by B. B. Blaque
“You know I love you too. Don’t you think it pains me to do this? It’s not your fault and I know it . . . maybe it makes me a bad Catholic, but I don’t know how to stop. I pray on it, light candles, and then I ruminate on you to the point of absolute obsession.” She pulled the glass of whiskey over and took a sip before knockin’ it back. “I won’t even confess this stuff to anyone except you . . . I’ve come close to tellin’ one of the sisters, but I just can’t. It’s only you. It’s always been you. Even when you walked away from me that didn’t change.”
Hearin’ her say all that shit flipped my switch. With a quick burst, I threw a glass at the wall and slammed my fist down on the bar.
“Well, thank you for throwin’ all that burden on me! How loving of you! You got a fucked-up way of showin’ how you feel about me, sister.” I grabbed my smokes from the end of the bar, cursin’ all the way. “I don’t think you have a fuckin’ clue about pain, Fi! You think you obsess . . . fuck, bitch, if you only knew about obsession and how fucked in the head this makes me. So, sure, g’head . . . confess it all to me so you can go sleep soundly as a good Catholic for a few months! Me . . . I’ll tell ya what I do . . . I sleep with every fuckin’ skanky whore I can and I find no peace. Non c'è pace! Zero! My dick gets off, but I don’t get peace. I get a few moments while I’m bustin’ a nut and that’s it! So, cry me a river. Stay or get the fuck out!”
She was cryin’ and even though I usually caved for that shit, I couldn’t do it. I’d never be able to get over all the years with her knockin’ my heart and dick in the dirt if I kept playin’ the game.
“Break your vows . . . cut your ties completely or walk out that door and don’t ever come back.” If that wasn’t enough for her, then fuck, she didn’t deserve all the pain I was in over her. “Ya see, I’m not a Catholic anymore, but doin’ this fuckin’ dance with you is self-torture of biblical proportions. Now tell me!”
My voice was so loud it even scared me. I’d been mad and made her leave, but never with the amount of rage I felt at that moment. She caught me at the wrong time—maybe it was the right time.
“Gio, you know I can’t just up and walk away . . . it’s not that easy . . .”
She was still in the middle of talking and I stood.
“Sure it is . . . watch this. One foot in front of the other to what I want . . .” I called over my shoulder on the way the stairs, “to be away from you. See how easy that is. Show yourself out and don’t come back.”
My heart had been ripped out too many times. I left it on the floor at her feet. It was her turn to carry the burden of what she’d done.
It takes two to tango.
Now, she’s dancin’ alone.
5
Sleeping in the Fire
I sat in my office, chewin’ on the words I said to her. There was more behind them than there had been all the other times, but even I wondered if they’d stick. Fuck that two-faced bitch! Fuck me for sittin’ on the other side of that confessional. FOCUS and Nixx were still in L.A. and I knew I could always go back and maybe hang for a while. Business could be done from anywhere, and there were places all across the country where I could find Bastard brothers to help steer my mind away from Gingersnap. Maybe I can bounce between Grim and Azrael in Nevada at Tonopaugh and then LA.
Fi. Fuck pet names and bullshit!
My head was already on super stalker mode and I could almost feel in my gut it was gonna be worse than the last time. Tellin’ her to leave was one thing, not draggin’ her back was totally different. I’m not above kidnappin’ and she hadn’t even been gone for an hour. Shoulda just kept her locked in my office and rode away to leave her in quiet contemplation. Eventually, maybe, she woulda given up. If those damn vows were a physical thing, I woulda smashed ‘em to shatter pieces and dust. I won’t be a hired dick, but I’m lettin’ a nun control me worse than any porn director ever could. All she seemed to want from me was my cock and the bullshit confession for wanting it.
I’m better off.
I needed to cut her loose.
You’re full of shit. Go get on the bike. Bring her back by force.
Those thoughts kept goin’ through my mind like speedbumps—slow, jolting, and a motherfuckin’ pain in my ass. Somehow, I ended up fallin’ asleep and by the time Casket barged in, the music for dayshift was pumpin’ downstairs.
“Jetlag kickin’ your ass? I gotta cure for that.”
I peeled my head up off the table and shot laser beam eyes at him. “You are aware of my history, no? Five Points and me broke up a long time ago. We ain’t gettin’ back together either!”
