Soothing the Savage Beast

"So tell me about the Blacktop Eagles," I asked, genuinely curious now that wasn't so afraid they'd strip me naked and eat the flesh from my bones.

The man who'd toasted me launched into his story. "Well, first you have to be a wildcatter for AEO. No exceptions. That fuck you're sitting next to is probably going to be our next President. Every January first someone else gets to take over leading this bunch of sorry assholes for a year, and I'll be glad to hand over the reins. Basically, we're just a bunch of guys that like to drink, fight, and fuck... but what we like most is bringing in that liquid gold, ain't that right boys?"

Various loud expletive laced acknowledgments were given in return.

"And the motorcycles?" I prompted.

"Freedom, baby," another man growled. "Nearest thing to flying without leaving the ground. Besides, you haven't lived until you've fucked some bitch across the seat of an Indian."

My mouth dropped open at the comment, the shock turning into embarrassed amusement when Siphon's old lady murmured, "Ain't that the fucking truth," before planting a big wet one on her man.

"So you fight, drink... err... fuck, and drill for oil. And ride motorcycles. That's the Blacktop Eagles?"

"Among other things," another of the men said.

"Other things?" I asked but nobody answered. I notice the man who'd explained the Eagles to me shaking his head slightly, giving me the sudden vibe that I shouldn't have heard that.

"Don't worry about it," Evan said. "Just oil field stuff that you'd find boring."

I turned to the woman sitting next to me. "So, how long have you and Siphon been married?" I asked, pitching my tone as if nothing had happened.

I was muscling the amp around, setting up for the night, when strong hands reach in and effortlessly turn the device so I could plug in the piano. Their unexpected appearance made me start with a squeak.

"Sorry," Evan murmured as he took the amp cord from me and plugging it in.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, surprised by his appearance. "Jenni said the Eagles only come in on Fridays and Saturdays."

"No Eagles tonight. Just me," he said as he turned the amp back around. "We lost the cutter head today, so the rig is down until we can get that fixed. Why, aren't you glad to see me?"

In spite of myself, I smiled. "It's always nice to see a friendly face in the crowd. I just didn't expect you on a Tuesday, that's all."

He grunted as he looked over at the piano. "So, tell me about his rig here. It doesn't look like any piano I've ever seen."

"It's a Roland RD 800 Digital Piano. It's like an electric guitar, but with keys. It's different pianos, an organ, strings, and whatnot, but it's a lot easier to carry around than all that stuff... or a Steinway."

He grunted again. "Yeah, I guess I can see that." He stared at me with his ice blue eyes, his intense gaze making me want to squirm. "I was impressed by the way you handled yourself Friday. You really hung that fiddle player out to dry." His lips twisted into a mischievous smile. "You also gave as good as you got Saturday. I've never seen Liz speechless before." He chuckled. "It may have been because you were using big words. In any case, you may look and talk like a schoolteacher, but you have some fire in your gut." I began to frown, not sure if that was a complement or not, and he must have picked up on it. "That's a compliment. I just mean there is more to you than meets the eye."

"Why do I think I could say the same about you?"

"Hell, I don't know nothing about nothing except drilling." He paused a heartbeat and then continued. "Drilling and riding. One pays for the other."

"And drinking. And fighting," I suggested with a smile. "Not to mention the other."

His mouth twisted into a crooked grin that dissipated the cloud of danger that seemed to hover over him. I normally didn't go for bad boys, but I could feel his pull on me. He was probably about my age, somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties, but with his dark hair cut in a classic men's style, sun kissed skin, flat stomach, and the way legs and ass that filled out his jeans, not to mention his powerful looking arms and chest, and those eyes, he was the walking embodiment of the American cowboy... and Goddamned if he wasn't hot as shit.

"Well, drinking and fighting anyway," he rumbled.

I stared at him a moment before I bubbled over into giggles. Jenni was right... there was that certain something about him that I couldn't describe but certainly felt. I wonder if this is what animal magnetism feels like, a voice whispered in my head.

"I have to get started to pay for my dinner."

