by Max Henry
What happened to dead man walking?
I scramble to the back wall of the shed, cloaked in the shadows as Apex’s boots pound the dry grass toward the clubhouse. Our fucking president just negotiated a deal with the devil that I don’t think any of our officers know a thing about.
He’s supposed to be our leader—a man of the club, for the club.
And he’s just fucked the club over.
***
“Are you sure you heard him right?” Twig adds a dash of Coke to his bourbon.
“Positive.” I spin my pack of smokes between my hands. “I feel shit enough havin’ to come nark to you about it. I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t certain of what I heard.”
He blows out a heavy breath and takes a seat on an armchair. We managed to find an empty bedroom to use for some quiet and privacy while I spill what I heard. The party still thunders below us, the rest of the club oblivious to what’s unfolding on what should be a night to celebrate my new status.
Instead, I’m sitting on the edge of somebody’s unmade bed, telling my VP our president is running this club like a fucking dictatorship, not the democracy it’s supposed to be.
“Well, your assumptions are right. He hasn’t said a fuckin’ thing to me.”
Twig’s his second-in-command, the guy who’s supposed to know everything, to be able to run the club in Apex’s absence. How the fuck is he supposed to do that when Prez keeps him in the dark?
“I need to talk to Beefy about this.” As sergeant-at-arms, Beefy will be the one responsible for sorting this mess out however he decides to see fit. “Apex must have a fuckin’ good reason for it all.” Twig scrubs a hand over his face and then takes a swig of bourbon. “I hope he does, anyway.”
“What happens to me?” I eavesdropped, and then I ratted on him. No way he could ever look at that favorably.
“Nothing. You went about this exactly how you’re supposed to.”
“Still don’t feel right.”
“That’s because there ain’t nothing right about what he’s doin’.” He gestures for my pack and I toss it over. “He state anything specific?”
“No, only what I told you. That he said after the fourth run he wants info on Denver, and then he wants to pro rata for other stuff.”
Twig pulls out a smoke and lights up, puffing into the room. “I wonder what he’s plannin’.”
“What other grief do we have that he’d want details on?” I catch the pack and pull out a cigarette for myself.
“None. That’s exactly it. We don’t have any problems he needs to sort out. He’s up to somethin’.”
“Doesn’t look all that good, does it?”
“Not really. No.”
TWENTY-TWO
Elena
“Feel any better yet?” I cross my arms and frown at Carlos.
He stands with his hands hanging at his sides, his chest heaving. “A little.”
“Go on, have another go. Might as well finish what you started.”
He picks up another hardback book and flips it open, tearing at the pages and sending them raining down around him like leaves in fall. He continues, teeth bared, shredding the book until all that’s left is the vinyl cover, which he then throws at my head.
I duck, picking it up from where it landed against the wall, and hurl it back at him. “What is your fucking problem?”
“I said you could go shopping, and you bring back books. Fucking books.”
“So fucking what?”
“Books,” he shouts. “I expected clothes, shoes, jewelry—something fucking useful.”
“Books are useful!”
“How?” he screams at me, heaving a thick edition my way.
“Because if I can read, I’ll be able to escape the fact I fucking live with you!” I kick the book aside after it lands with a heavy thud and storm from the room.
Fuck him. I spent more than an hour picking those books out, classics at that, and he’s just ripped most of them to pieces. His feet hammer the floor behind me at a quick pace, and I spin in time to see him lunge a hand out to catch hold of me.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“Away from you.” I yank my arm, but his hold doesn’t let up. His grip aches, the throb from the pressure of his fingers intensifying.
“You got a mess to clean up in there.”
“I’ll be sure to let Maria know.”
He chuckles, his grip getting tighter. How is that even possible? “Oh, she’ll be helping you, but you brought that shit here, you can fucking well get rid of it.”
“What’s the big deal, Carlos? The library is empty. So what if I bought a few books to fill the shelves?”
“Because I don’t like having books in there, that’s why.” He releases me with a jerk and barges past, knocking me off-balance.
“Why?” I holler after him, not expecting an answer.
When he does, it pulls the wind from my sails. “Because my first wife loved books, and I loved her before I shot her.”
***
“Do you know much about Carlos’s first wife?” I ask Maria.
We’re both on our knees, collecting pages and shoving them into a box to be taken to the furnace.
“Only what I’ve heard.” She sits back on her heels and reads over a page, a frown pulling her eyebrows together.
“What is it?”
“I was thinking it’s such a shame. I’d hoped to sneak a book or two out to practice my English.”
“You speak it fine,” I reassure her.
“Yes, but I’ve learnt by listening and copying,” she explains. “I can’t read it very well.”
“So I’ll teach you.” I push off the floor and pick up a few of the untouched copies. “Take these and keep them somewhere safe.”
She accepts the books I pass her and crosses the room to place them beside the door. “Thank you. I will.”
I go back to picking up the pages, sad at the pointless destruction. He could have asked me to take them away again. He didn’t have to shred the damn things.
