Animal Rage Page 2

  “Fun! F.U.N. You remember fun, right? We used to have it before we got all old and bitter?” Jamie scrunches up her face in a poor imitation of a little old lady. With her angelic features, the expression looks even more wicked and Isabel can’t help but laugh.

  “Yeah, I remember fun. Although I don’t think I’m quite ready yet for one of Jamie’s famous all-nighters!” Isabel shakes her head. Jamie has always been the party girl and she’s the party pooper; they are the roles they are destined to play until they both get old and grey.

  “Oh ye of little faith!” Jamie wags her finger in Isabel’s face. “I wasn’t talking about an exercise in bar-hopping and flirting. I don’t think you’re quite at that stage of the grieving process yet.” She looks speculatively at Isabel as if to double check. “No, definitely not there yet. I was thinking more like pizza, ice cream, ‘Dawson’s Creek’ marathon, and a few bottles of wine?”

  Isabel feels a smile spread across her face. It’s the exact recipe she had used to help Jamie out of her own morose funk when her heart had been broken. “That sounds perfect.”

  “Great, I’ll see you at your place later.” Jamie digs in her purse and throws down enough bills to cover both their coffees.

  “Hey, I’ll pay for my own, Jamie.” Isabel moves to take cash out of her own bag.

  “Nope, this is my treat. Now that I’m earning more than a performing chimp, I figure I could spread the wealth a little!” She winks at Isabel.

  “You got a raise! Oh my God, Jamie, that’s so great.” Isabel stands up and hugs her friend tightly. “I’m so proud of you!” Immediately she feels bad for monopolizing the conversation with her own problems when her friend had such exciting news.

  Jamie makes a ‘settle down’ motion with her hand. “It’s not like I’m earning the Wall Street bucks yet. It’s still peanuts, but I’m doing what I love, so I don’t mind. I’d probably work for free if I could pay my landlord in smiles!” Jamie gives Isabel a serious look as they start walking down the busy street filled with Saturday morning shoppers.

  “What, Jamie?” Isabel doesn’t even have to make eye contact with her friend. “What are you thinking? I can hear the little cogs turning around in your mind.” Isabel makes a motion like she’s winding up a wheel.

  “Little cogs?” Jamie expertly tosses her mane of golden hair, catching the eye of every guy on the street. “I’m not sure if that’s not an insult to my intelligence. But we’re such good friends that I won’t get mad.” She gives Isabel a pointed look.

  “All right, hit me with it. What are you about to say that I’m going to get mad about?” Isabel stops in her tracks, watching her friend cautiously.

  “Nothing, because as I just pointed out, best friends don’t get mad at each other.” Jamie says the words so sweetly and innocently, someone who doesn’t know her would think she has both of those attributes in spades.

  Isabel knew better; her friend was no stranger to the sneak attack. “Go on.” Isabel makes ‘continue’ gestures with her hands, eyeing her friend suspiciously at the same time.

  “So when are you going to start doing what you love?” Jamie focuses her attention on Isabel, who just stands there looking nonplussed. “Med school. When are you going back? You can’t hide out here the rest of your life, Issy.”

  “I’m not hiding!” Isabel bristles at the suggestion, though she’s not sure if it’s all that inaccurate anymore.

  “Well, whatever you want to call it, then: mourning, grieving. I get that your mom left you the boarding house but you and I both know this was never your dream; it was hers. And she wouldn’t have wanted you to give up everything because of it.” Jamie places a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. Isabel remains silent, scuffing at the sidewalk with the toe of her converse, feeling like a teenager getting told off for teepeeing someone’s house. “Ever since we were little kids, Issy, a doctor is all you’ve ever wanted to be. That hasn’t changed, has it?”

  Isabel shakes her head. “No. But it’s not that simple, Jamie. What am I supposed to do about the house?”

  Jamie throws her hands up in frustration. “Do what your mom told you to do with it: sell it!”

  “I can’t!” Isabel’s voice is rising in anger now.

