HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “Anyone besides me?”

  He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled the smoke through his nose. “I’m thinking not. Other’n Eddie.”

  “No shit,” I said.

  I wiped down the gas tank, and took a step back. “Spotless. Once a year, whether it needs it or not.”

  He took another drag off his cigarette. “Would you let him ride your bike?”

  A true biker never let anyone ride his bike that he didn’t trust 100%, and I trusted no one 100%, except for P-Nut.

  “Fuck no,” I responded.

  He blew the smoke to the side. “Why not?”

  “Don’t trust--” I paused, realizing what I was about to say. “That’s different.”

  He shook his head. “Sure as fuck isn’t.”

  “Is too.”

  “Is not.”

  “I’d let you ride it,” I said.

  He clenched the cigarette in his teeth and shrugged. “You trust me. That, motherfucker, is my point. You want to tell yourself you trust him, but you don’t.”

  “I just want him to get to know some of the fellas. He’s been asking.”

  “If he’s askin’ questions, he’s probably a cop.”

  “You think everyone’s a cop.”

  He took a long drag, blew a few smoke rings, and then met my gaze. “Don’t think you’re a cop.”

  “He’s a Marine. Or, he was. He fought for this country. For our freedom.”

  He shook his head. “Fuck that. He didn’t fight for me.” He stood up. “Cocksucker didn’t fight for me. That fucker don’t know me. I fight my own fights. Fuck that dude.”

  I let out a sigh.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s lots of cops that are former soldiers and shit. Tell that kid to kick rocks. Question askin’ prick.”

  “All he asked was to meet some of the fellas.”

  “That’s one question too many. Remind him he’s a fucking prospect. Or, hell, take him to that Mexican’s house. Cholo. Yeah, introduce him to Cholo.”

  “Cholo’s a good motherfucker. Don’t talk shit on him.”

  “Who was talking shit?”

  “You called him a Mexican.”

  He scrunched his nose and stared. “He is a Mexican.”

  “He’s Hispanic.”

  “He’s a Mexican.”

  “Hispanic.”

  He tossed his cigarette on the floor and pressed the toe of his boot against it. “If you’re Hispanic, what’s your native language?”

  I shrugged. “Spanish.”

  He nodded. “Let’s assume a guy down in Tijuana swam over the river, walked to San Diego, and got him a fake Social Security card. Then, let’s say he got a job here in Oceanside at the carwash. Then, after working there for a couple of years, he bought it.” He spread his arms wide and gazed up at the ceiling as if looking up at a marquee. “Called it Pepe’s Car wash.”

  I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. “You gonna make a point?”

  “I was tryin’,” he said. “Lemme finish.”

  “Finish.”

  “Would Pepe be white?”

  “No.”

  “What would he be?’

  “Hispanic.”

  He nodded. “Hispanic?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where did he come from?”

  “Tijuana, according to you.”

  “What country is Tijuana in?”

  “Mexico.”

  “Who lives in Mexico?”

  “Mexicans.”

  “Pepe’s a Mexican, then.”

  “Once he crosses the border, he’s Hispanic.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “Take that question askin’ prospect over to your Hispanic buddy’s house. They can eat tamales together.”

  “Stop being a prick.”

  “Oh, now you gonna tell me that Cholo don’t eat tamales? Hell, I eat tamales, so I know he eats em. They’re good as fuck.”

  “Just forget it.”

  “Forgotten.”

  I tossed my rag on the toolbox. “You ready?”

  He looked up. “Ready to what?”

  “Ride?”

  “Just you and me?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  He picked up his cigarette but, twisted it between his fingers, and sprinkled loose tobacco all over my spotless bike. “Sure,” he said. “Let’s roll. Where we headed?”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I snarled.

  “Looks funny bein’ all clean. I was just doin’ you a solid,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Figured we’d eat lunch. I was thinking Mexican food.”

  “Where we going?” he asked with a laugh. “Hispanico?”

  Chapter One Hundred Forty-Four

  Sandy

  I was comfortable in my new home when Smokey was present, but when he was gone, I felt out of place. As if I was invading space that I didn’t have the right to, I reluctantly opened each of the drawers, looking for the silverware while Eddie took a shower.

  I realized as I pulled open drawer after drawer, that although I’d been in the house for two weeks, I didn’t know where the silverware was.

  On the next to the last drawer, I hit the jackpot.

  Thank God.

  I grabbed a butter knife, and closed the drawer.

  Did I just see what I thought I saw?

  I opened it again.

  I gazed at the silverware, which was situated in a wooden cutlery organizer. Beside the organizer were three pairs of chopsticks. I smiled and shut the drawer.

  I got the bread from the pantry, some ham, the cheese, and then looked for the mayonnaise. While scanning the compartments on the refrigerator doors, I saw another surprise.

  I picked up the bottle.

  Sandwich Pal Horseradish Sauce.

  I grinned and closed the drawer.

