SLY: Kings of Carnage MC

by Nicole James

  She shakes her head. “I don’t care.”

  “You do. And you need this job. I didn’t come in here to upset you.”

  She wipes her eyes with a napkin, and I feel like shit. I should stop coming up here. The guilt she feels is crushing, and I’m an asshole for putting her through this. Maybe I should stay away, but that’d hurt her worse.

  She draws in a deep breath. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long shift and I’m tired.”

  I nod, taking her bullshit excuse at face value.

  “You want some pie? We got your favorite tonight.”

  “Yeah, pie would be great.”

  She stands and picks up the pot, but before turning to leave, she pauses next to me, leans down, and kisses the top of my head. I grab her hand and kiss it, wishing there was a way to bring us both peace, but I just don’t see it in the cards. We’re both living out a penance for something that wasn’t our fault.

  Two minutes later, she slides a plate in front of me—Dutch apple with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  She nods and turns to leave, but stops. “Oh, I almost forgot. Did you hear about Mooney’s Pub?”

  I frown, picking up my fork. “No, what about it?”

  “Cullen Mooney committed suicide Thursday. It’s all over town. I heard it from Becky at the hair salon.

  “Suicide? You sure?”

  She shrugs. “That’s what they say. Found him shot through the head in his car. A suicide note on the dash.”

  I hold the fork motionless above the pie.

  Holy fuck.

  Three

  Michaela—

  I sit in a white folding chair in the front row, the scent of roses engulfing me. My black dress itches at the neck where the scratchy tag abrades my skin, and my heels rest on the fake green outdoor carpet someone from the funeral home has lain around the open gravesite.

  The green canopy covers us in shade, making it seem colder than the sunny March day. I’d been hot inside the cathedral during the almost hour-long mass, but now a chill runs over me. It breaks my stare from the flower-covered casket waiting to be lowered into the cold ground.

  It’s unbearable to think that inside is my dear, sweet da. Although we haven’t spoken since the day I discovered he’d raided my college fund three years ago, I never stopped loving him.

  Beside me, my mother lifts a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. I can feel her tremble and glance over to find her eyes are downcast. I know she’s devastated. She and my father had been together since they were teens. I’m sure she can’t imagine her life without his boisterous presence.

  On her far side are the twins, Molly and Erin. At just ten years of age, I wonder how much of Da they’ll even remember in the years to come.

  On my right, my sixteen-year-old brother fidgets. Ryan can pretend to be strong all he wants, but I know losing my father may damage him most of all. Da was everything to Ryan. I reach over and squeeze his hand, but he won’t meet my eyes, and I’m sure it’s because he’s choked up and trying hard to be strong.

  At the end of the row, my aunt Kathleen sits stoic, the rock of the family. My father’s only living sibling, though not his only family. Besides all of us, there’s grandfather. He’s next to Kathleen, looking handsome in his black suit. I’m sure it’s the only one he has. I think it may be the same one he wore to my grandmother’s funeral ten years ago. He looks strong, holding it together for all of us, but I’m sure no man wants to outlive his child.

  I glance down at the prayer card in my hand. My father’s birthdate and date of passing is written in sweeping gold lettering with an image of folded hands holding a rosary. In loving memory of Cullen Mooney.

  The priest finishes with the Rite of Committal, officially committing my father’s body to the earth, then approaches my mother with final words of comfort. Next, he stops before me, puts his hand on my head, and says a prayer. Then, he moves on down the line to my brother and sisters.

  While people approach my mother to offer their condolences, I remain sitting next to her, murmuring to each of them that they’re invited back to the house for a small reception. Honestly, it’s the last thing I want to do now. I’d rather curl up in bed and escape it all, but I’m the oldest child and must put on a brave face, or so Aunt Kathleen has instructed me.

  I stare at the ground as the crowd slowly disperses. I want them all gone so we can have a last moment with Da before they lower him into that looming empty hole.

  A pair of expensive loafers suddenly appears before me. I lift my gaze and recognize the well-dressed man they’re attached to, but for the life of me, his name escapes my mind. He’s attractive in a slick sort of way with combed-back, too-perfect hair and a freshly shaven face.

  I’m not sure how, but I think he has connections to the governor or a senator or something. He and his family are a big deal and well-known around here. They even have a park named after them. Ah, yes, that’s the name eluding me: Stanfield. Arthur Stephens Stanfield.

  He sadly smiles and extends his hand. “Michaela. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for coming.”

  “Of course.”

  I vaguely remember his family’s name written on a card attached to one of the floral arrangements. “You sent flowers. They were beautiful.”

  He holds my hand too long and pats it. “If there’s anything I can do …”

  I nod. It’s the expected gesture. “Thank you. Please, we’re having a reception at the house. You must come.”

  “Of course, dear. I’ll see you there.” He moves on to my mother. “Maureen, dear.” I tune out what he says and twist to look at Ryan. He’s just staring into space, his leg bouncing a mile a minute, revealing his agitation. I glance past him and acknowledge Bethany, my best friend since high school, who’s sitting in the row behind us. When she leans forward and squeezes my shoulder, I reach up and pat her hand.

