Table

by ML Mystrom

  “No, I’m good. Maybe a few bruises, but I’m not hurt.” I sniffed and hoped I hadn’t left any residue on his shirt. He was wearing his club cut and I belatedly watched as two men from the second truck started hooking up my poor van to the tow truck. They also had on Dragon Runners cuts.

  “My brothers. You already know Ditchdigger, and the other one is Chevy. I can’t remember if you met him at the bar, but he and Ditch own a top-notch garage. They’ll get you sorted. What happened?”

  Bryce talked to him, explaining how he’d spotted the line of brake fluid on the road and tried to get me to stop. Table listened intently and kept his arm around me during the entire time. I didn’t mind it. Not one bit. The other two kids stared with wide eyes at the biker insignia on the backs of the men handling my van. I saw Bryce glance at the emblem more than once, but not with trepidation. More like longing.

  “Thanks for taking care of my girl here. You ever need something, come see me at Asheville Ink.”

  “I’ve been thinking about your club and seeing what I’d have to do to join.” Bryce’s chin boldly rose a notch. “My mom’s not real thrilled with that idea, but I’ve been watching you guys for years. You got a reputation for taking care of your people and I want that for my mom. It’s just me and her right now, but I don’t know what will happen once I go off to college. I gotta make my own way, you know? It would be a big relief to me, knowing someone was around to watch out for her.”

  Table dipped his chin in affirmation. “It’s not easy getting into the club and not everyone is cut out for club life. You’re serious, I can talk to my people. If it’s mostly about your mom, you just let me know if she needs somethin’ and I’ll take care of it.”

  Table held out a hand and Bryce took it for a man/boy handshake. No, I couldn’t say that. This was definitely a man-to-man handshake. Bryce’s mom was doing a great job in raising him.

  The teens loaded back into Bryce’s car and took off.

  “Got ’er hooked up and ready, Table,” Ditchdigger called out. “Shee-it! It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. You owe me a free tattoo!”

  Table snorted and turned his attention to the van, now attached to the tow truck. “You still ain’t paid for the last session, brother. I’d say we’re even.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” I jumped in. “You shouldn’t be out any money over me.”

  Table looked at me and gave me his bright smile. “Didn’t you hear what the boy said, darlin’? We take care of our people. You’re our people. Get it?”

  “But I owe you now.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t owe nothin’.”

  “But Table—”

  “Nope. Not goin’ there. Get in in my truck, baby.”

  “I—”

  “Truck, Lori.”

  I rolled my eyes and tried to find my anger, but I was too worn from the workday, too cold from the night, and too mentally numb to argue. The adrenaline was wearing off and I was crashing hard.

  “All right, Mr. Bossy!”

  Table’s head went back and he roared with laughter. “God Almighty, baby girl! Only you can come up with ‘Mr. Bossy’!”

  I sniffed and held my head up as I went to his truck and climbed in the passenger side. I sat and watched him talk to Ditchdigger for a few more minutes before he came and got in the driver side. The truck started with a powerful growl and heat poured over my cold face and body. I supposed I could have held on to my pique, but I was happy to be in the warm cab. The thought would occur to me later that calling Table for help had been a natural reaction, and I’d never doubted he would come for me.

  Fourteen

  The slippery road didn’t faze him or the truck at all as he drove the rest of the way into the city. The snow that looked so pretty in the neighborhood was now a slushy mess. It was past nine o’clock and I was fighting sleep with my head against the window, watching the city buildings go by.

  “Hungry?” Table asked. “Asheville Pizza and Brewing is still open. Cool place and great food. My treat.”

  My stomach gurgled at the thought of my missed dinner. I had nothing special back at my room and the thought of hot pizza was appealing. “Sure,” I agreed.

  “We’ll eat, then I’ll drop you off at home. I’m still on at work tonight and need to finish out my shift,” he planned out loud as he pulled into the parking lot.

  I perked up a bit. “You don’t have to do that if you’re going back to work. I can eat something back at the house so you don’t waste any more hours.”