  I made my sandwich, and spread a thick layer of horseradish sauce on the bread. As I ate, I decided to make a mental list of all the things about Smokey that I didn’t like. By the time I was finished eating, I hadn’t come up with one single thing. On my way to the sink, I came up with no less than six things about him that I did like.

  Convinced that I could fall in love with him if he could fall in love with me, I washed my hands and walked into the living room.

  Eddie was relaxing on the couch with her Kindle.

  “Oh,” I said. “I thought you were in the shower.”

  “I was,” she said. “Not anymore, though.”

  “When does your dad get home most of the time?”

  “On Saturday?” She shrugged. “Before dinner.”

  “I didn’t have to work, so I’m just kicking it.”

  She looked up. “We can kick it together. If you want.”

  I sat down. “Okay.”

  She tossed the tablet to her side and sighed. “I’ve got a lot left to read.”

  “What are you reading?”

  “I like NA stuff.”

  “NA?”

  “New Adult.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a genre about kids my age. Leaving home. Relationships. Finding a job. College. Just stuff like that, but it always includes falling in love.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “NA, or falling in love?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Both.”

  “It’s fun to think about.”

  “Falling in love?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Is Richard the one?”

  “I don’t know. He’s cool, and we have fun together, but who knows.”

  I wondered if she was being totally truthful with me and quickly decided she probably wasn’t. I doubted she trusted me, for one, and secondly, I suspected she thought I’d tell her father anything she told me.

  I wondered about developing a friendship with her, and wondered if I could so and maintain some level of separation as a parent.

  “Are uhhm. Are you and your dad friends?”

 
She looked at me like my head was on fire, and then laughed. “Yeah. Like, best friends.”

  “That’s cool,” I said.

  “What about your dad and you?” she asked.

  “He left when I was little.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “That sucks. What about your mom?”

  “She uhhm. She was…she is a drug addict. I left home when I was thirteen and moved in with my aunt and uncle. So, I really didn’t spend a lot of time around her.”

  Her eyes dropped to the floor. “My mom was, too. She died.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She shrugged. “That’s what happens. I mean, it sucks, but it happens. Drugs are stupid. I’m glad her and my dad got together, even if it was just for a little while. I mean, if they didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, you know. So, that’s cool. But yeah. Drugs are stupid.”

  “They sure are.”

  She scooched toward the arm of the couch and then turned to face me. “Are you excited about the baby?”

  Her eyes made her level of excitement clear, which shocked me. I smiled. “I am. More every day.”

  She rubbed her hands together. “What do you want?”

  “Oh. I don’t know. I just want a healthy baby.”

  “Everybody says that.” She chuckled. “You have to want one or the other a little more. Which one? I want a baby sister.”

  Hearing her say sister made me feel like she’d truly accepted the situation wholeheartedly. “Are you excited about being a sister?”

  “Oh, man. Am I? Yeah, I’ve always wanted to have brothers and sisters, but not so much brothers. Unless I already have a sister, that is. Either would be cool, though.”

  “I think I’d like a daughter,” I whispered. “But don’t tell your dad.”

  “I think he wants a boy.” She pressed her index finger against her lips. “I’m not saying a word.”

  I widened my eyes and shook my head. “I don’t want to make him mad.”

  “Girl power.” She raised her hand and turned her palm to face me.

  I slapped my hand against hers. “Girl power.”

  “This is going to be so cool,” she said. “When can we find out what the sex is?”

  “Like three months or so.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  I was excited too, but the longer we talked the more excited I became. After half an hour of talking about babies, we were in the kitchen making milkshakes and discussing the fallacy of love.

  Eddie took a slurp of her milkshake, and then wiped the corners of her mouth with the tip of her finger. “Love? I think initially that it’s a conscious acceptance of a person being satisfactory. You know, as far as attraction goes. Yeah, this guy’s hot, or whatever. So, the girl decides she’s attracted to said person, and she gives him a chance.” She shrugged. “Then, they hang out. He thinks she’s cool, she thinks he’s cool, and they bone or whatever. He decides he likes boning her, she knows she likes boning him, and one day he pulls a douche move, and they break up.”

  She gulped another drink of her milkshake. “Happens all the time. Anyway. Then, she thinks about being with him, and how cool it was to lay around and watch Netflix on the couch. And she tries to forget about him, all she can remember is what it was like when they boned. So, she sends him a text and says, what’s up? He’s watching football with his brahs, and he sees the text and says, check this out. Talia sent me a text. His buddies say, brah, you should so go bone her. When the football game is in the fourth quarter, dude sends her a text and says, not much, wanna hang out? And she gets all excited, and they hang out and bone again. The next day, they declare they’re in love.”

  I chuckled. “Just like that?”

  “Mmhhmm.” She twirled the spoon around in her cup, decided it was empty, and pushed it to the side. “Just like that.”

  “You don’t think people see each other and just know?” I asked.

  She dropped her spoon in the sink. After tipping the cup upside down and tapping her hand against the bottom a few times, she scrunched her nose and tossed the cup in the sink, too. She looked up. “Like insta-love?”

