Chapter 6: Old Wounds

Lara groaned. Her head was pounding and her eyes felt like sandpaper. She and Ben had been up until ... when? drinking and toasting. Oh god, how much had she drank? They'd finished off one bottle of that shoe varnish that Quohog claimed was whiskey but after that ... They'd spent the last part of the night telling wild tales and comparing scars. Everything else was a blur.

Oh God, had she? had he? Eyes still clenched against the world, Lara felt down with her hands to tell if she was wearing any clothing. She still had her shirt and jeans on, thank God, and she was sleeping alone. Thank goodness for small miracles. With a groan she sat up, cursing and holding her head. That wretched liquor left a horrible hangover.

Uncertain she wanted to know where she was, Lara opened her eyes. She was in her hotel room at Flo's, laying down fully dressed on the bed. Alone. She cast her shaky memory over the night before, but could find nothing that involved going to Baron's Head or meeting Flo. Where was Ben, had he abandoned her after all? That would be bloody typical of the man. She had spent the night commiserating over his fallen friends, had helped to bury his mentor, had shed blood with the man, and now he abandoned her like on old shirt.

Cursing his name, his bike, his gender and the pounding in her head, Lara stripped and managed to stumble her way into the shower. Never in her life had she prayed for hot water as much as she did now. Thankfully, her prayers were answered. Sluicing away the dirt and grime of the day before did a great deal to wake her and restore her spirits. It even seemed to reduce her hangover.

She spent more time in the shower then was purely necessary and eventually came out feeling clean and at least half way human. She was wrapped in a towel that was a bit too small to be used for that job and was in the lengthy process of drying her hair when her door was shaken with a rapid series of strong knocks. Lara winced. Did whoever that was have to knock so loud?

"Lady Grace?" She heard Ben call through the door.

Mentally, she took back some, but not all, of what she had thought about Ben this morning. She rose and opened the door. Ben's face was bleary and his eyes were bloodshot. At least my misery has some company. His eyes popped when they saw her state of undress and he openly checked her out.

Lara tried to ignore him, but his eyes were like irons burning into her She was acutely aware of just how little of her the towel covered. "I asked you not to call me that." She said, turning back to the bed and rubbing her head.

Ben came into the room and she could feel him ogle her behind. "So, Lady Grace," she took back the taking back of some the things she had thought about him. "When are you going to be ready to go?" He closed the door and leaned back against it, his eyes fixed on the bottom hem of her towel. She thought black thoughts towards him and made sure the hem was still where is was supposed to be.

She took a look at Ben. His hair was more unkempt than usual and he looked soiled. It was a small consolation to know that he hadn't spent his night any better than she had.

Lara resumed drying her hair. "About 20 minutes, I think. Time enough for you to take a shower, at least."

"I don't need a damned shower." He scowled.

It was far too early to deal with his stubbornness. "Ben, you look terrible and you smell like a trash heap," Lara scolded him as she began to comb out her hair. He watched her hands like he was hypnotized. "You need a great deal more than a shower, but I am afraid that it is all I have on hand. Where did you spend the night, anyway?"

"The dumpster outside the Kickstand." He grunted. She thought she heard him mutter "again," but wasn't sure.

"Do you know how I got here?" she asked. She wanted to change but there was no way she was doing it with him standing there.

"Quohog called Flo, and she came and got you. She wanted to get me too, but I figured I was better off sleeping in a pile of garbage." He knew she wanted to change as well, and made no sign of moving. "We should clear out before some one from the Leathernecks find out we're here. You should hurry up." He smirked.

In your dreams, sport. "I'm not going anywhere until you bathe," she said stubbornly and pushed him into the bathroom. When he opened his mouth to protest, she covered it with her hand. "No arguments, sport, get in there," she insisted and didn't stop pushing until the bathroom door shut and she heard the water running.

Lara congratulated herself for her decision to bring her travel bags inside when she had first arrived here. If she had kept her gear in her bike, then she would have nothing on her back, and it would be in a flaming heap outside the Polecat's camp. I have to get a new means of transport soon she thought. Riding behind Ben on his bike had its upside, but was far from a permanent solution to her problem. Well, he was a biker, he must know some place she could buy a new bike. Perhaps in Fulsome.

Once she was sure Ben wasn't going to ambush her, she dressed quickly in her last pair of jeans and her least dirty shirt, which happened to be her tank top. She put on an unbuttoned white collared shirt over top and rolled the sleeves up. Her gun belt went on after her boots, with all magazine pouches happily filled, although it cleaned out her supply of ammunition. Again, she'd have to get some more in Fulsome. Maybe something bigger, too, like an Uzi or one of those rockets she'd handled the other day.

