by Harley Fox
She takes the things to the table and I hear her set them up as I come out with the mac and cheese. Emily goes back for the ketchup as I dole out the food and then we both sit down, Emily leaning her crutches up against the table.
“So what was that thing you were doing in your room?” I ask her. “Pinhead something?”
Emily makes a noise and smiles around a mouthful of mac and cheese. She chews quickly and swallows it.
“You always ask me things when I have my mouth full!” she says in a playful tone. I smile back at her. “It’s called pinhole photography. It’s where you use a small hole in something like a box or a watermelon and you make these cool-looking pictures just by letting it sit out for a while.”
“Letting it sit out? Wouldn’t the watermelon go bad and rot?”
“It’s just for, like, a few hours or something. I don’t know, I’m just learning about it.”
I nod, taking another bite.
Emily is a smart kid. Smarter than me; smarter than anyone else I know. Our mom home-schooled her when she was a kid, and I remember she always worked faster than mom could keep up. When our parents died Emily was in high school, but she finished it through correspondence anyway. She just graduated this year and now she’s thinking about college. I can’t tell you how proud I am of her.
One thing she’s recently taken up is photography. I went to a pawn shop and got her a camera for a graduation present — I don’t know what came over me, but she’s been into it since day one. It’s one of those fancy digital cameras, the kind where you can take a million pictures and look at them all right away. She loves it. She’s been trying out different things with it, taking pictures of me when I’m in the shop, working with different lights in her room to set the mood. I once offered to take a picture of her but she just kind of blushed and dropped her gaze, then said no. When I asked her why she didn’t answer, so I dropped it. I haven’t brought it up since.
“So I was taking more pictures of you when you were in the shop,” Emily says, and I nod over my bowl of mac and cheese.
“Oh yeah, you got to show me that one you took,” I say.
“Yeah, there are others. I saw you when that guy who came in for his bike today,” she tells me. “And … I saw what you did to him, with the vise.”
My chewing slows down and I look over at Emily. She’s looking at me, not mad or disgusted, but excited instead.
“Did he say something to you?” she asks. “Or did he, like, insult you?”
I swallow my mouthful of food. I want to be careful in how I handle this.
“He tried stiffing me for the work I did.”
Her eyes go bright.
“Cool,” she says. “Did you break his arm?”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t, and I wasn’t going to. He just had to learn a lesson.”
“You should have broken his arm,” she says, still smiling. “That would have taught him a lesson.”
I stare at Emily — at my little sister. Even though I joined the Chains because of her, still I’ve tried hiding what we do as best I can. Between Emily and me, she’s the good one. She’s the one with a future. I don’t want her ruining her life and possibly getting killed just because she thinks being in a gang is cool.
“Emily, what happened in my garage …” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“It looked awesome,” she says. “You acted all tough, and that guy was such a wimp. I wish I could bend people’s arms back and—”
“Emily!” I shout. She starts and looks at me shocked, but I have to convince her. “Listen to me: what I do with the Chains, it’s not anything good, do you understand me? I don’t want you getting involved in anything like that.”
“Why not?” she says, sitting up straight and staring back at me. She can be as defiant as she wants — that’s one of the things I admire about her.
“Because it’s dangerous,” I tell her. “You could get yourself hurt or killed, really easily.”
“What, you think I can’t take care of myself?” she asks with a sneer.
“No, I—”
“Is it because you think I’m too handicapped to do it?”
“No!” I say. “It’s not because of that. You know it’s not. I’ve told you, you can do anything you want to.”
“Well then, why can’t I do this? Huh? Why are you able to do it but I can’t?”
“Because …” I struggle for the words. “Because it would kill me if something happened to you. Okay? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
Emily stares at me, that anger still glowing in her eyes, but she doesn’t respond. I go on:
“I joined the Chains so we would have protection, you know that,” I tell her. “When it was just me on my own, I didn’t care what happened to me. But now that it’s the two of us … I wouldn’t want anything to happen. To either of us.
“But what I do is dangerous. Okay? I do stupid stuff that a kid like you shouldn’t get into, or even want to get into. I risk my life sometimes to keep us alive, and if I ever found out you got into that … I would feel like I failed you as your bigger brother.”
Emily looks at me a moment longer, that defiance still burning, but then she drops her gaze. Inwardly, I sigh.
“Okay,” she says to her mac and cheese. “I’ll drop it.” She picks up her fork and scoops up some food, but just lets it fall back into the bowl.
I feel sorry for Emily. Not because of what happened to her body, or because she feels so self-conscious because of it. I feel sorry because she had to move in with me. She had to come to this part of the city and live the last two years thinking that violence is a normal, everyday part of life. She’s bright, she’s wonderful; she deserves more than this. She deserves a real life, in a real apartment. And she deserves to have somebody around who isn’t me.
We finish the rest of our dinner in silence and then Emily leaves while I get up to do the dishes. She goes back to her room and shuts the door. When I finish cleaning up a knock comes at the front door. I dry off my hands and go downstairs to find Willy — Slick Willy, a member of the Chains and a good friend of mine.
