by Bijou Hunter
“Bingo,” she says and winks.
Again we fall silent. I want to focus the conversation on my problem without them worrying about me. When the opportunity doesn’t arise, I decide to blurt shit out and stop playing around.
“Something happened in Little Memphis that messed me up.”
Pepper frowns at me. “Did Anise try to kill you? You can’t take that shit personally. She threatened to kill me over the phone around Christmas.”
“Why?”
“I’d said something derogatory about that movie ‘The Santa Clause.’ I think she was bored and hadn’t threatened anyone in a while. Like I said, you can’t take her threats seriously.”
“It wasn’t Anise. I got all wound up thinking about my mom. It’s like all my memories and feelings about her were trapped in a bottle inside me, and someone popped the cork. Now they're spilling out, and I can’t keep up with the mess.”
“So you want us to pound you on the head until you get amnesia,” Yarrow says, and she isn’t kidding.
“No, I’m not looking to have brain damage, but thanks for the offer.”
“It worked on a movie I saw.”
“I’m sure it did, babe, but I’m considering a less violent option.”
“No,” Ginger says instantly. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I need a way to deal with my feelings in a safe way. I can’t start bawling randomly like I did in Little Memphis.”
“You were crying?” Yarrow asks, ditching Ginger, so she sits closer to me. “It’s okay.”
While she consoles me, I smile at Ginger over Yarrow’s head. My leader isn’t convinced.
“Therapy is the devil,” she growls.
Yarrow stops nuzzling me like a cat and scowls at Ginger. “I go to therapy.”
“That’s not the kind of therapy Clove means. It’s the kind you didn’t like because you didn’t want to change.”
“I like me,” Yarrow announces and returns to nuzzling my arm. “Blackjack likes me too.”
“We all do,” I say and flash Ginger a warning with my eyes.
Her lip curls into a snarl. “Don’t you threaten me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Fine. You’re an adult. Do what you want, but just remember that I told you so. I told you so fucking much so.”
“This is a seriously mature conversation we’re having,” Pepper says and shakes her head. “Bay’s really missing out right here.”
“What did the doctor say at the last appointment?” I ask, wanting to change the subject now that Ginger plans to be a pill about my therapy idea.
“She claimed Bay gets too much salt in her diet. Now we’re eating more fresh foods, and you know how she loves fruit and veggies.”
“Green beans are gross,” Yarrow says, standing up and ditching me to go nuzzle Mama’s Family-watching Bay upstairs.
After Yarrow is upstairs, I frown at Ginger. “I’m not Cinnamon.”
Still pissed from her tiff with Oz, she jumps up and glares at me. “Never say that name to me.”
“I will not be silenced,” I hiss in her face.
“Cinnamon was a great cook,” Pepper says, pretending to miss the hissy fit between Ginger and me. “She made great Italian food.”
“She’s dead to us,” Ginger growls at Pepper.
“I wonder if she really is dead,” Pepper mutters and looks down at her phone. “Or perhaps living in a convent.”
Ginger realizes Pepper won’t join our argument and focuses her angry eyes on me. “You better hope your therapist doesn’t turn you into the cops.”
“Actually, you’re the one who better hope that. After all, you’re the queenpin, and that’s who the cops always go after.”
Ginger rolls her eyes because she knows the therapist won’t rat me out and I won’t rat out the crew. Our argument isn’t about putting us in danger. It’s about how our friend saw a shrink for help with her anger issues. Then months later, she ditched the crew and disappeared from our lives. Cinnamon was told her only chance at happiness was to scrape the life she had and build something new. So she left the crew, changed her name, and moved out of Little Memphis.
Ginger was certain Cinnamon would return. No way could she survive in the normal world. The crew is marked by our pasts. We’ve seen and done things that can’t be washed off no matter where we live or what we call ourselves or how many sessions with a shrink we schedule.
