by Cat Porter
Hobbit’s eyelids sank and then opened again. His red eyes darted around the room. “Oh, yeah?”
“I’m a little confused, Hobbit. What’s Creeper doing with the Demon Seeds?” I asked. “He come over to play checkers with you guys? A little game of softball maybe?”
“Nah, he don’t hang with us. He’s always talking to Cowboy, talking to Cowboy.” Hobbit’s gaze drifted.
Jump’s eyebrows jammed together. “To your prez?”
“Yeah, fucking One-Eyed dick, Creeper.”
“Maybe they’re just talking about football or the weather report, huh?”
“Fuck no. They talk business, always the two of ’em alone, behind closed doors.”
“We could help you ease your pain with Creeper,” I said.
“Yeah?” Hobbit’s head bobbed and then suddenly straightened. “That’s good.”
“All right then.” Jump licked his bottom lip.
I crouched down before Hobbit, my eyes level with his. “You find out what him and Cowboy are talking about, you feed it to us, and we’ll make sure Creeper gets what he deserves. A brother crossin’ over ain’t no brother at all.”
Hobbit focused his glassy eyes on mine. “That’s shit, is what that is.”
“That’s right,” said Jump. “How about we give Crystal a call and see if she can come by just for you? In the meantime, another girl will keep you company till she gets here, huh? On the house, man. We’ll put you up for the night, too. How’s that sound?”
Hobbit’s face perked up.
Jump called Crystal and offered her an extra five hundred to come back to work and make all of Hobbit’s dreams come true. I sent another dancer to her place for the rest of the night to stay with her son, who thankfully had gotten over his fever and was finally asleep.
Jump sat on the desk. “All set.”
Hobbit only grinned and blinked. “That’s mighty nice of you all.”
I slapped a hand on his massive shoulder. “Anything for a brother.”
“HERE, HON.” I held out a beer bottle to my wife.
“No, I don’t want any.”
“You want one of those silly wine coolers Alicia brought?” I frowned. “I don’t know how she drinks that shit.”
She only shook her head at me.
“That’s all we got, baby. There’s soda, which you don’t like. There might be bottled water leftover in the other cooler.” I brushed her lips with mine and then unscrewed the top of my brew.
It was a glorious early summer day, and we were taking full advantage of it at the Hippie Hole. There’d been plenty of snow this past winter, and we were thrilled to find active waterfalls unlike last year. The water was high, and Boner and I had dived off the rocks and plunged into the icy pool below the minute we arrived.
I shook the water from my hair, and Grace blinked as cool drops splattered on her face. The heat of the sun warmed my skin and the sparkling glare from the surface of the water had me squinting down at my wife. I flicked her nose with my finger and laughed. She got up on her toes, her arms snaking around my middle, and sucked in a tiny breath as she leaned in closer to me.
I cupped the back of her head. “What is it, babe?”
Her mouth tickled my ear. “We’re going to have a baby.”
My heart bounced in my chest. I clasped her face close to mine. Grace’s greenish-brown eyes were filled with water.
“Say it again,” I breathed.
“We’re going to have a baby, Dig. I’m pregnant.”
The world stopped.
Shifted.
Slid out from under me.
And shoved back into new pegs.
A jolt went through my spine, rendering me immobile and filling me with adrenaline all at once. Only Grace’s eyes made any sense, their warmth pulling me back down to earth.
And I flew apart.
“Woo!” My heart pounded against my ribs.
“Dig!” She grabbed the beer bottle from my hand as I lifted her up high in my arms.
“What the hell?” Wreck laughed.
“We’re having a baby!” I shouted.
Wreck’s face broke into a huge smile and he howled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. Jump hooted loudly.
“Oh my God! Wait! Hold on! Hold on! You guys! Look over here!” Alicia shouted.
