by Hazel Parker
I had a lot of questions, but Kyle’s fury was something I feared interrupting.
“Nothing has irked me more in my role than this particular problem, and nothing has aggravated me more than the fact that official means doesn’t seem to be doing the trick. It’s like the more I try to fight them in the system, the more they laugh in my face.”
“Laugh in your face?” I said, unable to hide my surprise and confusion at those words.
“Yes, laugh in my face,” he said. “I’ve gone to their clubhouse multiple times. I’ve spoken to them and asked them to keep the fucking peace.”
It wasn’t like Kyle was a saint who never swore, but hearing him sound so enraged and so offended was frightening.
“But instead, they just mock me and tell me that I’ll never be anything. And I’m fucking sick of it.”
“I’m sorry you have to go through that,” I said.
It was true that I felt empathy for Kyle, but mostly, I just didn’t like seeing him so angry. If we were to have something resembling a date, I didn’t want to see his dark side. I wanted to see his happy side, his cheerful side, even if it was also incredibly awkward. I wanted to see a side that made me feel like I at least wasn’t in the midst of someone who was on the verge of throwing a drink against the wall.
“It’s not your fault,” he said, his voice coming down ever so slightly. “But if you ever find yourself near one of those assholes, I would encourage you to run the hell away. They’re nothing but bad news, Lilly. They bring heartache and pain to those who associate with them.”
“I understand, and I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
I didn’t think it was anything I had to worry about. Jack was a mechanic, and while mechanics worked with motorcycles like the Savage Saints…
And that’s when I remembered where I had seen the name before. The sleeveless jacket Jack had worn had the Savage Saints logo and lettering on the back of it. Jack was a member of the Savage Saints.
And Jack…was most certainly not what Kyle described. In fact, quite the opposite—Jack was cheerful, optimistic, and made my life better. If Jack did some questionable things behind closed doors, well, I had yet to learn them. For all your talk of not judging books by their covers, this is where that matters. Don’t judge Jack until you get to know him better.
“Sorry,” Kyle said. “I just get so worked up thinking about them. I’ll try not to bring them up again tonight, but I feel like it’s a mission of mine to get rid of them all. Especially…”
He didn’t finish his words. I’m not sure that I wanted him to.
He was sounding like the very thing that he was trying to say he wanted gone. He was the unhinged one here, and though I certainly didn’t think Kyle was going to go on a murdering spree or cause crime in Brooklyn, his personality was more aligned with that behavior than Jack.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I said, but at least now I had an excuse not to act as invested in the date as a normal first date would have. “Good always triumphs over evil, right.”
To my surprise, Kyle just snorted.
“Sometimes, it feels like good likes to bide its sweet, sweet time before it takes over,” he said. “And besides, doesn’t everyone see themselves as the hero in their story?”
“Maybe. But people can change. And hey, sometimes, it can take decades for good to triumph. Doesn’t mean it won’t in the end.”
Finally, for the first time since he had gone on his rant, Kyle smiled. His lips barely curled up, and I only called it a smile because it wasn’t the enraged, fiery expression he had moments before, but I no longer worried that something was going to happen while I was here.
“Well, with you by my side, I don’t worry about that.”
Oh, Lord. The awkward boy is back.
“That’s cute, but let’s not rush into things, Kyle. This is just a first date, after all.”
“Well…right, I know, but I just feel like after seeing you at the coffee shop, you said I could take you up on a favor, and—”
“What are you saying?” I said.
Now I wasn’t just fishing for excuses to cut off the date at some point. I was genuinely annoyed. Did he actually believe that going out with me was a favor that he could request? It was quintessential nice-guy syndrome.
“You offered to help me with anything I needed, and I, well, you know, I thought that this would be a nice way to repay—”
“Repay for what? For helping you out when you were a little kid?” I said in stunned disbelief. “Kyle, I helped you because I felt sorry for you. No one should have to go through an upbringing like you had. But that doesn’t mean that we’re destined to be together or anything like that. It doesn’t mean anything other than we have a connection from the past. But I have a connection with my teachers, my friends, my coaches, my editors—just having a connection isn’t enough to be anything.”
It suddenly seemed to dawn on Kyle that he had made a mistake, because he bowed his head, folded his hands, and began speaking very quietly, ignoring the fact that our drinks had just gotten dropped off at the bar.
“I just thought that the way you looked at me at the coffee store…” he said, his voice trailing off. “I’m not very good at these kinds of things, Lilly. I thought we had something, and I thought it was worth the risk.”
“Well, I’m glad you think that. You should always take the risk. But I don’t owe you anything, Kyle. This isn’t an obligation to be here.”
“Then why are you here?”
The firmness with which he suddenly asked the question made me fear that he was onto why I had said yes—to get him away so that I could see Jack. He wouldn’t know about Jack, of course, but he had probably figured out that I had said yes merely to get him away in the long run.
“Because, Kyle, I wanted to get to know you better and what you’ve gone through,” I said, which seemed honest enough, if not completely truthful. “You’re someone who has gone through a lot and is still going through a lot, like all of us. Maybe if that turned into something, I would have been happy to have gone out with you again. But it’s not like because I said yes that I was obligated or destined to be with you.”