I don’t want to be someone else. What I can’t explain to Ginger because she’s too damn sensitive about Cinnamon is that I want to be able to remember my mother without feeling as if the world is crashing down on me. I want to stop asking questions with answers I’ll never learn. If a therapist helps me stop focusing on the past, I can finally consider what I want for my future.
Chapter Nine
Scandinavian Variation of Louis: Lothar
➸ Glitch ★
Rusty Cage has been the club’s meeting spot since I was a boy. On Saturdays, I rode my bike past the bar and imagined a day when I’d trade in my BMX for a Harley. Back then, the club president was a mean old fucker named Cell. I’d see him around town checking in with his handful of girlfriends. I thought Cell was the baddest badass, and I wanted to be just like him.
Those days are gone, and not only because Cell’s dead and buried. I don’t know exactly when I lost respect for the man. I never have one big moment that ruins shit for me. Love or hate always build gradually until one day I know where I stand even if I didn’t know how I got to that point.
My craziness over Clove hit me hard and fast—just the way she likes it. My obsession with her, though, grew slow and steady—she likes that too. I loved her before we left for Little Memphis, but the craziness of that love has grown in the week since we returned. Her clinginess gave me a chance to prove my worth to a woman accustomed to surviving on her own.
Unfortunately, I can’t spend all night with her because I have a club meeting. Of course, Oz is the last guy to arrive at Rusty Cage. First, I’m joined by Blackjack and Camo who ride over together.
“I don’t know who designs cribs,” Camo says, sitting in his chair with a thump, “but they must be fucking scientists because those bastards are harder than a constipated shit to put together.”
When I only frown, Blackjack mutters, “Bay asked if we’d put together the crib.”
“I can’t believe the first crew baby born in Rawlins is nearly here,” I say.
“Naw, she’s got a few more months at least,” Blackjack says and then looks up when Vile and Devo enter the back room.
The older guys give us grumpy smiles, clearly unhappy to be here. I heard Vile’s kid has the flu and it spread to his woman. I don’t particularly want to be in the proximity of his germy ass, but Oz made the meeting mandatory.
Everyone orders their beers and fills up on peanuts while waiting for Oz.
“Punctual, he is not,” Blackjack says.
Like clockwork, Oz bursts through the front door as if someone’s chasing his ass. He waves for the waitress to bring him a beer. Once everyone has their shit, he shuts the back room’s door and sits in a huff.
“There’s a guy holed-up in a cabin about ten miles away from the Silver Swan castle,” Oz announces in his rough voice. “The fucker’s dug in like a tick on a mutt’s ass. I want him dead before winter ends and the melting snow makes it easier for him to get down to Rawlins. Anyone feel like trekking up to his territory to take him out?”
“Want to explain why he’s wearing a target?” I ask.
“It’s Janx Baylor.”
The name rolls around in my head for nearly a minute before I put a face and story with it. Janx was a member of the Heretics back in the day. Then he got drunk off his ass, shot three people in a bar, and ended up in prison. While there, he got pissed at a few old friends and ratted them out to the cops. Janx didn’t even get a deal in exchange for his info. He just wanted to cause trouble. The only reason he didn’t rat out the
club was Cell’s connection to Janx’s sister.
“I didn’t know he was out,” Blackjack says, sounding pissed like he expected to get a postcard from the asshole.
“He got paroled early for good behavior.”
Camo asks, “Good behavior?”
“He probably snitched on fellow inmates to get time taken off,” Oz mutters. “That’s Janx’s M.O. now. No loyalty.”
“He was a club man. Are you saying he isn’t anymore?” Devo asks and glances at Vile. “Removing a member isn’t something done on the fly.”
“Says who?” Oz growls. “Is that rule in a handbook or some shit?”
“I was just asking.”
“No, you were implying I need to ask your permission to get rid of trouble.”
Devo adjusts in his chair as if ready to throw punches. “Janx was one of us. Came up with me and Vile. The man had our backs. So excuse the fuck out of me for not wanting to put a bullet in his brain.”
