Lily (The Regulators Biker Series Book 0)

by Carolina Mac

  George laughed until his eyes watered. “You got balls bigger’n a buffalo. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of you, sweet cheeks.”

  After another round, we mounted up and hit the road.

  “Got steaks to grill, George. Stay and have dinner with me,” I said when we arrived at the house. “Unless you have other plans.”

  “Yeah, okay. I could clean the guns while you’re cookin’.”

  George sat on the patio cleaning our guns, drinking and smoking while Angel romped in the yard. She rolled in the grass that needed cutting and brought George her ball at frequent intervals, hoping to induce him to play. I put potatoes in foil and steaks on the grill while I made a salad in the kitchen. The tension Kenny had produced earlier in the day was dissipating.

  After George left, I cleaned up the kitchen and went upstairs to soak the gunpowder out of my pores.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SHEETS of rain slapping against the bedroom window woke me with a start. My foul mood perpetrated by ‘Lady Killer Kenny’ had not lifted overnight. Depressing thoughts of a blue Monday filled my head as I pulled on black jeans and a T-shirt, brushed my teeth and tried to tame my hair. I threw the brush down and kicked the front of the vanity. My hair needed help that I couldn’t give it with one arm.

  After Angel had been outside briefly, we huddled in the kitchen away from the storm and shared toast and jam. A quick call to the salon and I was set for three-fifteen. A new hairstyle would lift me out of the doldrums and distract my every waking thought from Kenny. I finished my second cup of coffee and loitered indoors until the rain let up and I could make a run to the Jeep.

  The short drive to the clinic was littered with rear-enders. Why can’t people drive in the rain? I had almost forgotten my X-ray, but the kitchen calendar was quick to remind me. The lab technician assured me that my doctor would call and give me an update when he received the results. I couldn’t trust myself not to bite her head off, so I smiled and nodded. Life sucks when you have to depend on other people.

  You can only count on yourself.

  My second stop was Sport Chek. I had been thinking about joining a gym to strengthen my arm but decided to buy a set of weights and work out at home. It takes time and commitment to maximize a gym membership and I was in possession of neither. By working out at home, I would avoid contact with people while I was in a vulnerable state of undress and I wouldn’t have to engage in small talk with anyone.

  My next stop was the hospital. No change in Marcy. After tossing her wilted flowers into the garbage with the promise of fresh ones, I held vigil at her bedside for an hour and divulged the degrading details of the Kenny fiasco, and how stupid I had been. I knew she would understand. Nurse Fraser popped into the room while I was there and asked me if I had attended Mr. Winterstein’s funeral the previous day.

  Absolutely not.

  “No, regrettably I was unable to attend,” I said with what I hoped was a twinge of remorse.

  On my way to the parking lot, I passed the emergency waiting room on the ground floor of the hospital and gasped when I recognized Darlene Abernathy, from the meeting at the YMCA. Her small battered body was slumped over in a chair waiting to see a doctor. She was holding an ice pack against her eye and her leg was wrapped in a blood soaked towel. Two children were sitting on the floor beside her chair looking at picture books.

  Something had to be done to help that girl.

  I stomped out to my Jeep and burned rubber onto the road trying to erase the picture of Darlene from my mind.

  Concentrate, girl. You’ll think of something.

  The Mercedes dealership had my check ready when I stopped in. I signed over the ownership papers and thanked Steve Underwood, giving him my best fake smile. I assured him when I needed a new car, he would be my first choice.

  Like that would ever happen.

  I was fast becoming a prevaricator of sorts.

  Next on my list was the bank. When I lined up to deposit the check, I thought I felt eyes burning a hole through my back. Yep. Jim Timberman was staring at me from his glassed-in office.

  Creep.

  The morning had been hectic, but with all the errands, my thoughts were temporarily diverted from Kenny. After a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup, I took a short nap and was ready to go again.