He smiled with a single nod before he moved off, sitting down at the bar to chat with Christine. I worked though my set, mixing fast and upbeat modern country with a smattering of country classics and cowboy swing, switching between pianos to show off my baby since he'd asked about it. It was a long way from Guaraldi, Beethoven, and Gershwin, and I was having to use sheet music because I hadn't memorized enough songs for a set, but I was enjoying the challenge of bringing music written for guitar, banjo, or viol... fiddle to life on the piano.

As I played, every time I looked at Evan, his gaze was on me. I was used to having people watch me, but his expression suggested more than just a passing interest in a musician. It was the same intense gaze I'd noticed Friday night. As I wrapped up my first set, I saw Jolly bring out two plates and place them on the table where Evan now lounged with his feet kicked up in a chair. As I stepped off the stage, he waved me over and motioned to the plate with a Sprite sitting beside it.

"Is that for me?" I asked as I glided to a stop beside the table.

"If you want it. Jolly's a crotchety old fart, but he can whip up a mean sandwich."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Why, have you eaten already?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Then sit down," he interrupted while kicking the chair back from the table with a foot. "I can't eat both of these."

The sandwich and fries looked delicious, and it called to me. I dithered a moment and then sat. On my limited budget, I wasn't eating out until I caught up on my expenses. I took a quick peek at the contents of the sandwich along with a delicate sniff before taking my first bite. The chicken covered in melted cheese and spiced with peppers was delicious, and I nearly swooned.

"Oh my God... this is so good!" I exclaimed around a mouth full of food.

I inhaled the sandwich like a ravenous wolf. This was the first meal I'd had that I hadn't fixed myself in months, and it was way better than the broke musician food I'd been eating of late. As we ate, we talked about nothing and everything, and I could tell there was a keen intellect hiding under that glowering façade. Evan may act like a brawling, hard drinking bad-ass, and maybe he was, but there was definitely more to him than that.

"So, tell why you're here," Evan said during a lull in the conversation. "You didn't say before."

"You invited me to sit down," I teased, but he didn't react other than a slight smile dancing over his lips. "Seriously? I needed a job... and this beats washing dishes."

He watched me a moment as he chewed. "I don't know sh... anything about music, but I can tell you're too good for this place. There has to be more to it than that. Why aren't you playing with some big orchestra in New York or some place?"

I tried to decide if I wanted to air my dirty laundry in front of this near stranger. It felt like telling my story twice in less than a week was a bit much. "I did until a few months ago. In Oklahoma City."

"What happened?"

I paused, but then recounted my story. "I'm still looking, but until I can find another seat, this is where I play," I finished.

Evan had finished his sandwich while I talked, so he leaned back and kicked his feet up into another chair. "For what's it's worth, I think he got off light with just a cut on his head. Sounds to me like he needs his balls cut off."

"It's a good thing that all I had was a music stand," I said, nearly choking on the anger telling the story had revived.

He nodded slowly. "Like I said, there's more to you than meets the eye. I bet you can be a real hell-cat when you get mad."

I snorted at his comment, remembering how I'd folded like a tent when I could find no one willing to stand with me. "Fraidy-cat is more like it."

"Uh-huh..." he grunted, his enigmatic grin giving away his amusement.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Thank you for the sandwich and the company, but I need to start my next set."

I watched as the strangest emotion played over his face. It is there for only a fleeting moment before it was gone. "Thank you for sitting with me. I enjoyed it."

My lips twisted into a crooked smile. "You know, so did I."

For the next four weeks, Evan was at Gushers every night, either alone or with the Eagles. When he was alone, I sat with him during my breaks, sharing dinner with him between my first and second sets. On Friday and Saturday, I usually joined the Eagles once or twice each night. I learned a little more about the Eagles and they showed me their bikes. What I knew about motorcycles I could scribble on the back of a nickel, but I could tell just by looking at them, these were no run of the mill motorcycles. Slathered in chrome and lights, the bikes had a certain classiness all their own. They reminded me, more than anything, of the art deco of the 1930's.