My eyes stayed glued on my woman’s. The harsh glare of the sun bouncing off the water and the jagged rocks made my head ache. That green smell of the swimming hole mixed with Grace’s sweat and the scent of her suntan lotion filled my lungs. I squeezed her tight, and then I squeezed her even tighter. She only laughed harder. Grace suddenly turned her head toward Alicia, and my lips ended up on the side of her sweet face.
“Great shot! Got it!”
Oh, I’ve got it. Got everything. Right here in my arms.
We had each other.
My brothers. Our friends.
Ruby sober and getting on with her life.
My bikes.
Our house.
Grace wrapped around me every night and me around her.
Now…now, this kid who we’d made was finally here, taking root inside her.
Our kid.
Yeah. That was all we needed. Everything else could be handled.
Fuck everything else.
Fuck it all.
I lifted Grace even higher in my hold and spun her around. She laughed, her fingers twisting in my hair, her head swinging back.
I shouted out loud. Shouted to the owls in the tall trees, to the hawks soaring overhead. Shouted to the sky, the clouds, the sun, the moon, the stars.
Dreams do come true.
What I didn’t realize in the grip of my euphoria that afternoon was that the universe didn’t differentiate between good and bad dreams.
Wish fulfillment came both ways.
“DON’T THINK I’M EVER GONNA LET THIS GO, DIG. You been trying to make nice for a long time now, and Zed was happy to suck it up. Not me. Not happy. Not sucking.”
Zed had succumbed to a massive heart attack a few days earlier, and Notch had been voted President of the Broken Blades. The One-Eyed Jacks had come to Nebraska for the funeral to pay their respects.
My efforts at reaching out, apologies, a second-chance-at-love thing had not gone ignored by Zed over the years. After our recent successful collaboration, the first in a long time, a couple of months later, I’d helped out when his old lady got arrested for a DUI in South Dakota, and he’d been grateful. Real grateful. Things had begun to get comfortable once again, but then he’d upped and died.
I was fucked. Again.
“I ain’t buying your shit,” said Notch.
Really fucked.
“You have a thing with little girls,” Notch continued. “I have a thing for ’em. Got me a new bitch all of fourteen. She don’t look it. Sure don’t act like it. My dick gives it to her good ’cause it likes fresh meat.” He eyed me as he exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Gonna bring her a Barbie that she can play with while I fuck her ass. What do you think of that?”
I smiled. “Domestic bliss at its finest.”
He nodded at me, smirking. “That’s right, and you got no say in my plans to play ball with any other club.”
“You know something, Notch? It’s been years since our little bust-up. I’ve apologized. I’ve bent over backward for your club.”
“Zed ain’t here no more. Don’t give a shit. Gotta say, I’m impressed you’re VP now.”
“I get the job done. I deliver. That’s why.”
“Well, I’m rethinking all of Zed’s ideas of cooperation and partnership.”
“That’s your decision to make.”
He raised his chin. “You got that right.”
“Baby? Can you hear me?”
I was on a pay phone outside a bar in Fort Worth. Grace and I had planned a time when I would beep her, and she would call me from a pay phone outside of Meager.
The Flames of Hell had invited us to join them on a run down to
Austin as an experiment in cooperation and cohabitation. I had kept in touch with Finger, had done a few minor jobs for him off the radar and free of charge. It had paid off. I’d wanted to show my brothers the possibility of working with one of the most formidable outlaw clubs in the Great Plains, that there was a future to be had for us alongside them. Mick had not been impressed, just as I’d expected, but he’d known it would be stupid to say no to the Flames.
I was determined that Mick’s slippery bullshit was not going to get in the way of this opportunity. Unfortunately, he’d gotten a bout of nasty food poisoning, thanks to Clip’s well-timed cooking at the club, and was unable to lead the Jacks on this run. Real shame. Mick reluctantly handed me the reigns in between bouts of vomiting.
“This pay phone is crap,” said Grace. “You still don’t want me calling you from home?”
“No, baby. They’re watching us. We’ve been stopped a couple of times already as it is. You okay?”
“I’m good. Miss you though. A hell of a lot.”
