by Zoey Parker
I run for Papa, for myself, for one last time, to be there as he goes. To tell him I love him once more.
I pass Maria Fernanda on the staircase, and she’s saying some things, and Carlos is behind me, and he’s yelling some others – but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, these words, their words, their words that are just more hands, snatching at me, trying to keep me from my father, my Papa – who I have to see one last time.
I rip open the door – and stop.
I look upon death and the reaper, and scream.
Ms. Laurenz aims her squinty eyes at me in something of a sneer. The squint has no tears.
And behind her, half upright half sunk down, like a shoved-up scarecrow, is Papa.
Dead.
I’m too late.
“Toni,” Carlos says.
He’s in the doorway behind me.
I’m shaking, can barely get the words out, as the realization twists through my body, “This. This is why you came down.”
I wrench around to say the words to his disgusting, lying face, “Why you told me Papa didn’t want to see anyone.”
Carlos opens his mouth, closes it. Swallows his latest lies, comes up with another:
“He did say that…”
I shake my head, and he shuts up.
After all, his lie has worked his magic: got his vile snake of a mother with Papa in his last moments. Ruined Papa’s last moments so Laurenz could carry out whatever conniving plan she has on the go this time.
Ms. Laurenz throws her scarf over her shoulder, the green flashing mockery.
“Your father and I discussed—”
“Get out,” I say.
I step back. Point to the door.
She doesn’t move, continues twisting her lips.
“You should know that-”
“Get out, you despicable bitch,” I say.
I draw my gun, point it at Laurenz.
“Or I’ll make you get out.”
We stand there, eyes boring into each other. Now that I’m speaking her language she can’t stand it.
She really does look like a snake: low diamond eyes with the pinprick pupils, hollowed-out cheeks, fangs carefully tucked away until they’re needed.
The snake’s sneer grows until her eyes are so narrowed into a glare that they almost look closed, while her lips are contorted so much, it almost looks like she doesn’t have any at all.
“Toni,” Carlos says, and I turn my gun on him.
“Neither of you belong in the same room as him. Get out.”
He doesn’t move, and I cock the pistol.
He stares at me evenly. There’s no fear in his face, but there should be. Even I don’t know what I’m capable of right now.
I shift the gun to the side, shoot the stuffed cobra. It topples to the ground.
I step back. Shift the gun back to Laurenz.
“I won’t ask again.”
With one last furious look at the shot down cobra, Laurenz slithers away, her green scarf flickering behind her, taking her disgusting son in hand.
Once they’re gone, in the doorway, Maria Fernanda shakes her head, closes the door behind them.
Now it’s just me and Papa. Me and the man I failed at the last.
I stare at him, trying to get my mind to accept that it’s really my father, that he’s really gone.
But his skin is a parchment of ashy lines, his chin has patches of hair that don’t belong – this creature doesn’t even look like him. His eyes are half-open, as if he’s only deep in thought, might come to any minute.
I look at my dead father, the man I never really knew, and I collapse onto the bed at his feet, sobbing.
Time passes as waking and remembering, as a drifting in and out of consciousness and pain to unconsciousness and pain.
I dream that Papa’s alive, cursing me for leaving him with Laurenz for his final hours. I dream his corpse shakes at me an admonishing finger that turns into ash as it moves.
I dream that “Don’t make the same mistake I did” flies out of his frozen lips, that his whole body flops with the effort of the words, and yet, that his lips, his crackled lines of lips still won’t move.
I dream that Maria Fernanda comes, moves me to the chair. I dream the cobra twines around my legs, its head morphing from Ms. Laurenz to Carlos to Clarence and, when it bites me, I see it was Gabe all along.
I wake up shivering. Maria Fernanda is stroking my hair.
“My poor girl. My poor, poor girl.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were home. The Laurenz woman threatened me, made me take her to your father. Spreading mischief at the end, I’m sure.”
I throw my arms around her in a hug, our faces pressed together, our tears mingling.
And then I slump into it, the pain, and, although I am awake, I might as well not be. I can lift my head no more.
Chapter 25
Gabriel
I wait until my first whiskey is a memory and the second is a possibility.
It’s been over an hour since Tony was supposed to show up, though I knew after 15 minutes. That she’s not coming.
I can almost hear Hannah as I stride back up to the bar for the next whiskey, the second that I’m not supposed to have, “Don’t, Gabe.”
But I check my phone and there’s nothing from her and there’s still nothing from Tony, and my sister doesn’t understand. She’s not here. That I can’t take it without her. That I think I’m in love and that I’m doomed.
