Page 34 of A Handsome Devil

Erin screeched, “You guys nailed it!”

Denmark had exchanged his Village People visor for a morbid balaclava, which he now tucked beneath his chin. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he nearly sobbed, his voice twisting in his throat. “I knew there was a higher reason you helped me leave the hole behind. I’m part of something bigger, bettering mankind.”

“And,” Truman pointed out, “helping others get off drugs.”

Denmark wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “That too.”

We were eating our grocery store grub at a picnic table at the Tehachapi Depot Museum. After parking the Charger down the street so no one associated us with these bikers, our club had met up again. Denmark had swapped his LGBTQ flag for a trans flag, and I wasn’t sure if that was any less conspicuous. Consistent with his history, Denmark just couldn’t stop making statements right and left.

Now we ate liverwurst smashed onto raw sourdough, green grapes and tangerines. Someone had bought a case of carbonated sodas, and I swear I felt like one of the milling screaming kids nearby, playing on the little trains. Brain refreshed by lack of drugs, I’d been sleeping the sleep of the just. Nightmares seemed to have evaporated, and some dreams now were even humorous, teasing. Former bandmates popped up right and left in the least logical places. I did miss them. They must’ve been populating my subconscious.

I could plainly see Truman was proud. Proud of the viral post, the posing with the gun, but especially proud of me. He gazed at me with nearly tearful eyes, the overwhelmed grin never fading from his sculpted face. “I wonder how long until those assholes report the Charger stolen?”

Denmark waved a dismissive hand, using his other palm to smash a slice of liverwurst onto the bread. “Ahh. Awhile, I’m sure, since they were at an illegal event.”

Gunning pointed out, “You can steal Les Moore’s car. He’ll never report it missing.”

Erin thumbed her phone. “Jack Hoffman is getting restacked and reposted all over. You guys are modern cultural heroes.”

“We need to send him a new photo,” suggested Truman. “Keep ‘em coming. Fresh content.”

Erin frowned. “Yeah, but you don’t want to leave a clue where you are.”

I thought. “We can leave a tiny clue…After all, Hoffman said he wanted to meet us.”

“How do you know he’s not going to turn us in?” Truman asked.

I said, “That would make him the most unpopular newscaster to ever breathe.”

“If he kept breathing,” added Denmark, spitting crumbs.

“Here.” Erin handed Truman a napkin she’d been writing on, and I read it over his shoulder.

Alessio and Truman are the Undisputed Truth Club

And I’m sure you all have read

How they rob and steal and those who squeal

Are always found dying or dead.

She said, “We have to let them know you’re willing to shoot it out if they try and capture you.”

“You need to send him a new photo,” said Gunning.

Truman stood, tucking Erin’s napkin into his back pocket. He lifted his chin in the direction of the train. “Let me show you.”

Leaving our liverwurst, we all took the few steps up to the playground. The train was about two feet tall with boxcars and rails for children to grab onto.

“Hey kids,” Truman called out. “We need to use the train for a couple of selfies.”

He wasn’t fucking kidding. Clambering into a boxcar, he kicked back with his arms flung over the sides. Closing his eyes, his tongue stuck from his mouth, and I got the idea. I did the same in the boxcar in front of him while kids squealed with delight.

“You got run over by the train!” one cried.

Denmark got in on the act, pulling his balaclava over his nose. “I’m going to take this toy gun,” he explained to the kids, “and pretend like I shot them.” Taking his real pistol from his back belt loop, he posed dramatically next to the caboose, one foot in front of the other, while Gunning and Erin clicked away with their cameras.

Kids were howling with joy at our antics, but when some parents started wondering what we were doing, we decided to take our leave.