“Stay away from biker dudes Della-Ray,” he warned in a mocking tone.
I shot him a sour look.
His response was a charming smile that did absolutely nothing to chase away the terror that had slithered up my spine and had frozen it cold.
Perhaps it was a great thing then to have had no sight of Bone. Blasts of bullets, arson, and gang-raping were especially bothersome activities that I didn’t want anywhere close to my little Jess or me.
I did wonder though if he truly was involved in such activities. He didn’t strike me as a bad person. Michael was ten times more psychopath than Bone. I wondered too, why he chose to live that way. He seemed mentally astute, clear minded, and particularly grounded to the things that truly mattered in life. The way he asked me to hang on to Jess were not the words of a man that did not know good from bad.
Did he become lost after his daughter died and turned to a murderous club?
Della Ray
The light was on when I came back home. I took off my sneakers and socks then padded on my sore feet to the kitchen.
Nichole was sitting at the kitchen table flipping the pages of an art book. “Hey,” she said, standing up.
“Hiya,” I said, standing awkwardly at the doorway. It felt as if we had become strangers.
She moved towards the kettle and switched it on. “Do you want something to eat?”
I shook my head.
“How about ice cream?”
I smiled. “What flavor?”
She smiled back. “Rose and peaches.”
I stopped smiling. That flavor was made by a little creamery across town. It was an hour’s journey to get there. “Did you go all the way to Bennetts for that?”
“Yeah,” she said, moving to the kettle that had boiled. She picked it up and poured the water into a plastic basin near the table. I could smell the bath salts from where I stood. She bent down and tested the water. Then she pushed the basin under the table. “Go on then. Get your feet in there.”
I hesitated. “Nichole.”
“It’s okay. This is just my way of saying sorry for what I said about Jess.”
I took in a deep breath. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on her cruel words, but I was still hurt about it.
She looked up at me pleadingly. “I was wrong to say what I said. I’m really, really sorry. It was a horrible thing to say. I was just worried about you. I hated what your life had become, but I’ve accepted now that you love Jess and Jess loves you and nothing anyone can do for her will be better than the amazing love you have for her. Whatever happens we’ll get through it together. I’m going to help you, Della Ray. Even if I have to get a second job to see you through this time.”
“Oh, Nichole,” I gasped.
She stood up, her eyes full of tears. “Do you forgive me?”
I ran to her and hugged her tightly. “There’s nothing to forgive. I love you, you silly goose.”
“I love you too,” she choked. “I just want the best for you.”
“Jess is the best for me,” I whispered.
“I know that now.”
Hot tears of joy were running down my cheeks. “I’m so glad we made up. It was killing me when I thought we were drifting apart.”
“What are we, icebergs? We’re never drifting apart. You’ll have to pry yourself out of my cold dead hands.”
I laughed through my tears.
“Talking about cold things you better get your feet in the basin before the water gets cold,” she said with a laugh.
We separated.
I sat down and slipped my feet into the wonderfully hot water.
She headed to the freezer and put the ice cream tub on the table with a spoon.
I opened it and peeled off the plastic covering. I never thought I would appreciate the seal so much, but with the new crop of degenerate crazies looking for fifteen minutes of fame because they licked a tub of ice cream and put it back into a supermarket freezer, it was very welcome. I scraped my spoon over the creamy surface eagerly. “Mmmm … this is divine. Thank you so much. You can’t imagine how good it feels to have my tired feet in hot water and cold ice cream in my mouth.”
“No, I guess I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you going to have some?” I asked.
She sat opposite me, her face serious. “Later. I want to talk to you, Della.”
The ice cream in my mouth lost its sweetness. I should have known there would be more. “What about?”
“What’s going on with you and that biker?”
I dropped my gaze and fiddled with the spoon. “I don’t know what’s going on with him, Nichole, but he affects me the way no man ever has. He only has to come close to me and my body feels like it is on fire.”
She clasped her twitching hands. “What do you know about him?”
“Nothing. Not even his real name.”
“Oh, my God!”
“I know what you’re thinking, but he’s not just a biker. He had a daughter with down syndrome. She died and I think it broke his heart. I feel as if he is in pain.”
Nichole stared at me. “He had a daughter … like Jess?”
“What a strange coincidence, huh?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes huge.
We stayed silent for a few seconds, then she asked, “So you’re going to see him again?”
“I’m not sure. I really like him, but he belongs to a gang … uh, a club and I really don’t want to get involved. If not for me then at least for Jess. I have to put her before me. That life sounds violent and dangerous.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“For the moment, nothing. Maybe he won’t call again. Maybe he’s had enough of me.”
“Oh, Della Ray. You don’t understand anything, do you? He’ll be back for more. I’ll lay my life on that.”
Gage
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rMbATaj7Il8
Church was held on Saturday evening in the basement of St. Andrews church. It sat decrepit and surrounded by graves, but it wasn’t an abandoned building. Sundays the members of the community that still hung around that isolated area came in through its crooked, cast iron gates to attend the simple mass that Father James put on to share the good word with them.
