Indulge

by C. D. Breadner

  The flashes of gentleman she’d seen were interesting, since he also seemed as though he couldn’t give a shit what people thought of him. But things like opening doors, leading her through crowds of people, hell, walking her to her apartment were things that she’d bet he didn’t usually do. Maybe, just maybe, that had been special treatment just for her.

  She could dream, right? As it was, all she had was a number in her phone. No promise to meet again, not even a polite “That was fun, we should do that again.”

  Maybe he decided he wasn’t interested.

  Schmidt’s loomed ahead and Gertie caught sight of her father, dark and handsome as always, lounging at a table on the patio. She smiled at the hostess and explained who she was meeting just as he caught sight of her, looking up from his paper and grinning. She headed his way with a smile of her own, letting him hug her when she was in arms’ reach. “Gertie Bird,” he mumbled, rubbing her back and letting her go so she could sit. “How you holding up, sweetheart?”

  Gertie shrugged, scratching her elbow. “Fine. I hadn’t had a friendly conversation with Mom in … four years?”

  Her father nodded. “I know. But are you feeling guilty about that? Because you don’t have to. We both know what your mother was like. I loved her but she made it very difficult to do so.”

  “I know,” Gertie added. “I was there, too. She liked me even less.”

  Her father leaned forward, putting his hand out so she took it in her own. “She loved you, Gertie. I know your memories of her from later in your life are fresher but she loved you a lot. From the moment we brought you home from the hospital. She’d wanted a girl so badly. The boys were older hellions by then and she was dying for a girl, hoping to even out the numbers.”

  Gertie stared at the silverware on the table, unable to remember a moment where her mother pulled out a single mother-daughter cliché. Unless you counted her attempts to enroll Gertie in a pageant when she was fourteen. That didn’t go over well and was one of the first giant rifts in their relationship.

  Gertie hadn’t cried yet. Her mother had died under pathetic, heartbreaking circumstances and Gertie couldn’t conjure up a single tear. Maybe some would say she was selfishly wallowing in her own personal shortfalls, and Gertie would certainly count herself one of those people. She just didn’t feel she had the energy to start dealing with any of this, not yet anyway.

  The food arrived right then, saving her from further self-realization. She also requested a coffee and while she unrolled the cutlery from the linen her father broke into what might be considered small talk. “So. You missed the reception. Didn’t talk to any of the family. And flew out of the cemetery on the back of a motorcycle. What was all that about, Gertie Bird?”

  “That was all the public attention I could take,” she explained, cutting into one of the Eggs Benedict concoctions, the yolk oozing out and looking really freaking good. “I’m sorry, you’re the only one I really wanted to see. Although Henri and Danielle were being pretty nice, actually. I didn’t want to push it.” Her father was staring at her, and Gertie’s skin felt tighter from it. “What?”

  “Who was the guy on the motorcycle?” Her father lost the mock curiosity in his tone, going straight to his stop bullshitting tone.

  Gertie sighed, pushing a fried potato slice around in the egg yolk. “Just someone I know, Dad.”

  When he didn’t say anything else she looked up to catch him studying her, chewing his lip. She wasn’t entirely sure it was a look of concern. “What’s up, Dad?” she asked, curious about him now.

  “Where did you meet him?”

  Gertie blinked a couple of times. “At a bar, why?”

  “Did he approach you?”

  She set her fork down. “Dad, what’s going on?”

  “Did he approach you or did you approach him?”

  With a puffed out noise of exasperation she shook her head. “He saw a guy following me to the washrooms. He was making sure I was okay. And I was.”

  “Someone followed you into a washroom at a bar?”

  “Focus, Dad,” she snapped. “Why are you asking so much about him?”

  Louis Dénise visually composed himself before answering her. “You know I have a high profile career. And if he’s part of a criminal element, I want to make sure he’s not making time with my daughter in the interests of someone I might not get along with. That’s all, honey.” He took a sip of coffee, waving off the tension he caused with one hand. “Any father would worry about their daughter taking a ride with a biker.”