As I began to get comfortable with the Eagles, I discovered that they weren't like I thought a motorcycle gang would be. Sure, they were a rowdy bunch with their ribald jokes and coarse language, but I also discovered they cared about one another and that the razzing was all in good fun. No one was immune. The first time I called them a gang everyone instantly fell silent, staring at me with open malevolence. I nearly shit myself and I felt myself going pale. Just as I opened my mouth to apologize, the entire group burst into boisterous laughter. As the Eagles poked gentle fun at my panicked expression, Evan explained they were a club, not a gang. I wasn't sure of the difference, but the distinction seemed important to them, so I took extra care to never call them a gang again.

From that day forward, I had Jenni or Christine give me a signal when the Eagles rumbled into the parking lot. It took the club a couple of visits before they noticed I was working the opening of Steppenwolf's Born to be Wild into whatever song I was playing as they came through the door, but once they did, I could tell by their big grins they expected it. They always gave me a salute in acknowledgement, and I gave them a wink and a smile in return.

Friday, as I set up, I tried to contain my disappointment that the Eagles would be with Evan tonight and I wouldn't be able to sit with him. Well, I could, and I probably would, as the Eagles had kind of adopted me, but he wasn't the same when the rest of the Eagles were around. He seemed more relaxed when he is here alone, and I wondered why.

I was well into my second set when I finally admitted to myself that the Eagles weren't going to be here tonight, and as loath as I was to admit it, I was disappointed. I couldn't explain why because Evan and I were as different as oil and water. We might mix when shaken, but we'd always separate again. Still, even knowing that, I could almost taste the bitterness of my disappointment at his absence.

Saturday I was sitting at my usual place at the end of the bar after I'd completed my first set, sipping my Sprite, when I heard the rolling thunder of motorcycle engines. For the life of me I couldn't stop my smile, and I briefly considered hurrying to my keyboard to play their theme. I didn't, but I was still smiling when the Eagles strode in. As they entered, my smile quickly faded. Even from across the bar, I could tell they'd been in a fight and it appeared they'd had the shit beat out of them. I hopped off my stool and hurried over to where the Eagles, what there were of them, were slowly sitting down.

"What happened?" I asked as I nearly skidded to a stop at their table. Dutch, Evan, Toes, and Chains looked even worse up close. "Where's everyone else?" I continued before they could answer, surprising myself that I actually cared.

"At home," Evan said, his voice slightly slurred by a nasty swelling on his lip.

"What happened?" I asked again, unsure of what to do.

"We ran into a little problem last night in the field," Chains said. "Nothing to worry about."

I looked at Evan and Dutch, the most battered of the four. "You two should see a doctor!" I said, directing my comment to Dutch, not wanting to show how upset I was over Evan's injuries.

Evan spluttered. "Fuck that. I've looked worse than this after a good hard fucking," he growled, but then softened. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm fine. Besides, you should see the other guys."

"The other guys, the Eagles, or the other other guys?"

Toes snorted. "The other other guys. Siphon took it the worst, the stupid fuck. The rest of us are just a little banged up. I swear, I think Siphon likes getting the shit beat out of him."

"What? Why?" I asked, not understanding.

The four guys glanced at each other. "First off, Siphon likes to fight, but mostly, it's Liz. She's a real scrapper and the nastier, the dirtier the fight, the better she likes it. We've seen her kick more than one guy's ass, and nothing turns her on like a good fight. She's probably fucking the shit out of Siphon again right now, making him forget all about it," Dutch explained with a grin.

"She was there?" I squawked.

Chains shook his head. "No, but she can see the result. By the time she'd done with him, Siphon will have probably have a few more scratches and bruises."

"But what happened?" I asked yet again, nearly desperate to know.

Evan and Dutch looked at one another before they looked back to me. "Let's just say we had to point out the error in someone's thinking and leave it at that, okay?" Dutch growled.

"But... why didn't you call the police?"

"Because there are some things we can handle better than the police," Evan said. "Andi, it's okay. The problem's solved and we won't have to deal with it again. Don't worry. Shouldn't you be up there?" he asked with a nod toward the stage.

I looked at the clock on the wall. "Yeah, I guess I should," I said, slowly backing away even though I didn't want to leave.

As I played my second set, I watched Evan start knocking them back, his lip curling into a sneer with each drink he tossed down. By the time I finished the set, the four of them were well on their way to being hammered, and Evan was playing grab-ass with Jenni. I had no claim on him, but for some reason, that didn't sit well with me. I said nothing and took my spot at the end of the bar.