“Carlos’s first wife was pretty,” Maria kneels beside me. “One of the grounds men worked here when they first moved in. Said she would walk through the gardens often with their boy.”
A strange sense of excitement blooms hearing something personal about Carlos. Perhaps if I learn more I can use it against him when the time comes, or at the very least, understand why he’s so bitter a little better. “Have you met his son?”
“No.” She shakes her head and drops a handful of paper into the box before absently squashing it all down. “He left before I started here.”
“I’ve heard he’s just as crazy.”
“Sí. I’ve heard that too.”
Shuffling the pages in my hands, I stare down at the torn edges. “It all sounds so sad.”
“Most people’s lives usually are,” Maria answers. She drags the box to a new area. “Some people just hide it better than others.”
I nod at her observation, pushing to my feet to cross to the box so I can dump my handful when my leg vibrates. I ditch the pages and scramble to pull my phone out. I swapped the sim cards last night, removing the number Carlos gave me—and most likely monitors—and putting in the one I bought with the chocolate.
“What does it say?”
Maria flat-out refused to help me with this mess unless I told her who the man was I spoke to outside the corner store. I could have lied, but for whatever reason I felt compelled to tell her the truth. I told her about King.
I glance down at the mess of numbers on the screen and shrug. “I don’t know.”
She places her pages down and scoots closer, peering over my shoulder. I swipe the message open.
Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Got so many questions.
I look across at Maria, delighted by the excitement on her face as she rereads the message.
“What are you going to say?”
I don’t know. What can I say? Nibbling on
my left thumbnail, I hover my right thumb over the phone.
“Tell him you’ve been thinking of him too.” Maria clutches her hands before her chest, wriggling in her seated position.
And I want to answer them all, but how can I see you? When are you next in town?
I hesitate before hitting send. What if I’m wrong and Carlos can still see what I’m messaging somehow? It’s too unlikely. I send the message and wait. The steady beat of our breaths fills the silence until the buzz of the phone vibrating has us both scrambling to tap the screen to wake it.
When you want me to be?
“Do you think Señor will let you go out alone?” Maria’s gaze sweeps over the few pages that still litter the floor amongst the empty shells of the books. “He might send one of his guards to keep watch.”
“I guess I just have to hope for the best.”
Day after tomorrow?
We sit for a moment, watching the phone before Maria sighs and scoots over to pick up the last of the pages.
Same place?
I’ll let you know.
Meeting him there is probably unlikely given I’ll need somewhere believable for Sully to drop me off.
“How do I tell him what’s happened?”
Maria lifts her head at my question and places the paper from her hands into the box. “One word after another.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I slump back on my heels, absently watching her as she finishes up with the last of the covers and pushes the box to the door. “I’m scared I’ll lose what remains of us, that he’ll decide I’m not worth it any more.”
She stands and places her hands on her lower back, stretching. “Speak from the heart. Tell him the truth, no prettying it up, no skimming details. If you lie to him now, you’ll forever lose his trust.” She offers a small smile. “Whatever was meant to be will be.”
TWENTY-THREE
King
two days later
I couldn’t sleep for shit all night. I texted Elena expecting some bullshit blow-off about why she needed to stay with Carlos, and instead I’m meeting her today. How’s that for a turn of events? I kill the engine and look up at the house I know intimately—my parents’ house.
I told Mom I’d come over for lunch a few months back and reneged. Things at the club seemed so much more important, but after lodging a bullet in Hugo I figured I should probably follow through before something happens to me that means I can’t.
The sun is bright today, catching the metal wind chime that hangs from the porch and blinding me as I walk up the path. I didn’t ring ahead; I figured I’d surprise them.
The wood steps creak on my ascent and as I step on to the porch Mom opens the door with a grin splitting her face clean in two. “Well hello, you.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“What made you change your mind? Thought you’d decided you were too cool to come home for lunch.”
I chuckle and pull her into a hug. “You look beautiful, as usual.”
“Stop sucking up and spit it out.” She pats my back and then holds me at arm’s length. “At least they’re feeding you well.”
“Not for too much longer.”
“No?” She steps aside, letting me go inside first.
“No. The clubhouse is gettin’ crowded. I signed up on my own place this morning.”
“You could have come home.”
Dad sits at the dining table in his coveralls, lunch spread out before him, mimicking Mom’s words as she speaks.
I laugh and step over to shake his hand when Mom lets out a long, low whistle. “Look at this, Terry.” She grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around so my back is to Dad. “They gave him the patch.”
“Moving up in the world then,” Dad teases.
“Somethin’ like that.” I take a seat beside him and nod when Mom gestures to the pitcher of juice.
“How’s that bike of yours running? Given it a service lately?” Dad and his machinery; he cares for it more than himself.
“Last week. Changed the oil and cleaned the plugs. Ordered new belts to have on hand.”
He waves a cut sandwich at me. “You should have enough parts on hand to strip and rebuild that machine twice.”
“Yes, Dad.”
He chuckles, tearing into the bread with his teeth.
