The Miracle Strip Read Online Free

and black leather fringe hung off the handlebars, like a kid’s trike.
    All the bikers wore leather vests with some kind of emblem on the back, so I figured they belonged to one of the local clubs, the Warlocks or the Pagans or something. That worried me a little bit, but I tried not to show it. At a signal from the front man, the bikers began turning off their engines, one at a time, until at last there was relative silence.
    â€œAre you Sierra?” the big guy asked. He was wearing leather gloves with the fingers cut off, leather chaps, and scuffed biker boots. I was figuring that after a few more minutes in the sun, he was going to smell pretty ripe.
    â€œWho wants to know?” I answered.
    â€œDenise sent me,” the big guy said. Then I recognized him. He’d been into the Tiffany a couple of times to pick up Denise after work. She’d told me she was seeing someone new.
    â€œAnd you are?” I asked, still not moving.
    â€œFrankie.” The big guy smiled, and I noticed a dragon tattoo on his arm. FRANKIE, it said in big letters underneath it. He saw me staring and laughed.
    â€œSo I don’t get wasted some night and forget,” he said.
    â€œI’m assuming you was wasted when you did that.”
    The others snickered again, and Frankie silenced them with a look.
    â€œDenise wanted me to come by and tell you she’s okay. The cops kept her talking for most of the morning, but she cut out of there around lunchtime. I told her to get some sleep and I’d come check up on you.”
    Pretty friendly for a biker, I was thinking.
    â€œWhere is she?” I asked. Inside I could hear Fluffy hurling herself at the door in an attempt to get out. I stepped back and turned the knob. Fluffy tore outside, barking and growling. She raced down off the stoop and lit right into the guy next to Frankie. Her teeth sank into his boot, and before I could move, the guy kicked Fluffy into the air. She landed with a thud on the concrete parking pad.
    â€œYou fucking douche bag!” I screamed. Fluffy stood up slowly, shaking her five-pound body. I was off the steps and over to her side. Frankie was off of his bike and in between me and his friend.
    â€œBitch,” the other guy said, “I’m gonna skin that dog and tack its head to your door if it tries that again.”
    He was starting to move, but Frankie stood right in front of him. “It’s a fucking mouse dog, you goddamn idiot,” he said calmly. “It’s teeth won’t even cut through your pants.”
    The others laughed.
    â€œHey, Rambo,” one yelled, “you afraid of a mouse?” The others thought this was hilarious. Rambo, however, didn’t think anything was funny. His face reddened and his eyes took on a wild glare, like maybe he was inches from losing control.
    My heart was pounding and I couldn’t move. I wanted to get up in his face. I wanted to hurt him, but I was also weighing the odds of surviving. Whatever was going to happen wasn’t going to come from me—not then, at least.
    â€œBack off, man,” Rambo said to Frankie. Frankie didn’t move.
    â€œWe don’t have time to waste on some pissant dog,” said Frankie. “We’ve gotta get back to the clubhouse. We got something to take care of.”
    The others were starting up their bikes and turning around. Frankie stepped back, still watching Rambo. Rambo started his bike, pulled a wheelie, and was gone, roaring down the trailer park street and out onto the road. Frankie turned to me.
    â€œIs your dog all right?” he asked.
    I was hopped up on adrenaline, my heart was pounding, and my ears were ringing. I wanted to hurt somebody, anybody, and Frankie was the closest. I stood up and launched myself at him, all in one movement. I slammed into the side of his nose with the heel of my hand, almost catching him unaware.
    Just as quickly, he grabbed my arm and twisted it painfully behind my