“Jake,” he says, and we pull each other in for a hug. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, let me just grab my jacket,” I tell him. I run back upstairs and grab my Chains jacket from the closet, then look down the hall at Emily’s closed door. I walk down to it and give a soft knock.
“Hey Emily? I’m going to the bar now,” I tell her. “I’ll probably be back late. Don’t stay up.”
“Bye,” is her single response, and I can tell she’s still sore about our conversation. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. Sometimes I have to remind myself that she’s still just a kid growing up, trying to figure things out. It was the same with me when I was her age.
I swing my jacket on and go back down to join Willy. Locking the door behind me, we climb onto our bikes and head out.
The wind feels amazing against my face as we navigate our way through town. Zipping along the streets, passing by cars, we make our way to the bar. Pulling up outside, we park our bikes beside those of the others and walk in.
The Chain Gang is the perfect gang bar, in my opinion, and my kind of place. Dark, smoky, and always filled with women and booze. Some of the girls at the bar give me a wink and I smile right back at them. I’ve had each and every one of them, and all of them more than once. But I know exactly why they keep coming back to me, wanting more. Let’s just say I’m known for my very big … muscles.
Sal, sitting at the bar, calls me over.
“Jake! Get the fuck over here, man!”
I smile as I make my way through the crowd, saying hi to the other Chains as I pass them by. I reach Sal at the bar and sit down next to him and Ruby, the lady behind the bar and by far the best piece of ass in here. I’ve only had her once and it was enough to make me sore for weeks. But I’ve seen the way she looks at me sometimes, and it’s always a nice reminder of what’s on the table. She pours
a beer and slides it to me, giving me a wink. I wink right back and take a deep drink.
“Jake, how’re you doing?” Sal asks, clapping me on the shoulder. Sal is older than me by ten years or so, but he’s the one I feel closest to in here. Sal’s seen it all. He grew up in this neighborhood and formed the Chains when he was twelve, back when he and his friends were still riding bicycles and stealing packs of gum.
Well, Sal grew up, the gang got bigger, and when I joined up he took me in like a brother. I quickly rose up the ranks until I got to where I am today.
“I’m good, Sal,” I tell him, putting the glass back down. “How about you?”
“Ah, things’ve been better, Jake,” he tells me in a low voice. “The Bullets, those fuckers … ah, you’ll hear it at the meeting. I don’t want to go blowing my load. Actually, we may as well get started.”
He stands up and raises his hands, calling out for everybody to be quiet. The noise dies down.
“All right, everybody!” Sal shouts. “We’re all here, let’s get this meeting underway!”
Some people grab bar stools to sit; others lean against the pool table, cues in hand. I take another drink of my beer.
“Okay, to get down to it,” Sal says, “we’re having this meeting because something’s going on with the Bullets!”
The room erupts with angry roars, hisses, threats of death and worse. Sal waits for them all to calm down. I take another drink.
“I know, I know, I hate those fuckers too!” he says.
“What’s been going on, Sal?” Willy calls out.
Sal looks around at them, and the silence sinks in.
“Nothing,” he says. People look at one another, trying to figure out what that means. “They’ve been quiet lately. Too quiet. We think they’re planning an attack, which means we have to be on our guard. If they decide that this summer is a good time to go to war, then we need to be ready to fight!”
The crowd erupts and I look down from them and into my beer. My mouth twists in distaste.
Fucking Bullets. They’re the next strongest group in the city, second only to ours, and they’ve been up in our shit right since day one. The last time the Chains and the Bullets went to war it was eight years ago, and I hadn’t joined yet. But Sal told me about it. Or, at least, he’s told me bits and pieces, mostly when he’s gotten himself drunk. According to him we lost half our gang. Good men and women who didn’t deserve to die. It wasn’t pretty. And nobody wants that to happen again.
Sal’s wrapping up: “So just fucking be careful!” he says. “If you see anything, if you hear anything, report back to me! And if those Bullet fuckers try anything, we’ll tear them a new asshole!”
Cheers erupt and Sal sits down as Katie approaches him to talk. Everybody resumes what they were doing. I turn around on my stool, facing the bar now. Ruby comes up to me.
“Fucking war,” she mutters. “Christ Jake, you weren’t here for the last one, were you?”
I shake my head. I’m glad I wasn’t. All I can think about is Emily, and how I promised myself I would keep her safe. How’s that going to happen if we’re at war?
“You doin’ all right?” Ruby asks. I nod, but a moment later I push my beer away.
“Yeah, I’m doin’ good,” I lie.
“You’re not lookin’ good,” she says. “You look like you need to relax. You wanna go with me in the back? I’ll bet I can make you feel much better.”
I look up at Ruby — those full lips are smiling at me, and I can already remember the feeling of that sweet rack and fine fat ass. My cock starts to harden and I know I could fuck Ruby ten ways from Sunday, and she would thank me for it, but my heart is telling me otherwise.
“No,” I say, shaking my head again. “Not tonight, Ruby. I’m not in the mood.”
“Baby, I can get you in the mood,” she tells me, and she leans forward, showing off more of her cleavage.
But I just push back from the bar and stand up. Thoughts of going to war are messing with my head. I don’t feel like being here tonight. I need to go somewhere else. Where, I’m not sure. Just somewhere to take my mind off things for a while.