  Gertie picked up her fork and selected a potato slice to shove in her mouth. These pan fries were amazing but her head was stewing over that. “Don’t worry, Dad,” she assured him after swallowing. “He behaved himself.”

  “If he starts asking you about me, get the hell away from him, Gertie.”

  His tone was so sharp she paused, fork between her lips to drop off a slice of Eggs Benedict, surprised. She slid the utensil out of her mouth and chewed slowly, watching him as he avoided her gaze and tucked into his mushroom omelet. “Why, Dad?” she finally asked when she had swallowed.

  Now his mouth was full, and he gestured with his fork as though she shouldn’t worry. “If he’s a criminal, he might have been hired by competitors of the business associates I work with to look into you. I’d hate to have you used against me, Gertie Bird.” Then his attention was back on his eggs.

  Gertie wasn’t getting more than that, she knew that much because of how well she knew her father. “Okay Dad,” she agreed softly, pushing more food around her plate. “I’ll be careful.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Buck! You up?” The pounding on the door worked in tandem with the shouting to pull Buck out of his deep sleep. He’d gone to bed late, three sheets to the wind judging by his hangover. He rolled to his back, his elbow hitting something soft next to him. He started, not expecting that at all. Then he remembered.

  The patrol with Knuckles, not finding any dealers in Markham, coming back to the clubhouse to find the joint jumping. Whiskey, beer, and Melanie, hot to trot and on his lap all night until she talked him into taking her to his dorm. She was all long arms and legs, corn silk blonde hair that nearly reached her ass. Blue eyes, small but perky breasts, tiny ass. She was fun and limber, though.

  At the evidence he was awake she draped herself across his chest, smiling sleepily and pressing a kiss to his chest. “Should I send him away?” As she spoke her hand was trailing down his stomach.

  Buck chuckled and shook his head. “Not necessary, Mel. I asked him to come to me, don’t worry.” As he sat up she flopped onto her stomach and he watched the way her ass wiggled. He gave it a good slap. “Go on down and get breakfast,” he told her, heading to the washroom. He splashed water on his face, pulled on his jeans and a clean T-shirt. When he came out of the little washroom Mel was gone and Spaz was sitting at the small dinette table with a paper in front of him. He was staring out the blinds, which he’d opened, and turned when he heard Buck approach.

  Spaz was the club tech officer, an egghead in every way except appearance. No glasses and pocket protectors here; Spaz liked his hair long tucked under his beanie, his sadly patchy goatee a constant work in progress. He had piercings, which was a bit more unusual in the club. His lip, eyebrow, and one ear all the way up the side. He was wiry and lanky, and people had mistaken him for a weakling. He was fast and tough in a fight, and it was a minor miracle none of those rings had been ripped out. Overall he looked like a skater kid that kept to himself.

  “What’d you find out?” Buck asked, dropping to the edge of his bed.

  The night before when Buck returned to the clubhouse he’d gone right to Spaz with Gertie’s name and phone number. If a girl was getting under his skin, he wanted to know more about her than the fact she liked her tequila and had tendencies towards reckless behavior.

  “Your girl is … kinda boring.” Spaz shared like he was disappointed, turning to his paper. “She’s gradu
ated, smarter than you by a lot. Major in business, she analyzes insurance risks. She also has an art degree though, that’s different.”

  Buck frowned. “She does?” He was kinda glad to hear there was something else in there that wasn’t bat-shit crazy or straight-up square.

  “Yeah,” Spaz was saying, no small amount of respect in his voice. “There was a special invitational at the Warhol Museum during her college years and one of her paintings were selected to go on display. She had decent skills.” He sighed heavily. “But then she went total square.”

  Buck rubbed his forehead. “I know she’s a square, but at least she drinks tequila. What else you got?”

