by Kim Jones
“How do they know that? Did she tell you?”
“No! Tick, the SA, he talked to her but all he said was that he was your friend. They were in the lobby at the hospital. He never went back . . .” He trails off and I pull my gun from behind my back. I place the barrel right between his eyes, scared that even though this isn’t his fault, his answer might make me angry enough to kill this innocent kid.
“Did he touch her?” I snarl, feeling a mixture of panic and anger forming inside of me.
“He just kissed her hand.” I lower my gun, the relief that he only saw her in a public place and that she wasn’t harmed, almost bringing me to my knees. The anger inside me dies. The panic dies. Saylor will soon die. My sadness is back.
“Get him to a hospital.” I sidestep the Prospects, and Shady is beside me as we jog to our bikes. Sirens are in the distance and I’m sure they’re not for us. Nothing neighbors the building, and the traffic from the interstate is loud enough to drown out any sound that might reach a passing car. But the noise is enough to have me distancing myself from the scene as fast as possible.
And there isn’t a sound loud enough to drown out the Prospect’s words that are screaming in my head. “She’s dying.”
—
As soon as we returned to the clubhouse, Shady put a call in to Jackson, ordering the chapter to keep eyes on Saylor 24-7. If any member of Death Mob came within a five-mile radius of her, they would handle it. It should be me protecting her, but I’m still battling with my pride, and my pride is still winning.
Other than a flesh wound on my arm, which I’m just now feeling, and a small cut on Shady’s cheek from a shattered window, we returned unscathed. Shady, sensing my need to calm my nerves, fires up a blunt outside and passes it to me. The familiar burn in my lungs is enough to calm my racing heart and bring me off of my adrenaline high. And enough to put me on one that will have me not giving a shit about what’s gonna happen when other Death Mob chapters find out that we just killed twelve of their men.
“This might create a shit storm and I’m good with that, but we need to talk,” Shady says, interrupting the silence and the smoke haven I’m in. I’ll never understand why people feel the need to fuck up a perfectly good moment with conversation. I ignore him, hoping it will work but knowing good and damn well it won’t. “You need to go back to her.” Her. The one that is dying.
“Not another word, Shady.” It’s my final warning. I take another drag, breathing the smoke deep into my lungs, and hold it, letting this burn replace the one at the mention of her.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Dirk.” Maybe I didn’t hear him right. Shady has never been this ballsy around me. I’m about to ask him to repeat himself just so I can be sure I heard him right, when he starts again.
“The girl is dying, Dirk. She’s dying.” I’m on my feet and so is he. I’m going to shut him up since he lacks the capability of doing it himself. But there is a gun pointed at my head.
“Just as sure as God made little green apples and I’m standing here, I’ll take your fucking ear off if you don’t hear me out.” He is telling the truth, but I’d rather have my ear shot off than have to listen to him.
Before I can take a full step, I feel the skin on my arm shred just below the other flesh wound. “The next one will be your dick.” The sound of the gunshot drew a crowd, but I tell them to leave us alone. Reluctantly, they do.
“Okay motherfucker, you got my attention,” I spit through my teeth. My arm is fucking killing me, but I won’t let him know that.
“She loves you. I don’t know why, but she does. People like me and you, Dirk, we don’t get women like her. For some reason, you got lucky. So she’s sick and she didn’t tell you. Did you tell her what you did? Did she know that the man she was sleeping with every night had killed more people than Hitler’s fucking army? Man, you’re so fucking blessed and you don’t even see it.”
Shady puts his gun away. Either he is tired of fighting or he thinks I’ll stay here and listen. He’s wrong. I walk away, but even though I can’t see his face, it doesn’t stop me from hearing his voice.
“We all gotta die, Dirk. And we never know when. We take each day for granted. But you know exactly how long you have to make this life mean something. Don’t fuck it up, Dirk.” I’m searching for a comeback. I’m digging for an excuse. But the truth is, Shady’s right, and I got nothing.
