Table

by ML Mystrom

  I didn’t tell her it was me who had been chopping at my hair.

  When she showed me the results I was amazed at the difference she’d made. Just the light trimming of layers had shaped my ragged hair into a spiky pixie look that was both sophisticated and attractive. My eyes looked bigger and more open, and that combined with my height gave me a fairy-like appearance. Connie insisted I borrow her shiny teal cold-shoulder top and a pair of her heeled boots to give me some height. I wore the one pair of “nice” jeans I owned. I had to rein in Connie when it came to my makeup, as she was far more liberal with it than I wanted.

  Anita opted to be the designated driver for the night and we crammed into her sporty red Mustang for the trip. Anita and Connie were apparently well-known, as the bouncer and many other people greeted them by name. In no time at all, I found myself with a beer bottle in my hand and surrounded by gyrating bodies on the dance floor. The band was good and loud, the music fast and hard-hitting. Connie waved her hands in the air and twisted, bumping her hip against mine.

  “Loosen up, Lori. We’re here to par-tay!”

  Despite myself, I did have fun, bumping and grinding, letting my guard down enough to enjoy not being alone. It had been such a long time since I’d danced and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever let go enough in my life to move this much or this hard. Anita laughed and clinked her bottle against mine. Song after song blended together and we danced and danced and danced. A few men came around but all three of us managed to ignore them and they left us alone. Beer after beer found its way into my hand and down my throat and I could feel myself getting tipsy.

  I noticed a group of men over at the pool tables engaged in a game. Four or five of them were wearing vests with the same logo on the back. It said Dragon Runners, with a fire-breathing green skeletal dragon that looked both majestic and menacing.

  “Hey, do all those dragon people work for the same company?” I asked Anita as she hip bumped me. She laughed out loud and clinked her bottle to mine.

  “Oh, girlfriend, you’re such a tourist! Those guys own the place! It’s a motorcycle group that rides around and shit. You’re in the den of the dragon, baby!”

  A motorcycle gang? A frisson of fear went down my spine. Motorcycle gangs were full of drug dealers and violent criminals, weren’t they? Connie and Anita were laughing and dancing hard, not caring about the possibility of any danger. They were just dancing, drinking, and having a good time, so maybe this wasn’t so bad. I’d met a lot of people who looked one way on the outside and were completely different on the inside. Judging a book by its cover was very often inaccurate. I could do this. I could keep dancing and having a good time, then head back to Anita’s to get my van.

  I tipped the bottle back and nearly choked when I spotted a familiar head over at the pool tables. He was bent over lining up a tricky shot. He stroked the cue stick smoothly through his fingers and tapped the white cue ball. The shot was good, and he moved around the table to the other side, giving me a clear look at the now-familiar logo on his back. Table was a Dragon Runner.

  Table was a Dragon Runner!

  The man I’d been working alongside and watched play with his baby daughter was a gang member. My heart stuttered and my brain went in a thousand directions all at once. We’d come to a truce since the morning I lost my temper at him. He did his work around the farm, I did mine, and we got along, even working side by side a few times.

  He must have felt me staring, because he turned and looked directly at me. He blinked in surprise, then his face broke into a grin and he waved.

  Instinct had me lifting my hand and waving back. Or was it the alcohol?

  A loud crash sounded behind me and I whirled around. A man at the bar was gripping a waitress by her upper arms and screaming obscenities into her scared face. He was shaking and jerking her so hard, she could barely keep her balance. Broken glass and foamy beer was on the floor, telling the rest of the story.

  “Stupid fucking bitch! Look what the fuck you did! Goddamn cunt! I ain’t paying for that!” The man was obviously drunk, and violently so. The scene unfolded in front of me, almost in slow-motion. Droplets of spit flew from the man’s mouth to land on the woman’s face as she struggled to get away. She was crying, saying I’m sorry, I’m sorry over and over again, and trying to shrink into herself for protection, but there was none to be found. My heart raced and a sick sense of panic froze my feet to the floor. My head roared as all other sounds faded to nothing and my vision pinpointed, not on the furious man but on the woman. I wanted to move, to run away, but I was stuck, mired in my own fear.

