BLACK NIGHT IN THE BLACK HILLS (Part 1 of the Jonica vs Laurie Series)
written by Laurie
Prologue
(Once upon a midnight dearie,
I woke with something in my head)
I wish I knew how it came to this. The crazy chain of events that led me to be standing in a patch of grass and dirt in a camp ground at Sturgis, surrounded by a ring of motorcycles with their headlights shining on me and the Cajun girl who I had never laid eyes on before this day. The Cajun girl who I would soon be locked in wild combat against. How the hell did I get here???
Okay, before I go any farther, let me just say, for the record, that I do NOT go looking for fights. I’d be crazy to do that. I’m barely over 5 feet tall and, even though I’m competitive and athletic, the few fights I’ve been in have mostly ended badly for me. Well, in fairness to myself, those bitches were all a lot bigger and heavier than me – you know the type, schoolyard bullies who get their kicks kicking the crap out of smaller girls.
Call me brave, call me stupid, call me a masochist, whatever. One day I decided I wasn’t gonna run away from bullies any more. And I didn’t. They made me pay for my bravery, my stupidity, my masochism. But bruises heal. In time. At least I didn’t run away.
This was different. This was a fight I wanted. Pride. It’s funny, the things we do for pride. Plus, the Cajun bitch really pissed me off. And I knew I could take her. For once I’d be fighting someone my own size. She’s like an inch or two taller than me (so what else is new?) but other than that…
Wait. I’m jumping ahead of myself. Kind of like walking into a movie that’s half over. So why don’t we take it from the top with that original line: ‘Once upon a time…’ Or better still: ‘Once upon a midnight dearie…’
Chapter the First
(Like a game show contestant with a parting gift,
I could not believe my eyes
When I saw through the voice of a trusted friend
Who needs to humor me and tell me lies)
Even though I’ve lived in South Dakota my entire life (so far), I’d only been to the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally once, back in 2002, when I was 19 and a sophomore at Augustana College. My roommate Mallory, our friend Carole and I all piled into Mal’s dad’s Airstream and drove cross-state on 90 West from Sioux Falls to Sturgis. We partied, drank, rocked out to Blues Traveler, partied some more, hung out with scary looking bikers, drank some more, and pretty much had the time of our lives.
Now, nine years later, all of us having graduated and moved on to other things, those five days in August ’02 had faded to a warm distant memory. So when Mallory called out of the blue and suggested a reunion trip, Carole and I were like, oh hell yes. Along with my sister Melissa, who was too young to go on that first trip, we found ourselves back in the old Airstream, following an endless line of Harley Davidsons, campers, Winnebagos, trucks and cars on the road to Sturgis, kind of like the final scene in that Kevin Costner baseball movie, Field of Dreams.
Mal had reserved a spot for us at the Buffalo Chip campground. I couldn’t believe how many motorcycles there were. I found out later it was well over 20,000. Bikers in all sizes and shapes…some wore colors and were hard-core, others couldn’t hide the fact that they were accountants and attorneys living out their biker fantasies, with brand-new Harley bandannas over their $200 haircuts, decked out in imitation leather with temporary tattoos covering their skinny arms. Tough biker chicks staked out their territory like lionesses in the Sahara, using an icy glare to warn outsiders to keep our distance, which we were more than happy to do. (Well, not ALL of us. More about that in a little bit.)
There was a Winnebago with Louisiana plates next to our Airstream, I really didn’t get a good look at the people in it, just a brief passing glance as the door shut behind a girl around my size with light auburn hair. Overwhelmed by the multitude of bikers, the excitement of being at the Rally and the thrill of the fun and excitement sure to follow, the Winnebago and its auburn-haired occupant were soon forgotten. As we walked through the camp, we were invited to join a group of bikers who were tailgating by a beat-up black ’95 Dodge Dakota pickup, grilling buffalo burgers and roasted corn on the cob. Coolers full of beer bottles buried in big chunks of ice were lined up behind the pickup like a styrofoam barricade.
The leader of the group, a huge pot-bellied man with long flowing white hair and beard (Mallory whispered, “He looks like Santa Claus on steroids!” and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.) called us over in a loud booming voice that easily drowned out the revving engines in the vicinity. We held a quick huddled conference.
