When her grandmother had told her that she was going to introduce her to her friends after leaving Rochelle’s, Claire had not known what to expect, considering that their favorite pastime was riding motorcycles.
She had a picture in mind of what to expect, but she was still shocked to find eight elderly women gathered outside a blue-painted building, wearing leather jackets, knee pads, combat boots and expressions that belonged to people who had conquered hell and found the whole experience thoroughly boring."
Nor had she expected all eight of them to be sitting on their motorcycles. Not ordinary ones, either.
These things had horns, bells, and enough stickers to make a kindergarten teacher weep with joy. One had a motorcycle with a red eyed skull. Another had a little pink teddy bear at the front.
The most alarming woman had a gold chain hanging from her neck with a small plaque that read, I brake for nobody.
Claire stared, eyes wide, mouth gaping.
Her grandmother, who appeared entirely pleased with herself, parked her motorcycle beside theirs. "Ladies! I’ve brought my granddaughter!"
Eight heads turned. Eight pairs of eyes examined Claire from head to toe.
Then a woman with enormous silver curls, a tattoo running down her left cheek, and a cigarette tucked behind one ear stepped forward. "Well, I’ll be damned. She’s a pretty one with nice, fair skin."
"Don’t frighten the child, Beryl," another woman snapped. She was short, round, and wearing purple lipstick so bright it could probably be seen from space. "Don’t stare at her like a mad coroner who is about to peel her skin."
"Look at how scared she is! Poor baby, she must be amazed at how ugly you are, Beryl." The woman with a thin scar said.
"Shut up Mable! You stole three lobsters from a restaurant yesterday!" Beryl snapped.
Mable laughed, "and I would have stolen four if your fat ass hadn’t gotten stuck in the kitchen window!"
Claire’s mouth fell open.
Her grandmother clapped her hands.
"Wonderful! Everyone is here."
"Except Rochelle," said the woman with the gold chain.
Wilder sighed. "Rochelle has a family emergency. I am sure that you will all hear about it soon enough."
Claire slowly turned toward her grandmother.
"Grandma?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Who are these women?" Claire wasn’t stupid, she knew who they were. She just needed to be sure.
Her grandmother smiled proudly.
"The Knitting Gang."
Claire looked at the motorcycles. Then at the leather jackets. Then at the woman who had just admitted to theft as if she was discussing the weather. "Why are you called the Knitting Gang?"
A tall woman with a crooked nose lifted a bag from the back of her motorcycle and opened it. Inside were several balls of colorful yarn and two knitting needles. "Because we knit, sweetheart." She paused. "And because when people piss us off, we knit their bloody mouths shut."
"Not literally, Doris," the purple-lipped woman interrupted.
"Not since the court order."
Claire pressed her lips together.
Her grandmother patted her shoulder. "Now, ladies, this is Claire. She is new here and I thought she ought to get to know the town properly."
"Properly?" Beryl repeated. "Oh, we’ll show her properly."
Purple lipstick grinned. "By the time we’re done, she’ll know every liar, every cheating husband, every corrupt official, and every bastard who sells watered-down beer."
"And every man with a decent ass," added a woman wearing pink sunglasses. "My husband sits at the top of that list firmly."
"In that case, all the men are dead, Martel." Doris sniggered.
"Don’t be jealous, Doris. I didn’t make you a widow, God did." Martel replied, pushing her pink sunglasses to her forehead.
Claire made a strangled noise.
Her grandmother beamed. "Excellent. Everyone seems to be getting along splendidly."
Getting along splendidly? Claire was beginning to suspect her grandmother had suffered a minor head injury. Martel had just called Doris a widow! Mabel had called Beryl ugly!
The first order of business was introductions.
Beryl was the gang’s unofficial leader, although nobody could explain how she had acquired the position.
"She declared herself queen after winning a fight with a vending machine," Mabel explained.
"It stole my money!"
"It was a vending machine!"
"It knows what it did."
Claire’s head was just going back and forth, her mind drawing a map of the gang hierarchy.
Doris was the gang’s treasurer, secretary, and resident expert on knitting patterns. She also carried a small hammer in her bag.
"For opening stubborn jars," she explained.
"And skulls," Beryl added.
"Only in emergencies."
Mabel was the gang’s resident romantic. She had been married four times, divorced three times, and was currently engaged to a man who had not yet proposed!
Then there was Gladys, who had a whistle around her neck and a voice loud enough to summon ships from neighboring countries.
"That’s our emergency siren," Beryl explained.