  “Why the hell not? People do it all the time.” Jamie spreads her hands as if to say that she doesn’t have any other way to say what she’s saying.

  “Because it’s the only thing I have left of her, Jamie!” The words burst out of Isabel like she can’t hold them back. “And if I get rid of the house, she’s really gone.” The pleading look in her voice is matched in her eyes. You will not cry, Bishop, she tells herself.

  Understanding dawns in Jamie’s face and she reaches out to hold Isabel’s hand. “I know, honey. I know that’s how you feel. But it’s not true. The house is just a thing. It’s not who your mom was.” She sighs, clearly seeing that she’s not getting anywhere with this conversation. “I didn’t want to say anything over the phone; it’s something I thought we should talk about face to face. But I’m not going to push you.” She backs off, hands held up in surrender as if to illustrate the point. “I just want you to think about it, to really think about it. Promise me you’ll at least do that.”

  Isabel swallows her anger and her pain. She knows Jamie is just telling her this for her own good and the kick of it is that she’s not wrong. Since Wesley had left, Isabel’s been thinking more and more about going back to school, though she hasn’t quite figured out the ‘how’ part yet. She had given up on one thing that she loved; she doesn’t want to be two for two.

  “I promise, oh wise one.” Her grumbly response is enough to tell Jamie there are no hard feelings, that she’s not mad at her for once again telling her the truth.

  “Good, now I’ve got to run if I don’t want my mother to kill me!” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll catch you later.” Jamie gives her friend a bear hug before rushing off down the street, looking like a bright spot of color amongst the grey of the buildings.

  Isabel bites back a sigh, knowing that now she’s alone, it’s going to be harder to keep her feelings under wraps. In the past few days she’s learned that when she’s on her own it’s nearly impossible not to think about Wesley. He’s invaded her heart and her mind and there’s absolutely nothing she can do to get him out of either.

  Time heals all wounds. It was something her mother always used to say. She hopes it is true, but she can’t help but wonder how much time it’s going to take for her heart to be repaired.

  CHAPTER 2

  Walking down the street in the direction of the boarding house, she wonders about him, asking herself what he’s doing, what he’s feeling, if he’s thinking about her. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s still doing the dangerous work she had seen the evidence of every night when he came back beaten and bloody.

  She hopes he’s found someone else to patch him up. She hopes it’s an obese man with a lazy eye and body odor. She smiles to herself at that. It’s easier to hope that than to believe he’s just moved on to the next woman who will open their door to him. No, he wouldn’t do that, her brain assures her. But, after all, how could she possibly know that? He had walked out on her as if there had been no other choice. His feelings hadn’t been strong enough to make him stay.

  Isabel shakes her head, trying to rid herself of those thoughts. There’s nothing productive to come from going down that road; she’d spent too long there anyway. When she’s only a block away from the boarding house she hears the unmistakable sound of motorcycles. She turns around, searching for where the noise is coming from and for one brief, beautiful moment she thinks it’s Wesley – that he’s come back.

  But when two weekend riders all dressed up in their gaudy leathers and helmets whizz past her on brand spanking new bikes, she feels her heart sink right down into her Converse sneakers again. Serves you right, Bishop. If you don’t expect to see him, you won’t be disappointed when you don’t – simple as that.

/>   She nods her head in agreement, knowing the only way to get over him is to stop thinking about him, to stop hoping she’s going to see him round the next corner, leaning lazily against a wall, looking at her as if no time had passed.

  “Where is he, darlin’?”

  A voice behind her makes her jump and immediately reach for the mace on her key ring Rosa had given her the night after Jimmy’s appearance in her garden. She had told Rosa it had just been a prowler, skipping all the important details. Although it was evident that the older woman didn’t believe her and that she had already put the incident together with the sudden disappearance of Wesley, the man she had already labeled ‘dangerous.’ Rosa had given Isabel the key ring for her own protection. Isabel hasn’t had cause to use it yet, but she feels more secure knowing that it is there if she needs it.