She was packed up by the time she heard the shower shut off. Lara always traveled lightly for situations just like this one, and all of her belongings fit easily into one medium sized back pack. She was braiding her hair when Ben came out of the bathroom, wearing his T-shirt and jeans and drying his hair. He doesn't look bad cleaned up she said to herself, then banished the thought. There was no time for anything like that, and that avenue was best left alone. Ben's stubble was still there, but it was shorter somehow. How does he do that?

"You should leave you hair down." He said in his low gravelly voice as he shrugged on his leather jacket. "It looks better." Lara raised her eye brows. Where had that come from? It was almost ... a compliment. From Ben Polecat. This was a pleasant surprise indeed.

She smiled. "Perhaps, but it gets in my face when we ride."

He shrugged and went to the door. "You ready to go?"

"Yes, but I should pay Flo before I leave. I promised her I'd be here a week."

She could have sworn that Ben had shuddered. "I'll be out back. I hid the bike there so one could see it."

Lara had to know. "What is it with you and Flo, anyway?" she asked while she shouldered her bag.

Ben shook his head. "I dance with the lady once, and she starts picking out a china pattern." He ducked out the door and went to the back entrance. Lara smiled and shook her head.

For the third and last time, Lara walked down the dingy hallway to the front desk where Flo was reading her customary E-zine. "Well I'll be," Flo crowed, putting her hand to her ample chest in mock amazement. "I do believe that the dead are walking." She smiled and crossed to the front of the counter. "Honey, you were so drunk last night I didn't think you'd be up 'till afternoon."

Lara grinned sheepishly. "Not so loud, please."

Flo just laughed. "So, you spent the night partying with Ben Polecat. What's your secret?"

"Well, I didn't try to get in his knickers at the earliest opportunity. I think that helped."

"Shoot, girl, why the hell not? Don't you know a prime hunk of man when you see one?" She went to the kitchen entrance. "You figger you're up for some breakfast, or do you want to take a rain check?"

Lara shook her head. Even if she hadn't been in a hurry, she could have done without bland coffee, stale toast and that wretched soy spread. "I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush, this morning, Flo. I need to check out."

Flo lost a bit of her smile. "Oh, well sure." She moved back to the counter. "I know we agreed on a week, but I won't charge you for food you ain't here to eat."

"We agreed on a week, and I'll pay a week." Lara said. She reached into her pack and took out a bill fold. "Also, its to thank you for coming to get me last night. I'm afraid I wasn't very lucid." She handed over several bills.

Flo laughed. The bills Lara placed on the counter quickly disappeared from view. "Ain't that the truth. Hell, I couldn't let my only paying customer pass out in the middle of the desert." Her eyes twinkled, "besides, I almost got Ben Polecat to spend the night in my bed."

Lara chuckled. "I don't think he was that drunk."

"You know, that's exactly what he said."

Lara took out several other bills and put them on the desk. "Flo?" The woman looked up. "You never saw me leave."

Flo scooped up the bills without blinking. "Shoot, honey, I'm getting senile. I don't even remember what day it is."

"Flo, something very dangerous is happening around here." She laid some more bills on the table. "You might want to take a vacation."

Flo just stared at the money. "Where the hell would I go?"

"Well, you have enough for a weekend in Vegas, or a very long road trip. It's up to you." Lara walked out the door.

"Is it that bad?" Flo asked softly. She was counting the money Lara had given her.

Lara looked back over her shoulder. "They killed Father Torque and wiped out the Polecats. Anyone who gets in their way dies."

Flo turned ashen under her make up. "Lordy. I-I had no idea."

"I hear Mexico is lovely this time of year."

Lara walked around the faded building to the alley, where Ben was waiting impatiently. "Let's go, Lady Grace,"

Lara rolled her eyes. Now that he knew that his calling her that annoyed her, he was never going to stop. She stowed her pack in one of the bike's storage compartments and slid onto the bike behind Ben. He smelled like old leather and soap, and a masculine musk. It was decidedly alluring. Stop it, Lara told herself. We don't have time for this.

"Flo sends her regards." Lara told his back and heard him curse silently. Ha. Turn about is fair play, sport.

They had to creep from alley to alley to keep out of sight of prying eyes, but they eventually made it out of town and onto the open road. Both were alert to any traffic, but they were the only ones on the highway. After about 10 minutes on the road, Lara spoke. "So who is this friend of yours and where are we going?"

