GUNNER: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  And now she’s back in town again.

  Probably not good.

  Striker opens the back door to the club and sticks his head out. “Hey. Rock says church in five.”

  Angel straightens. “Got it.” Turning to me, he asked, “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, nodding over toward the bushes. “Just gotta take a leak first.”

  Angel follows Striker inside, and I stand and head off to talk my dick down and take piss.

  So Jenna has a kid now. Damn. It’s hard to imagine; she’s still so young, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four now. I wonder what kind of curve ball life threw at her to make her a mom — though I imagine she’d probably be a good one, despite Angel’s griping about the kid. Angel isn’t exactly known for his patience.

  Heading back inside for church, I find myself wondering how long Jenna’s going to stay in Tanner Springs this time. It’s gonna be tough to stay away from her, since now I know from our fling last time she was in town what she’s like in the sack. What we were like together. Sex with Jenna was off the goddamn charts. But that shit was dangerous back then, and nothing makes it any less dangerous now. Jenna Abbott needs to be off limits, I tell myself. Period.

  I wander into the chapel after most of the guys are already there. As I take my place at the table, I get my first good look at most of the brothers since I got back. To my surprise, I see some fresh bruises I didn’t notice before in the dark of the bar. The expressions on their faces are tense, jaws set in tight grimaces. I realize now why Rock told me to be back for today’s meeting.

  Looks like some shit has gone down while I was away.

  4

  Jenna

  The stickie note with my dad’s office number and the request that I call him is still sitting next to the land line phone the next day. I glance at it guiltily as I clear Noah's lunch of canned spaghetti and meatballs — one of the only things I can get him to eat at the moment. Noah’s been restless for most of the morning, clamoring for me to take him to the park he noticed a few blocks away when we first drove through town. But the park is going to have to wait a bit. First, I need to spend some time hunting for a job.

  I put Noah’s bowl in the sink and slouch down on the old, saggy sofa with my laptop. Immediately, Noah comes to sit down beside me, a wad of blue Play-Doh in his hand. “Look, Mommy, a dinosaur!” he beseeches, holding up a blob that could just as soon be a bunny rabbit. Or a cantaloupe, for that matter.

  “Nice, bug,” I smile at him and log into a local job search site.

  “Wait, wait! How about this? Mommy, can you tell what this is?” I look over again to see he has ever-so-slightly modified the blob by sticking another blob on top of it.

  “Hmmm, I’m not sure,” I frown. “Is it… a fire engine?”

  “No!” he says crossly, genuinely disappointed at my lack of vision. “It’s Sponge Bob!”

  I suppress a sigh, realizing that the “guess what this is” game is probably going to go on forever unless I do something to stop it. “Bug, I have an idea,” I say, sitting up and putting the laptop on the coffee table in front of me. “How about you watch some Paw Patrol? Mommy’s got a little work to do.”

  “Okay!” Noah says happily. He is always up for Paw Patrol. I find some episodes for him on YouTube. Then, when he’s situated and quiet, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and head into the bedroom to resume my job search that way.

  Just as I sit down on my unmade bed to start looking, the phone rings in my hand, startling me. It’s my father, calling from his personal number. I suppress a groan and answer.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say.

  “Jenna!” his voice booms through the phone. “You haven’t called me yet.”

  I purse my lips against his admonishment. “Well, we’re talking now,” I say, keeping my voice bright. “What’s up?”

  “Checking in on my daughter,” he says gruffly. “You all moved in?”

  “Yes,” I tell him, and lean back against a pillow. “Not unpacked, but everything’s in the apartment. By the way, I wanted to thank you for helping me out with finding this place.”

  “Well, it sure ain’t much of an apartment, that’s for sure,” he huffs. “But with the budget you gave me there weren’t many options. I don’t know why you don’t just move into the house. God knows there’s enough room for the two of you there.”