“Another Jack Daniel’s,” I tell the bartender, Jake, who’s now on a first name basis with me.
Last time he wasn’t much help, but this time, maybe a 20 can persuade him.
“So, that Toni woman…” I say, sliding the bill across the counter.
Jake smiles the smile of understanding all too well before he slides the bill right back.
“Let me give you some advice, brother. She’s a viper, that one. She has a line of bodies so long that even I’ve lost track. You’re better off with one of our regulars.”
He sweeps his arm to the right, where a brunette at her own table is looking at me like I’m over there already.
“Like Marla.”
He sweeps his arm to the left, where, at the end of the bar, a blonde is resting her generous chest on the bar.
I nod.
“I think…”
I slide the bill back across the counter.
“I’ll go for two more Jack Daniel’s.”
The next glass is down the hatch, making room for the next.
And my lips are on the rim too, when memory taps on my back and whispers in my ear, “Gabe?”
I freeze. It can’t be – and yet, that low gravelly voice, that rich jasmine scent – it has to be.
“Anya?”
I turn and there she is. The first woman I ever loved. My girl from before. The one who nearly ruined me.
Seeing me, she shakes her head, sending her curls into a ruby dance of mirth.
“Who else could it be?”
Hands on her slim hips, she regards me with a severe grin.
“You haven’t changed.”
I let my own gaze take in her skintight dress that’s even more red than her hair, her lips that look bigger than I remember.
“You have.”
She leans on the bar beside me, teal blue eyes roving all over me, smile playing on her lips.
“So, you’ve missed me then.”
She says it as the statement it is, as if she had somehow witnessed the gaping void of the months that followed her.
And now I’m seeing her. Seeing her and sweet Jesus, what a sight she is.
Next thing I know she’s pressing herself to me, red-nailed hand snaking down, husking, “What do you say we pick up where we left off?”
I look down at her, memory tingling awake every nerve in me.
I see myself: taking her in my arms right here, throwing myself onto her, the way I ached to do for months
after. I see myself, ripping down the red cotton, revealing the pink nipple, sucking it, mashing my face between the huge swells of her bouncing breasts as I plunge into her, her red-furred cunt clutching and spasming for more.
I see us fucking our brains out, the room rolling with our pleasure, as she cums again and again and again and I anoint her with my joy. I see us fused into one body, one feeling.
And then I see myself waking up, rolling over and seeing her.
Tony. My olive-limbed princess. Staring at me with wide eyes.
My stomach twists.
“One second,” I tell Anya, walking to the door.
My legs take me out the door to my motorcycle.
I get on and drive. Away from Anya, memory, the past; away from Tony, the future, the feeling that’s getting harder and harder to deny.
I drive until I get to the motel.
In the parking lot, I sit on the curb, stare at the outside door of our room: Room 29.
There’s light spilling out of the bottom. It could be us in there, curled up into each other: Tony and me.
I check my phone. Still nothing.
Why did I have to go leaving Anya like that? Am I afraid?
I stand up, then sit back down.
No, not of her. Not anymore. By the woman who’s taken her place, who’s awoken feelings in me I’ve never had before.
Tony.
I check my phone again, finally turn it off.
I can’t keep checking it every minute like this; I’ll go crazy.
I sit there gazing at the door for who-knows-how long.
When I finally turn my phone back on, it blinks with messages and rings.
I scan through them eagerly, but all I see are a series of texts from Pulse, Jaws and Pip.
My phone rings. I answer it, though I know already.
“It’s go time,” Jaws says, “Papa Piccolo is officially in the past.”
“Great,” I say, then, “Why are you calling me? Aren’t you still in the hospital?”
I hear some shuffling then Jaws says, “Irrelevant.”
“Jaws…” I say.
“Boss, I’m gonna be there at the meeting,” he says, and, when I don’t answer, adds, “Whether you tell me when it is or not.”
“Fine,” I say, “Tomorrow. The basement. Tell the boys.”
“Oo, this is gonna be something!” Jaws says, and I hang up.
I walk back over to the bike, almost relieved.
Now I have bigger things to worry about then my hurt feelings.
###
The basement is the perfect place for the gathering. Usually it’s for the higher paying clients, the “don’t ask, don’t tell” gentlemen whose behind-the-scenes antics even the cops don’t question.
They get the nice black-marbled room with the red satin seats, and I get a fat wad of cash.
It’s a room of sumptuous luxury. A $500,000 thousand investment that has turned out five times that much already.
