Sarah looked at the eviction notice. Then she looked at the photo of her younger sister, Emily, taped to the mirror. Emily was in rehab, and Sarah was the only one paying for it. if Sarah went homeless. Emily went back to the streets.
Thick skin, Sarah whispered to the empty room. She grabbed her leather jacket, a thrift store find that smelled faintly of stale tobacco, and her keys. I can do thick skin. The drive to the outskirts was lonely. The street lights thinned out, replaced by the encroaching shadows of the desert scrub.
When she pulled into the gravel lot of the Iron Piston, her 2012 Honda Civic looked comically fragile next to the row of custom Harley-Davidson Dynas and Road Kings. The chrome on the bikes caught the moonlight, gleaming like bared teeth. Sarah checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She looked tired, but she didn't look soft.
She hoped that was enough. She stepped out of the car. The air smelled of gasoline, dust, and something metallic, like old blood or rusty iron. As she approached the heavy wooden door, it swung open. A man stepped out, a giant of a human being, wearing a leather cut with the death's head patch on the back.
He had a beard that reached his chest and tattoos climbing up his neck like vines. He stopped, blocking her path. He didn't say a word. He just looked down at her, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses despite it being 9:00 p.m. "I'm here to see Frank," Sarah said. Her voice didn't shake.
She was surprised by that. The giant stared for a long moment, then shifted his weight. "Kitchen entrance around back. Don't touch the bikes. " Sarah nodded and walked around the building.
The gravel crunched loudly under her boots. She felt eyes on her, invisible eyes watching from the darkened windows. She found the steel door marked deliveries, and knocked. It opened instantly. A cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out, enveloping her.
Yeah. The man at the door was older, with silver hair slicked back and a face that looked like it had been carved out of granite with a dull chisel. He wore a crisp white t-shirt that strained against his biceps. "I'm here about the job," Sarah said. The man raised an eyebrow.
He looked her up and down, not with leering, but with the clinical assessment of a mechanic looking at a broken engine. "You lost, sweetheart. The library is back in town. " "I can pour a drink. I can count cash.