—
The last person I expected to see walk through the door of the Houston clubhouse was Roach. But here he was, in old, gray flesh. It’s been two days since the shoot-out and we’d heard nothing. For Roach to be showing up less than forty-eight hours after couldn’t be good. I stand to hug him, but we make no pleasantries. I follow him out back, where I find Shady and Jimbo waiting. Shit. This is bad.
“Turner and Hooch. Dillon and Festus. Fucking Bonnie and Clyde.” Roach is pissed. Jimbo is pissed. I’m anxious. Shady looks confused. He mouths “I’m not Bonnie” to me and I want to slap him. This shit is serious. And I sure as fuck ain’t Bonnie.
“I said handle it. Not shoot up a whole fucking chapter. Do you have any idea the heat I’m getting? Dorian is gonna have my balls once he catches wind of this.” He’s right. It was handled wrong. It doesn’t matter that if Shady hadn’t pulled the trigger first, I would have done it. But I did make sure to let them know this was on me. Not the club. And I’m pretty sure Roach already knows that and it probably pissed him off more. We are a club. A family. A brotherhood. We stand behind each other right or wrong. No I in team and all that shit.
“Roach,” Shady starts and I wish he would just keep his mouth shut. “The motherfucker made it personal.” I know the hell that is coming next.
“You think I give a shit about your fucking personal lives?” He turns to me and I know he is about to make this shit real personal. “You’re a fucking idiot, Dirk.” I’ve been called that a lot here lately, but it hurts more coming from him. And because it’s true.
“If you ain’t there to take care of your ol’ lady then she ain’t your fuckin’ ol’ lady. If you would’ve been there, then they never would have showed up. You left her, dumb-ass. You been walking around here for two weeks with your little pink panties in a twist. Man the fuck up. If you want her, go get her. If you don’t, then quit putting the whole club at risk because of her.”
Roach takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. He looks like death, and if I already didn’t feel like shit, this moment would make me. I’ve disappointed him. It’s a shitty feeling.
“Disappear for a while. Both of you. At least until I can get this shit cleaned up.”
They leave, and Shady and I are left feeling like kids who just got sent to their room. I don’t know what his plans are, but mine are forming in my head. Fast.
“I’m heading down to Mexico. See ya around, Dirk.” Shady’s leaving and I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll ever see him. We don’t know what tomorrow holds. But, if I knew he only had six months to live, I know what I would tell him.
“Thanks, Shady. For everything.” I walk away before he wants a hug or some shit. Shady’s destination is Mexico. So is mine, but I have a stop to make first.
17
I’VE BEEN SITTIN’ at the airport in Jackson for hours. I can’t find the balls to leave. I don’t know what she will say or if she will say anything. She may not forgive me for what I did, but my heart, the one that I managed to piece back together on the flight over, tells me she will.
When my phone rings, it’s a number I don’t recognize. I’m hesitant, but I answer because only a few people even have this number.
“Yeah.” I hear noise in the background like two people are arguing. Then, I hear the familiar voice of Saylor’s friend. It’s Jeffery.
“Dirk?” I stay silent, trying to figure out who the other voice in the background is. Jeffery is obviously covering the phone. “Shut up!” he yells and I have to pull my head away from the phone. “Dirk? It’s Jeffery.”
�
��What do you want, Jeffery?” To castrate me?
“We have a little problem.” Alarm bells are going off inside my head. Something is wrong.
“What? What’s wrong?” I’m shouting, drawing stares from people in the small airport.
“Don’t tell him shit!” This time, Donnawayne’s voice can be heard clearly through the phone. He is pissed. I hear a struggle and then a door slam before Jeffery starts rapidly speaking.
“She’s gone, Dirk.” My heart sinks. My world stills. But Jeffery is still speaking. I catch a few words here and there, but I just want to hang up. I want to die. I want to torture myself for wasting the past two weeks being selfish when I should have been with her. “Dirk?”