Vile nods nearby, wanting to chime in, but he won’t speak up. The man’s been on edge since little Yarrow threatened to gut his brat kid back before Halloween. Vile remained scarce through the holidays. Even now, he doesn’t really want to be around the rest of us.
Oz chugs half his beer before spitting out, “Janx sent me a message around Christmas, saying he wanted to make a deal. I could give him the club, or I needed to pay him to let me keep it.”
“Pay him what?” I ask.
“Money and a woman. He says he gets lonely up in the cabin and he wants a kickback from our activities. Claims we only have the money because he didn’t snitch on the club. We owe him basically, so we need to reward his silence.”
I try to picture Janx up in the hills, living in a shitty cabin and making his threats. “What happens if you don’t pay?” I ask. “Is his big plan to snitch?”
Blackjack leans back and nods. “The asshole hasn’t been in the club since Cell’s days. What info does he have to offer the cops? Not like his fucking word would be enough.”
“If he wants women and money, how come he doesn’t return to the club instead of pulling this bullshit move?” Camo asks like a typical good-looking young guy without a care in the damn world.
“He doesn’t want to be in the club. He wants to run the club,” Oz growls.
“Maybe he should,” I say, fighting a smile. “He’s older and uglier. We might need that kind of energy running shit.”
“Without a doubt, he’ll make you cut your hair,” Oz says, smiling for the first time since arriving.
Laughing, I give my hair a tug and nod. “I get that level of jealousy from men a lot.”
“Can we fucking concentrate?” Vile says, finally finding his voice. “Sending someone into the woods after Janx isn’t a simple deal. He knows how to defend a location.”
Devo nods immediately. “Might be easier to give him what he wants until spring. By then, hiking the woods won’t be such a dangerous fucking chore.”
“Are you willing to give him your woman, Devo? Because he doesn’t want just any fox. He mentioned Ginger. Mentioned the other foxes by name. Mentioned your girl too, Vile. He isn’t looking to be a team player. He wants us to submit, or he claims he’ll take out the club.”
“By snitching?”
“Or walking into the Rusty Cage and shooting us while we’re enjoying beers,” Oz says and everyone instinctively looks to the door. “Or he might take out one of the crew while they’re at the store. How the fuck would I know? Janx has a death wish, but before he dies, he wants to make others suffer too. And that’s why we’re not fucking paying him or playing his games. It’s why we won’t convince him to be our fucking pal. It’s why he needs to die. We all know he didn’t snitch on the club because Cell had a gun to Janx’s sister’s head for years. Now the only question is who will put the bullet in him.”
My gaze flashes to Vile and Devo. Back in the day, they were guys I looked up to while Oz was the guy I wanted to hang out with. Never did I think of Oz as president material. He was as young as me and had kids and was too much of a mama’s boy. When Cell went down, I thought one of the older guys would step up.
Now I get the weird urge to kill both men. I smell disloyalty in their demeanor, and any threat to the club needs to be squashed. Shaking my head, I realize I’m fantasizing about killing my brothers. These two men have known me since I was old enough to vote. They got me beers when I couldn’t buy them for myself. I should love them like family, but something changed in the club after Cell went down and we lost most of our members.
These days, we’re a family struggling to stay together after a painful divorce. Devo and Vile can’t let go of their nostalgia for the good old days with Cell and Janx. Oz only has eyes for a future when he’ll have the numbers to leave behind non-believers like these old men.
➸ Clove ☆
Ginger shows up at my back door literally minutes after Glitch walks out the front. Hurrying out of the snow flurries, she and Pepper sit at my kitchen table. I pour coffee to warm their chilled fingers and offer to make them something to eat. They decline, both quiet in an ominous way. Despite the sick feeling deep in my gut, I join them silently.
“What?”
“The club has a problem,” Ginger says. “A threat to be eliminated and I don’t know if they’re prepared to deal with it.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Pepper mutters. “We need someone to go with a few Heretics to kill a guy. I’d do it except Bay forbid me from going on missions until the baby’s born. Ginger can’t do it because Oz won’t let her. Cayenne can’t do it because no one wants to take Duffy if mama bear dies. And of course, Yarrow can’t go because she’s eighteen and can’t shoot a rifle for shit. That leaves you. Congratulations on your selection for this amazing assignment.”
