Xavier Dolls was tall, heavily muscled, and rarely showed emotion. His eyes and skin were dark, and the Earp sisters both celebrated any time they were able to get him to smile and see the flash of perfect white teeth. His lips pursed as he sat on the waiting area couch, temporarily displaced by Waverly and her pile of textbooks.
Wynonna strolled in with a bag of takeout, sipping happily from a tall cup of coffee. She rummaged through the bag, hand emerging with a healthy-looking turkey wrap and a pickle that she handed to Dolls, followed by a BLT and onion rings that she handed to Waverly. She then settled herself down on the couch with her cheeseburger and fries and tossed the bag into the trash.
"Thanks, Nona," mumbled Waverly around mouthful of sandwich.
Dolls grunted in agreement, though he glowered mildly at her. "Don't think I don't know that this is bribery."
"What?" Wynonna said, all false innocence. "Can't I buy my partner some lunch now and then?"
"Only when you want something or broke something or otherwise aggravated me."
"I'm sorry, Xavier," Waverly apologized. "If I'm putting you out, I'll go find a coffeeshop—"
He held out his hands placatingly. "I don't mind, Waverly. I'd rather you be here given the circumstances."
"See?" Wynonna threw a fry at him. "You just like pretending you don't adore me."
He caught it and ate it with a glower.
"Anyway," she continued, ignoring his baleful looks. "We've got a capture to track. Word's out that Bobo's back in town, and we should take a look at his usual haunts."
Waverly choked on a sip of her soda. "You guys covered Bobo Del Rey's bond? Are you insane?"
Wynonna laughed. "Of course not. He managed to break out of the county lockup a couple of weeks ago; they think he bribed a guard or something. Anyway, what we're looking at now is reward money for re-capture."
Dolls harrumphed, the shoved the rest of his turkey wrap into his mouth as he rose from the couch. He lifted his kit rig from a nearby hook and secured the belt firmly around his waist and cinched the holster snuggly around his thigh. His preferred gun of choice was a Desert Eagle semi-automatic, but he also had a large taser, a Ka-Bar Marine knife, and two sets of handcuffs to round it out.
It was a testament to his intimidating presence and reputation that he almost never had to draw a weapon.
Wynonna on the other hand, had a slightly less imposing gun in a old Colt long barrel. Family legend said it had been passed down from their great-great-grandaddy Wyatt Earp which may or may not have actually been true, but regardless of its origins it had been immaculately maintained by generations of gun-obsessed Earps and was in perfect working order despite its age. It always hung prominently against her thigh in a beaded leather holster. To Dolls' disgust the holster had fringe. She didn't bother with a taser because she assumed she was more likely to electrocute herself, and she usually had a sole pair of handcuffs hooked to the lapel of her leather jacket.
The jacket was also with fringe.
Dolls' disgust extended accordingly.
However, despite their near constant bickering and apparent endless disdain for each other, they actually were excellent partners in a highly successful bail bonds and bounty hunting business. Anyone who tried to mix it up with one of them found the other one in their face and angry. Waverly had commented more once that they had to be related in some strange cross-ethnic way, given that they fought like family.
Wynonna burped loudly, thumping her chest with her fist. Dolls rolled his eyes before shoving her towards the door.
"Let's go, Earp. Time to find ourselves an asshole." Dolls peered back at Waverly. "For our sanity please keep everything locked up. It would take an army to get in here as long as the doors stay closed, okay?"
Waverly smiled winsomely at him. "Go get your asshole. Be home in time for dinner."
Werner Beltz was a old man of few words but many opinions, and it was in his current opinion that he couldn't possibly be about to sell his old motorcycle to the beautiful young redhead currently walking slowly around it.
"This is not really you're kind of thing, eh, Fraulein?" he said finally. "Surely you would like a little convertible or something, ja?"
She scowled at him. "This is a 1962 BMW R60, is it not?"
"'Tis." He watched with one eyebrow raised as she tugged experimentally at a fuel line.
"Then this is the bike I want." She shook her head at his disbelieving expression. "Look, I built one of these from parts with my uncle, and sold it to help get me through my time at the sheriff's academy." She rubbed one thumb along the chrome rim of the headlamp. "I always wanted one for myself, and I don't have the time or inclination to build one from scratch again."