"I can't get into Fulsome." Ben replied. "The Polecats got into a scrap there a few years ago. They ID check you at the city gates, and I've got an arrest on sight order against me."

"So if you can't get into Fulsome, then where are we going?"

"I've got a friend who owes me a favour. That favour's gonna get me into Fulsome."

He wouldn't say anything else on the subject. When Lara asked about getting a new bike, he just chuckled. "It won't be a problem." he said.

It seemed that for the moment, there was nothing else she could do. Lara sighed, sat back and enjoyed the view.

Ben pulled up in front of Corley Motors a few hours later. As he passed the Vultures' old hide out, he wondered whether or not he should warn the them about the Leathernecks. There did have a truce. Naa. The Vultures were tough, and they could always rocket boost out of a problem.

Ben's mind was whirling. What happened next? His whole life had been turned upside down. Again. His gang was gone and he'd been chased off his turf. Father Torque was dead. That really hurt. Torque had been more of a father to Ben then his son of a bitch old man had ever been. He'd taken a pissed off out of control brawler and made him one of his own. The day Ben got his colours from Torque had been the second proudest day of his life, right behind the day Torque handed control of the gang over to Ben.

Now he was here again, at the Corley Motors Factory, re-opening old wounds. When he'd left Mo last year he'd thought she was out of the picture forever. He had no idea what seeing her again would be like. She'd asked once if they could see a lot of each other. The answer had seemed obvious then, but now? Mo was about his last friend on Earth, maybe.

I've gone soft in the head. He was still warped over his gang being wiped out, and it was messing with his mind. I've gotta stay hard, for them. He couldn't even the score for the Polecats if he was all weepy, and he still had a job to do. I gotta find out who ordered the Polecats killed, then I can start butt kicking. It was a statement he'd repeated to himself several times that morning and he knew that he'd be saying it a lot more before all this was done. He extended the kickstand with more force than was really necessary and dismounted. After a night in a dumpster and a few hours on the road, he was stiff as a board and sore as hell. You're not a kid anymore, Polecat.

Lara, in contrast, uncoiled off his machine like a cat. She moved like a dancer, and you'd never know that she had spent the last two hours stuck on the back of a bike.

Bitch.

"Corley Motors?" Lara asked, looking at the company crest on its revolving sign. "Well it seems appropriate."

What was she talking about?

"Being a biker and all. Who do you know here?" She paused and answered her own question. "Oh, yes. Maureen works here."

Ben shot her a look. How did she know about Mo? He thought back and had a dim memory of telling Lara the whole story last night during their second bottle. Right before she had sold him that whole cock and bull Atlantis story.

"You just find a bike," he growled, walking towards the main door. "There's a showroom out front. I'll meet you later." He didn't wait for an answer.

Let Lady Grace do whatever the hell she wanted. Right now, he had to go open a book that he'd thought was closed for good.

Lara wandered about the showroom, examining motorcycles. Ben was certainly right about one thing: Corley made excellent motorcycles. She recognized Ben's model, though his was somewhat ... modified from the version she saw in front of her. Lara sighed. She missed her latest bike. She had almost broken it in, but now it was part of a chrome pretzel outside of the Polecat's camp. Her bike before that, a Yamaha that she had owned for years, was somewhere at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea. She was hard on bikes. Actually, she was hard on a great number of things: motorcycles, clothes, furniture, men. It was regrettable and expensive, but it came part and parcel with her rather unconventional lifestyle.

She was examining the bikes on her own, after having sent the annoying salesman away. The man was so artificial that he was cliché. His looks were obviously surgically enhanced, and his smile was too big, too gleaming and too white. She wondered idly if he was a refugee or burn out from Holowood. It wasn't as much his appearance as much as it was the way he so obviously looked down at her. He had asked her if her 'husband' was coming to help her out, and had taken care to show her the vanity mirror and other cosmetic features. She had waved her gold card in his face and threatened bodily harm before he had gotten her 'subtle' hint. Men.

She couldn't help but compare 'Brett' with Ben. Next to the ornery biker, the oily salesman seemed very small and artificial. With Ben, everything was honest, everything was real. He was 100% man and didn't have to hide behind tooth brighteners or cosmetic surgery to prove it. He radiated a presence that she couldn't help but be drawn towards. He didn't just feel emotions, he exuded them. She had been chilled when Torque had been killed. Ben had been so cold. When he had declared Gunny and his Leathernecks dead, it hadn't been a sorrowful cry for vengeance, it was a statement of finality.