  A brisk wind kicks up, ruffling the canopy. Most people are heading back to their cars, and I notice for the first time a motorcycle parked just outside the cemetery fencing, on the street beyond. A lone man stands next to it, looking this way. I squint, but he’s too far away to make out his facial features or anything else about him. Is he here for Da? How odd.

  But then again, in this town, perhaps not. Everyone knows the motorcycle gang that runs everything around here, or at least it seems like it to me. Kings of something … Carnage, that’s it, Kings of Carnage. I wonder if he’s one of them.

  The long day continues back at my parents’ home, well, my mother’s home now, I suppose. The men are out in the yard talking. We women are in the kitchen, making tea and sandwiches and washing dishes. It seems like everyone walking through the door has come with a cake or plate of food in hand that we hardly know where to put it all.

  Mother broke down earlier so Aunt Kathleen put her to bed with a cold compress.

  I pass a plate for Bethany to dry. She gives me a small smile and takes it with her waiting dishtowel.

  “Michaela, there you are.”

  We both turn to see Stanfield standing in the doorway to the dining room.

  “I must be going. Walk me to the door? I’d like to say goodbye,” he says.

  “Of course.” I dry my hands and follow him, pausing in the small foyer by the front door. Although the home is small and crowded, there’s no one in this space, and we have a little privacy. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  He takes one of my hands in both of his. “I’m so sorry for you, Michaela. I know there will be trying times ahead. Please do not hesitate to call me if there’s anything I can do to assist with the business details of closing out your father’s estate.” He reaches in his coat pocket, pulls out a business card and pen, then scribbles a number on the back. “This is my cell and that’s my office. Day or night, I’m at your disposal.”

  I cock my head to the side, frowning. “I’m sorry for asking, but tell me again how you knew my fat
her.”

  He smiles. “He was looking to invest in a business venture of mine. Unfortunately, well, we never had time to finish the details.”

  My father? Investing in something? I’m not sure where he’d have the money. It seemed he was always struggling to make ends meet. “A business venture? What kind?”

  His chin lifts ever so perceptibly, and I get the feeling he’s not the kind of man who is accustomed to being questioned. “Real estate, a commercial development. The details aren’t important at this point. Again, if there’s anything I can do …”

  “Of course. Thank you for your concern.”

  “Will you be in town long? Perhaps we could have lunch.”

  His invitation throws me. For one, I have no idea why he’s so concerned about my family; and two, he’s so out of our social circle that it isn’t even funny. I study his eyes and wonder if perhaps it’s me he’s interested in. He’s attractive and well off, and I suppose I should be flattered despite the twenty-some-odd-year age gap. I give him a polite smile. “I don’t plan to be home long. Just a few days or so until my mother is over the shock and things start to settle.”

  He smiles, oddly happy with my answer it seems. “Of course. Well, give her my sincerest sympathies, would you?”

  “I’ll do that.” I move toward the door, opening it for him.

  He nods and steps through. I close it behind him and stare down at the business card. I can’t imagine I’ll ever have a reason to call him, but I slip it in my pocket just the same.

  I look up to see Aunt Kathleen coming down the stairs.

  “How’s Mother?”

  “Resting. I gave her one of the pills the doctor had left for her yesterday. She’s exhausted from it all.”

  I nod. It’s scary to see one’s parent in such a state, even as an adult.

  “May we speak, Michaela?”

  “Of course.”

  She leads me down a hall. The old wooden floors creak under our feet. She enters a small guest bedroom off the back. The bed is piled high with coats. Daylight filters through the lace curtains, so I don’t bother with the lamp as I push the coats aside and sit. “What is it?”

  Aunt Kathleen begins pacing and it’s just adding to my agitation. It feels like she’s about to spring something on me, and I don’t like the feeling.

  “Sweetheart, I’m afraid your mother is in no condition right now to make any decisions. She was barely able to help with the funeral arrangements.”

  “What decisions need to be made?”

  She stares down at me. “The business, of course.”

  “The bar? What about it? Isn’t there a manager or something?”

  Her brows arch. “Phil? He’s practically worthless. Look, I know you haven’t been around for a long time, but things are, well … I just don’t know how that place is going to survive without someone in the family taking charge and looking out for the best interest of the owners.”

  I stand while something white-hot that I can’t even name shoots through me. It’s jarring and terrifying. “You can’t mean me?”

  “Darling, who else is there? Your mother is an emotional wreck. Your brother is too young, and I’ve got my hands full taking care of your grandfather. I can’t run the bar too.”

  “But Aunt Kathleen, I have a job in Atlanta, an apartment, a life …”

  “You think I don’t know that? You think I want to put this burden on you? There’s no one else, Michaela. You must see that? That bar is the only means of support your family has. Think of your brother and the twins. What will happen to them?”

  “B-but isn’t there an insurance policy or something? Or did Da screw that up too?”

  “Michaela!”

  “What?” I snap back, my emotions shredding.