Methamphetamine was one way to stay alert, aware, and not give a fuck about the fact that I was starvin’ when the church kicked me out on the street. Dealin’ for the club kept me safe and spun out like a top. I took care of their needs; they took care of mine. At first, they were just the Catholic Church in leather vests in my head—takin’ care of and makin’ me beholden to them. When I saved the president of the chapter from findin’ his intestines emptied on the floor at his boots it was a different story. That’s when I found my true callin’—to be a Royal Bastard for life. It wasn’t because anyone was makin’ me feel guilty about what they did for me and they did a lot by helpin’ me get clean. It was because I finally found a home and family. I never knew I needed that shit until I felt it, and I’ll be buried in my cut, no matter what the rules are on that.
Fi is harder to kick than meth.
“No, ya jackass! I meant coffee . . . just made a fresh pot. You know I keep my hands clean from that Five Points shit! My name is not Rattler.” Casket picked up the phone and summoned a girl to bring the entire carafe to my office with a couple mugs.
“Sorry, bro’ . . . I know you’re clean with that shit. I’m just on edge.” I pushed back from the desk and looked for my smokes. “I had a really bad fuckin’ night that rolled over into what will surely become a massive day in Hell.”
Casket shook his head, lowered it into a hand, and looked back to me. “Lemme go out on a limb here, but did you go lookin’ for the nun last night? I could see that look in your eyes, man. Step away from the edge. You know ya gotta. What the fuck does that bad habit got over you, anyway?”
A waitress brought in the pot of coffee and poured some for us. I zoned out at the monitors, tryin’ to think of how to respond. How the fuck do you explain the razor blade emotions like I got for Fi?
“I dunno, man . . . she’s not the only cherry I ever busted. Hell, not even the first. She’s the only one I ever gave a fuck about, though.” I poured some half and half and a mountain of sugar into my coffee and talked while I stirred. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I sent her packin’ this mornin’, and before you crawl up my ass and ream me a new one . . . yeah . . . she showed up. I pounded the livin’ fuck outta her and left marks that’ll probably be there when she dies. A goin’ away present you could say. I just need to get my head right.”
Casket blew over the coffee and shook his head behind the mug. “You sent her packin’ . . . okay, whatever . . . until the next time. Somethin’ about you and that nun’s snatch . . . I mean, I’ve heard you’re a beast in the sack, but to have a nun keep comin’ back to ride, there’s gotta be some heavenly type shit goin’ on with your dick. Break the bad habit, brother. She fucks up your head and you ain’t even Catholic no more.”
Heaven isn’t where I woulda gone with it.
“She’s gone . . . I’m done with her. I’ll probably work out some of my demons with Candy later. I owe her for last night.” I owe her in more ways than one. “Don’t I have a meetin’ with Redhook today? Or am I mistaken, which is highly possible.”
We were so close to gettin’ Brooklyn, but Redhook had some stipulations and we were all ears. Since FOCUS wasn’t in town, it was up to me and Casket to have the sit down. Redhook hated Rattler and he wasn’t allowed in the old man’s visual field. Just as well, I wasn’t in the mood for his loudmouth bullshit. Redhook would kill him without
a thought if he got loud. Not goin’ was probably savin’ his life.
“Yeah, that’s the plan. Head over to Brooklyn in a little while and try to sew shit up. I gotta bail as soon as we’re done, though. My mother has some kinda thing goin’ on out on Long Island and the BQE is gonna be jammed by the time we’re outta there. The Expressway will be even worse.”
I was fine ridin’ alone back to the City. It wasn’t a big deal and we were goin’ to talk to the old man. There ain’t gonna be a problem with colors and me ridin’ alone in Brooklyn. It’s gonna be Bastards’ territory soon. Thank you, Redhook.
A couple hours later, Casket and I were rollin’ across the Brooklyn Bridge. We had no idea what he was gonna want for the only borough we didn’t have, but we were pretty much ready to do whatever it took. We pulled up in front of the Malevolent clubhouse and I got a good feelin’. Things were gonna change.
“What do ya think he wants? He can’t want one of the other boroughs back . . . I mean, we’ve had Queens and Staten Island for years. The Bronx was a hard sell, but we got that and the City. Jersey has always been ours, like since the beginning of time.”