  While I waited my turn at the salon, I tried to imagine myself in some of the hairdos that were pictured in the dog-eared magazines piled on the table. In the past, my hair had never once turned out resembling the picture, but with two possibilities in mind, I followed Shea to the shampoo area prepared to take another chance.

  “What are we getting done today?” she asked.

  I explained my ideas leaving the final decision in her capable hands. “Hope for the best.” I laughed.

  Less than two hours later, I hardly recognized myself in the mirror. She had darkened my natural brunette color to ebony, added blonde highlights, and given me a trendy, saucy haircut. “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I love it. You’re an artist,” I said, fishing in my purse for my wallet and laying a huge tip on her. A celebration was in order. I stopped at the Beer Store, drove through A & W and headed for home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE telephone woke me around nine-fifteen from the best sleep I’d had in weeks.

  It was the Crown Prosecutor’s office calling to tell me the trial date for the burglar I had shot. Nine months down the road – there’s swift justice for you.

  Would have saved the taxpayers money if I had finished him.

  I dragged myself out of bed and down the hall to work on the new me. The third bedroom upstairs was the perfect size for a workout room. The floor was carpeted in a thick Berber. Matthew’s treadmill sat in the corner by the window, leaving the center of the room free for weights. I started with a short routine that was outlined in the weight package, and it was enough on my first day to leave me breathless and sweaty.

  After my shower, I made coffee and a fried egg sandwich. I fried two eggs and some bacon for Angel and took her bowl out to the patio. As I sipped my coffee, I looked around the yard and realized what a mess it had become. The grass was long, and the flower beds were in need of attention. There was no way I could navigate the lawn mower until my arm was healed, even though the pain had subsided considerably. I looked up the number of a yard service.

  All through the day, my thoughts kept returning to Darlene and her predicament. How could I help her and her children? I had to attend another meeting and, look at that, my calendar’s free tonight.

  At six forty-five I took a seat in the back row of the meeting room at the YMCA. The last time I had been here, Marcy was sitting next to me. Tears welled up in my eyes. I watched the door as one by one, the women found a seat. Outsiders might see abused, damaged and helpless women, but I knew better. These women were here to start taking control of something that had spun out of control in their lives and I hoped they all found their way to freedom.

  The meeting room itself was depressing, with peeling green paint, exposed heating ducts and sporadic fluorescent lighting. Ms. Julianne had just taken her position at the front to begin the meeting when Darlene came through the door on crutches. One of the women jumped up to hold the door for her and helped her settle in a chair. Again, I thought about Marcy and tears rolled down my cheeks.

  It just gets worse and worse. It never stops until it’s too late.

  Sitting through the accounts of day to day violence and mistreatment was torture. With the telling of each new tale, I relived my life with Matthew in spades.

  After the meeting, coffee was served in Styrofoam cups with a few cookies supplied by the Y. The women stood around chatting about everyday topics, forgetting for the moment why they were here. I introduced myself to Darlene, gestured towards her crutches and asked if she needed a ride home.

  “Thank you. That’s so nice of you to offer,” she said, trying to smile. “It would be eas
ier than taking the bus.”

  I retrieved the Jeep from the parking lot and pulled up to the curb at the front of the building. After helping Darlene into the passenger seat, I stowed her crutches in the back.

  “Where do you live, Darlene?” I asked.

  “Keele Street and Jane area. I’ll tell you where to turn when we get close.”

  That’s a bad area at night, or any other time.

  Darlene directed me to an apartment complex that needed more than a facelift. It needed to be torn down. The yellow brick walls were covered in huge black letters, spelling out slogans in spray paint, and the bulbs in the security lights were all smashed. Shady looking men wearing hoodies stood in the shadows in the alleyways between the buildings, possibly waiting for customers. Hookers paraded up and down the street showing off their bustier overflow and their micro minis. A beehive of activity.

  “What apartment do you live in, Darlene? Do you have to climb any stairs?”

