One Percenter (Entangled Embrace)

by D. R. Graham

  When I eventually open the bathroom door, Aiden’s standing in the middle of the room. He’s put on his jeans, but he’s bare-chested and has tied a bandana across his forehead.

  “We have to go,” he says with a tone he only uses when he’s working. “My dad called. He wants me to take you down to the clubhouse. Get dressed.”

  I stare at him, completely shocked, as he pulls on a black T-shirt. “I don’t want to go to the clubhouse.”

  “We have no choice.”

  I lean against the doorframe and squeeze my eyes shut. We are right back where we started. He couldn’t last one day. “How could I have been so gullible to believe that you would actually be able to stay away from club business? God, I’m an idiot. I’m not going there and, if you do, then what just happened here didn’t happen.”

  Aiden gives me a level look. “It’s about Cooper.”

  The mention of Cooper’s name stops everything else that is spinning in my brain. I want to know what they’ve learned about his death, but I don’t need to go to the clubhouse to get it. I think of most of those guys as family—a demented family, but family nonetheless—unfortunately, they’re different when they’re working. I don’t want to be around that. I refuse to go there when there’s an alternative.

  “Phone your dad back,” I say, “and tell him to meet us at the house.”

  Aiden shakes his head. “He wouldn’t have asked us to go to the clubhouse if it wasn’t important.”

  “Fuck that. I’m not stepping foot in that cesspool.”

  Frustrated, Aiden gives in and dials his dad. “She doesn’t want to meet at the clubhouse… Yeah… Fucking, you tell her.” He hands me the phone.

  “Hello,” I say.

  Randy coughs and growls, “Get your ass down here, T Bear.”

  “No thanks. If you want to talk to me we can meet at your house or a damn Waffle Palace.”

  “How are the brakes working on your aunt’s new car?”

  I want to swear at him and call him a bunch of names, but I know better. “I hope that’s not a threat, Randy, because I’m pretty sure your taxes are not in order.”

  “See you in thirty minutes. Don’t be late.” He hangs up.

  I throw Aiden’s phone across the room. It bounces off the wall and, fortunately, lands on the bed. So much for managing my anger. “Sorry.” I lunge over and check that I didn’t break it. “He threatened to tamper with Elizabeth’s car if I don’t go to the clubhouse.”

  Although he knows his dad is capable of something like that, Aiden doesn’t seem concerned. He hands me my jacket. “He just wants to tell you what they’ve found out about Cooper’s death and then we can leave.”

  “Fine. I’ll go, but only because I care about what happened to Cooper. He can’t bully me to do things by threatening the people I care about. He’s such an asshole sometimes.”

  “Yeah, well, it is what it is.” He takes off his eight different big chunky rings with skulls, Celtic symbols, and the one with the letters TCB, which stands for taking care of business. He drops all but one of the rings on his desk. He tucks the shamrock ring that I gave him to ward off evil into his pocket.

  “Why are you taking off your rings?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He hides a switchblade in his boot and puts his cut on, then walks over and holds my face. “Once we figure out what happened to Cooper, we’ll leave all this behind us. Deal?”

  I’m really not comfortable with any of this, but I do trust that he knows what he’s doing, so I nod and kiss him.

  As we’re walking to where his bike is parked, I call my mom’s landlord, partly because I said I would get him the money today, and partly because I’m worried I’ll never see the money again if I take it into the clubhouse with me.

  “Nesbitt. It’s Tienne. Meet me at my mom’s in ten minutes if you want the rest of the rent.”

  “I’m busy. I’ll meet you there at eight.”

  “It has to be now. Unless you want her to snort it, inject it, or smoke it, you better be there.”

  “Or I could just evict her.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, you try that and I’ll tell my uncles to shove your tiny car up your ass. See you in ten minutes. Don’t be late.” I hang up.

  Aiden laughs at me as he passes me my helmet. “You’re as bad as my dad.”

  “Shut up.”