I slid off the bike and lit a smoke with a huff. “Nah, he don’t want any territory back. He’s unloadin’ shit and movin’ to Florida with his kid. FOCUS saw him not too long ago. It’s all good.”
FOCUS left me and Tombie in L.A. with Nixx while he took a trip with The Bishop down south. Not sure what they were doin’, just that it had to do with helpin’ out Redhook’s son. It wasn’t Bastards’ business, but FOCUS said Jameson let ‘em borrow some secluded place we got outside of New Orleans.
“Well, I guess we won’t find out sittin’ here playin’ with our dicks.” Casket walked away from his bike and rang the buzzer on the gate.
One of the guys, Blitz, came out and let us in. He’s ex-military and looks the part. Word had it that he’d been transplanted, on purpose, from somewhere down south. We’d met once before and he seemed decent enough.
“Hey, y’all . . . Redhook’s waitin’ on ya in the bar.” Blitz walked us in and we went through a few doors before we saw the old man sittin’ on a stool. We were early and so was he. He was flingin’ his dick so we’d feel a little offkilter when we got into their place. I’d done the move myself. It was a power thing, and we all knew how it went. Redhook had probably played it more than anyone on the East Coast. He was as old school as ya could get.
“Well, lookie here if it ain’t the two Bastards who are a royal pain in my ass! Good to see yas!” His Brooklyn accent was worse than mine and his voice sounded like he’d been garglin’ with asphalt. “Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse with FOCUS and the Malevolent Musketeers down in Florida, and you two come walkin’ in. How ya been, Crucifix?”
“Not bad . . . just got back in town from the land where bleach-blonde tits and ass grow offa palm trees.” I pulled up a seat and swallowed hard thinkin’ about Fi. “How bad could I be, right?”
How bad could I be? Lemme count the ways.
“Casket, pull up a stool and get yourself a drink . . . yell at prospect to get a couple for us too.” He turned to me and took a drag off a smoke. “You look hungry, kid. You wanna get a slice of that Brooklyn pizza pie, dontcha?”
Casket pulled up a seat and the guy behind the bar brought a round for Redhook and me. I laughed. “Who wants a slice when I can have the whole pie? That’s what we’re doin’ here right?”
The old man took a mouthful of his drink and smiled. “Yeah, kid. That’s exactly what we’re doin’. Figurin’ out the terms and conditions and all that shit. It’ll take some time before the deal’s sewn up, but I’ll make an offer and you can sleep on it. Capiche?”
A legit offer was further than we’d gotten up to that point. FOCUS was a big help, no doubt. For some reason, that big Irish prick had gotten himself into Redhook’s good graces and kept himself there. The Bishop made the introductions, but that didn’t mean FOCUS couldn’t have fucked shit up in ten seconds flat.
“Whatcha got for me? You know we want Brooklyn, so I won’t even try to downplay that shit and pretend we don’t.” He didn’t need to know the lengths we’d go to, but he could almost write his own ticket and we’d be on board with it. Havin’ Brooklyn meant bank, and if given by the old man, it meant even more. “What can we do to help make it happen? Shy of gettin’ down and lickin’ your balls, I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”
Redhook held up his rocks glass to the prospect and had a refill in a blink. He was as gnarly, Italian old school biker as I’d ever known. I hoped to have a quarter of his clout and the respect they give him when I’m his age. The mob has their guys; we got Redhook.
“Okay, kid, I’ll quit jugglin’ your balls and get to it. First, and I’ll just toss it into the ring so we both know where I stand, I’m an old fuck and ready to get outta the game up here. With you guys, I see a beautiful retirement package . . . like one of them 401K plans I hear about. I paid my dues into it as you very well know. I wanna be hands off . . . don’t need to know nothin’ about nothin’. I just wanna see money in my bank account every month. You guys can wash it all up nice-nice for me. We started a great thing with Santa Claus and the toy run, and I wanna keep goin’ with it.”
We’d sold some of our Five Points meth to the Malevolent in Indiana and Redhook had been happy with the product and money he was makin’ out there with it. I heard our cook is good, but since I can’t get near the shit anymore, I just take everyone’s word for it. The old man just saw dollar signs like I do.