  “No, I’m on the first floor at the back. One-ten. I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

  I stopped at the curb, hopped out and went around to the other side of the Jeep.

  She struggled out of the passenger seat and accepted the crutches from me one at a time. “Thanks for the ride.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I awoke to an ear-splitting chorus of Angel barking and the doorbell ringing. I groaned, threw on a robe and dashed down the stairs in my bare feet.

  Oh, shit. The cleaning girls.

  “Come on in. Sorry, I overslept,” I stammered.

  “No problem. We’ll work around you,” Stacey said with a smile, setting her cleaning caddy down in the foyer. She bubbled with energy while my body begged for another hour under my duvet.

  Note to self. Be dressed before nine next Friday.

  Two hours later, Stacey stuck her head out the patio door. “All done.”

  Clean house smell smacked me in the face when I went through the sliding door into the kitchen to write her a check. The faucet was gleaming, the stove sparkled, and the floors looked brand new. “Fantastic,” I said giddily. “See you next week.”

  KILLING time before my next trip to the hospital, I drove over to the gun shop. I scooped the Beretta from the glove box into my purse and entered the store, making the bell jingle. George was busy at the counter with two burly customers clad in flannel shirts. They hefted shotguns of different calibers for weight and balance and asked George all kinds of questions. Country music blared from the radio in the back room, and the air hung heavy with smoke.

  George winked at me.

  The shoulder holsters were displayed on a swivel rack in one corner, so I loitered until George finished writing up his sales. When the hunters left with purchases in hand, George walked over and lit up a smoke.

  “What’s up, today little girl?” he asked. “Whenever I see you, something is goin’ on. I swear.”

  “Nothing going on, George. Just taking your advice and buying a shoulder holster for my Beretta.”

  “Where you gonna’ wear it to? The mall?” He laughed until he coughed.

  “Maybe. Which one should I try on?”

  “This black leather one is a Beretta holster and will fit your 9mm. Did you bring the gun with you?”

  I fished it out of my purse. George checked the safety, snapped the gun into the holster and helped me try it on. My bad arm continued to cause a range of motion problems, but was improving, bit by bit.

  “We’ll have to tighten it up. You ain’t the biggest shooter I’ve ever seen.” He loved to laugh at his own jokes. “How does that feel?”

  “Pretty comfy.” I twisted around to get the feel of wearing it.

  “You know you need a license to carry, don’t you?” George said and scowled.

  “Yes, I know. How do I get licensed?”

  “Shit. You have to take the restricted firearms safety course. I can fix you up for that one. Just another political pain in the ass. Those fuckers in Ottawa never stop screwin’ with the gun laws. They do everything they can to keep me from makin’ a decent livin’. They should all be shot and pissed on. Canuck shooters need a guy like Chuck Heston on our side.” George took a big drag on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.

  “Okay, sign me up, I wouldn’t want to break the law,” I said crossing my fingers.

  “Fuck, I never know what you’re up to, girl. You boggle my mind sometimes.”

  “Maybe it’s better if you don’t know.” I winked at him and he shook his head. I took the holster off, put the gun back in my purse and walked up to the cash. Neither one of us wanted to mention the Kenny incident, and I was grateful that it didn’t come up.

  “Are we on for Sunday?” George asked.

  “Sure, we are. Sundays with you are my best day of the week.”

  “Fuck, I know you’re bullshittin’ me now,” he chuckled.

  I flashed him a big grin and waved as I went out the door and headed for the hospital.

  EACH time I visited Marcy, I expected her to be awake, and each time it came as a shock that she wasn’t. I rinsed out the vase in the adjacent bathroom and arranged the fresh flowers I had brought from the garden. For the next two hours, I sat reading to her from Pride and Prejudice, listening to the monitor beep while I waited for something that might never happen.

  The nurses came in periodically, checking and rechecking, blood pressure, temperature, IV, and for what? Nothing was helping Marcy.