  He kisses me and we take off. He’s riding like an outlaw now. I dig my fingers into the leather of his cut and close my eyes when we blow through intersections with red lights. It’s terrifying and completely exhilarating.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When Aiden and I pull up in front of my mom’s house, she’s standing on the porch smoking. Her landlord is already there, sitting in his Smart car. I don’t get off the bike, so he has to get out and walk over to me. He takes the money and scurries off. Mom walks down the path toward us. “Thanks, T Bear. I’ll pay you back.”

  I pretend like she means it. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She takes a drag from the cigarette, trying to work up the nerve to say something more. “I’m going away for a while.”

  “Where?”

  She drops the cigarette on the sidewalk and twists her foot to stamp it out. “A treatment center.”

  “Really?” She has had intentions to do it before, but it never got past the contemplation stage. I’m not sure what to think of it.

  She nods, and her mood seems different this time—not like someone who is desperate to make amends for something, but like someone who is just really tired of being this way.

  I don’t want to get my hopes up but, if she’s serious, I don’t want to discourage her, either. “That’s great, Mom.” I reach over and hug her around the neck. “When do you leave?”

  “Ronnie’s going to take me out there tomorrow.”

  “How long do you have to stay?”

  She shrugs, nervous. “A couple months probably. Your uncles are going to take care of the rent here.”

  She notices my ring and catches my hand to get a better look. She smiles approvingly, but doesn’t say anything. “Aiden and I have to go meet Digger right now,” I tell her, “but I’ll come over tomorrow morning to say good-bye.”

  “Sounds good. I love you, T Bear.”

  “I love you too, Mom.” Aiden reaches back and runs his hand along my thigh, probably because he thinks it’s nice to hear me being kind to my mom. “We really have to go. Digger’s waiting.” She nods and Aiden revs the bike. I wave as we take off.

  There are about twenty other bikes lined up in front of the clubhouse. Aiden parks closest to the front gate as if he’s expecting that we’ll have to make a quick exit. I’ve never actually been inside, but my mom used to send Cooper and me down to the gate to get our dad to come home. She knew that even the gorillas who work the door couldn’t turn away two cute, hungry kids when they came knocking for their daddy.

  The perimeter is monitored with several obvious security cameras and a bunch of hidden ones. The front gate is made of eight-foot metal bars that have been painted in alternating club colors. The garage door has a large and particularly vicious looking lion head club logo painted on it. At night, it’s lit up and looks like it’s rising out of the flames of hell. The fence is sheet metal so people can’t get near or even see the house from the street. There is a smaller solid steel gate that leads to the front yard. It has one of those small lookout windows that the doorman can talk to visitors through, and, if necessary, I guess he could get a good shot through it.

  Aiden knocks twice, waits, and knocks one more time.

  The lookout hatch opens. “Hey, Gylly. Come on in.” The gate opens and we walk into the front yard. The guy who answered the door is Flow. I used to babysit his daughter. “Hey, T Bear,” he says. I have to stand on my tiptoes just to reach my arms around his gigantic waist. He smells like beer. When he hugs me back, it makes me groan because my ribs shift. “Sorry to hear about Cooper.”

  “Thanks, Flow. How�
�s Penny?”

  “Good. She’s in the eighth grade now.”

  “Don’t forget to tell her that you love her or she’ll end up dating thugs.”

  He laughs. “Go on up to the house. Chaz is expecting you.”

  The path to the door is illuminated with garden lights, and the yard looks professionally landscaped with a cascading waterfall and a rock garden. Ironically, it’s almost tranquil. Aiden knocks on the front door. Instead of holding my hand, he clutches my elbow, prepared to chuck me out of the way if he needs to.

  Chaz opens the door wearing a shoulder holster with two guns. His goatee is braided and he’s wearing dark glasses even though it’s dark out. He nods at Aiden, then bends over to give me a hug. “Hey, T Bear. Sorry about Cooper.” His gun digs into my ribs, which makes me flinch. His whiskers scratch like sandpaper on my cheek.

  “Thanks, Chaz. How’s your back?”

  “Good. I tried that acupuncture shit you suggested and it’s pretty much better.”

