by Voss, Deja
“I trust you, babe,” he said. “Go have fun. Take your time.” He handed me a big wad of cash.
I know the old mutt doesn’t have much running left in him, but I’m sure he will be happy living out his last days wandering around our big backyard, sniffing flowers and chasing birds. I used some of the extra money Arthur gave me to splurge on a plush pillow bed for him and some high-end food that’s supposed to be good for seniors.
I pull into the driveway and something is definitely not right. There are two moving trucks parked outside and men I don’t know are walking out of the house with boxes and furniture, loading them into the trucks.
I hook Bender up to his leash and let him walk around the yard a few times while he sniffs everything and pees everywhere. I wish he would hurry the hell up so I can go inside and see what’s going on.
“Arthur?” I yell into the big empty house. My voice echoes off the high ceilings,
“I’m sorry, Sloan.” He’s emptying the dresser drawers into a suitcase, just dumping them over and smashing them down, and I just stand there watching, wide-eyed. “Can you help me?”
“Help you do what? What’s going on here?”
“I just need you to trust me. We need to go live somewhere else for a little bit. I promise it’s no big deal. It’s just a stupid tax technicality.”
No big deal. Sure. Like this is a normal day in anyone’s life and I’m just supposed to say ‘ok, great!’ and not ask any questions. That’s what he expects from me, but he has every reason to because it’s what I’ve always done.
“Where are we going?” I ask. “I don’t want to move further away from the hospital.”
“You’ll be fine. We’re gonna sublet an apartment from my buddy for a few months until we can get things figured out.”
“Is it pet-friendly?” Bender is sitting on my feet. He hasn’t left my side since we came into the house.
“Sure. Now go grab your bags. Anything we don’t get today is gone forever.”
Maybe he’ll leave me here. I could only hope. Me and my dog. Gone forever.
Instead, I fish out my luggage from the closet. The last time I used these bags was when we spent two weeks in France, carelessly skiing in the Chamonix Valley, no luxury spared. Now I’m stuffing them full of socks and underwear, knowing that this surprise vacation probably isn’t going to be anything like the last. Instead of two young lovers hiding away from the world, making love by a fireplace, we’re now two old hardened criminals hiding away from the world while we watch everything we know burn to the ground.
Full circle.
I go to grab my personal safe from the trap door under the bed. It has all the expensive jewelry Arthur gave me over the years, but also a few sentimental things. Letters from Olive, pictures of my friends from undergrad school, my letter of acceptance into the fellowship program at the hospital.
It’s missing.
“Where’s my safe?” I ask.
“I got it, don’t worry. We’ll make sure it gets to the apartment.”
Part of me is sad that I likely lost a box of memories; the other part is flipping the fuck out because, well, that was my escape plan. That was my life savings. If I had to leave in a hurry, I’d at least have a bunch of jewelry to pawn. Now I have nothing of value.
Except for this dog. This dog that won’t stop nudging my arm, begging to be petted. I carelessly finish dumping the necessities into the bag and start wheeling them out the door. Maybe leaving this house would be good for us. We could strip away the pretentious bullshit and just be two people trying to make their lives better.
For some reason, there’s a nagging in my gut that that won’t be the case. For some reason, I feel like life with Arthur will always be a contest to see who can make whose life worse.
Chapter 17
Gavin:
Moses Boden, my father, the most intimidating man on the mountain, not because of his size, but because of his sneer, sits at the head of the giant oak table, tapping his giant thumb ring.
“What are you doing here, son? Officers only.” He smiles, showing all his teeth. The kind of smile a wolf makes before ripping out your jugular.
The room is silent except for his tapping. Everyone knows what’s about to happen, but nobody wants to be the first to say it. They’d rather marinate in this awkwardness, trying to prolong the fight that’s about to ensue.
“Well, from what I gather, you need a vice president. I’m not saying I should be the guy, but I think I should at least be a guy on the board since I’m back here.”
“Is that so? You wanna breeze back in here like you never fucking left and start running the show, huh? These men have been loyal from the day they were patched in. They’ve been here through the worst times. I can’t believe you have the balls to storm in here and even suggest that this is somewhere you belong.” He takes a long drag from his whiskey. The man makes a valid argument on the surface. What he’s really saying is ‘I don’t want a vice president.’ He knew his days were numbered, but I just put a little pressure on that situation.
“That’s fine, Pops. But you really need to find someone to be vice president. Grandpa would never let the club go on like this.”
“If your grandpa had his way, we’d be selling corn at the farmer’s market and sitting on the front porch of the clubhouse whittling walking sticks. Times have changed, son.”
“I suggest Brooks for vice president,” I say, and turn my back, heading out the door. Even if I wasn’t going to be a part of this, I at least want to see my best friend move up in ranks. He knows the vision. He’ll see it through.
“Get back here, boy,” Heat yells after me.
I turn and stop. “Don’t do this, Heat.”
“I propose a vote to elect Gavin Boden as vice president of the Mountain Misfits effective today. All in favor.”