  My trance suddenly broke when a pool stick came down in front of the man’s head and yanked back at his throat. The man released the woman and starting gagging and clutching at the stick that was forcing his chin up. She was quickly wrapped in the arms of a Dragon Runner and pulled away.

  Table held the stick tight against the man’s neck. The drunk’s face was turning purple and his feet barely touched the ground as he arched to get away. Table didn’t seemed fazed or to be putting any effort into holding the irate man, and no one was making a move to stop him. The band had stopped playing and the club had gone quiet. All eyes were on the drama that was unfolding.

  “Apologize.” Table’s voice rang out even though he wasn’t yelling. “Apologize to the lady. Now.”

  The man garbled and choked out an “I’m sorry” before Table flung him to the floor.

  “Get your ass out of this bar and don’t come back.” Table’s tone was colder than arctic ice and I could see him vibrate with rage. “If you ever touch another woman like that again and I find out about it, I will hunt you down and make you sorrier.”

  The man nodded once and crawled to his knees. Table looked at the Dragon Runner holding the waitress and nodded. Then he looked at me and frowned.

  He came over to me, and even if I’d wanted to run, I couldn’t. He lifted a hand to my cheek and stared deep at me, gentle concern written all over his face. I stared back, getting lost in the depths of his eyes, seeing flecks of green in the brown irises. The world was so gray; the only color in it was him.

  “Breathe, Lori.” His voice was as soft and low as when he was working with the farm horse or speaking to his baby daughter.

  I gasped, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. The gray world disappeared and the noise of the bar returned.

  “You okay?” he whispered to me. “Thought I’d lost you there for a minute.”

  “I’m good,” I panted, drawing in as much air as I could, quelling my racing heart and rising stomach.

  Anita and Connie came up. Worry was on Anita’s face, but Connie was fuming.

  “That was Maddie that rat bastard had a hold on. She’s a single mom with three kids. Does some work for me from time to time. Her husband took off and left her for a younger model and now she’s subbin’ at the school during the day and waitressing here on weekends to make ends meet. She don’t need that kind of shit in her life!”

  Table glanced at her. “Maddie’ll be taken care of. Ain’t no man gonna put his hands on a woman and get away with it in this bar. ’Specially when she works for the club.”

  Club? I must have said it out loud, because Table’s attention came back to me.

  “Yeah, baby girl. The Dragon Runners MC. Motorcycle club. Asheville chapter. Not as big as the original charter in Bryson City, but still sizable enough.”

  Club. Not a gang?

  “Chingada, Lori! You’re whiter than a sheet!” Anita’s worry caught my attention. “You need to sit down before you fall over!”

  “I’m good.” The gray fog in my head disappeared altogether and I found myself the center of a very concerned circle. Table was still holding me by my arms, as if keeping me upright. The biggest surprise? I didn’t mind.

  “Come on, chica. Party’s over for tonight. You can crash at our place if you want. You don’t need to drive all the way back to that farm tonight.” Connie made motions to the door.


  “I’ll take her home,” Table stated. “Goin’ to the same place, so it’s no big deal. She can ride on the back of my bike for that long.”

  “What about her van?”

  “I’ll have one of the brothers here drive it back to the farm later. It’ll be there in the morning.” Table reached out his hand. “Give me your keys, baby girl.”

  I clutched them to my chest, suddenly feeling suffocated. “No, I’m good. I’ll get my van and drive myself. Thanks anyway.”

  His face showed concern. “Lori, you really don’t look too steady. How much have you been drinking tonight?”

  I gritted my teeth and pulled sharply away from him, freeing myself from his hold. “I said I’m good. I’m fine. Quit pushing me!”

  He raised his hands and stepped back from me. “Okay, fine. Just trying to help.”

  “If I want your help, I’ll ask for it.”

  His jaw flexed and I knew I’d stepped in it again. “Suit yourself.”