  “I told you not to be a pussy about the needles.”

  “The needles still creep me out.” He closes and bolts the door behind us and then leads us into what looks like a waiting area at a Hard Rock Café. There are leather benches lining the perimeter of the small alcove. Club paraphernalia is hung in framed glass cases on the blue walls. The collection consists of things like rockers and other patches that were likely stolen from rival clubs, photos of famous people with members at rallies, and the cuts of dead members all on display. The encased cut above my head has a brass plate on the frame with the name “Southpaw” engraved on it. My dad’s cut is in the case next to it. I recognize it without even reading the nameplate because there is a purple stain on his bottom rocker from the time when Cooper hugged him with a Popsicle in his hand. I thought he would get in trouble for staining the patch, but my dad said the dirtier the better. He also said that it would remind him of us wherever he went.

  “Phones.” Chaz holds out his dry, sausage-fingered hands. He checks our pockets, pats us both down for weapons, and takes Gylly’s switchblade out of his boot. “Wait here. Someone will come out to get you,” he says as he lights a cigarette.

  Aiden sits down, and the muscles in his arms and neck are as tense as iron cables. He avoids making eye contact with me. A guy I don’t recognize shows up and doesn’t say anything. He jerks his chin toward a hallway and walks away. I glance at Aiden before we follow the guy. He’s not that tall, but his shoulders are so wide he barely fits width-wise in the hall. More memorabilia lines the walls. The floors are sticky and the windows are all blacked out. It smells as if everything in the building has been marinated in alcohol and smoke.

  Females aren’t really allowed in the club unless a member invites them and Randy approves. Even then it’s usually only if they have been hired for services. I tap my thumbnail against my teeth as we get farther away from Flow and Chaz. Individually, one-on-one, none of the guys who hung out with my dad is overly intimidating. All together, mixed with members I’ve never met before, they are volatile and scary.

  Men’s voices are loud at the end of the hall. Aiden’s hand slides up and clutches my elbow again. The sounds are coming from what is essentially a big living room with a bar at one end and a bunch of overstuffed leather lounger chairs in front of a gigantic big screen TV. Music is playing, but not that loudly. The wall has another club logo painted on it and beneath it is a poker table. On the other end of the room there is a pool table. At least twelve guys are sitting around or playing pool. Uncle Len is stretched out in a lounger with the footrest up in front of the big screen TV, watching a UFC fight. He meets my eye and nods. A girl in a bikini dances on a mini-stage complete with a stripper pole. She looks wrecked, and she can barely stand, let alone dance.

  Someone whistles, which is followed by catcalls. Aiden’s hand tightens around my arm. We follow our guide deeper into the room and everyone else looks up. “Fresh pussy. Dibs,” a skinny guy with long stringy hair and crooked teeth says, as he leans his pool cue against the table and walks toward me. The guy who is escorting us straight-arms the skinny guy right in the Adam’s apple. The skinny guy clutches his throat. “What the fuck, man?” he chokes out between coughs.

  “This is Gylly’s girl and Big Bert’s daughter. Have some fucking respect, motherfucker, or I’ll fucking bury you.” The skinny guy looks at me and waves apologetically with one hand while still holding his throat with the other. The wide guy, whose name I see now is Poncho from the patch on his chest, says, “Stay here, Gylly.”

  Aiden nods and releases my arm, but I can tell by the way he’s clenching his jaw that he doesn’t want to.

  “No,” I say. “Gylly comes with me or I’m not going.” I flop down in an empty lounger and cross my legs. “Ew. Why is this chair sticky? Gross.” I stand up and rub my hands on my jeans. “Tell Digger I’m not going anywhere without Gylly.”

  Uncle Len is smiling as if he’s listening, but he’s not looking at me. He’s watching the fight on TV. Poncho pulls out his phone. He has a short conversation with someone about how I’m refusing to go in without Gylly. He nods a couple times and then puts his phone back in his cut, steps toward me, and clutches my hair with his meaty hands. Aiden tries to pull me free, but two guys grab his arms and hold him back. Poncho drags me kicking and screaming toward a door. Hair rips out of my scalp. I dig my fingernails into his flesh. He doesn’t care, so I try repeatedly to knee him in the crotch.