  “Thanks, Dad, but no.” It had been hard enough for me to ask my father’s help in finding the apartment. If there’s one thing I know about Dad from long experience, it’s that Abe “Triple A” Abbott’s help always comes with strings attached. He’s a born politician, and like all politicians, the main currency he deals in is favors. And the favors he demands in exchange for his help are too rich for my blood.

  It is true, though, that there would be more than enough space for Noah and me at Dad’s place. Even though my mom has been dead for years, he’s still rattling around by himself in the house I grew up in. I’ve never been quite sure why, when it seems like he’d probably be much more comfortable in a smaller place. He has to hire a service to mow his lawn, and another service to clean his house. He works so much that he’s hardly ever home, anyway. It’s baffling. But maybe it’s just his pride as the mayor of Tanner Springs that keeps him from downsizing to a condo or something.

  Dad’s still rambling on about how much more sense it would make for me to move back home with him for a while, like he hasn’t heard me refuse a dozen times already. I’m trying to think of a way to wind down the conversation gracefully, but apparently he’s not through grilling me. “You found yourself a job yet?” he barks. In the background, I can hear a door slam.

  I roll my eyes. “Dad, I just got here yesterday. I was just going to start looking through some ads when you called.”

  “You know, I’m sure if I asked around, we could find you something right quick,” he offers. “Probably better pay than you’re used to, too.”

  I decide to ignore the dig, in part because it’s true. “No thanks, Dad.” The last thing I want is to be making some artificially bloated salary on some local business owner’s payroll just because I’m the mayor’s daughter. Whatever job I end up finding — even if it’s a crappy one — I want it to be on my own merits, however small they are.

  Desperate to change the subject away from my considerable shortcomings, I turn the conversation to the one thing I know will distract him from grilling me about my future. “So, Dad, how’s the reelection campaign going?” I ask.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he spits out in a disgusted voice. I hear him grunt as he heaves his hefty body into a chair. “That fuckin’ Holloway is gonna be the death of me. That little piss-ant came back to Tanner Springs after college with a two-bit MBA and a two-by-four stuck so far up his ass it’s tickling his tonsils.”

  I know already that my father is worried that his challenger, Jarred Holloway, is pulling ahead of him in the mayoral race. Holloway’s younger, hungry for power, and good-looking in a frat bro kind of way. According to Angel, he’s making his campaign about Tanner Springs needing “New Blood, and New Ideas.” It’s even on his campaign signs, which I’ve already seen scattered throughout the town. Dad’s taking it as a personal affront, and it’s kind of consuming him.

  “That underhanded son of a bitch is spreading all sorts of bullshit about me to anyone who’ll listen,” Dad’s ranting. To me, it sounds like maybe Holloway has learned a few things from my dad’s playbook and is threatening to beat him at his own game. “What in the hell has that arrogant pile of shit ever done for this goddamn town? These people are a bunch’a ungrateful sons of bitches. I have sacrificed everything for this town. Everything, do you hear me?”

  His voice is rising now, and I imagine that his secretary and other employees can hear him on the other side of his office door. “Dad, calm down,” I soothe.

  “Calm down? How the hell am I gonna calm down when that fuckin’ wolf is breathing down my neck?”

  “I don’t kno
w, Dad,” I sigh. “But I’m pretty sure you aren’t doing yourself any good letting yourself get worked up like this.”

  Well, I got him to change the subject away from me, all right. But if anything this one’s almost worse. I try again to steer the conversation to something a little more neutral before he works himself up into a heart attack.

  “Hey, Dad, I was wondering if you know anything about which are the good preschools in the area.” I want to get Noah enrolled in something soon, for some socialization with other kids his age. I’m hoping Dad will bite, and he does. Abe Abbott loves to be asked for advice, even if it’s on a subject he knows absolutely nothing about. His tone changes from angry to authoritative in an instant as he begins to rattle off names of different places in the area. For each one, he interjects comments about whether their directors have supported him or not during his mayoral campaigns. I listen with half an ear as I absently finger the ring I wear on a chain around my neck.