  He chuckled and turned off the engine. “Lori, babe, look around. There’s not a lot of people out tonight and not many are dying to get a tattoo. Most of the business is in the summer when people are showing off a lot of skin. Weekends are pretty steady, but weeknights? Hardly enough people to keep the doors open. Tell you what, we’ll eat, then you can come sit with me at the parlor for a bit. If nothin’s happening, I’ll close up early, ’round eleven, or so and we’ll go home then. You need to crash, there’s a futon in the back room.”

  I was too tired and hungry to argue.

  Table was right in that the place was a neat restaurant and bar. The movie-themed menu was clever and there was even a movie theatre in the building. We scarfed up a gourmet pizza between us and had a couple of local brews to go with it. The ride to the tattoo parlor was short, and I hit my second wind with a full stomach.

  Asheville Ink was in an older building in the downtown area. Artistic sculptures, bright-colored paintings on the sides of buildings, and eclectic boutique stores made up the area. I expected the parlor to be some dingy and dirty hole-in-the-wall place, but upon entering I could tell I was quite wrong. The walls were painted a pale gray with lots of framed art hanging on them. A few frames held newspaper articles on the place, great reviews on the artists that worked there. There was a glass counter that held a wide selection of pierced jewelry pieces and on top were several large binders. The place smelled of rubbing alcohol, disinfectant, and the faint scent of a sandalwood candle trying to combat the two. There was some new age-y music playing over the speakers.

  “This is nice. Very professional.”

  A blue-haired woman with several bars in her eyebrows and a nose ring came out of the back.

  “Hey, Table. My last guy canceled just after you left. If you’ve got this, I’m outta here.”

  “No problem, Chrissie. Take it easy on your way home,” Table said as he took off his leather jacket and knit hat.

  “Fuck that!” she retorted, wrinkling her nose. I got a glimpse of her pierced tongue as she spoke. “I know there’s a party getting started somewhere.” She tapped at her phone and the music stopped. “Laters!”

  Table raised a hand as she departed. He took out his phone and swiped the screen. A moment later, slow, soft jazz came over the wireless speaker—another surprise, as I was expecting some sort of loud country music like what was played at A.W. Shucks bar. I’d heard Table play country music before, but apparently he had other tastes as well.

  “Best time of the night is when I’m here alone and can play my own stuff,” Table remarked as he went to his cubicle. All the workstations were in semiprivate alcoves that could be curtained off as needed. Table’s spot had pictures of bikes, artwork around bikes, the Dragon Runners insignia on the wall, and a picture of him and Angel. He was leaning back in one of the recliners at the farmhouse, looking down at his daughter. She was dressed in a pink onesie and was curled up on her daddy’s black T-shirted chest, his colorful arms holding her close. My heart skipped a beat just looking at the pure love this rough man had for his little girl. He would walk through fire for her and smile while he was doing it.

  “Futon’s in the back if you want to crash for a bit. I have to keep the shop open for a while as per the posted hours, but if nothing happens, I’ll call the boss to close early. Deal?”

  “I want a tattoo,” I announced. I was just as shocked as Table, but once I said it, I knew I meant it. Furthermore, I
knew what I wanted.

  Table looked at me with hooded eyes. “Lori, it’s been a tough night and getting a tattoo now might not be the best idea. Not something you decide on when you’re not thinking clearly.”

  “My thinking is very clear right now. I want a tattoo. I want a four-leaf clover on my lower stomach, and I want you to do it.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Not a good idea, baby girl. Stomach tattoos can hurt a lot and I’m guessing you don’t have any other ink. Bad place to start. Better on the back of your shoulder or calf.”

  I looked into his eyes and stated as stubbornly and firmly as I could, “I won’t be able to see it if you put it there. Please, Table, I’m not scared of a little pain. Believe me, I can take it.”

  He stared at me for a few more minutes and I nearly lost my nerve. His mouth formed a flat line and he finally nodded. “Okay, Lori. If you’re sure. You wanna pick a design or do you want me to draw up something?”

  I let out my breath. “Draw up something.”

  He pulled out a sketchpad and pencils. I watched as he drew and colored in green and gold, a simple but beautiful four-leaf clover surrounded by a Celtic knot. It was small, about an inch in diameter.