“Think we should?” (this from Carole, always the cautious one)
“Why not? They seem friendly enough.” (Mallory, always ready for an adventure)
“That’s what Custer said at the Big Horn.” (from me, a brat and damn proud of it)
“Besides they’re offering free food and beer. Sure beats paying for it.” (my sister Melissa, despite her youth, always the practical one….and by ‘practical’, I mean CHEAP, a Grade-A moocher, trust me on this!)
The majority voted down Carole’s objection and we gratefully accepted the invitation, not to mention the hot food and cold beer.
“Call me Tiny,” the gargantuan leader insisted as he expertly flipped sizzling burgers on the grill.
(Tiny? Seriously? Seriously???)
We were almost universally accepted by our leather-clad hosts who really went out of their way to make us feel welcomed. Blankets were quickly spread out on the grass for us to sit on and even Carole’s initial hesitation soon disappeared. I found myself sharing a blanket with a beautiful blonde with a bright happy smile and long legs that I couldn’t help but feel just a twinge of jealousy about. (The curse of the vertically challenged!) Despite her leather halter, miniskirt and shiny black boots, she really didn’t look like a stereotype biker chick.
“Hi, I’m Foxy.”
(Ummmm, yup, you sure are.)
“Brag much?” I answered with a grin. (Sometimes I just can’t control my ‘inner brat’.)
Her laugh was friendly, natural, unforced. I got good vibes from her right from the start.
“I know. Right? It’s really Joanne. But when you hang with this bunch, you get a new name from Tiny.”
“Who named him Tiny?”
“Someone who’s no longer with us. I wouldn’t go there if I was you.”
"Point taken…So is this a club or gang or something?”
She laughed again. “Sort of. But not really. It’s not an official club. And, oh my god, there are no one-percenters here. We’re just a bunch of friends from all over who met on a motorcycle website on the Internet. I’m from New Jersey. See the guy talking to your friend…”
“Mallory.”
“He’s from Canada. Montreal, I think. They call him Boche. He’s like everybody’s big brother, always watching over the girls. Over there is…”
Tiny’s bellow interrupted her.
“Hey, Foxy, don’t you be telling any club secrets to Peanut there now.”
(Peanut….Oh yippety-skip)
Foxy started laughing again at the look on my face.
“Aw, c’mon. Don’t let it bug ya. You’ve been named. You’re one of us now.”
(one of us…one of us…)
She continued, “So where are you from?”
I smiled gratefully as she changed the subject. “Right here in South Dakota.”
“Oh, wow, that is so cool! I guess you come here every year, huh?”
“No, this is just our second time …”
Chapter the Second
(And I’ll lie too and say I don’t mind
And as we seek so shall we find)
The afternoon passed. I may be biased but I honestly don’t think there’s anything more beautiful than a South Dakota sunset. It’s something everyone should experience at least once in their lives.
More people joined the impromptu party. We decided to stay and tag along with our new friends when they made the bar rounds later.
I said before that we were ALMOST UNIVERSALLY accepted by the bikers. There were one or two who seemed to resent us being there. One in particular was a small dark-haired, fierce-looking, very pretty tattooed chick who had been sitting with one of the newcomers, a slight auburn-haired girl who looked vaguely familiar to me. They had been chatting and laughing like old friends until the dark-haired one noticed Melissa flirting with one of the guys, a long-haired deeply tanned walking stereotype with dirtbag good looks and sky blue eyes, fittingly named Adonis. Her smile disappeared, her dark eyes flashed at Missy and if looks could kill, I’d be an only child right about now.
“Uh oh,” Foxy nudged me. “You’d better tell your friend to watch out. Adonis is Boom-Boom’s man.”
As if on cue, the man called Boche joined us, followed by Mallory.
“She is playing with fire, your friend. Boom-Boom, she has a very bad temper,” he said in his charming French-kissed accent.
Sure enough, Boom-Boom moved away from her auburn-haired friend and made a beeline to where Melissa and Adonis were making out on the blanket. My clueless sister was unaware of the danger about to come down on her. I had to do something. I scrambled up off the blanket and quickly moved between my sister and the furious girl. She tried to get past me but I blocked her path.
(This is crazy, that bitch will probably kill me but I have to protect my sister!)
“Missy, cool it!” I hissed. Sensing trouble, she finally pulled away from the grinning Adonis, who was most likely loving all the attention. After shoving Missy toward my blanket, I turned to Boom-Boom.