  “I know the way you feel about him, but—”

  “The way I feel about him?” I shake my head. “He never thought of the family. If he did, he wouldn’t have squandered my college money. He wouldn’t have kept that stupid bar, and he wouldn’t have stayed in this stupid town. He would have taken his family and left years ago when Mother begged him to after the fire.”

  “He loved you, all of you.”

  I shrug, folding my arms. “Did he?”

  “You know he did. You’re upset, that’s all.”

  “That’s not all, but whatever. Doesn’t matter now, does it? So now there’s no insurance money, just more evidence he never thought to put his family first.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re wrong, honey. There was insurance. Of course there was. A three-hundred-thousand-dollar policy, but it was suicide, dear. They won’t pay out in cases like this.”

  I can’t stop the gurgle of laugher that bubbles up. “So even in his last act, he screwed us all over. Way to go, Da. Way to be so selfish.”

  “Michaela, stop it. He loved you all. He worked day and night to provide for his family. You think he had it easy?”

  “He took the easy way out, though, didn’t he?”

  My aunt slaps me across the face so quickly I’m stunned.

  “Don’t you speak of him that way, ever!”

  I press my palm to my cheek, and she grabs me, pulling me into her arms for a tight hug. “Oh, my darling. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I shouldn’t have struck you.”

  I break down in her arms as we cling to each other.

  She whispers against my hair. “It has to be you, Michaela. It has to. Only you can save your family. I’ll help you. I swear I will. But it’s all resting on your shoulders now.”

  I break down in sobs, knowing everything she says is true. My life is disintegrating, and no matter what anger has spewed out of me, all I really want is my da back.

  Four

  Michaela—

  One week later—

  Thursday afternoon I turn down the alley in back of Mooney’s Pub. My brother and his friend are in the little pickup truck behind me. There’s just enough room for us both to park behind the building.

  The bar is in our little town’s older section, on what you’d call our Main Street, though it’s actually a portion of Hwy 42, which is good for business. A lot of traffic goes past.

  I climb out and look up at the wooden stairs that lead to the second-floor apartment. There’s also an entrance in front with a separate door from the bar, but this one will make it easier to carry up our load. Originally, the apartment was for whoever managed the bar, but my father always ran the place and never needed it. He tried renting it out for extra cash but could never keep any tenants because of the noise and late hours of the bar below. Ma says no one’s lived up there in several years. God only knows what shape it’s in.

  My brother’s truck is loaded down with a mattress and a small couch. Ma said they left the wooden furniture up there when they cleaned the place out, so there’s supposedly a kitchen table, a bed frame, a dresser, and some odds and ends.

  Between my aunt and my ma, they’ve scraped together enough linens and dishes to get me started. I don’t have the heart to tell them that I’m not planning on being here long.

  “You got the keys?” Ryan asks me, staring up at the door. His friend stands beside him, his hands shoved in his pocket.

  “Of course. Come on. Let’s check the place out before we start carrying in stuff.” They follow me up to the landing, I unlock the door, and we walk into a small kitchen. There’s an archway leading to a living room with a bedroom and bathroom off to the left. The living room and bedroom have lots of windows and both face the street. The floors are the original hardwood and in surprisingly good shape considering the building dates from 1903. There’s even a small wood-burning fireplace, probably the original heat source back in the day. Ma said she thinks it still works and that dad had the chimney cleaned for the last tenant.

  The large crown-molding and other woodwork are amazing in the way only true turn-of-the-century craftsmen were capable of creating. The ceilings are high and the windows are quite tall as well.

  I wander
into the bathroom off the tiny hall. It’s got a claw foot tub, which I find charming, but it needs a good scrub. The sink is an old pedestal style. Thankfully, the toilet and faucets have all been updated.

  I move into the bedroom and find an ornate iron bed frame, its white paint chipped. Lace curtains hang in the windows, yellow from age. A good bleaching should do the trick.

  I find the whole place endearing and charming, and I smile, happy that it isn’t as bad as I feared.

  The boys appear in the doorway.

  “You want us to start carrying stuff up?” Ryan asks.

  I nod. “Yes, please. The mattress first, I think.”

  An hour later, and a lot of swear words I can’t believe my little brother knows, they’ve wrangled the mattress and couch up the stairs, along with a rolled-up rag rug that my aunt donated.

  I order pizza and we sit and eat. It’s about seven when they finally stand to leave, and I hug my brother and his friend. “Thank you, Ryan. You too, Chad.”

  “You need any help with the bar?” Ryan offers.

  I shake my head. “I’ll call you if I do. The employees are supposed to gather for a meeting tomorrow morning before we open back up.”

  “All right. Take care.” He moves to the back door. Chad goes outside, but Ryan turns back before I close it. “I’m glad you’re home, Michaela.”

  I smile around the lump in my throat and lie. “Me too, kiddo.”

  I close the door, pulling the faded gingham curtain aside, and watch through the upper glass. The little pickup rolls down the alley.

  I move back into the living room and gather up the soda cans, the pizza box, and napkins, and throw them in a trash bag. Then I get to work. First, I make the bed and set up a small lamp on the table next to it. The curtains will have to wait until another day when I can take them down and haul them over to Ma’s for washing.