You know about this?”

“It’s all over the news. They’re milking it for all it’s worth. Luxuriating in every gory detail and trying to find even the most tenuous connection to every shootout that has ever taken place in the country. How the hell can I possibly not know about it?”

“Whoa!” Henry’s brows shot up. “You seem pretty upset about it.”

I exhaled deeply. “It’s just so annoying. It makes the entire county unsafe for everyone else.”

“You’re right,” Tim, Henry’s friend agreed. “I’ve even heard that their bar has emptied out a lot these days.”

That perked my interest. “They have a bar?”

“Well it’s not theirs, but you could call it their official hangout. Normal folks used to go by there once in a while just for the thrill of it, but in the recent months, it’s mostly been just the club itself. People are cautious now … scared of a gunfight breaking out at any moment.

“What’s the name of the bar?” I asked.

Henry beamed with amusement. “Why? Are you going to go there?”

“Of course not,” I stated flatly.

Henry stared at me with suspicion. “Hmmm.”

“Well, where is it?” I prodded.

“Don’t tell her,” Henry said. “It seems like she’s planning to go there for some reason.”

Tim on the other hand was of a lighter disposition. “It’s over on Crow Dust Street. It’s called Reno’s, I believe.”

I gave Henry a hard look, drained my drink, and got up to return to work.

The next day … yep … I found myself walking up to Reno’s on Crow Dust Street. It was off the main road, and tucked not far off from a tire junkyard. The walls of the building were made of bright orange bricks with flame graffiti all over it. Two black and silver motorbikes were parked outside.

It was indeed a biker bar. Two men sitting outside, one attired in a bandana and leather jacket, and the other bald, brawny and with a pair of dark sunglass shielding his eyes, leered at me as I headed towards the entrance.

Now I was certain I had lost it, why else would I have willingly come to a place that everyone else with two brain cells to rub together in the county was avoiding?

Squaring my shoulders, I walked in.

Outside, it was sunny and bright, but inside the entire place was lit with dim red bulbs. The outside world beyond these walls became deeply lost in this seedy place. I strolled in to the serenade of maniac, head banging music, fortunately on low volume.

It wasn’t exactly busy, but every eye in that place turned to me. The men watched me with a mixture of hunger and suspicious hostility. I turned towards the bar and a creaky old man behind the bar was waiting for me, so I hurried over.

I wanted to quickly ask for Bone, then find my way out of here, but I suddenly wondered if that would be dangerous in more ways than I could understand, so I simply ordered a cold beer and propped myself on the bar stool. My plan was to converse a little with the old guy to the point where I might casually slip in a question about where Bone was, but the moment he served me my drink he slunk away as if I was infected with Ebola.

I got the message, but I couldn’t just admit that it had been a bad decision to come here on my own and leave. Nearly half-an-hour passed and my beer grew warm, but I couldn’t give up. Every time the door to the bar was pulled open and yet another biker appeared, my head snapped up, my heart in my throat as I hoped that it would be him.

But it never was.

With the whole ambience of the place, the horrid music, the thick smoke making my eyes water, and the menacing stares I could feel boring into my back, I decided to give up. For my own sanity.

I was about to get up and when the back door was pulled open, and a girl came in, or perhaps she was a woman. It didn’t matter. The important thing was I wouldn’t be the only female present, anymore. She was obviously staff, because she took her place behind the bar. After tying up her bright strawberry blonde hair, she pulled out a thick book from the cabinet below and began to flip through it. Here was my chance to ask for a bit of info. I figured being a girl she would be easier to approach.

“Another bottle, please,” I called out to her with a big, friendly smile.

With a sigh, she closed her book and came over. Her eyes were a striking green, and when I smiled at her, she sent a tight smile back.

“I’m looking for someone,” I said to her. This was my last chance and I reckoned this to be as good an opening as any. “Could you please help me?”