  “Divorced two years ago.” He hissed and winced. “Husband remarried only six months after that.”

  Buck felt a lump in his gut over that. A divorcee. Maybe she was nuts.

  “She makes a fucking good living, puts away money for savings so she’s not stupid. But the girl parties. Her debit purchases are from bars and restaurants more than grocery stores.”

  Buck shrugged. “She’s divorced. She’s allowed to have fun.”

  “Well, at least that makes her a bit more interesting. Never been to jail, hasn’t even had a speeding or parking ticket. Although, she doesn’t own a car so that likely explains itself. She is a square.”

  “Alright,” Buck snapped. “I get it.” He got to his feet and grabbed his kutte off the chair opposite of Spaz.

  “Her father, however, now that’s a different story.”

  Buck froze, midway through shrugging on his leather. “What? What does that mean?”

  Spaz grinned. “Fuck man, he’s as crooked as a congressman. He’s in hedge funds for an investment firm. And he’s one of the assholes playing the games that led us to the 2008 market crash. Him and his cronies, padding their accounts while other people’s money took the biggest risks. His company is smaller than, say, Stearns or Fanny Mae, but they made out like bandits and it was everyone else who lost their houses while the only hardship they knew was two trips to Cabo in winter instead of three.”

  Buck sunk onto the bed. “Is he being charged?”

  “Nah, they covered their asses. But his gleaming company has some pretty high-profile clients who did take a hit, and they are not the types you want to piss off.”

  Buck leaned in, elbows on knees. “Like who?”

  “Like the kind of guys who want a legitimate reason for the interest on their savings to be climbing higher than the rest of Schmuck America.” Spaz was clearly loving this.

  Buck cocked his head. “You’re kidding. Fucking with mafia money?”

  “They were getting big enough they wanted to keep increasing their portfolio just to keep up their growth. And they lost it, dude. They lost millions, and I mean hundreds of millions of dollars that wasn’t theirs. The kind no one’s going to really go to the press about. The kind that people are more likely to break kneecaps over.”

  Buck licked his lips, head reeling. “Holy shit. You think she’s in on it?”

  Spaz shook his head. “Nah. She ain’t rolling in cash like her old man, and there’s been no strange and unusual bumps in her bank deposits. She doesn’t even have a safety deposit box, she’s all above-board banking. From my guess his company was clean until about 2005, when they first start to plateau in earnings. They wanted to keep climbing.”

  Buck leaned back on his arms, head reeling. He didn’t understand investments and financial mumbo jumbo. He’s always been down with putting your cash where you could find it when you need it and saving some for when you were in the shit. Buck intended to die before he was unable to earn his own way, and this life had a way of making that happen.

  “Anything else?” he asked, not sure what else he was capable of absorbing.

  “Two brothers. Oldest, Louis Junior, is a real estate agent, mostly deals in corporate properties. Makes a lot of fucking money, too. He’s married, three kids. Wife is fucking hot, man. Her other brother, Henri, is also married. No kids. He’s just your plain, run of the mill banker. The mother was a fucking shit show. I got four counts of impaired driving, three counts of disturbing the peace.” He grinned at Buck, downright giddy. “When her husband shacked up with his mistress she showed up, screaming to the neighborhood that the woman living in that house was a whore. She lit the lawn on fire. She was throwing bottles of champagne at the house. She broke five windows!” He cackled. “The rich do crazy the best, I have to say.”

  “She just died,” Buck pointed out.

  “And she died like a fucking rock star, man,” Spaz returned. “You can try to make it as polite as you want, but she was nuts. You might want to be careful with this girl. Might be hereditary.”

  Buck laughed at that, standing up. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks man.” He headed to the door, hearing Spaz fold up his papers as he followed him. “So what’s on the agenda for today?” he asked, lighting a cigarette once they were out on the walkway.

  “More dealer patrols,” Spaz answered easily, bouncing down the steps to the main level. “And apparently last night after closing the strip club got egged.”