"Why do you need an emergency siren?" Claire asked.
"Mabel walks at night, Lemon said sirens come out in the night to sing," Wilder explained.
The explanation made no sense to Claire at all, just like the dynamics of this group.
The last woman to introduce herself was a tiny lady called Ethel, who looked like she might bake cookies for neighborhood children.
She leaned toward Claire and whispered, "I’ve been arrested seventeen times."
Claire blinked. "For what?"
"Mostly for telling the truth," Ethel grinned proudly.
"She bit a police officer once," Doris supplied.
"He called me sweetheart."
"And?"
"I wasn’t his sweetheart."
Claire laughed loudly.
Ethel looked delighted. "Ah! She has a sense of humor. Excellent. We’ll keep her."
"Keep her?" Claire asked.
"Of course. We don’t return family dear. You are ours now," Beryl declared.
Wilder pointed to the tiny old woman sitting on the skull motorcycle. "That’s Sook, our mechanic. She doesn’t like to talk."
Sook grunted and acknowledged Claire with a nod of her head.
Wilder pointed to the woman on the pink teddy bear motorcycle. "That’s White snake, our biggest funder. She is worth three hundred million. Former CEO of White jewelers."
Beryl snorted. "Wilder, we are all former CEOs here."
"Oh yes," Doris chuckled loudly. "Beryl is the former CEO of the ice cream shop on 33rd street. Big businesswoman, her ice cream factory had three cows and a butter churning machine shaped like her second son."
The others laughed, while Claire snorted softly.
Wilder rolled her eyes. "Claire, the last and most beautiful of this group is Elspeth." She gestured to the old woman whose motorcycle had the most stickers. The woman had thick silverish hair, tender eyes and a gentle smile. "She is the road captain, and a retired army pilot. If you need to bury a body, she knows the right people."
Beryl cleared her throat. "Welcome gifts will be sent later."
Her grandmother swung a leg over her motorcycle.
"Right, ladies! Show Claire our beautiful little town."
Beryl raised a fist. "KNITTING GANG!"
The others raised theirs. "KNITTING GANG!" they bellowed, or croaked, in Claire’s opinion.
Then, nine motorcycles roared. Claire jumped nervously.
Mabel laughed at her. "That’s our war cry, darling. We believe in nonviolent intimidation."
Claire was not a prayerful person, but for once, she muttered a prayer as she climbed behind her grandmother.
The moment the gang began moving, she discovered that old women on motorcycles could create the same sense of impending disaster as a stampede of angry elephants.
Beryl rode at the front, standing steadily and shouting at gulls. "Get out of the bloody road, you feathered tax evaders!"
A gull answered by dropping something white onto her shoulder.
The entire gang erupted.
"Haha!"
"The bird’s got better aim than your ex-husband Beryl." Doris cackled.
Beryl wiped her shoulder with a handkerchief. "That bird’s going to regret being born."
Claire patted her chest and took a deep breath. Hopefully, she would make it home in one piece.
"Don’t be nervous, sweetheart!" Gladys shouted. "We haven’t even reached the dangerous part!"
"What dangerous part?" Claire squeaked.
"The part where Wilder tries to park!"
"I heard that, you deaf old cow!"
They swept through the main street in a noisy procession, their motorcycles roaring loudly. People immediately began reacting.
A butcher standing outside his shop spotted them and dropped a tray of sausages. "THE KNITTING GANG!"
He scrambled to gather his sausages.
A woman dragging a small boy into a bakery suddenly abandoned her shopping and grabbed the boy by the collar.
"Inside, Tim!"
"But Mum--"
"INSIDE!"
A fisherman carrying a bucket of crabs ducked behind a parked truck. One crab escaped.
Nobody went back for it.
Claire looked around in amazement. "Are they always this frightened of you?"
"Frightened?" Beryl scoffed. "Nonsense. The town loves us."
Just then, a man peeking out from behind a curtain pulled it shut.
"The trouble makers do not." Mable said.
Beryl waved cheerfully.
"Hey, Gerald!"
The curtain remained closed. Gerald did not respond to Beryl. The street remained unusually silent.
"I beat him up once for bullying when he was a kid," Beryl explained.
"Didn’t you break his nose last month?" Wilder asked.
Beryl smiled deviously, "allegedly."
"You threw a fish at him," Doris corrected.
"It was a small fish."
"It was a frozen cod!"
"Well, he shouldn’t have called me ugly!"
Suddenly, one of the motorcycles backfired with a rapid rat-tat-tat, nearly giving Claire a heart attack.