  “Hey!” Uncle Len yells. “Take it easy.”

  It’s not clear whether he’s talking to me or Poncho. Uncle Len is the Sergeant-at-Arms for the club, which means he enforces and maintains order among the members. He’s responsible for internal discipline, so whether he meant to control Poncho or me doesn’t make a difference—we both comply.

  Poncho loosens his grip on my hair and I stop struggling as he pushes me out of the room. Mickey is standing guard down the hall outside what looks like a bedroom door. “Mickey, tell this Neanderthal to let me go,” I plead.

  “Just keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told, T Bear.” Mickey sighs as if he wishes he didn’t have to have anything to do with the situation.

  He knocks and Randy grumbles, “Yeah.”

  Mickey opens the door and shoves me in. He stays out in the hall and closes the door behind me. There’s a guy sitting on a chair in front of Randy’s desk, but he stands and turns to look at me as I stumble in.

  “Hey, Cisco,” I say.

  “Hey, Ti. Sorry about Cooper.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Excuse us,” Randy says to Cisco. “Tell Cain I’ll call him back.” Cisco nods and exits out a different door than the one Mickey is guarding. Randy squints at something on a computer screen. Surveillance monitors line the wall behind his desk. They are aimed at Flow at the gate, Chaz at the front door, the stripper in the living room, and some empty rooms and hallways. Four monitors are turned off and only show a black screen. They must be the views of the pool table and bar and lounge because none of the working cameras are showing those areas.

  “Why aren’t you watching the assholes in the living room? I want to be able to see Aiden.”

  “The cameras are broken.”

  “Bullshit. I’m outta here.” I turn to leave, but when I open the door Mickey shoves me back in and slams the door. “What the fuck, Digger? You can’t keep me here against my will.”

  “Actually, I can do whatever I want. Sit down, watch your language, and stop being so goddamn ungrateful. We’ve been working on finding out what happened to Cooper.”

  “Thank you for that, but I don’t see why I had to come to this toilet to hear what you have to say. We could have just talked at your house. I like you better when you’re not acting like a P.”

  “Sit down.”

  “No. Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s exasperated, not angry. His gaze lands on the ring that Gylly gave me and his expression turns more seriou
s. “Please, have a seat, T Bear.” I sit down and cross my arms. He shakes his head and mumbles something about Gylly having his work cut out for him. “Do you make everything this difficult?”

  “I told you I didn’t want to come here. You’re the one who’s making it difficult.”

  “I only talk business in this office and at church, so get over it.” He sits back in his chair and stretches his arms behind his head. “We try to make it pretty nice here. Eighty percent of the guys have known you since you were in diapers. I don’t see why you don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like what it stands for. I don’t like what goes on here. Most importantly, I don’t like that my dad liked it here better than he liked it at home, and that’s why he’s dead now.” My hand touches something sticky again. I examine my palms and wrinkle my nose. “I also don’t like that it’s filthy and it stinks in here.” He chuckles, but I glare at him with stone cold seriousness. “This place is going to kill you one day, too. You know that, right?”

  “Don’t worry about me, T Bear.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. “The reason I asked you here is to tell you what we know so far. The bitches who hit your dad are taken care of.”

  “What does that mean? You killed them?”

  “I didn’t do shit.” He reaches into his cut and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, then lights one. “Let’s just say that two of them are dead and the other two are behind bars. The cops were conveniently tipped off after a different hit and they got pulled over riding dirty.”

  “What did my dad do to them?”

  “You don’t need to know all the details. Things got fucked, he tried to unfuck them and there was a miscommunication.”

  “What does this have to do with Cooper?”

  “We’re still making all the connections.” His tone has exactly the same calm confidence that he uses when he’s at home. It seems eerie now, given the severity of what we are talking about it. It must mean that he deals with as serious, or worse, things all the time.

  “I don’t understand why they would go after Cooper if they already got my dad.”