  “Yeah, basically.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head slowly. “It’s written in books, but it’s crap. Basically, the same as a unicorn or a vampire. If I read a book, and it’s insta-love? I return it and read something else. If I wanted to read a fairy tale, I would.”

  “People don’t just fall in love?”

  “No. It happens like I said a minute ago.”

  “Every time?”

  “Yeah, pretty much,” she said. “Why, how do you think it works?”

  I shrugged. I believed in fairy tales. Or, at least I had in the past. “I’m not sure. I think people are attracted to each other, and then they spend time together. They either fall in love, or they don’t. If they do, I think it grows over time. If they don’t, they move on and try it with someone else.”

  “Basically, that’s what I said. Mine’s more realistic, though.”

  Taking advice on life from Eddie seemed odd, but I liked her concept. “How are you so smart for a seventeen-year-old?”

  “I read a lot,” she said. “And, I’ve got a cool dad.”

  “Yeah. He’s pretty cool.”

  “So are you,” she said. “I gotta go poop.”

  I chuckled as she walked away.

  As she took care of her business, I had to wipe away a tear. I told myself it was an estrogen overload.

  But, it may have been that I was falling in love a little bit with Eddie, too.

  Chapter One Hundred Forty-Five

  Smokey

  “I’m not afraid to leave, I’ve done it plenty of times, but I don’t like the thought of leaving on a Saturday night. Especially when she’s going out with Richard.”

  Sandy shook her head adamantly. “Don’t worry. I mean it. I’ll wait up, just like we do when you are home. And, I’ll set the alarm, just like you do. She’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

  I didn’t like leaving Eddie, nor did I like leaving Sandy.

  “I don’t have to like it,” I said. “And, to be straight with you, I don’t like leaving you, either.”

  Her face went flush. “That was sweet.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be sweet,” I said. “I’m just telling you how I feel.”

  She glared playfully. “Well, it was sweet.”

  I wagged my eyebrows.

  “Do you have a say?” she asked. “Can you stay home?”

  I shook my head. “It’s mandatory. I have no choice.”

  “Then go, and have fun. Eddie and I will both be fine.”

  I leaned over the edge of the table. “Come here.”

  She did the same, and met me in the center of the table.

  I kissed her. It seemed to happen a lot more lately, and I was growing to like it much more than I ever would have guessed. Kissing was something that had been missing from my life, and experiencing it was something that seemed to draw me closer to Sandy each day.

  So, I decided to kiss her as much as possible.

  “I like it when you kiss me,” she said.

  “Makes two of us. I like kissing you.”

  She wiped her mouth with her fingertips. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll text you every few hours if you want.”

  “How about every hour, on the hour?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve got a few rules that need to be followed,” I said. “I meant to go over them with you before now, but I guess I forgot.”

  “What are they?”

  “Cops show up for any reason, no matter what they say, don’t let them in the house unless they have a search warrant.”

  “How do I know if they have one?”

  “You ask to see it.”

  “And, if they don’t have one?”

  “You tell them to leave.”

  “Is there. I mean, is there stuff in here that--”

  “It’s the principle. No, there’s nothing illegal in thi
s home. And, I have nothing to hide. But. I’m not letting some shit hat cop come in here and plant any evidence. That’s the last thing I need, is to be doing a dime for something I didn’t do.”

  “What’s a dime?”

  “Ten year bit.”

  “Oh my God,” she gasped. “They’d do that?”

  “They do it all the time.”

  “Okay, no coming inside without a search warrant. What else?”

  I reached in my pocket, pulled out my pistol, and set it on the table. After opening the cylinder, I unloaded it, and showed her that all five shells were on the table.

  “Empty. You see where they go?”

  She nodded. “Uh huh.”

  I handed it to her. “Here.”

  “Oh wow,” she said. “It’s heavy.”

  “Has to be. It’s a .357 magnum. If it wasn’t, it’d kick so hard it’d break your wrist.”

  “What’s a .357 magnum?”

  “It’s the shell size. Like a .38 special, only longer.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s what they call a double action,” I explained. “All you do is point it, and pull the trigger. There’s no safety, no switches, no nothing. Just point, and pull the trigger.”

  “Okay.”

  I pointed to the left side of the pistol. “Push the lever on the side there, by your thumb, and tilt the pistol to the left.”

  She did as I asked, and the cylinder fell open.

  “See that all five holes are empty?”

  She looked at the cylinder. “Uh huh.”

  “It holds five bullets, that’s all. With all five holes open, it can’t do anything, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Push the cylinder closed.”

  She closed the cylinder and looked at me.

  “Point it at the refrigerator and pull the trigger.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  I nodded. “It’s unloaded.”

  She squinted, and slowly squeezed the trigger. When the pistol dry fired, she jumped.

  “It’s that simple,” I said. “Now, it’s got a 2” barrel. You can’t really aim it, so I’m not going to explain all of that to you. If you ever have to use it, you hold it in your hand just like you are, and you point it, just like your pointing your finger. If you can point your finger at something, you can point the gun at something. Make sense?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Point it at the sink.”