“When do you move in to your new place then?” Mom asks, sliding the filled glass over.
“Soon as I want.”
“Well, if you need to borrow any furniture while you get yourself set up, you know we still have all your bedroom suite, and a few of the old lounge chairs.”
“Thanks. I might take you up on that yet.”
“What’s been going down?” Dad asks before chasing his bite with a drink. “You keeping out of trouble?”
“As best I can.”
They both stare at me in silence. I forget my parents can read my expressions like a damn book.
“A little bit’s going on, but nothing I don’t think I got a handle on.”
Mom jabs her finger my way, addressing Dad. “A year with those looneys and he’s forgotten how to speak properly.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” I say shaking my head. “I just get ridiculed if I speak like I went to a private school.”
“You did go to a private school,” Dad says. “And we paid good money for you to.”
“Farm going all right?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Eh.” He shrugs. “It’s making us enough to live off.”
Farming used to be a booming sector around here, guaranteeing a man enough to have his family live comfortably if he was willing to work for it, but these days, success is measured by whether you need to visit the financial aid offices or not.
“We’re thinking about dividing the property.” Mom drops the news as though she’s sharing dinner plans. “Selling off the back section in five-acre lots.”
“Wow. When?”
“Lawyer’s drawing up the title deeds for us as we speak,” Dad says, reaching for another sandwich. “You eating?”
I nod and snag a roast beef. “I take it that means you’ll be downsizing the herd then?” The farm size is perfect for feed rotation. Reduced pasture means reduced grazing capability.
“Halving it,” Mom answers. “I think we’d get bored if we gave it up altogether.”
“You’ll probably enjoy the change of pace,” I say, before taking a bite. The homemade relish Mom makes has my tongue singing. I’ve missed her food.
“What’s troubling you, Son?” Dad asks. I know the asshole’s taking the opportunity to throw it out there while my mouth’s full. Bastard. “You look tired. Anything we can help with?”
I shake my head and swallow down the food. “Let me think how to word it.” I take another bite of sandwich and mull over how to tell them what’s bothering me without giving away club business.
Mom rises from the table and starts clearing away empty dishes as I finish the sandwich. I could just pose it as a hypothetical situation. Should work that way.
“If you had an employer who didn’t operate by the same code of conduct as his employees, what would you do?” I’ve pretty much given the game away, but they still don’t know the worst of my problems—Elena.
“Confront him,” Dad answers. “Are their indiscretions making your job harder, or is there no change?”
“Harder. Increasing the likelihood of workplace injury.”
Dad exchanges a glance with Mom as she returns to the table with a tin of raspberry slice.
“My problem is I don’t know if I should stay with the job and hope for change, or move on.”
“You do what feels right for you,” Mom says quietly, wiping crumbs from the edge of the tin.
Dad leans his elbow on the table and frowns. “If the situation at your ‘workplace’”—he lifts his eyebrow at the word—“changed, would you enjoy your job?”
I nod. “For sure.”
“Then why wait for change?”
&nbs
p; I frown, picking up a piece of the slice with real raspberry jam and a solid chocolate top. Heaven. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t sit around and wait for things to change. Because if they do, it’s either going to be for the worse, or the person who does create the change will be just another person you don’t want as a boss.”
“You think I should try to change things myself then?”
He nods, taking some slice also. “Be the change. Petition your ideas and align yourself to be the boss one day.”
I chuckle and put the whole slice in my mouth, chewing and swallowing while I shake my head at him. “You basically told me to try and overthrow the president.”
He stares me dead in the eye, not an ounce of humor on his face. “Why not? You’re a smart man with his head and heart in the right place.”
My heart beats a little faster at the mere thought of entertaining the idea. He might be onto something, though. Maybe I could lead the club and steer it away from the direction Apex has it heading in. Clean it up and make it a safe haven. I don’t have to do anything shady; I can pull the right moves to get there. Become an officer, move through the ranks. Elections are open every five years, unless the remainder of the board votes an officer out. I wouldn’t have to wait too long.
“You think I’d be good at it?”
Dad smirks. “You’re asking your parents if you’d be good at something.”
“Right.” I chuckle and reach for another piece of slice.
If I want the change, I have to be the change. Guess that could apply to Elena as well.
If I want her to be mine, I have to be the change that makes it happen. I can’t continue to sit around and wait for the timing to be right—who’s to say it ever will?
Looks like my schedule’s suddenly become pretty fucking busy.
TWENTY-FOUR
Elena
My palms are clammy as hell. I’ve given up rubbing them over my leather pants to try and dry them. I just end up with black dye wearing off over my hands.
Carlos didn’t take much convincing to let me go shopping again. I told him I wanted to buy the ‘practical shit’ he asked for: dresses, jewelry, and accessories. Sully said I wouldn’t be guarded; he’d rather find somewhere to have a quiet drink than watch me try on item after item in a dress shop. He’s going to drop me off, and pick me up four hours later. I almost fell on my ass with shock. I’ve been checking out the window the whole way here for flying pigs.