“Another time,” I tell Ruby as her smile drops. I turn to go, but Sal’s hand lands on my shoulder, stopping me.
“You goin’ so soon?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I gotta get out of here.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sal says, putting down his beer. But I shake my head.
“Nah man. I just feel like being alone right now.”
Sal’s eyes linger on me a moment longer, but then he drops his hand.
“All right,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. I tell him good night and leave, smiling at my friends as I pass. When I step outside the evening air already makes my head feel clearer. But I still want to go somewhere. Somewhere I’ve never been before; somewhere where I can escape.
Maybe I’ll check out that new bar that’s just opened up.
I hop onto my bike, kick it into life, and drive away into the night.
Merryn
“I don’t know. I don’t think this dress looks good on me.”
Lindsay, sitting beside me in the back seat of the cab, shakes her head with a smile.
“Merryn, listen to me: you look hot, okay? All the guys are gonna line up just to buy you drinks. You wait and see.”
I twist in my seat, trying to get comfortable. After work we went over to Lindsay’s place and got ready to go to this new bar. Lindsay goes out more than me, so she already had a bunch of things to wear I could choose from. The problem is that, with a body like mine, none of the things that fit on Lindsay seemed to fit on me. We’re the same height but she’s got a thinner frame, and her boobs are definitely bigger than mine. The only thing that came close was this strappy red dress, which I’m wearing right now.
I can feel the fabric clinging to my pudgy body as I try to straighten it out. I’ve always been a bigger girl, and that’s one of the first things Craig started complaining about when we were together:
“Why can’t you just lose some weight?” he would say.
Ugh. If only he knew how hard I’d tried.
I’ve exercised, I’ve done yoga. I’ve gone to the gym and tried dieting on more than one occasion. It just seems like this body is what I’m destined for: the kind more suited to a comforting aunt than someone you’d ever imagine yourself fucking.
The cab pulls up to the curb and we pay before getting out. Lindsay, in her skin-tight jeans and halter top, is already getting looks from the guys standing outside having a smoke. I try smiling at them as we go inside, but none of them catch my eye.
“I don’t know if this was a good idea,” I say to Lindsay, but music pours out as soon as the door opens, and my words are drowned.
“What?” Lindsay calls back.
“Nothing!” I yell to her. “Let’s get a drink!”
Even for a Monday evening this place is packed. Lindsay and I have to push through crowds of people standing, drinking, mingling. Once we get to the bar we’re stuck behind a crowd three people deep, all waiting to be served. The bartenders look harried as they quickly take orders.
I use the opportunity to scope the place out a bit. It’s large, with stairs leading to a dance floor down below, also packed. Most of them are dancing, and of course there’s a few up against the walls, watching the others have fun. That’s likely where I’ll be, either until I get my nerve up or I get drunk enough not to care, whichever comes first. My bet is on the latter.
When I turn back around I’m surprised to find we’re almost at the bar. Those bartenders are good. Lindsay turns around.
“I’ll order for you!” she yells. “What do you want?”
“Um,” I try to think. “A double vodka tonic!”
She nods and turns back to face the bar just as a space opens up. When she bends forward to give her orders, her jeans ride low and the top of her thong sticks out from underneath. The guys next to me lean ove
r to look and I roll my eyes. Nobody’s doing that for me.
A minute later Lindsay spins back around, two drinks in hand, and gives me one.
“Cheers!” she yells, raising her glass. I clink mine against hers and take a sip, feeling the delicious alcohol burn its way down my throat. Neither Lindsay nor I had any dinner — we were too busy getting ready — and this is already going to my head.
We walk away from the bar toward the dance floor. I take another long sip, draining my glass until it’s half-full.
“Wanna dance?” Lindsay asks me, but despite the vodka quickly making friends with my blood stream, I feel like I’m still too nervous to go down there.
“Mm, not yet,” I say. “I’m not ready.”
Lindsay rolls her eyes again.
“Come on Merryn, what’s the problem?”
I look at Lindsay. She’s one of the only people in the office I feel close to, and definitely the only person I would go out to a bar like this with. But even so, I feel like I haven’t really opened up to Lindsay yet. I haven’t told her about the things that Craig used to say to me. I haven’t told her about my childhood and how the kids used to pick on me because of my weight. I haven’t told her that I lost my virginity when I was 22, during a one-night stand with a drunk guy at a party. He didn’t even remember me the next day.
So instead of telling her how I really feel — that I’m scared if I go down to that dance floor that no one will want to dance with me, and that everyone will just make fun of me instead — I just shake my head.
“I’m just not feeling it yet,” I tell her. “You go down, I’ll join you later.”
“Are you sure?” Lindsay gives me a sympathetic look.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
So Lindsay, flashing me one last smile, turns and walks down the few steps onto the dance floor. As I watch from above, taking another long drink, I see men already descend on her, like hyenas to their prey.
I rattle the ice in my drink as Lindsay’s quickly joined by four guys, all of whom vie for her attention. She dances with her arms up, holding her drink high above her head. I can see the smile on her face and I down the rest of my drink. It’s time for another.