I grinned against the broken plastic mouthpiece, my hand pressing into the graffitied glass of the booth. “Me, too.”
“Where are you now?”
“Some disco in the Bahamas.”
Grace only chuckled. She would always ask me on purpose, knowing I would lie in case we were being heard. She always enjoyed my creative replies.
“What happened with your fundraiser last night?” I asked.
Distract me, entertain me, talk to me. Just let me hear that voice.
“We made fourteen thousand dollars! Can you believe it? That’s just us. The others made a lot, too.”
I leaned my forehead against the booth wall, my eyes slid closed. “Shit, really? That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, new record. Me and the girls are heading to the hospital in the morning with an official bank check to rub it in the hospital’s face. We called the Rapid City Journal and everything. This insurance thing is really awful. I’m so relieved Bobby can finally have that leg operation.”
The week before, when I’d brought Grace into Meager to the post office to send a package to Ruby, ten-year-old Bobby Greene’s leg had gotten crushed by a delivery truck backing up over him on Clay Street as we were getting off my bike. We knew his mom from Marla’s Eatery down the block where she waitressed. I’d held the kid’s bloodied hand, covered him with my jacket, as he plummeted into shock and Grace ran into the diner for his mom.
“Bobby! Bobby! Look at me, Bobby. Stay with me!”
I’d talked him down from the fear and panic overwhelming him, face pale, eyes huge, moans escaping his small mouth, as we waited for the ambulance.
Bobby hadn’t let go of my hand or stopped staring at me as I talked, talked, talked a blue streak, choking back the bile burning the back of my throat. So much fucking blood from one little boy. Bobby’s mom had begged the paramedics to let me come in the ambulance with them. Grace had followed us on my bike. The hospital had set his shattered leg, but refused to operate because his single mother had no insurance. Grace had stepped in immediately and spearheaded a three-day fundraiser at Pete’s and at five other businesses in town.
The townsfolk liked my woman. She was one of their own, after all. They remembered how she had lost her little brother to a hit and run driver years ago. They trusted the sincerity of her smile and her words, knew her intentions meant action.
My insides tightened as I listened to her excited voice recount the mud-wrestling match she had set up at Dead Ringer’s last night, featuring the dancers from Tingle, to cap off the three-day series of events all around town.
“Of course, Alicia had to get in there and challenge the champion. I took pictures for Jump. I’m sure he’ll get off on it.”
I let out a low chuckle. “Ah, I miss you.” I took in a deep breath. “How’s our little rascal? Still making you puke?”
“Not so much anymore. Much better this week.”
“Perfect, baby. Oh, are you still going to check in at Tingle for me tonight, make sure the payroll got done right? Swear to God, I’m gonna kill Clip if he doesn’t get it together.”
“Yes, I’m on my way there now. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know.”
A roar went up behind me. My head swerved. The crowd in the parking lot rolled like a black wave, ready to crash on the bikes parked there. A wall of jeers and curses rose toward me. Punches were being thrown. Shouting rose in the air.
Shit.
“Gracie, gotta go.”
“Dig? What’s going on?”
“Jump might’ve gotten the wrong girl to suck his dick. Fuck if I know. I gotta go, hon. Be ready for my next call.”
“I will. I love you”
“Love you.” I jammed the phone back in its cradle, my eyes narrowing on the fight breaking out in front of the bar where our bikes were parked side by side. A group of citizen onlookers were spooked and were caught between watching and getting out of the way fast.
I ran. Boner’s loose hair flew, his grunts rising in the distance as he shoved a member of the Vicious Horde, a local Texas club. Flames of Hell hung back in a semicircle—for now. Wreck jumped the Vicious Horde who was on Boner and managed to throw him off. I lunged at Boner, who was getting whaled on by another asshole, shoving Boner out of the way. A heavy ring-loaded punch smashed into my gut, and I pulled back for a moment, gasping for air. Dready grabbed Wreck from behind and shoved him to the left of me.