My dad just shakes his head, squinting his eyes as he runs his fingers through his beard.Hands go up across the table, none reluctant. These men don’t know what they’re doing. Their confidence in me is a little overenthusiastic. Why they think I’m so capable is beyond me.
Of course my father doesn’t vote, trying to prove his point.
“Come have a seat, Gav,” Brooks says, motioning to the chair next to him. “We’ll get you caught up.”
“I suppose it will be nice to keep the legacy in the family,” my father finally mumbles.
“We are all family, Pops. These mountains run through all our blood. No matter who sits at the head of that table, he is my brother, or my father, or my grandfather. We’re all kin in this club.”
“Sounds like college turned you into a hippie, boy,” he snips.
“Nah, college just made me realize how good we have it up here. We might be outlaws and misfits, but we’ve got life figured out better than anyone down there. We have our family and we have our freedom.”
Heat is grinning from ear to ear, and a slow clap begins to fill the room.
“You guys are ridiculous.” I laugh. “Let’s get this meeting started.”
Chapter 18
Sloan:
The way the last month has unfolded has me questioning if I made a big mistake in blowing off my lunch date with Officer Brighton. Arthur is more than stressed out, super erratic, and I know he’s using more than he has in the past.
He’s losing weight fast. His skin looks like complete garbage, all pockmarked and scratched to shit. I try pleading with him. As much as I’m beginning to come to terms with the fact that he’s a bad person, I’m disgusted to admit I still love him. I don’t care about the money. I don’t care that we aren’t living the way we used to. I care about him and his health. He needs to start caring as much as I do.
Every time I come home from the hospital, he’s in some sort of state of unravel, be it fiending for a fix or high off his ass, his eyes glossed over as he stares blankly into the TV. Poor Bender isn’t getting the attention he deserves, and he’s been having accidents all over the cramped littl
e apartment, which only contributes to Arthur’s mood.
“I’m taking Bender to the dog park,” I say to him as I grab my keys off the coffee table, barely avoiding the graze of the used needle and spoon laid out in front of him.
He’s in his happy place, nodding on and off, and I hope he’s still there when I get back. I’m not in the mood for a fight.
Bender hops in the car with me, nosing at the window. He loves riding with his face in the breeze. I start it up, but sit there, digging through my purse. I clutch the business card in my hand and then put it away.
I pull it out again.
My hands are quivering as I dial the number. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think my life wasn’t in danger.
“Officer Brighton,” he answers after a few rings.
“Hey,” I barely eke out before bursting into tears.
“Hello?”
“It’s Sloan. Do you have a minute?”
“Where are you?”
“Can we meet somewhere?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Baden Square Dog Park? I’ll be there soon.”
Bender nuzzles his head under my arm, and as cute as it is with him trying to cheer me up, it just makes me cry even harder.
“Don’t worry, bud,” I tell him. “We’re still going to the park.”
This fucking dog.
As much as I want to just turn around and go back inside, forget the phone call I just made, I can’t do that to him. We have to go to the park.
He’s either going to be the death of me, or he’s going to save my life, and at this point, I don’t know what’s worse.
* * *
“I’m glad you called,” Scott says. He’s dressed in plain clothes, but by the way he’s standing with his hand on his hip, his posture screams cop. “I was worried about you.”
“What can you tell me?” I ask him.
“I don’t really have much. I know the DEA is heavily invested, though.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“It depends. I can’t make any promises, but I’m sure your cooperation will warrant you some sort of leniency.”
I watch as Bender starts digging a hole in the ground. He starts eating the pile of dirt he made, as he rolls around in circles on his back, his gray fur turning a muddy brown.
“Cute dog,” Scott says, and in an instant changes his tone. “Is there any record of the abuse Arthur has been putting you through? Have you confided in anyone? The police… a professor… a colleague at the hospital…”
“You’re kidding, right?” I say. “Knowing what you know about Arthur, do you really think I want to blast our personal life to the board of directors at the hospital?”
“I’m just being optimistic, I guess.”
“So basically I’m fucked unless people think he’s beating me.”
“Well, he is, Sloan! God, I am so disappointed in you right now. You’re brilliant and you’re beautiful. Why are you doing this to yourself?” His face is red with anger and he’s clenching his fists.
“It’s complicated,” I say, and coming from my mouth, it sounds utterly stupid. It’s not complicated. I’m in love with a loser who hurts me. I’m just as messed up as he is. “Besides, the condition he’s in lately, he can barely make it from the couch to the bed. He can’t hurt me anymore.”
“Maybe you think he can’t physically hurt you, but I can promise you he’s still an active player in the trafficking community. You know if he goes down he’s going to do everything he can to bring you down with him.”
I want to think otherwise. I want to think he loves me enough to leave me alone. He’s always been so adamant about me finishing school and being successful. He’s the only person who’s really ever pushed me.
“What can I do to make you cooperate?” Scott pleads. “I’m trying to help you here, Sloan.”
I watch Bender rolling around in his dirt pile, happy as a pig in shit, scratching his back and wagging his tail. This fucking dog. He’s got me wrapped around his paw. I want to do right by him.