Today however, he was away in his cottage home while we took over his Lord’s home. As long as we didn’t break what little was still intact, he turned a blind eye to our infiltration of the building once a week for our extremely private weekly chapter meetings. Not that the poor man had a choice. Snake could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.
I hated attending these meets. For one, they were taken way more seriously than necessary, and the blatant torture netted out to out-of-line members wasn’t what I’d consider premium entertainment.
I arrived late. I had a good excuse. I had to handle a debt that a prospect had been too afraid to stomp down on. The few prospects and hang arounds that guarded the iron gates parted the way with eager, attentive salutes as I rode into the premises. Grasping the brown grocery bag filled with fifty grand in hard cash from a recent meth sale, I walked into the dim basement.
Church was already in session.
The members sat on their makeshift pews, iron chairs that we had put in to accommodate the chapter’s fifty-six member attendance.
Our pulpit was a makeshift bar, stocked with the club’s most frequent choice of beverage and that was being passed around to all in attendance. Everclear, Pincer, Bruichladdich X4+quadrupled whiskey, and Absinthe flowed like the good old days of Rome.
Snake was up on the pulpit speaking, but there were also three vaguely familiar faces beside him. I studied them until recognition clicked. They were members from the almighty Durban brotherhood. It was them, who had sanctioned our club’s formation half a decade earlier. I knew then that this was an especially important meeting.
I took my seat at the back, and tried to listen to all that was being said, especially when RJ was called and given a big
pat on the back by one of the brotherhood members called Trunk. The name was as befitting as descriptions went. He was cut indeed like a tree trunk, with sturdy, thick limbs that could cripple a man, and completely devoid of a neck. His shaved head was spiked with white hair, but his beard was brown and wild.
“You did good this time around, son,” he said.
RJ’s extremely rare sense of propriety was on full display. He revered the man and around him was the only time he disciplined himself enough to behave respectfully.
“When will the shipment dock?” Trunk asked.
RJ happily supplied the answer, “In about seven weeks, but first, we’ll need to tie up the rest of the strings in Dallas.”
“Is Bone here yet?” Snake suddenly asked.
“Yeah,” I responded.
“How did the collection go?”
I raised up the bag for all to see and received nods and sounds of approval.
“Get ready,” Snake said. “You’ll accompany the group to Dallas to conclude the deal with RJ’s guy.”
It was the perfect arrangement for me, and it was now to be expected since I’d gained the reputation of being disturbingly cool headed. When they needed a rise out of people or situations and didn’t necessarily want violence to rev the engine, I was brought in.
Church went on excitedly as all the members no doubt, began to anticipate our very first and very own exclusive shipment of Meth. We would have sole monopoly of the drug at our own prices and thus, run the supply in the whole area, and perhaps even the entire state.
RJ had a friend of a friend who worked for a cartel that manufactured the stuff, and he had managed to put together the deal just before we all completely condemned him as more of a liability than an asset. Just days ago, he was moments away from a bullet in his head courtesy of his recklessness, but now, he had good standing once again in the club.
You had to give it to him. He was extraordinarily resourceful and adept at keeping himself alive. It was quite impressive.
The rest of the meeting went as planned and the moment all the major business was concluded and it was time to mete out discipline, I rose for a break.
Three new patchers, Rose, Pole and Boner were being sanctioned for getting into trouble with an Armenian gang over some dealings. Worse, when they were arrested, Pole had been found not only high on Meth, but in possession of a Ruger LCP.
Tyler stepped forward, a baton in hand, and the three guys looked like they were about to shit their pants. Pole was first. The other men leaned forward eagerly, their expressions glittering with vicious anticipation. They would have enjoyed the Christians being torn by lions too. Before Pole could land on the floor with a cracked skull, I was already out in the fresh air.
I stepped outside where the prospects and hangers not allowed to be aware of ‒ or involved in the inner workings of the club’s business ‒ were milling around. This was an efficient way to weed out undercover cops and keep them from infiltrating the inner circle. Until they proved themselves to be worthy, they just played at being bikers.
Junho, a young Korean hanger immediately ran up to me.
There was light in his eyes, and every time I saw him, it made me stop. I wondered if there was a time that I looked that way and it made me angry that he was looking to become involved with this crowd. He’d taken a particular liking to me and I suspected he had a good temperament so I allowed a level of familiarity.
“I was away this week, Sir,” he said enthusiastically even though I didn’t ask. “My grandma broke her foot so I was on cater-for-the-old-hag duty.”
He thought it would impress me and make him appear hard, but I just wanted to smack him across the head for being such an idiot. He expected it so when I swung out my hand he managed to dodge the attack. His carefree laughter rang into the graveyard air.
I pulled out a cigarette from the pack and put it to my mouth and he had a lighter waiting. I accepted it, then tossed it back to him. I took a good long draw, and felt some semblance of calmness settle over my nerves.
“Why don’t you ever carry a lighter?” he asked.