  She whirls around to face the man behind her, half-expecting to see Jimmy. But it’s not him; it’s a much older man, with a grey beard, wearing a leather vest. But that’s not what gets her attention; it’s the tattoos all up and down his exposed arms including the face of a black snarling dog with horns. There’s no doubt about it; the man in front of her is a Devil Dog.

  Isabel swallows the fear that threatens to have her coffee making an unwelcome reappearance. The man in front of her couldn’t be more different from the one who attacked her. He doesn’t give off the same creepy vibe and he doesn’t look at her as if she were in danger of becoming his next meal.

  “Where is who?” Her voice doesn’t tremble and she feels a little proud of herself.

  “Don’t play around with me, Miss Bishop.” His use of her name makes her head snap to attention. “Yes, I know who you are.”

  “Well if you’re here to threaten me or to follow up on what your friend Jimmy tried to pull, you’re out of luck! If you come near me or my place, I’ll call the cops so fast your head will spin.” The anger helps to bolster her courage.

  “Easy there, tiger.” He makes a calm down gesture with his hands, looking around to see if Isabel’s raised voice has caught anyone’s attention. When he seems satisfied that there’s nothing for him to worry about, he continues. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just looking for some information.”

  “Well I don’t have any.” Isabel crosses her arms, her patience starting to run out.

  “All I want to know is where Wesley is. You tell me that and you’ll never have to see me again.” He holds up his hands as if to show what a stand-up guy he is.

  “But if I don’t know where he is, how am I supposed to tell you? And, like I said, if I see you again, you’ll be telling your story to the cops.” She turns to walk away but halts at his next words.

  “Beautiful, I own the cops.” He says the words as if he is just stating a fact. If he had been full of bombast and bravado, Isabel may not have believed him. But it’s clear from his expression he’s not kidding around.

  “You’re the leader of the Devil Dogs, aren’t you?” She keeps her voice low, hoping the caution in it won’t be as audible if she’s quiet.

  The man just nods and Isabel gulps audibly. “Like I said, I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted you out of the picture, you’d be dead already.”

  Isabel isn’t sure if that’s comforting or not. “I don’t know where he is. That’s the truth.”

  The man assesses her for a few moments, as if he is a human lie detector and then takes a step away, backing off. “If you didn’t look so miserable, I might not have believed you.”

  Great, now I’m getting pity from big hairy criminals.

  “Well, if you do see Wes again, tell him I have another job for him.” He gives Isabel a pointed look, as if he’s expecting her to ask what kind of job that would be. It’s clear that she gets points for not following that particular line of questioning.

  “All right, I will. If you promise that you and the rest of your merry men will leave me and my business alone.” Isabel holds her head high, her chin jutting out in what her mother used to call her ‘stubborn’ pose. She knows she’s not exactly in the best position to be making demands but she figures this may be the only leverage with the Dogs she’s ever going to get.

  The biker laughs deeply as he looks at her, but it’s not just amusement in his face; there’s also a hint of respect. “You’ve got a set of brass balls on you, girl!” He gives her a little playful slap on the back that almost sends her flying. “You’re not just a pretty face, after all. No wonder Wes went for you hook, line, and sinker.” He looks at her as if he’s really seeing her for the first time.

  “Well?” She taps her foot, looking pointedly at him. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

  He seems to think about it and then nods in agreement, sticking his hand out. “You have a deal. My men won’t bother you. Just make sure Wesley gets in touch with me when he comes back.”

  “You mean if he comes back.” Isabel doesn’t add that she’s pretty certain that’s a big if. She shakes his hand, watching how hers looks so small in his enormous grip. The man is built like a grizzly bear.

  “No, I mean when.” He looks Isabel over. “Wesley’s a lot of things but he’s not stupid. He’ll be back.” Signaling the end of the conversation, he turns on his heel and walks away in the other direction, leaving Isabel to take in a deep, sucking breath.

  So it turns out Wesley’s plan to get Isabel out of the way of the Devil Dogs hasn’t exactly worked like a charm. Isabel trudges back to the house, wondering if she can trust anything the man had promised her. The way she figures it, she has no choice but to take him at his word, that he’ll keep his goons away from her and her business. But she can’t help hoping he was right about one particular thing: Wesley will come back and that it’ll be for her.