  “Easy, chica. He’s not the bad guy.” Connie waved a hand in front of my face. “Let’s get outta here and into some tequila I have at the house. The band is packing up soon anyway and last call is not far off.”

  I looked up to see Table rejoining his fellow Runners at the pool tables. He lifted the cue still in his hand, and examined the position of the colored balls. He leaned over, lined up a shot, and stroked the cue stick smoothly, pocketing another ball. He didn’t look in my direction again at all. I felt the shame of my acidic response to him and the need to apologize again. Instead, I left with the sisters.

  Whatever buzz I’d had going earlier had disappeared with the adrenaline surge. I didn’t stay at Connie and Anita’s place but thanked them profusely for a great night out. “Sorry for freaking out so bad. I’ve never been around a bar fight before and it got to me. I hope your friend Maddie will be okay.”

  Connie fluffed it off and gave me a big hug. “No problem. The Runners keep a tight ship, just so you know. They don’t allow no trouble and Maddie will be just fine. That Runner who had a hold of her when Table was whupping up on that asshole? That’s Chevy, and he’s been into her a long time. Believe me, she ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” She drew her eyebrows together and gave me a piercing look. “You, on the other hand, need to settle your ass down. What the hell was that with Table?”

  I sighed. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just freaked. That’s all.”

  Connie wasn’t buying it. “You sure you need to drive back to that farm you’re staying at? It’s a good thirty minutes from here.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m sober and I need to be around my own stuff. You know what I mean?”

  Anita chimed in. “Stop badgering the woman, Connie. Had a great time tonight, Lori. We’ll have to do it again next weekend!”

  It had been a nice night up until that asshole decided to pick a fight with a waitress. I lay in my bed, tired as hell but still tossing restlessly, until I heard the growl of Table’s motorcycle coming up the driveway. I felt awful about attacking him again when he clearly didn’t deserve it. I, more than anyone else in the world, knew there were only so many times forgiveness could be granted before it ran out.

  Five

  The sound blasting from the speakers was awful. Some local grunge metal band that made more noise than music and had lyrics so depressing, Table was ready to jab the tattoo needle in his ears. The other artists felt the same way, except for the one who’d brought in the recording on his phone.

  You can nevurrrrr luv me, so you should die-eeeeee!

  “What the fuck is this shit?” Jack Rogers, the owner of the parlor, yelled. He had just walked in carrying four paper sacks with greasy burgers and fries from a local fast food joint.

  Bantum looked up from where he was finishing up a small tattoo of a rose on a woman’s left breast. She was cringing with every buzz but determined to see it through. That’s the way it was with tourists who wandered in and on impulse decided to get inked. Table wondered how many of them regretted it once they got home.

  “Ain’t it great, bossman? You can hear the angst in his voice speaking to the souls of the people, laying out the true colors of the world in only a few chords!”

  Table grunted and went back to the piece he was finishing. This one was an intricate black tribal sleeve, and he was on the third and final session for the complicated design.

  “Souls of the people is right! That shit’s enough to wake the dead.”

  No one made a move to change the tunes, though. The agreement was that every hour someone got to pick a station, CD, or whatever music to play and you weren’t allowed to argue, just grin and bear it. This worked well until someone got pissed, then all sorts of crap got played. Table had been through nights where the music swung from loud eighties pop to orchestral classic symphonies, from head-banging heavy metal to Broadway show tunes, or from twanging bluegrass to Tibetan singing bowls, of all things. Where the hell Chrissie had found that particular CD treasure was beyond his comprehension. Table suspected she periodically dug to the bottom of the huge flea market CD bargain bins to find most obscure and weird stuff just to mess with the guys in the shop. As the only female tattoo artist in the place, Chrissie made it a point to hold her own against the sea of testosterone she faced on a nightly basis, and did so with her own bold style.

  The CD gave one last wail and finished. Chrissie jumped up and started her pick for the night. The strains of opera wafted through the room. Jack let out a giant GAH! and disappeared into his office. Chrissie chuckled and sang along with the Italian words.

  “Y’all are nuts in here,” Ditchdigger said as Table switched to a bigger tip with more needles. Just one more bit to fill in and the tattoo would be finished.