Kyle started to say something about how he thought otherwise, but he wisely stopped himself. This was already painful enough, and I took the silence as a prime opportunity to down part of my drink. There wasn’t enough alcohol in there to help with the situation.
And yet, all the same, I didn’t want there to be any alcohol. I needed to be as sober as possible before I got out of there so that when the time came for me to depart, Kyle didn’t feel “obligated” or force me to come with him.
“Look, you’re a good guy, Kyle, and I appreciate it. But that kind of attitude is going to be toxic, and it’s not going to be great for me or for anyone else.”
“Anyone else?”
Well, I guess we’re just going to have to say it as straightforward as possible.
“You really are a good, genuine guy, Kyle. But I think we’re better just as friends.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I think you’ll find someone great.”
I was just speaking in platitudes that didn’t mean anything, so I shut my mouth at that point. There wasn’t anything I could say that would make Kyle feel better other than to change my mind, and that wasn’t going to happen. Either I was walking out trapped with him, or he was walking out empty-handed and miserable. Given my agency, it wasn’t hard to see which one was going to happen.
“Here,” I said, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. “Use this to pay for my drink, OK? If you see me at the coffee shop, say hi. Don’t be a stranger.”
“K.”
He couldn’t even get a full word out. He could barely get a letter out. Once again, I saw Kyle as the kid life had dealt a shitty hand, and I saw someone that I wanted to help.
But this was different. This wasn’t the other kids picking on him and making his life hell. This was Kyle makin
g life hell on himself. This was him trying to coerce me into being his date or girlfriend because I had offered to help him. He knew full well he was taking that statement far too literally to help himself.
“I’ll see you around, Kyle.”
Sure, it was an abrupt exit. Very abrupt, in fact. Two minutes ago, I was offended, but I would have found a way to keep talking.
But now? Now, I just needed to get the hell out. Kyle wouldn’t want to spend another moment with me, and if he was going to just mutter quietly to himself and not say anything worth having a conversation about, then I didn’t want to be around him any longer either.
I left the bar feeling a little gross for what had just transpired. I said that Jack was different than other guys, and in some ways, the same could be said for Kyle. He wasn’t the arrogant, condescending, man-splaining asshole that many New Yorkers were. He wasn’t a jerk that I had to roll my eyes at and speak on his level for him to get it.
But he was too far down the other end of the spectrum, and as I thought about how that had affected him, I began to realize that it was festering itself in a very ugly, insidious way.
Resentment.
I didn’t know much about the Savage Saints, and while there may have been an element of truth to what Kyle had said about them, it wasn’t hard to realize that he was bitterly resentful of what they had. Jack was someone who seemed to be in a very happy place; if the rest of the Saints were like that, or if they even just liked what they did more than Kyle, than it was all too easy to see why Kyle would hate them.
Was that also the case for his brothers? Were his brothers the assholes that he’d always made them out to be? Or had they just been a little brotherly, and Kyle had extrapolated it out in his mind? I could give him the bullies at school, but now, seeing him as he was, it was hard for me to give him anything else.
But that wasn’t something that I had to worry about any longer. He had his demons to fight, but I wouldn’t have to burn energy trying to fight them. I could just focus on Jack and my work.
And that was something I didn’t feel an obligation to do, and that made it all the much better.
Chapter 7: Biggie
It was one of the most awkward starts to a meeting I had ever been a part of.
It was late Saturday night, and none of us had so much as touched a drop of booze in the last twenty-four hours. All activities related to the club, outside of keeping operating hours on a Saturday, were shut down; this emergency meeting was done with two prospects guarding the office, and we all had guns on our hips.
That had nothing to do with the uncomfortable feeling pervading the room, though. Right now, Uncle wouldn’t look at anyone in the eye. Marcel and I had made our positions plenty clear after we’d left the warehouse, and things hadn’t gotten any better with the benefit of sleep and time. In fact, I would guess based on Uncle’s facial expression as he sat down that he had become only more resolute.
“Fitz, Niner,” Marcel said. “We brought you in here to discuss the next steps. The three of us tried to reach out to Kyle in person to handle our issues in a diplomatic manner. It did not go well.”
“Because you tried to appeal to a pussy cocksuck—”
“Uncle,” Marcel said, so angrily and so loudly that I jumped in surprise in my seat. “You already caused enough trouble last night. I am not going to have you interrupting this meeting. Do you understand?”
Finally, Uncle looked one of us in the eye. Unfortunately, it probably would have been better if Uncle had just kept his gaze to the ceiling or his lap.
“Do I understand?” he said, his voice condescending and dripping with sarcasm. “Do I understand that that brother of yours has been a real pain in our ass? Do I understand that Kyle has always been a dangerous little shit since you two couldn’t even spell your own names? What the fuck do you think? Do you really think I’m not trying to do what’s best for this club? For fuck’s sake, you guys are my family. You think I would let something so impulsive as my attitude affect how I treat the club?”
Yes. I didn’t articulate the thought.