“Are you done?” Ginger grumbles at Pepper who shrugs.
“Who do I need to kill?”
“Some jackass hiding in the hills. He’s a Heretics old-timer who got out of prison and is making threats.”
“Is he like super old?
“No. He’s like fifty.”
“What kind of threats is he making?”
“He wants money and pussy, or he’ll kill us.”
“Why can’t Oz kill him?”
Ginger doesn’t answer, and Pepper smirks. Sighing, I nod. “I’m the only one without a kid.”
“It’s not personal.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I feel guilty for not doing shit myself. It means you can say no if you want.”
“I’m aware I can say no.”
“So are you saying no?”
“I’m not saying yes. Not until I know what needs to be done.”
“Or until Glitch says you can.”
“Are you calling me whipped? Because if so, pot meet kettle.”
“We’re all whipped,” Pepper says and smacks us gently in the heads. “This job sounds easy enough. The guy is located in a remote location so no worries about cops or witnesses. The only tricky part is getting to him with the current snowy weather.”
I don’t need the details about this guy to feel comfortable killing him. He’s a threat, and I have no problem making him dead.
Of course, Ginger’s right. I am whipped. If I agree to the job without Glitch’s approval, he’ll be pissed. Since Little Memphis, I don’t feel like myself. I’m not sure how capable I am to deal with his anger.
I remain non-committal to Ginger, and she doesn’t give me grief. I get the distinct impression she has not told her hubby about this request. Since Ginger and Oz need to iron shit out first, I put my decision on the backburner.
Unknown to me, Glitch doesn’t feel so passive, and he has no interest in waiting to eliminate a threat.
➸ Glitch ★
Riding home in the snow, I imagine Janx holed up in his cabin. Does he think he has the upper hand? Probably. He believes Oz is weak and figures the new MC president will hand over whatever necessary to make a threat l
ike Janx happy.
This is why I need to kill the old fucker.
Oz won’t bend so Janx will want to retaliate. Common sense tells me the asshole will realize going straight for Oz will end his chance to bleed the club. If Ginger dies, Oz will want revenge, not peace. If someone close to Oz dies, he might be willing to play nice to protect his family.
Meaning my woman is in danger, so I tell Oz I’ll kill Janx. He nods slowly as if surprised. Who the fuck did he think would volunteer? Camo offers to go with me, but he’s a follower. No way did Oz figure the kid would take the lead. So did he expect Blackjack to sign up? Yarrow wouldn’t rebound if something happened to her man. Killing Blackjack would essentially kill Yarrow, and Ginger wouldn’t agree to put her girl in that position.
So who?
The answer hits me as I reach the Pasadena Townhomes. Oz wanted Vile and Devo to volunteer and prove their loyalty to the club over an old friend. They didn’t, of course. In fact, they were against killing Janx.
Entering the townhome, I find Clove and Gizmo sitting on the couch. They both look up when I arrive. The cat yawns and returns to his nap. Clove just stares.
“I have a feeling the club will be down to four members soon,” I announce while hanging up my jacket and kicking off my boots. “Vile and Devo probably sealed their fates tonight.”
“No loss,” Clove says softly. “Devo wasn’t too bad, I guess, but I barely knew him.”
Joining her on the couch, I kiss her deeply and leave her with a sloppy smile. I hope my affection will smooth over my plan to hunt down Janx.
“Ginger came by tonight,” she says while warming my hands under her shirt. “Did Oz share anything interesting at the meeting tonight?”
Frowning at her, I shake my head. “You’re not going.”
“Neither are you unless I’m your backup.”
“You’d let me take the lead?”
“Yes, I would allow you to take the lead,” she says, struggling against a smile. “I can’t have you go without me, and I sense no one else can go without it causing family drama.”