“I’ll do whatever it takes. Just promise me if I get locked up, you’ll give Bender a good life. I want it in writing.”
For the first time today, I see him smile, and it brings me so much comfort. He’s a good person. I don’t know why he’s taken such a liking to me, but having him near me makes me feel good, makes me feel safe. I laugh nervously.
“Set it up,” I say, walking over to Bender and hooking him back up to his leash. “Whoever I need to talk to. I’m gonna take this dirtball to the dog wash.”
“I’ll be in touch soon. Please, Sloan, if he hurts you, you need to call me. When he hurts you, I should say.”
The thought is harrowing. I have this false sense of security that everything is going to be ok now, but I realize this is only the beginning. I have to go home and be Arthur’s girlfriend. For the first time, I hope we have a stockpile of heroin lying around. If keeping him dosed to heaven is what I have to do, then that’s what’s going to happen.
Chapter 19
Gavin:
The Bucktail Saloon had always been a nice “aboveground” legit moneymaker for the club, something my grandfather built to give back to the community and use as a source of viable income to support the club.
It had always been a rustic dive bar, open not only to bikers, but the people who travel through our little rural town and the folks who live here.
The club had been struggling to find reliable management over the last few years, and I figure since I’m back in town I might as well see what I can do to breathe a little life into the old place because as it sits now, it’s just a giant money pit.
After a few months without any accountability for my life, I’m beginning to think I need a reason to get out of bed in the morning other than to escape the death grip of whatever bird flew in the door with me the night before. The farmhouse is a fun distraction, but if I’m going to get out of this rut, make this life work for me, I need more.
I bring Brooks along, knowing he’ll want to do whatever he can to help me preserve our legacy, but when we walk in the front door, he immediately makes a U-turn.
“Get back here,” I say, grabbing him by the cut.
I don’t blame him, though.
It’s dark and dingy, a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging stagnant in the air, making it even harder to see.
The music is loud, and on a stage in the corner, a woman who looks as old as my mother is dancing in a bikini. No one is really paying much attention to her, and I’m not sure if the handful of dollar bills on the stage is to encourage her to dance more or give up.
“Hey, cutie,” a haggard brunette cackles as she wraps her arm around me. “Gimme twenty bucks and I’ll take you in the back and show you a good time.”
“Sorry, sweetie,” I say. “You gotta go.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she snaps at me. “Pookie, this guy is trying to tell me what to do.”
Old Pookie looks up from his newspaper, grizzled as ever.
“Yeah, Pookie,” I hiss. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Brooks laughs. “You look like you just saw a ghost!”
I’d be surprised if he wasn’t shitting in his pants as we spoke.
“Gavin, hey, son…” he stutters.
The hooker standing next to me must be high off her ass because she doesn’t seem to notice the reality of the situation.
“Pookie, come on!” she wails. “I always pay my cut!”
“I’m sure you do, now out you go,” I say, grabbing her by the arm as politely as possible and tossing her out the front door. All eyes are on me. “Everybody else, too. Outta here. We’re closing early today.”
Everyone leaves silently. My leather cut speaks for itself. Nobody is trying to throw down with a misfit today.
“You guys want a drink?” the old man suggests. “Is everything ok?”
“I guess I’m just really confused. What t
he hell happened here? I feel like I walked into a crackhouse.”
“It’s complicated, son,” he says, setting up three rocks glasses on the bar. “It’s not like it used to be. I’m too old to be doing this on my own. Your father keeps nagging me for more money but this place isn’t making it. I brought the girls in, thinking it would help.”
“And those are the girls you brought in?”
“Look at me, son. I’m a washed-up old biker. I’m sure back in my heyday I’d be out slaying pussy like you two, but there comes a point when times change.”
I feel bad for the old guy.
“Listen, I’m back in town now. I want to get this place up and running like it was when Grandpa was still alive. No more of this shady shit.”
His face lights up.
“God, you remind me so much of him.”
That in itself is the highest honor to me. If I could live to be anything like that man, it would be a life well spent. At this point, though, I don’t feel like I’m doing him any justice. He has some big shoes to fill.
“You in?” I ask Pookie. “I have no idea what I’m doing and you have the experience. We’ll set you up with a cushy office job.”
“Yeah,” Brooks laughs. “One that doesn’t involve being responsible for hiring the entertainment.”
He shrugs and pours us each a whiskey. “You’re a cocky fuck, Brooks, ya know that?”
It feels like every move I make is bringing me further away from what I thought I wanted for my life, yet everywhere I turn, I see my grandfather. His vision.
He built the infrastructure, but not for my father. He built it for me. This is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. Finishing this house he started to build. Picking up where he left off.
There’s only one thing standing in my way. One man. The bridge between our generations.
This bar is just the beginning.
Pookie fishes something out of his wallet and hands it to me. It’s a picture of him and a few other club members, young and strapping, straddling their bikes; a bunch of bearded outlaws hanging out on the side of a mountain. I’m sitting on my grandfather’s shoulders.