  CHAPTER 3

  A week rolls by, then one week becomes two and two becomes three, until it has been a month since Wesley walked out of the boarding house. There’s still no sign of him coming back. Isabel has started to make her peace with that, or at least that’s what she tells herself.

  Apart from the gut-wrenching loss she still feels whenever she thinks about him, which she knows is still far too often, things have started to look up for the boarding house. The Devil Dogs haven’t made a return, so it seems that, although they’re criminals, they’re criminals who keep their promises. Aside from that, there are more tenants coming through the doors and a few of them are even long-term. Although it is a little early to say her financial problems have disappeared, at least she is now able to make the mortgage repayments, just.

  Isabel has settled into a kind of monotony that involves helping Rosa with the day to day chores of the boarding house, working on the books, the accounts and the marketing of the place, fielding inquiries, buying provisions, figuring out what the most urgent repairs are and trying to find a way to pay for them. The house is still falling apart, but at least she is starting to come up with a plan of how she will get around to fixing it, even if, by her calculations, it is going to take around five years.

  She has become a little reclusive, though she wouldn’t have used that word. Aside from her daily calls from Jamie, her contact with the world outside of the boarding house is fairly minimal. And that’s just the way she likes it, or at least that’s what she tells herself. Even Rosa seems to have noticed.

  “Why you no go out like other girls your age?” The stout Italian lady has never been very good at small talk.

  Isabel sighs heavily, not wanting to repeat the same conversation they’ve been having on virtually a daily basis for the past few weeks. “Because I have responsibilities, Rosa. Besides, I don’t feel like it.” She shrugs, ignoring the older woman’s narrow-eyed gaze as they fold another load of what seems to be never-ending laundry.

  “You have not been the same, not since your young man left.” Rosa shakes her head, telling Isabel something she already knows.

  “I’ve already told you, Rosa. He wasn’t my young man.” Isabel doesn’t know what he was, but whatever it was, it doesn
’t matter anymore; he isn’t coming back.

  “No? Then why you walking around like someone punch you in the stomach?” Rosa plants her hands on her hips, the laundry forgotten.

  “It’s ‘kicked in the gut,’ Rosa. And I’m not. I’m fine, see!” Isabel puts on a cheesy grin, as wide as she can possibly make it.

  Rosa makes a disgusted sound at the back of her throat, telling Isabel exactly how much she buys that particular untruth. “I worry about you, Isabel.” The older woman lays a comforting hand on her shoulder and, for a brief moment, Isabel allows herself to be comforted.

  In the past few weeks she and Rosa have gotten closer. Isabel has begun to understand why her mother kept the woman around even though she is more expensive than the going rate. Rosa is fiercely loyal; she just hasn’t been loyal to Isabel.

  Rosa had loved her mother like a sister and when she died and Isabel took over the business, Isabel expected that allegiance to be inherited. But that’s not how Rosa works. It is something Isabel has only recently begun to understand. Rosa’s fidelity has to be earned and, now, after months of hard work, she seems to think Isabel is worthy of it. It makes her loyalty more valuable, knowing you had to work for it, that it isn’t something that is just freely given.

  “Don’t worry, please. You have seven children and fifteen grandchildren to worry about! You don’t need me clogging up your brain, as well.” Isabel waves away the other woman’s concern.

  “You love him, yes?” Rosa clearly has no inclination to let this conversation go.

  “Who?” Isabel looks at the older woman, wide-eyed.

  “You no funny, Isabel. I’m serious. I ask you a question. Do you love him?” Rosa waits, arms folded, making it obvious that she has no intention of doing anything else until Isabel answers.

  “Why do you care? You said he was dangerous, that he had a dark cloud around his head.” Isabel looks pointedly at the other woman. “I thought you’d be happy he was gone. No more dark cloud.” Isabel makes a gesture as if she is a magician.