“I’m sorry, my sister didn’t mean … “
“Tell her to keep her fucking distance if she knows what’s good for her!”
(I couldn’t quite place her accent, I knew it definitely wasn’t American. Somewhere in the UK, sounds like.)
“I said we’re sorry, all right? It won’t happen again.”
“It better not. If it does, it’ll be the last fucking time!”
“Chill out, Boom-Boom,” Boche tried to play peacemaker. “The girl didn’t know.”
Tiny chimed in, “And it sure looked like Adonis was enjoying himself!”
“Not helping,” I muttered as everyone laughed.
Her face even redder, Boom-Boom tried to dodge past me again. Boche got a hand on her but she shrugged him off and stood there, eyes glaring, fists clenched.
“Back the fuck off, Boche! Don’t stick your nose in my bloody business!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the auburn-haired girl smirking, not getting involved, just watching the action in a detached amused way. This sort of bothered me, I had my hands full dealing with her incensed tattooed friend who was trying to kill my sister, and she wasn’t lifting a finger to help.
“I could use a hand here,” I said quietly.
Her mocking smirk grew bigger.
“Not my problem, cher,” she giggled, raising both hands up and taking a step back as if to say, fight your own battles.
No one moved. The standoff continued for a few tense moments: Boom-Boom working herself to a frenzy. Me scared but ready to do anything to protect my sister. Missy totally freaked out holding onto a wide-eyed Mallory. Foxy standing with them, a tense and excited look on her face. Carole looking like a field mouse being stalked by a snake. Boche standing at the ready, waiting for Boom-Boom to strike. The auburn-haired girl still watching, still smirking. Adonis sitting on the blanket with the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen in my life. The other bikers and chicks intently watching the unexpected entertainment.
Finally Tiny had had enough. Standing by the flaming grill, his long white hair and beard blowing in the breeze, brandishing a grease-dripping spatula in his upraised right hand, he looked like Moses coming down from the mountaintop with the tablets. And he sounded like God Himself when he bellowed:
“Boom-Boom! Knock that shit off! Now! Or get to stepping! Your call.”
That did the trick. Boom-Boom took one more step forward, thought better of it, turned and stormed off, followed by her auburn-haired friend, who paused long enough to give me a quick ‘You just got saved from an ass-kicking’ look, before disappearing into the shadows. Mallory tried to comfort Missy, who was crying. Carole looked like she was going to faint. Or toss her cookies. Or both. Adonis stood up and stretched, suddenly bored now that the fun was over. “You chicks are fucking wacko. I’m going to Taco Bell for a chalupa.” He walked off. The others drifted back to whatever they were doing before this all started.
My heart racing, I stood stock-still for a second, not able to move. (Mallory told me later my face was as white as a ghost) Boche took my arm gently, snapping me out of my daze, and he led me back to the blanket where Foxy waited.
“Well, that was pretty exciting for a minute, huh?” she said, with a nervous smile.
“Ya think?” I managed a tight little grin. Barely.
“I thought for sure there was gonna be a fight.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“It wouldn’t have gone that far, no,” Boche said. “If Tiny didn’t stop it, I would have.”
I was starting to calm down a bit, the beer that Foxy handed me helped more than a little. Now that Missy was safe and I was still in one piece, there was just one thing on my mind.
“That chick with Boom-Boom. What the hell was up with her?”
“I never saw her before,” Foxy said.
“Not much I can tell you either,” Boche chimed in. “Except her name is Jonica. She is French like me. But from Louisiana. Cajun country.”
“Jonica? Is that her club name?”
“No. Her real name. Tiny hasn’t gotten around to clubbing her yet. She showed up today some time after you. I think she knows Boom-Boom somehow. This is all I know.”
“Thank you, Boche. And thanks also for helping before.”
Boche smiled, gave a courtly little bow that seemed sort of out-of-place with the leather he was wearing but, at the same time, so natural for him. He turned and walked back to the blazing fire. I realized Foxy was looking at me intently.
“Why the interest?”
I turned to her. “Huh? What?”
“In Jonica. Why the interest?”
“Oh. No reason.”
“Uh huh.”
I could tell by her face that she knew I was lying. And I knew that she knew that I knew.
*****TO BE CONTINUED*****