  “It’s perfect. How long will it take and how much?”

  Table looked at the drawing. “’Bout an hour, maybe less if you can really take it.”

  “I can take it,” I repeated, determined, climbing on the padded table and pulling up my shirt at the same time. “How much?”

  “Work it out in trade later, deal?” Table said as he snapped a pair of blue rubber gloves on his hands. “You need to undo your pants and take them down a bit. Not completely off, though. Just so I can get to the area you want.”

  I hesitated for a moment. Lying on the table on my back and exposing my stomach put me in a vulnerable position. I looked at Table’s face and made the call.

  “Trade is good,” I affirmed as I undid my jeans and slid them down to my hips. Table wiped across my stomach with rubbing alcohol and I jumped a little at the cold solution. He looked up at my eyes, his face serious. “You can still change your mind. I promise I won’t judge.”

  “I’m not changing my mind. I do want this. I-I kinda need it.”

  “This clover symbol mean something to you?”

  “Yes.”

  He gazed into my eyes after my firm one-word answer, came to his own decision, and loaded up his tattoo machine with ink. “This is going to sting. Let me know if it gets to be too much and you need a break.”

  The buzzing noise of the machine started as he placed the tips of the needles on my skin. The pain wasn’t terrible at first, more irritating than anything else. But it was constant and became sharper as Table continued to work.

  “Have I ever told you about how I got my club name?” Table asked casually, trying to distract me.

  “No, you haven’t,” I bit out, trying to keep still. Table dipped more ink and the machine kept buzzing.

  “I used to shoot a lot of pool. Loved the game and played whenever I got a chance. Used to compete some in a few local tournaments but nothin’ big like a national competition. It’s the strategy and skill that really gets me into it. Knowin’ where to hit, makin’ a bank shot, how to spin the ball to put it where I want it next, or where to put it to block my opponent. I love that kinda stuff. It takes plannin’, patience, and a steady hand. That’s somethin’ Martha taught me about life in general. You want somethin’, you gotta have a plan, you gotta work steady to get it, and you gotta be patient while you’re gettin’ there. I think that applies to a lot, like the garden, raisin’ a kid, bunch of other stuff.”

  He loaded a different set of needles in the machine and kept going. The burn was more intense and I gritted my teeth but forced myself to stay still.

  “I didn’t get my road name because I like to play pool. After I got out of the Marines, I traveled around a bit, just me and my bike. Unsettled, you know? I saw some stuff in Afghanistan, not as extreme as some soldiers, but still not a place that makes happy memories. I was playing a tournament up at a bar in Bryson City when this guy started roughin’ up his girl. I don’t mean just pushin’ and yellin’ like the asshole you saw over at the bar. I mean he was roughing. He was drunk as fuck and yelling shit at her, calling her all sorts of names, slapping her around. He threw beer in her face and she just stood there taking it. I’ll never forget her look. Blank. Like life had completely defeated her. Dealin’ with some drunk asshole doesn’t bother me a bit, but seeing her? That place she was in scared me.”

  I stopped feeling the pain of the pulsing needles. My mind was numb to anything but the sound of his voice as he spoke.

  “The whole bar stopped to watch the show and this one guy, the bouncer, was comin’ over to stop that shit. Big mean-looking guy, as cold as they come. Before he could get to the game area, the guy rears back his fist and let loose a full-power roundhouse on his girl. Blood flies and she goes down hard. Then a bunch of other men started yellin’ shit and comin’ over, but I was right there when it happened.”

  He wiped a cloth over my stomach and dipped more ink.

  “You know I was raised by my grandma and her sister. The reason is my daddy put my mama in the ground by doing that shit to her when I was a kid. Saw my mom bloodied more than once, but since I was a kid, I couldn’t do much about it. I sometimes wonder if she took the beatings so I wouldn’t have to. I was in the first grade when I came home to police cars and yellow tape around the trailer we lived in. I can still see them flashing lights and all the uniforms walkin’ around. I didn’t get to see her or what he’d done to her, but I did see them wheel out the gurney she was layin’ on, all covered up in a sheet. I was young, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew what had happened. He’s somewhere in a prison and will stay there for life. I haven’t seen him since then and never care to lay eyes on that fucker again. If I ever do, I’ll probably kill him.”