  “What?”

  Spaz shrugged one shoulder. “Gotta be kids, man. Who else would do it?”

  Buck shook his head. “Little pricks.”

  “Jayce said you should take another patrol this morning, too. He’s gotta take Trinny to the doctor today.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” Spaz answered right away, sensing the worry as they crossed the compound to the clubhouse. “Regular check-up stuff for the baby. Tank and Mickey should be back from their patrol soon. I’ll come find you.”

  “Sounds good,” Buck muttered, pulling open the door to the clubhouse, the smell of stale beer, used whiskey and pussy assaulting him all at once. “Jesus,” he muttered, stepping inside. “Where are the girls? Why isn’t this place cleaned up yet?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  -NOW-

  There was a soft coughing that brought Gertie out of her sleep and she blinked awake, feeling the panic that she wasn’t alone in her bed and the person next to her would wake up wanting her to perform in ways she wasn’t up to.

  But that wasn’t an issue anymore, hadn’t been for months. The white walls and machine puffing away on the other side of a paper curtain reminded her she was still in the hospital. She turned her head to the window so she could actually see with the eye that wasn’t entirely swollen shut. All she saw was gray, overcast sky. She took stock of her body. The dull ache was good, actually. She was learning to feel, getting used to accepting that pain was a real thing she had to endure and deal with, not numb away with chemicals.

  It was a hard lesson, and if she hadn’t hit rock bottom she could very well be worse off right now. When her good eye dropped to the empty chair between the bed and the wall she felt a flare of disappointment, which was worse than the pain. He was gone, again. He’d been worried, and that had felt amazing. That he could still care for her, even with all the dumb shit she put him through. But she was going to be fine so he left.

  Gertie had caused that on her own, couldn’t blame anyone but herself. She’d love to go back and fix it so she hadn’t lost him, but that was impossible.

  She sighed, straightening her head again and staring up at the ceiling. There were tears gathering in her eyes and she inhaled shakily, not wanting to have to breathe deep because her ribs were protesting angrily.

  None of that mattered because Buck had come for her, worried about her, waited for her to wake up. He cared about her and that hurt worse than the ribs, the shoulder, her face. But she was unworthy of this, and he knew it. She saw just enough of it to burn her, and he took it with him when he left.

  She was gingerly wiping the tears from her eyes with her good hand, the one with the IV, when a door in the corner of her room, right at the foot of her bed, opened and the sound of a flushing toilet suddenly rushed into the room, and he was there. Like a waking dream.

  She
froze, hand halfway back to her eye, blinking to see if that would make him vanish from sight.

  His back was to the door he’d opened, turning away to toss the paper towel in his hands, then he was looking at her, tucking his hair behind his ear, head tilting as he came towards her.

  Gertie inwardly sighed. She’d never be able to just see him, talk to him, be around him without remembering being with him. It was impossible; she knew what his body looked like, how he used it, what he sounded, smelled and tasted like. It had all been astounding. And she couldn’t see him any other way.

  “Gertie,” he said softly, the amusement in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  She sniffed and insanely ran her hand over her head, out of concern for what her hair might look like. But her hand felt gauze and she remembered that her hair was not her biggest concern.

  “Gertie?” he repeated, taking his seat and dragging his chair closer to her. “Why are you crying? You hurting? Should I call the nurse?”

  “No,” she croaked out. Her throat was still dry, and she tried to swallow but it made her cough again. And that really, really fucking hurt. He was already on water detail again, and it felt a lot better. Then all she could do was stare.

  It had been two months since she’d seen him. His hair looked longer, but she couldn’t be sure that two months would really make that much of a difference in hair length. His beard seemed shorter, but it was very much still there. His jaw was still ruler-straight. His lips were lovely. His green eyes made her tingle when they looked right into hers. He leaned on the bed with both elbows, a posture of comfort and closeness. And that hurt, too.