“Do you know where she is or not?!” Donnawayne’s scream cuts through my thoughts. What?
“What?” I find my voice, it’s weak but it’s there.
“Saylor. Do you know where she could be?” I hit my knees in relief. I need to puke. Or faint. Or laugh. My reprieve is almost too much.
“She isn’t dead.” I say the words out loud and I find myself laughing.
“What? No! Oh, shit! I’m sorry. I meant she is gone, as in we woke up this morning and she had left. Her coffee can of cash, her diary, and her backpack are missing. We don’t know where she is.”
I pull my shit together and stand. I find my way outside into the fresh air, then light a smoke. I must have told them to give me a minute at some point, because they are still on the phone with me when I use the cherry from my first cigarette to light my second. Now maybe I can be of some use.
“Okay, when’s the last time you saw her?”
“Last night. She fell asleep on the couch and we stayed there with her. Then this morning, I thought she just went out to get coffee, but it’s after two and she’s not here. And her stuff is missing.” Jeffery calms a crying Donnawayne while I think, but he didn’t give me much to go on.
“Did she say anything? I mean the smallest thing could mean something.”
“No. Nothing.”
“We didn’t even get to talk because of that damn movie.” I hear Donnawayne’s voice in the background and something triggers in my memory.
“What movie?” I ask, already knowing what the answer is.
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” And just like that, I’m booking a flight to Del Rio.
—
In the town of Ciudad Acuña, there is a bar called La Dama, meaning “the lady.” It’s just across the Mexican border and a place I’ve visited many times. The damas are plentiful there too. But I’m not going for them. I’m going for the white lights that hang on the patio, the endless tequila, and my dama, who will be waiting for me.
Call it coincidence, fate, or divine intervention, but a black van was in the border line next to the cab Saylor took. And in that black van was Shady, who led her to the place she was searching for, after he called to tell me where she was. She never asked him to not tell me. I guess she assumed I was either coming or I didn’t give a shit. She probably thought the latter.
I’m ruling out coincidence and narrowing down the battle between fate and divine intervention when I find exactly what I’m looking for in an airport gift shop. Shit like this don’t just happen.
It’s dark, I’m standing outside La Dama, and I’m holding in my hands everything I need to make Saylor’s vision come true. When lightning strikes in the distance and I smell rain in the air, in the middle of a fucking drought, I know that fate has nothing to do with this moment either. This is divine intervention. Her god didn’t let her down, and it may be unintentional, but he’s helping me out too.
Saylor is sitting at a table on the outside patio, running her finger across the glass of tequila that sits next to a bottle that’s just over half full. She hasn’t been here long and her mission is to get drunk, obviously. I’m not breathless at the sight of her. I’m not excited or joyful either. I’m heartbroken, again, and I’m on the verge of doing something I haven’t done in years.
Cry.
She’s lost weight. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her face is sad. Her hair is wild and crazy, just how it always is, and it’s the only thing that hasn’t changed about her. There is no happiness in her eyes. There is no smile on her lips. The light that comes from her and illuminates everything around her is dim and depressed. And all I can think in this moment is that it is my fault.
I’ve taken everything good about her and destroyed it. I’ve sucked the joy and will to live right out of her and for what? Because I’m selfish. I’ve spent the past two weeks annihilating everything good about her because I was too selfish to appreciate what I had. No matter how long I had it.
The truth is, that even if the only time I ever had with Saylor came from those few encounters before I even knew her name, then I was luckier than the people who went a lifetime never being graced with her presence. I was an idiot, but I was fortunate. Some people only get one second chance. Now I have two.
My hands are shaking when I lay the black box in front of Saylor, who doesn’t even look up to see who it’s from. When she whispers my name, I finally get that breathless, excited feeling of joy I should have had when I first saw her sitting here.
“You’re late.” I watch her lips as they struggle to turn up to form a smile. I wonder if the memory of the first time we officially met is playing in her head like it is in mine. “I was beginning to think you were not going to make good on your promise.” She stares at her glass, never looking at me.