  AFTER dinner, I walked Angel in the park for an hour. We stood on the river bank and watched the sun paint the sky shades of orange, red and yellow as it disappeared behind the trees. As we padded home thirsty and tired, the street lights came on signaling that evening had descended on Hawthorne Lane.

  I rested at the patio table and drank an ice cold Coors, mentally working up to what I knew was another Friday night alone. I curled up with Angel on the sofa and watched Criminal Minds reruns.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ANOTHER day, another kick at the can.

  I lounged in bed until after nine, listless from the boredom of the previous night. Angel insisted I get up and open the patio door for her, forcing me to face the day before I was ready for it. The workout room called my name but glancing at the weights from the doorway wore me out. While the coffee was brewing, I scooped the weekend Globe from the front porch and flopped down on the sofa. An hour later, I rallied and cooked a proper breakfast.

  The yard service arrived and the girls, decked out in matching pale blue shorts and T-shirts were eager to trim, cut, weed and water. Angel kept me company in the kitchen while the girls worked outside. With the weather so warm and inviting, I didn’t blame her for pouting. She flopped down on the mat by the door and heaved a heavy sigh.

  After the girls had worked a small miracle outside, they left promising to return the following week. I enjoyed a brief tour of the property with Angel, inhaling the aroma of freshly cut lawn, admiring weed-free flower beds and perfectly trimmed hedges. It was glorious.

  Trees were budding and the garden was alive with all the pastel shades of spring. Doing especially well was the unobtrusive bed of lily of the valley in the back corner. I enjoyed my coffee on the patio table, inhaling the fragrances of lilac, crocus and cherry blossoms. Angel rolled in the freshly cut grass, chased a feisty gray squirrel and jumped in the air to bite hovering bumblebees. All was right with the world.

  After cleaning up the kitchen, I soaked in a hot tub of bubbles and was for the most part rejuvenated for my trip to the hospital. I picked a large bouquet of flowers and wrapped half in waxed paper for Marcy. The rest I displayed in a vase on the kitchen table.

  Marcy’s bed was empty when I entered her room, and I burst into tears. My stomach wrenched and ran to her little bathroom. After vomiting up my breakfast, I sat on the toilet seat until my legs would hold me. I splashed cold water on my face and dabbed it dry with a scratchy paper towel from the dispenser. Sucking in a deep breath, I ventured out to the nurses�
� station and questioned one of the staff.

  “When did Mrs. Winterstein pass?” I asked.

  “Oh, sorry dear. I didn’t see you go in there. We moved her to long term care on the eighth floor. Just a sec. I’ll find her room number for you.”

  My knees almost gave out and I had to clutch the edge of the desk.

  “Okay, Mrs. Winterstein is now in room eight twenty-two. Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” I released my death grip from the corner of the desk and started for the elevator. On the eighth floor, the layout appeared identical to the other floors, making it easy to find Marcy’s new room. I collapsed in the chair beside her bed and wept. An hour later, when the tears stopped, I gathered myself, hid my red eyes with sunglasses and drove home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I was sitting on the front porch drinking coffee when George pulled the Screamin’ Eagle into the driveway for our Sunday outing. Thoughts of seeing Kenny at the range had bullied their way into my head, but I quickly discarded them.

  “George, do you want a coffee before we leave?” I called to him as he dismounted.

  “Okay, I could use one.” He lit up a smoke and sat on the porch steps.

  I filled two mugs in the kitchen and let Angel bounce out the front door to greet George.

  “Hey girl, don’t lick me to death.” He laughed, as Angel covered his face with kisses.

  I handed George his coffee. “She loves you.”

  “She’s the only one,” he said with a frown.

  “Not true.”

  George gestured to my jacket. “How’s the holster working out, little girl?”

  “Beats having a gun in the bottom of my purse wrapped in a tea towel.”

  After we finished our coffee, I put Angel back into the house, set the alarm and we took off for the range. Since this was the third Sunday I had shown up to practice with George, no one even gave me a second glance. I was old news.