  His voice was casual even though his words were not. “Anyway, long story short, I broke my best cue stick over that guy’s head, flipped his sorry ass on the pool table, and pounded the ever-lovin’ shit outta him. I just couldn’t stand there and do nothin’ while that asshole decided he would beat on his woman. Those other men just watched me for a bit before they pulled me off of him. I went a little too far and thought for sure I was going to jail. The guy I beat up was out cold and tore up pretty bad. That’s the night I met the Dragon Runners. I don’t know how they handled it, but I was never charged. One man came over to the pool table and was looking down at the guy. I’ll never forget what he said. He shook his head and huffed, ‘That’s gonna stain.’ And then he looked up at me, square in the eye, and said, ‘That’s one way to clear a table.’ I’ve been Table ever since.”

  He wiped across my stomach again with a cooling gel. “That was Brick. I prospected with the club and became a Dragon Runner about a year later. Nothing more solid than the kind of brotherhood my club has. Don’t matter if I’m there or here, they have my back and I have theirs. There’s a trust and integrity you won’t find anywhere else, and believe me, I’ve looked. Tattoo is done. Wanna see?”

  I took a moment to register what he’d said.

  “Done? Already?” I blinked.

  “Yup. Mirror’s over there. Don’t touch, just look.”

  He helped me off the table and I felt the soreness kick in. I moved to the full-length mirror and studied my tattoo. The leaves were shaded green and detailed with tiny veins from the center. The knot was in gold and black, and twisted between the leaves, making them appear more defined.

  “Beautiful,” I breathed.

  Table stood behind me and looked at the image in the mirror. “Yes, it is,” he said gruffly. He didn’t touch me, but his regard set off a flare in my middle that had nothing to do with the tattoo. Impulsively, I reached a hand behind me and stroked his cheek, feeling the growth of his whiskers and the smoothness of his mustache. His gaze intensified, but he still made no move to touch m
e. It may have been anxiety over the accident, worry about my vehicle situation, the fact I was exhausted from so many work hours in so many days, the pain and thrill of getting this tattoo, or a combination of everything. I didn’t know. But I turned around and pulled his mouth to mine. He slanted and kissed me back, running the tip of his tongue gently over my lips, asking for permission, and I opened my mouth to him. He took the invitation and deepened the kiss, his tongue lightly playing with mine. He didn’t touch me anywhere, his hands staying rigid by his side, and let me lead. When I ended the kiss, he leaned his forehead against mine and muttered, “Damn, baby girl.” Both of us were breathing hard, and that flare in my middle had turned into a smoldering flame. The shock was, I wasn’t the least bit frightened of the intimacy. In fact, I actually felt a desire for more. Was I ready for that? Was he offering?

  We stood there a few minutes, not moving, just sharing the space. He finally broke the spell by going to his station and bringing back a wide white piece of gauze, which he swiftly taped over the glistening tattoo. He handed me a pamphlet of instructions on how to care for the tattoo for the next few weeks.

  “It’s midnight thirty, past time for me to close. You ready to go home?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to flip off something about that being rhetorical, but the depth of his tone told me now was not the time to be cute. I nodded and moved to the door.

  The ride home was quiet and my second wind left me with an exhaustion crash I had never experienced before. I was bleary-eyed and nearly stumbling when we reached the farm. Table helped me out of the car and up to the door of my room. I was leaning heavily into his solid body. He kissed my hair as he unlocked my door. “You gonna make it, baby girl?” he whispered against my head.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thank you for everything, Table. You have no idea how much I appreciate you.”

  He kissed my forehead again. “No problem. You call me anytime, darlin’, I’m there. ‘Night, Lori. Lock up before you faceplant on the bed. Same deal as before. You get nervous, can’t sleep, come on to the big house and take my bed. I’ll move to the couch, yeah?”