  “Of course, I don’t think you can afford that one,” he says as continues to editorialize about one of the preschools he’s heard good things about. “It’s probably the best preschool in town, and it ain’t cheap. Not a lot of bartenders’ or waitresses’ kids going there.”

  His bluntness probably isn’t meant to be cruel, but it sure feels that way. My breath hitches a little at his words, and he must hear it, because his tone instantly softens.

  “I’m sorry, Jenna. I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I guess I just wish you’d finished college, is all,” he says, sounding momentarily subdued. “Maybe if you had you wouldn’t be in the ‘situation’ you’re in right now.”

  “That makes two of us, Daddy,” I murmur under my breath. I know he means well. But sometimes I wonder if his concern about me not finishing college has more to do with feeling that a mayor’s daughter shouldn’t be slinging drinks at a bar.

  “Well,” he says abruptly, his voice returning to the rapid-fire bark I know so well. “You let me know if you need me to find you something. And come by the house this weekend. Bring your boy with you. It’s not right that I haven’t seen my grandson yet.”

  “I will,” I promise him, even though I know from experience that he’ll spend about a minute fussing over Noah before forgetting he’s even there. I say goodbye and hang up the phone, heaving a deep sigh. Only one day back in Tanner Springs, and I feel like the four-plus years I’ve been away never happened. I’m back to fighting my way out of the shadow of Triple A Abbott.

  A wave of anger wells up in me, followed by a wave of reluctant sympathy. In many ways, my father is a bastard. But he is my father. I lie back on the bed for a moment, staring at the cracked ceiling. Dad has changed so much over the years. I remember how it was when I was young. When my mom was still alive. He was so different back then. Oh, he was still a wheeler-dealer, someone who always strove for power and recognition. But still, he was so proud back then. Proud of his family, proud of his beautiful wife, proud of his new political career.

  Now, despite the hard exterior he presents to the world, there’s an undercurrent of loneliness and paranoia that I always notice whenever I talk to him. To the rest of the world, he probably still seems like the same old Abe Abbott. But to me, underneath all the bravado, he just seems… a little broken. I’m not quite sure when or why it got so bad — maybe it was a combination of things. But I’m almost positive about when it started: my mother’s death.

  5

  Jenna

  My mother, Maria Abbott, died six years ago. It was a single-car crash, the cause of which was never quite determined. Mom was in the car alone, on a winding highway heading east, about ten miles outside of Tanner Springs. No one knows why she was out there, or where she was going.

  Since the accident happened in the middle of the day with no other traffic around, the police suspected drugs or alcohol as the cause at first. But the medical examiner found no trace of anything in her system. Unfortunately, neither did the mechanics who were called in to check the car for any evidence of a malfunction. The only clue as to what might have happened were a couple of sets of skid marks on the highway in the thousand feet or so before her car plunged off the road and down the cliff. Both sets of marks were determined to come from her tires. The most the police could determine was that something seemed to have alarmed her and caused her to begin driving erratically.

  About a week or so after her death, Gabriel happened to overhear my father on the phone in his home office. As Gabe stood outside the closed door, he heard Dad saying to someone that he thought the Iron Spiders were behind my mother’s death. That they had run her off the road on purpose, as payback to my dad.

  The Iron Spiders are a rival MC to the Lords of Carnage. Their territory butts up against the Lords’ territory to the south. Apparently my dad suspected the Spiders had targeted my mom as payback for him striking a deal with the Lords, instead of helping them to get a foothold in Tanner Springs. Of course, nothing could be proved either way. Whatever had happened on that road was a secret Mom took with her to her grave, and the Iron Spiders sure as hell weren’t talking. But my father, whether or not he was correct, would have to live with the knowledge that his shady business dealings may have killed my mother for the rest of his life.