By the end of the third set, the rest of the Eagles were gone and Evan was drunk on his ass, pawing at Jenni to make her squeal and scold, though I could tell she was enjoying the hell out of it. Once again I took my place, sipped my soda, and watched Evan and Jenni while trying to hold back the green monster that was scratching at its box.

By the time I wrapped up my final set, I'd had about enough of Mr. Evan McKenna. I sat down at the bar and Christine set my Sprite in front of me. "Give me something with a little more kick," I snapped.

Christine's eyebrow went up, but she turned and did as I asked. When she placed the shot glass filled with amber liquid in front of me, I tossed it back, not caring what it was. I bared my teeth as the liquid burned all the way down before forming a mushroom cloud in my stomach.

"Woof," I grunted hoarsely. "What was that?" I whispered, my voice lost to me at the moment.

"Jack, Black Label," she said with a small, knowing smile. "That one is on the house. It looks like you need it."

I chased the shot with the Sprite to take the edge off. "Fucking men," I muttered under my breath.

"Don't be too hard on him." She glanced at the table as Jenni delivered another round to Evan, practically rubbing her tits in his face as she placed his glass on the table. "This isn't the first time they've done this."

"What?"

"He gets shit faced and she takes him home."

"She can have him," I spat.

She nodded slowly. "It's the only time she can get her hooks into him," she said before she turned away.

Moments later, Jolly stepped out of the kitchen and announced last call. I took that as my cue to pack up my shit and get the hell out of there.

"Christine! Can you count me out tonight?" Jenni called, escorting a staggering Evan to the door as I stowed my gear.

"I've got it," she replied as she glanced at me.

I made it a point to ignore them as I packed, and twenty minutes later I slammed the hatch shut on my Golf. Jenni's car was gone but Evan's motorcycle is still there... the prick.

Tuesday evening, I was kicking off my first set when Evan 'Asshole' McKenna walked in. I refused to even look at him as I played some Guaraldi, the smooth and easy jazz soothing my nerves. When Jolly brought out two plates and set them at the table, I ground my teeth through my performance smile. If he thought I was going to pretend nothing happened, he had another think coming.

During my break I took up my station at the end of the bar. I caught Evan watching me, but I gave him the cold shoulder. I spent the entire evening ignoring him and, much to my annoyance, he didn't seem to care. The sandwich that would have been mine sat at his table all evening even though I saw Christine attempt to pick it up and take it away several times.

Wednesday and Thursday were near duplicates of Tuesday. Each night the sandwich sat there until it was stone cold, Evan making no move to call me over, and I was too stubborn to go on my own.

When Friday arrived, I was delighted when Craig, Mike, and Harken showed up. They were once again dressed in black pants and crisp white shirts, and I teased them in approval. Having them join me on stage helped lift my mood and by the middle of the first set we were rocking the house. The Eagles were there, and while the rest of the members were their normal loud and boisterous selves, Evan seemed withdrawn.

Thursday, as I was ignoring Evan and sipping my pop, Jolly had told me that word was starting to spread about Fingers, the new keyboardist playing at Gushers, and he was expecting a big crowd on Friday and Saturday. Maybe so because tonight the crowd was larger than any I'd seen here. As Gushers filled, Jolly seemed inordinately pleased with himself, and his news had me feeling pretty good about my situation again... until one of the customers started hassling me.

I'd eaten before I left home, so I was sitting at my spot at the end of the bar while The Drillers ate their dinner at a table. I wasn't afraid because I saw Reggie, the huge bouncer, keeping an eye on me, but the guy just wouldn't take a hint. I'd been playing Gushers long enough by now to recognize the type. He was a roughneck, an oil field worker, a man that worked hard and played harder. When I jerked my arm away from his grip, I saw Evan rising as Harken, Mike, and Craig pushed back from their table to come to my rescue. Reggie had also started my way but paused when he realized I was getting help.

"I think you're bothering the lady," Evan said quietly. Because he was closer, he arrived before my trio of white knights.

"What's it too you?" the man sneered, his voice loud and challenging.