He studied her closely. "Built it from parts, you say."
She narrowed her eyes at his regard and leaned forward. "I even patch welded a crack in the fuel tank around the petcock and machined a new kickstart."
His second eyebrow joined his first, climbing up to his hairline, then he grinned broadly. "Well now!" he said expansively. "Then let me show you something else you might be interested in!"
He led the way over to his barn and heaved open the big door. Beyond in the dim light were the shapes of partially built motorcycles, bare frames hanging from hooks over disassembled engine blocks. Wheels and exhaust pipes leaned here and there, and a couple of freshly painted gas tanks gleamed from the workbench. With a smirk he pulled back a heavy canvas tarp revealing a battered but still beautiful black and chrome Steib sidecar.
"Oh my god," Nicole breathed. "I'll take it."
Eric poked his head into Tommy's office. "Sheriff, you better come see this."
Frowning, Tommy signed off on the last form he needed for his monthly report, then pushed himself up to follow Eric down the hall to the front doors of the station. He could see a crowd of deputies clustered at the bottom of the stairs, near the street. It wasn't until he pushed his way through the uniformed mass that he could see what the fuss was all about.
Before him Nicole sat comfortably on the seat of an old BMW motorcycle. Rowdy wagged his tail furiously from the comfort of the matching side car. Canine-fit goggles covered his eyes and he seemed inordinately proud of them, shying away from anyone who tried to take them off.
"Where on earth did you get this?" Tommy demanded, raising his voice to be heard over the excited mumblings of the admiring crowd.
Nicole flashed a small grin, the first he'd seen on her face in a while. "Was perusing Craigslist." She shrugged. "Didn't even realize what I needed to do with myself until I saw it."
He eyed the scrapes and patches of rust. "Looks like the cat dragged it in, and none too gently."
She shrugged. "Eh, saved me a lot of money not being all perfect." She flicked over the ignition and with the a quick kick of her foot it roared to life before settling down into a smooth idle. "Runs like a champ."
Tommy looked at her for a while, then turned. "Hey, you lot! Back to work already before I trade you in for some mall cops!"
"We love you too, Sheriff," Eric muttered sourly, but he followed the rest of the group back into the station house, no few number casting longing looks over their shoulders as they went.
Tommy knelt down, rubbing Rowdy's head as he reviewed the hoses and cable around the engine block; Nicole was right. The bike appeared sound in the most important ways, even if cosmetically it looked ready for the junkyard.
"You're really doing this, aren't you, my girl?" he said sadly.
Nicole walked over and sank down onto the curb next to him. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I hate to leave you, I just—" she paused, then waved her hand irritably. "Everywhere I look, I see her. I scared a poor lady half to death yesterday in the grocery store because she was wearing the same shirt I got Beth for her birthday last year. I broke down in sobs right there in front of her in the frozen aisle." She looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap. "I'm trying so hard to feel better, and I just can't do it." She took a deep breath, trying to calm the tremble in her voice. "Every day it seems to hurt more, and I— I just need to get away for a while."
He looked out over the parking lot, his eyes sad. "When will you be back?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. We've got quite a bit—" She bit her lip. "I — I've got money to last a while. I promise I'll keep in touch though, okay?" She looked away, struggling to keep her composure. "I just need a change of scenery I think."
He nodded, biting back all the reasons rushing to his tongue to convince her to stay, but he knew all those reasons were for him and not for her. He cleared his throat, several times. "I'll miss you, little girl," he finally said, hoarsely.
She threw her arms around him. "I'm just going traveling, Uncle Tommy. I'll be back. Rowdy and me," she looked over at her dog, lounging happily against the seat of the sidecar. "We'll be back."
Nicole eyeballed the road house next to the gas station she'd pulled into. She was out of gas and hungry but the run down look of the place didn't inspire confidence.
"I dunno, Rowdy, what do you think?"
He sneezed, then jumped out of the sidecar, trotting purposefully to the closest tree. One legged cocked and a blissful release later, he wandered back towards her as she filled the gas tank. Before he reached her, he paused, sniffing. A moment later, Nicole caught the same whiff of smoked meat. Rowdy whined and started sidling his way towards the glorious smell.