“It may seem like I’m just some brash fool who can’t help how much he hates Kyle, but actually, you’re dead fucking wrong. I’m the smartest person in this goddamn room, and if you won’t give me that, I’m at the very least the wisest and the most experienced. I’ve dealt with shits like your brother, Marcel, and rest assured, that little shit would have constantly changed the terms of our deal. It would be a slow death instead of an instant one, and I don’t know about you, but when I go, I sure hope it’s instant and quick. So don’t ever again ask me if I understand. Because I damn well do.”
But you don’t, Uncle. You’re too blind to it. You’re too unaware of what could happen if we just tried to reach out.
Uncle either didn’t realize or didn’t value the idea that just because I wanted to reach out diplomatically with Kyle didn’t mean I was opposed to standing up to him. If he violated any deals we made or tried to renegotiate, that would be more than a reason enough for us to fight back. But this bullish attitude of just saying fuck him?
No. No, that wouldn’t work.
“With all respect to your point of view, Uncle,” Marcel said. “You violated a strict order from me. You ignored Biggie’s advice. And while we greatly value your input and your knowledge, once a decision gets made, it is expected by everyone in this club to abide by that. So consider this a warning not to disobey my decisions in the future.”
“Fucking stupid,” Uncle muttered, but he didn’t say another word.
Don’t you realize, Uncle? Kyle’ s already winning by splitting us from within. He may not be pushing for that, but if that’s the case, then we’re just helping him.
“Now then,” Marcel said. “It’s obvious that diplomatic measures, at least for the moment and the immediate future, have failed. We cannot expect that anything on that end is going to work. So the question becomes, do we strike first, or do we hold the fort and defend? There are obvious pros and cons to each.”
“We strike first,” Uncle said, practically spitting the words out. “If this is another stupid debate, I’m just going fucking home.”
Marcel went around the table, soliciting opinions. Fitz and I recommended that we hunker down and defend the fort. Niner went last.
“You’re talking about attacking a politician,” he said. “Even if said politician was Ted Bundy, you know the wrath of the entire government will come down. We wait and hunker down.”
“Fuck this,” Uncle said, slamming the table.
“Don’t you dare fucking leave, Uncle!”
“And let this club turn into a bunch of pussies who can’t fight their own enemies?”
“That’s an order, Uncle!”
“Call it conscientious objection, then,” Uncle sneered.
That caused Marcel to stand up and grab Uncle by the collar.
“Stay.”
“Are you fucking touching your uncle?”
“I said, stay.”
“Fucking tell me—”
“Enough!”
Niner’s voice rang through the madness. Even Uncle turned in surprise.
“Sit.”
Both of them did so. Marcel took a breath to calm himself and turned back to us.
“The vote is in. For now, we hunker down and defend ourselves. Make sure before you leave here that you have your weapons. The body armor should be arriving early next week. We just need to get through this weekend unscathed and we will have significant upgrades over what we had before.”
Mostly, I was just relieved to see that Uncle and Marcel had not come to blows. The last thing that this club needed was an all-out war within its ranks; actually, the last thing we really needed was someone going rogue and doing their own thing. That was a good way to ensure that someone would get killed.
But as I thought about it, as the thoughts crossed my mind as I drove home on my bike, I couldn’t help but consider Uncle’s point. We didn’
t have to strike first, no, but a purely passive and defensive stance meant we were going to inevitably suffer casualties. If we got lucky, said casualties would just be some wounds that would heal with time.
If we weren’t?
By the time we got home, I knew we needed further help. I knew that an official request from president to president was not going to work, especially since Richard and Marcel did not have the healthiest of relationships. But, just as I had reached out to Kyle and almost gotten something to work, perhaps something from me to the others could work.
When I got home, I found the document that contained the names and rankings of the club members of the Las Vegas and the Green Hills Savage Saints. As the vice president of the Brooklyn Savage Saints, I figured that it made the most sense to reach out to my counterparts in those respective clubs. And so, with a deep breath, I made my first call.
“This is Dom,” a voice said on the other end of the line.
“Dominick Browning?”
“The one and only,” Dom said.
He sounded mighty relaxed and at ease. I didn’t remember much from him or if he had even come down to the initial negotiations, but it was nice to hear someone who wasn’t worried about killing their nephew or niece at the first opportunity.
“Dom, this is Jack Stone from the Brooklyn Savage Saints. You can call me Biggie. How are you, man?”
“Ahh, our friends in Brooklyn!” Dom said with a grandiose chuckle as if announcing me to an audience. That was not ideal if so; I needed this to be a private conversation. “What’s going on? Are you guys looking for reservations when you come and gamble? Some girls? We can arrange that and more.”
“No, Dom, unfortunately, it’s a little different than that.”
I think he finally picked up on my tone because he didn’t respond with a light, casual remark. He didn’t respond at all.
“Dom, are you alone right now?”
“My girlfriend’s here, but she’s napping. No other club members.”
“OK, good, that’s all I needed to know. Dom, things are about to explode out here. I know Richard and Marcel have spoken, and you’ve got supplies en route, but it’s not going to be enough. There’s a rival gang out here, the Bloodhounds, and…”