I promised to bring her here, not show up later because I’m so fucked up that I left her when she needed me most.
“I’m here now,” I tell her, and my voice causes her to look at me for the first time. Even tired, sad, and heartbroken, she is still the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Cliché, but so fucking true.
“Yes, you are. Will you sit with me?” When I do, she grabs my hand and holds it. My eyes lock on hers and I can see the dull pools of green slowly coming back to life.
“I know why you left. This isn’t easy for you. I know that now. I knew that then. But there is nothing we can say to fix what is wrong, so let’s not waste time with apologies or what-ifs or who was right and who was wrong. Let’s just live this moment. I want it to be as special as I’ve always imagined it would be.”
I want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to tell her nothing is her fault and I shouldn’t have left. I want to tell her I was wrong and she was right and all the shit that men say when they fuck up. But she wants none of that. And it’s not that important that I tell her because she already knows.
She’s proven time and again that she has the ability to read my mind, and this time is no different. I’ll make this night perfect for her. Better than she imagined.
“I bought you something,” I say, motioning to the untouched box in front of her.
“And I’m pretty sure I already know what it is.” And I’m pretty sure she does too.
—
Saylor emerges minutes later from the bathroom, wearing the white, floor-length dress I bought her. In her hair, I place the flower I picked from the tropical plant growing outside, and it completes the picture.
I pull her into my lap and we drink cheap tequila from a bottle, while traditional Mexican instrumental music plays in the background. By the time the rain starts, she is buzzing, I’m intoxicated more by her than the liquor, and not a word has been spoken between us.
I sit her in the seat across from me before standing and making the final arrangement to make her night special. I make my request, pass a twenty to the bartender, then make my way back to Saylor, who is still watching me from across the room.
“Mondo Bongo” plays through the speakers and I hold my hand out for hers. She takes it with a smile and I pull her into the rain. Saylor dances with her eyes closed, while I hold her hips and move with her. The rain drenches us both, but we dance on. I hold her in my arms, kiss her with my lips, and tell her everything I haven’t said in this one moment.
She feels it. And I feel her. I feel her love piecing my heart back together. I feel her body that moves in sexy sways in my arms. And I feel her soul. A soul that God didn’t need to shine any mercy on. Because this one, this one was made perfect.
—
I get us a room next door. This time when we shower together, she bathes me and I don’t leave when she’s finished. I return the favor. Before, she used the time to memorize everything about me. Now it’s me memorizing everything about her.
I memorize the shape of her collarbone and how the hollow of her throat is deep and holds water when she leans her head back and takes a breath. How the weight of the water makes her hair perfectly straight, forcing it to brush the top of her ass. How the swoop of her back curves inward and when she moves just right, two dimples form on the lower part of it. How her thighs thicken, then narrow at her knees, then thicken at her calves. The small arch in her feet and the descending order of size in her toes. Her full, pink lips that have been kissed too much. Her small, narrow nose that is dotted with freckles. The wrinkle in her forehead and the laugh lines at the corners of her mouth.
Everything about her is now permanently etched in my brain, but I plan to focus on these parts every day, just to be sure I don’t forget. We’re in bed and I want to make love to her. So I do. And she wants it. It’s intimate. It’s long. And it’s amazing. I kiss all the parts I memorized. I lick every piece of flesh exposed to me, and let her fall to pieces in my arms every time she comes. Over and over again. Then I bury myself inside of her, memorizing the way her walls contract around my cock as I fill her.
I know everything about her body. I know the goodness of her heart. I know the destiny of her soul. And I know she loves me. Because she’s told me over and over tonight. I guess that’s the only thing I needed to hear, and I can only hope that her love is something I can memorize too.
—
The sun rose long ago and we’re still in bed. And I’m still holding her. And today my will to stay is not as strong as it was yesterday. I can’t keep thoughts of the future out of my head. How many times will I get to hold her before she is gone? How am I here when all I really want to do is run?