  “Yeah, brother, they are, but they’re still good people.” Table loaded the needles and started again.

  “You goin’ to shoot some pool later? You ain’t been at the club since that takedown you made. Helluva night, man. Maddie’s hooked up with Chevy now and looks like that’s gonna be a thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s an old lady by Christmas. What’s the deal with them two Mexican women who were there? You know the name of the short one?”

  Table eyed Ditchdigger and dipped more ink. “Name’s Connie, and don’t go there ’less you think it’ll stick.”

  “Oh, I’ll stick it, all right!” Ditchdigger chortled. “I got me a taste for something spicy!”

  Table wasn’t amused. “I mean it, Ditch. She’s a good woman. Has her own business and works hard to keep it. She don’t need someone wasting her time. If you’re just looking to get your dick wet you’d best keep with the club bunnies.”

  Ditchdigger laughed again. “Listen to you being all big brother and shit! I’m sure Miss Connie can handle me.”

  “All’alba vincerò! Vincerà! Vincerò—"

  The music cut off abruptly and Table looked up in irritation. He wasn’t a big fan of opera, but shutting off the CD player midsong was just wrong.

  “What the hell, Chrissie?” he asked.

  She fluffed her bright blue tinted hair and replied casually over her shoulder, “I just finished my last client and it’s midnight-thirty. No one is in the waiting area and the shop’s dead, so I’m buggin’ out and finding a party somewhere. Laters.”

  Table sighed and reached for the TV remote. The flat-screen hanging from a corner in the ceiling blinked on as he went back to work.

  “The Townsend Foundation annual gala ball has reported a record amount of funds raised this year. Senator Jeffrey Townsend, who recently announced he will be running for another term in office, hosted the ball in place of his son, Jeffrey Junior, the current CEO of Townsend Industries, who has been in Africa for the past year with his wife, Vivian, establishing another humanitarian project school.”

  The news reporter was blonde and perky and easy to tune out. Table resumed work, and Ditch hissed as the needles dug into his skin once more.

  “Fuck, man! That shit stings! I
f I gotta watch some shit TV while you’re stickin’ me at least put on some damn sports. I don’t give a shit ’bout no fuckin’ senator in DC, man!”

  Table silently flipped the channel to ESPN where the sports highlights of the week were being shown. His back tightened painfully and he was feeling every one of his thirty-nine years. Forty was just around the corner. He dipped more ink as Ditch guffawed and made comments about whatever game he was watching. The needles buzzed almost soothingly as he colored in the lines he had already drawn. This was not where he had planned to be in his life at this age, but this was where he’d ended up. It could always be worse. His best friend, Blue, had always told him he was too optimistic, always trying to find the brighter side of things, looking for the good in every situation, counting blessings and all that kind of shit. Blue had been dealt a rough hand recently with his ex-wife and a bitter custody battle over the kids, and got irritated every time he talked to Table about it. He was constantly telling Blue life would get better, and then Blue complained about Table’s sunny outlook.

  He recalled their last face-to-face conversation before he left Bryson City.

  “You’re too fucking patient with that shit. You’ve got a great thing going here with the business, you’re solid in the club, rising in the ranks, ’n’ gotta good chance to date a good woman for a change. You gotta future here, man, and you’re gonna give it up and go raise a kid you don’t know is yours.”

  Table had eyed him speculatively. “You’re one to talk, brother. Angel is mine, no doubt about it, and I’m gonna need some help. Your mama would jump in with both feet but she’s got her own grandkids to think about. Besides, what’s the alternative? Put my kid in foster care so I can keep partyin’ and playin’? Fuck that. I can either wallow in it or do something about it. You know me, brother. I ain’t about to wallow.”

  “You almost done?” Ditch’s whining broke into his thoughts

  “Almost. Now hold still, fucker.”

  The TV droned on and Ditch squirmed until Table announced the tattoo was finished. Ditch stayed long enough to get his arm gelled and wrapped, and gave only half an ear to the aftercare instructions Table was reciting.