"Rowdy!"
He ignored her, and took another step.
"Rowdy, come back here!"
He looked back over his shoulder and growled softly.
She sighed. "Okay, okay, we'll go!"
His tail wagged furiously, and his tongue lolled with happiness. She topped off the tank, then rolled the bike around the pumps and parked it next to the entrance to the road house. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out his harness with his official K9 badge. They may not have been on duty, but damned if she was going to let that stop her.
"Come on, buddy. Let's get some food."
Inside, the road house was loud, smoky, and dark. She made her way towards the bar and saw a corner stool was free.
The bartender was a gray haired woman in a muscle shirt with two muscular arms full of tattoos, and she eyed Nicole appraisingly. "What'll you have?"
"Whiskey, thanks."
"Wanna eat?"
"Please."
Nicole accepted a menu, a laminated piece of greasy paper, and ran her eyes down the choices. She looked up as a tumbler of whisky appeared in front of her. "Sampler platter with extra ribs and a side of cornbread."
The bartender's eyebrows went up. "You must be hungry."
Nicole smiled faintly. "Most of it will be for him." She tilted her head towards where Rowdy waited patiently at her feet.
The bartender leaned over to have a look. "Hey! No dogs in here—", she paused. "Is that a badge?"
Nicole smirked. "K9 Officer Rowdy. He's hungry, so we came in to eat."
The bartender paused, then shrugged. "Works for me. As long as the health department doesn't shut me down I don't care."
"Thanks."
Nicole sipped her whiskey and smiled as the bartender, who introduced herself as Phylis, brought a plastic water bowl for Rowdy. Music blared from the jukebox, and there was a steady buzz of conversation and caucus laughter.
"Hey doll, need a friend?"
Nicole turned to see a large pale man in leather biker gear learning at her. "I'm good for friends, thanks."
"Aww c'mon," he said, his voice getting deeper as he leaned forward. "I can be a good friend to you."
She rolled her eyes. "Does that often work for you? Thanks, but I'm eating then getting back on the road."
The man's face darkened. "Uppity bitch, think you're too good for me? he demanded.
"You need to step back, sir," Nicole said loudly, rising to her feet.
He laughed went to grab her arm. "Gonna show you what a real man can offer—"
Next thing he knew he was face down on the bar, his arm pinned so high up his back that his shoulder screamed from the pain.
"Rowdy! Package check!"
Instantly, the big pitbull latched onto the man's crotch, his jaws pressing down just hard enough that he ceased any struggling. Nicole leaned against him.
"You miserable piece of shit, you wouldn't know what to do with a real woman if you had a map and an instruction manual. Now," she paused, relishing the beads of sweat that had appeared on his brow. "If you don't want to sing soprano for the rest of your life, you're going to slowly step back and walk away. Otherwise," she paused, letting him squirm in anticipation. "My dog is having your dick as an appetizer."
He swallowed hard. "I'm good, I'm good," he stammered.
She stepped back and clapped him on the back. "Excellent. Rowdy, stand down."
The dog huffed around his mouthful, but released his grip and sat back down next to Nicole's leg, his eyes alert.
"Get outta here, Bubba, before you hurt yourself," Phylis chuckled as she set a refill of Nicole's whiskey on the bar.
Without a word or a second glance he left, heading straight for the exit before disappearing into the falling darkness outside.
"Idiot," Phylis mumbled, then she smiled at Rowdy. "Here, puppy." She flipped him a couple pieces of bacon. "So, where you headed? I assume you'r not planning on sticking around this shit hole."
Nicole grinned and shook her head. "Tempting as it is, no. We'll be on our way after getting some food. Looking for a good place to just 'be' for a while."
Phylis nodded thoughtfully. "Well, have a friend a couple of towns over. Place is kind of weird, but there's always something going on to keep it lively. Might be worth a look."
"Yeah?" Nicole pulled out her map and laid it on the bar. "What's I called?"
The bartender leaned over and perused the map, then her finger poked down hard on a tiny dot. Nicole leaned forward to have a look.
"Seriously?" she asked in surprise. "Who the hell names their town 'Purgatory'?"