I looked out to the old, broken tombstones and thought of the dead who lay beneath. It brought to mind quite vividly the dead that lay in my heart. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked.
“Because there is always someone else around to do it for you?” he said after genuinely pondering on the response.
I sighed. “If I don’t have it on me, then I can’t use it.”
He seemed to grow even more confused. “If you don’t want to use it then why do you carry a pack of cigarettes?”
“Sometimes you need certain things to pull through.” I looked away to take another draw and that was when I noticed the vehicle.
It was cruising past the gates, a white washed up van with a faded painting of Winnie the Pooh on the side. That was my daughter’s favorite character and the vivid memory of her kissing baby Winnie goodnight filled my head. Everything seemed to slow down in that moment as my memories transported me to another place and time. The silky feel of her hair under my lips, the tinkling sound of her wind-up toy, the sweet perfume of baby powder.
I stared blankly at the vehicle as hot tears welled up in my eyes at the memory. I was lost in the past as I watched it roll slowly. It was as if I was watching a movie. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t think. My brain kicked into gear when I finally realized what I was looking at. I reached out to grab Junho, but it was already too late.
The windows had already rolled down and the doors to the van jacked open. Barrels were pointed at us. Shouts erupted all around us. It occurred in a split second, but to me it felt like it was happening in slow motion. I could feel the friction of the air against my skin and clothes as if I was underwater. Holding on to Junho, I dove for cover, the shots ringing out like explosions all around us.
I pulled out my gun, but backup had already arrived. I heard the bloody exchange from somewhere above my head and knew the club members were handling the attack. Next to me, the young boy was lying unconscious on the ground. At first, relief poured into me, that there were no wounds on his head or chest so nothing vital had been destroyed, but his blood was quickly beginning to seep out from under him. When I gently turned him on his side, I saw that the bullet had burst through his spine.
“Fuck!” I cursed. I could hear the van screeching away. I gazed down at the whimpering boy as I slowly rolled him on his back and it felt as if my chest was suffocating with mixture of bitter regret and fury. Why was life so cruel to the best of its kind? Why did RJ escape every encounter and this boy had fallen on the first misadventure? I knew this was it for him. Life as he knew it was over.
“Bone!” someone yelled as he ran over. “Is he all right?”
“He will be!” I muttered. I was concerned about moving him and wanted to call an ambulance, but when he started to lose consciousness, I knew I couldn’t wait. I jumped up. “Get me a car from somewhere!” I shouted.
“You’re bleeding, Bone. You’ve been hit too.”
I looked to my arm and saw a bullet had burst into one side and come cleanly out on the other. I had no horror of death, so I glanced at the red blood pouring out of my arm and felt nothing but annoyance. “I’m fine,” I said and held on to my arm as I rose to my feet.
Someone’s car, probably poor father James’s was commandeered for our use, and Junho was transferred carefully into it. There didn’t seem to be any other casualties as everyone else had been quick to respond.
His attention had been on me, and mine had been on the past.
My arm had begun to throb as I shut my eyes and rode with Junho’s unconscious body. You should have stayed a bit longer on cater-for-the-old-hag duty, Junho.
Della Ray
Saturdays were supposed to be for picnics … but we hadn’t been on one for many months now. In fact, since Jess got sick and I had to work two jobs to pay the bills, there had been no time for picnics.
For the last few d
ays, Jess had appeared a bit down and not as bright as was usual. I kept asking her if she was well but all she did was nod or give me one of her heartbreakingly radiant smiles.
I couldn’t take it any longer, so I requested a break from the diner and forced both her and Nichole out to the park in Brookside. Jess and I immediately headed for the sandpit and began to build sandcastles while Nichole had lain down to bask in the sun with music blasting in her ears. At least, until a corgi ran over to her and began licking her face.
She shrieked at the sudden attack and both Jess and I fell to each other laughing. There would never exist a greater way to send a clear message to someone to join in on the fun. The corgi ran, more alarmed than Nichole, so Jess and I hopped over to her and sat together to have our lunch of the most delicious ham and tomato sandwiches.
Early evening came around too soon. It was almost time for me to start getting ready for my shift at Sinkhole, so we returned home.
Nichole immediately began to do the laundry while I put Jess to bed before quickly baking some cookies for Jess’s lunchbox tomorrow.
The first batch of cookies were ready. They smelt so divine and I couldn’t resist biting into one. That was the precise moment when the doorbell rang. I didn’t want it to wake Jess up so I hurried to the door. I pulled it open and the chocolate chip cookie left my mouth and fell to the ground.
His gaze fluttered down to it and then back to me, while mine fluttered over to first the sling that suspended his right hand, and then the spotting of blood on it. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing would come out. So I snapped it shut and just waited for him to help me to make sense of why he was injured and in front of my house.
“I want your help,’ he said to me.
“My help? How?”
“As much time as you can spare. Everything hurts. I also need to get out of these damn boots.”
I looked down at the dusty leather. There was blood on them too.
Saving Della-Ray Page 7