“Yeah, it was a good start . . . I heard it through the grapevine that you were happy.” I tapped my glass and the bartender went to get me another drink. “Throw some numbers at me . . . you wanna slice off the top, no?”
“Of course, kid . . . that’s the idea. That ain’t all there is, so lemme get through it before we start doin’ math.” He lifted his glass to me and took a drag off his smoke. “I hear yas have a good business goin’ out west . . . don’t hold it against FOCUS for tellin’ me either. I have ears and eyes everywhere, and he just nailed down what I already knew. Little known fact about me . . . I’ve always had a special spot in my heart for the cinema . . . woulda been an actor when I got back from Nam if Graffiti and I hadn’t decided to split the coasts. That fuck isn’t good lookin’ enough, but look at this mug, I coulda had my name up in lights.”
Typical old New Yorker knew how to tell a story around whatever topic came up. Redhook probably woulda been able to do movies in the old days, but those days were gone. He was talkin’ about Royal Bastards Video, and we both knew it. I hoped with the mention of Graffiti he wasn’t tryin’ to hint to us lettin’ him in on shit. The two of those old school motherfuckers were like peanut butter and jelly, just like their kids, Colt and Kash. It was a recipe for those sons of bitches wantin’ to go full pie for full pie. Talk about bein’ on our knees with their nut-sacks in our mouths—a little teabag to go with our pizza. Fuck that.
“Okay . . . so ya wanna be a super star behind the camera, I’m guessin’. I’m sure that pie is big enough to go around. I can’t speak for the other chapters though, only our cut of the pizza. It’d be a cut of our cut, if you get my meanin’. We got the Rotten Apple girls and our own shit. That’s what made sense to us and would be all we could offer.”
None of it seemed unreasonable. A piece of the meth and the movies for all of Brooklyn. It coulda been much worse.
“Crucifix, just so ya know, I ain’t tryin’ to step on toes. I want my hands to stay squeaky clean. Not sure if my kid and those other two fucks, Kash and Sundown, are gonna wanna be involved at all in the skin flicks, but I want nothin’ to do with it.” He sipped at his scotch and looked off toward the door we’d come through earlier. “See that guy over there, Blitz? Good guy . . . solid . . . part of the deal is givin’ him this part of the chapter and lettin’ him stay on as president. Your chapter is gonna sorta inherit my guys, but they respect that southern ball-breaker over there.
Might make the transition easier.”
I shook my head, wiped a hand over my mouth, and looked back to the military guy who’d let us in. Redhook had appointed him to his chapter, and now it was makin’ sense.
“Redhook, if I’m hearin’ you right, you want me to split the Rotten Apple chapter with Blitz in Brooklyn . . . like two chapters in one. I’ve never heard of that bein’ done before. I’m the president of all the boroughs.” Are we supposed to be co-captains of the football team? “That southern belle would have to make his bones with us . . . not for nothin’, but my guys would try to eat him alive. Not a good way to start a new business venture.”
“Look at it this way, kid . . . you guys can be the core of that fuckin’ apple and my guys can be support, but not your typical support club, capiche? You’re gonna want that crazy bastard on your side, trust me when I tell ya, and he’ll be more than happy to prove it. This is why I want yas to sleep on it.”
Five Points. Royal Bastards Video. The Blitz Splitz.
“Alright . . . we can sleep on it and see what’s what when I talk to the guys. Anything else?” I was almost afraid to ask. It was Brooklyn and we needed it, but the old man wasn’t makin’ it easy on us.
“Yeah . . . one last thing.” He took a long drag on his smoke and exhaled slowly. “FOCUS. I want him. He and The Bishop were very helpful and I’m tryin’ to grow my kid’s new chapter with some meat on its bones besides those three whack-jobs. Look at it like this . . . tradin’ a vet for a vet. Think about it long and hard before you say no. Talk to your guys and bring me some numbers to crunch on.”
FOCUS. How the fuck can we give him up?
Once I got past the personal shit about our sergeant at arms, I flipped my mind to the deal. I had numbers swirlin’ through my head, but didn’t know what the guys would have in mind. Casket was the treasurer and had a good idea on how much Brooklyn could be worth to us. Beyond reputation and territory, it had to make dollars and sense.