  Hearing my father’s theory about Mom’s death changed Gabriel. Not long after, he started hanging around the Lords. He prospected for the club with a dedication and determination I’d never seen him display before — in part or in whole, I knew, out of a desire for revenge against the Iron Spiders.

  My brother got patched into the Lords of Carnage about a year later, and became “Angel” instead of Gabriel. But the truth about my mother’s killer or killers, if she was in fact murdered, has never come to light.

  For the thousandth time in six years, I force myself to stop thinking about my mother’s death — to stop wondering how different life might be today if she’d never been killed. What would have become of all of us, if Maria Abbott was still here to be my father’s wife, and Gabe’s and my mom.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm myself. Then I sit up, shake my head to clear it, and go back to my job search.

  Half an hour of scanning employment websites later, I see nothing I can reasonably apply to. Tanner Springs isn’t a very big town, and a lot of the jobs being advertised are for specialized jobs like a physical therapist, or a nurse’s aide, or an electrician. No jobs for a college dropout single mom whose only actual skill is pouring drinks.

  I’m starting to feel kind of depressed and hopeless, but just then the music of Noah’s childish laughter floats toward me from the living room, cutting into my black thoughts.

  I smile to myself at the sound, but then the reality that I have a young child to support starts a cold pit of worry forming in my stomach. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t find something to pay the bills, and quickly. The rent over this tattoo parlor is cheap, but cheap isn’t free.

  My mind starts to swirl with ever more dire “what if” scenarios. What if I can’t find a job at all? What if I have to swallow my pride and move in with my dad? What if I never manage to get back on my feet, and I end up being the town loser, the pathetic shut-in that everyone clucks about in sympathy whenever I walk by?

  Enough, I tell myself sternly, and stand up. The situation might be tough, but I’m not going to accomplish anything more by tying myself in knots. I run a distracted hand through my hair, and glance at myself in the small, cracked mirror above my dresser. Then I call to Noah to get ready to go to the park, determined to give him a few hours of uninterrupted attention — even as I wonder to myself what the hell to do next.

  6

  Cas

  Rocco “Rock” Anthony, the President of the Lords of Carnage, slams his gavel on the heavy oak table, announcing that the meeting is coming to order.

  “All right, you fuckin’ savages,” he calls above the din. “Settle the fuck down. It’s payday.”

  A
chorus of loud cheers greets his announcement, and then Rock turns the meeting over to Geno, the club treasurer.

  Geno stands, his massive, barrel-chested body barely fitting in between the chairs and the wall behind us. Picking up a stack of white envelopes, he starts to hand out our earnings. One by one, he barks our names and slides one of the envelopes into our hands, each with our names written in his recognizable chicken-scratch.

  By the time he gets around to me, some of the men are already starting to grumble. “A little fuckin’ light again this month, isn’t it?” Brick, our enforcer, growls. He’s holding his slim envelope in his hand like he’s weighing it on a scale.

  “No shit,” Hawk agrees. “Christ, how the fuck much are we down this month? I was expecting…” — he peers into his envelope — “Shit, at least twice this much.”

  Geno hands me my pay, which barely weighs anything in my hand, then runs a thick hand over his bald pate. “Yeah, it ain’t quite what we expected, brothers. There’s a couple reasons…”

  “The protection deal for the new commercial development on the west side fell through,” Rock says flatly. “The developer got spooked.”

  “God damn it,” Skid explodes, his thick brows frowning in anger. “I got bills to fuckin’ pay. My kid needs goddamn braces, the old lady says. How the fuck are we supposed to make ends meet like this?”

  A few other voices join him, and a low murmur of dissatisfaction reverberates through the chapel. “Look,” Rock frowns, looking around at all of us. “I get it. I got stiffed this month, too. We’re all in this together. And know that if any of you are going through some tough financial times right now, the club’s got your back. I can dig into the reserves if necessary — though I’m gonna be honest with you, there ain’t much in it right now.”