Wreck’s eyes held mine, eyes wide open, teeth bared, blood running down the side of his face. The glint of a blade flashed across his throat.
“No!”
“Back the fuck off!” The abrupt slide of metal. A Vicious Horde trained a rifle at me.
I stood still, barely breathing, my fingers flexed.
The crush of silence.
The chaos of men hollering, women shouting, rubber screeching. Like a cresting wave, the pressing crowd suddenly fell away. Wreck slumped against Dready. Wreck’s eyes widened even more for a split second. A thick spill of blood gushed down his front.
I froze, my mouth hanging open, as we held each other’s gaze.
“We’re gonna rebuild this Indian Chief together. You’ll see. It’s gonna be the best thing for Miller. I know it will.”
“Sister’s a sweet thing. You sure she’s for you? ’Cause if you play her, I’m gonna bust your ass and find someone else for her.”
“Never ride drunk. Don’t be an asshole. Gotta have respect for your machine and yourself.”
“I love you, man. Fuckin’ love you.”
“That ain’t how you use a torque wrench. Jesus, get out of the way and lemme show you.”
“Sturgis ain’t what it used to be. You boys want to see what it’s really all about?”
Fading. Fading. Dull. Dazed.
Wreck’s eyelids sank a few degrees.
Wreck. Richie. Richard Tallin.
Wreck.
His knees buckled. Still clutching him, Dready fell back against two bikes parked behind him. The machines lurched. Metal and chrome collapsed, crashed, both large men tumbling back with them.
Screams, shouts, pipes roared. Blood surged in my head, my pulse beating a hole through my heart.
The blood.
So much fucking blood.
There was the bloodied living room sofa where they’d destroyed Eve.
My mother’s twisted body on the staircase, an arm hanging through the spindles.
My father’s white dress shirt shredded, splattered in blood, his lifeless eyes staring up at me in the foyer.
The asphalt with pieces of my sister on it.
That never-ending river of blood seeped down the sides of Wreck’s legs, his chest, all the way to my own boots, gluing me to him, to this moment.
Forever.
And in that glue was the confirmation I didn’t need.
Because I already know.
My boots scraped through my brother’s blood, and I dropped down on the asphalt next to him. I held his head up,
the gash across his throat so deep I saw bone.
This sort of thing is a very rare occurrence. I promise you, we will find them. We’ll catch up with them. I’m real sorry. You go with this nice lady now. She’ll take care of you, okay? She’s going to take you to the hospital and make sure you’re okay. Don’t look anymore, son. Don’t look.”
I took Wreck in my arms and cradled his upper body with my own. His almost severed head slumped back against my arm. I shuddered, a sob escaping my lips.
Miller’s solemn voice from years ago bore a hole in my chest. “Dig, keep your eye on him for me.”
Yes, Miller. I’m watching his soul leave his body.
My fingers shook as they touched Wreck’s eyelids. They only drooped under my touch. I wiped the dampness from his cool face, sweeping back his hair, and held him.
There was nothing else left to do.
The swell of sound and screaming around us melted into nothing.
There is no escape.
This will always be the way for me.
Always.
My life was not meant to be filled with tenderness or beauty or joy. Some of us were marked with tar. Creatures of the swamp. That was all. No way around it with pretty words or sentimental ideas stringing together the illusion of hope.
Because words and ideas weren’t real.
This is real.
This.
My brother’s body pumping its last in my arms, cold creeping over his drained, lifeless flesh.
This is hell.
This unrelenting raw gutting is mine. For others, these things were random events occurring rarely in their normal world, like the policeman had told me on my street that morning over twenty years ago. But everyone else’s random would never be rare for me. My random was a demon that kept attacking me, gorging itself on my entrails like the unsatisfied feral beast it was, dancing his grotesque dance on the road before me.
Inevitable.
No matter what I did. How I fought it. With whomever I aligned myself, even men who had my back. With whom I shared an identity, a commitment, a name. Nor with my perfect, imperfect beautiful wife.