It’s a room of victory, of possibility, and, tonight, of planning possibility’s victory: the Piccolos’ takedown.
Today it’s jam-packed with more men than it has room for. They all part for me to walk through.
Once I reach the front of the room, I stop to survey the crowd. A smile flickers on my face.
Damn, will you look at just how many men are in the Rebel Saints!
It’s easy to forget when they’re all spread out in the separate districts, dealing with the separate shipments, driving around in separate motorcycled packs - when you only catch glimpses of groups of them at a time. But here, now, the whole motorcycle club gathered together for a single goal, the sight is staggering.
There has to be at least 50 of them, maybe even twice that much. Fifty broad-chested, sharp-eyed beasts of men. The Rebel Saints only employ the best of the best, the most hardened, the most determined, the meanest bastards of men around. And now, all these wild hyenas have gathered together to listen to me.
The murmuring of voices quiets when I get to the front, but doesn’t die down completely.
“Rebel Saints!” I say, and the room goes silent.
“Rebel Saints!” I repeat, and they repeat, “Rebel Saints!”
“Harooooooo!” we cry.
I raise my hand and the room goes silent again.
“The Piccolos have messed with the wrong motorcycle club,” I say, “They’ve stolen our shipments, tried to recruit our boys. They’ve even taken my sister.”
I pace back and forth, my bootfalls echoing through the room.
I let my gaze slide over the crowd, shrug my shoulders in an expression of indifference.
“But maybe they’re done for now, what do you think? Should we just let them keep taking and taking from us? Maybe they’ll tire of the taking, be grateful we’ve bent over and taken it in the butt so much, yeah?”
Voices rumble with anger, and, slouching onto the table, I say, “What’s that? What do you think? We should just let them do as they will, yeah?”
Jaws is the first to snarl out the fury of the crowd, “Hello no!”
Another voice pipes up immediately after, “They won’t stop until they’ve taken everything!”
Then another, “Put ‘em down!”
I get up off the table, spread my arms.
“So, you think we should put ‘em down, eh? Crush the Piccolos with all that we’ve got?”
The room roars its approval and I pump up one fist.
“You think the Rebel Saints should stomp its foot down for the final time – give the Piccolos a reckoning they won’t soon forget?”
Another roar of approval.
I nod.
“That’s what I think too. And what I know is – now is the time to act. Now. Big Daddy Piccolo has finely met his due end. His funeral is in the next few days. Now is the time to act, to hit the Piccolo compound, while they’re all off boohooing their great dead leader – we hit ‘em. Now.”
My hand smacks the table, sends it rattling.
“Yes. We’re going to annihilate those Piccolo bastards. And Pip is going to show us how.”
Seated a little off to the side, beside a projector, Pip gives a self-conscious half-smile, then nods to Jaws at the back of the room. Jaws flicks off the lights, and Pip hits a button.
On the wall behind me, the projected red words, “Piccolo Annihilation” grow then shrink.
Snickers from the crowd that are probably Jaws’.
“Right, so, the Piccolo property is broken up into three,” Pip says, as the screen changes to a map with three rectangles.
“There’s the main house and two other buildings. Since we found their office, we’re pretty sure they’re using one of these as their temporary one, but that’s not the point. The point is, we’re going to blow up all three.”
A flame slides across the screen to more snickers.
Now Pulse strides up to the front beside me.
“We’re doing it when they have their funeral, which they’re keeping quiet about, but our contact will let us know about soon enough.”
He shifts both of his arms, the white-eyed bull on each seeming to shift themselves.
“Our contact also tells us that Gabe’s sister Hannah is being kept in the main house, will be shipped out with the next shipment. While the rest of you are setting up the bombs and hiding for the attack, Gabe and I will be finding her.”
The two buildings off to the side light up.
“So, the plan is pretty simple,” Jaws says as he strides up to the front, “Most of you guys are gonna be setting up the explosives, which will be made and transported by none other than our dear boy Pulse.”
A small smile flickers on Pulse’s face.
“Anyways, after they blow, we get the hell out of there. Then, we go back and wait for the Piccolos to come back, let loose when they do.”
I step beside him.
“The rules are simple. You see a Piccolo, a guard, anyone who’s not a Rebel Saint – you question th
em about Hannah, then you shoot them. You don’t set off the explosives until we say so. You find a shipment of girls, you get them out of there, get them into the vans. You see anything out of the ordinary, anything – you tell us. The Piccolos come back early, you shoot them. Meanwhile, Pip is going to be disabling their security and seeing if he can get an infrared reading on the house.”