by Jessie Cooke
41
“Dad, we’re here.” Doc felt the limousine slow down before Dax spoke, but he hadn’t wanted to open his eyes. He thought he was ready for this, but he was beginning to feel sick all over again.
“Wow, Dax! Look at all the motorcycles.” The sound of Cody’s excited voice was what drew Doc’s eyes open. There were indeed a lot of motorcycles, hundreds of them. Doc looked over toward the pop-up that the graveyard staff had set up with chairs for the family. All he could see was a sea of black leather and jeans. The men stood shoulder-to-shoulder four or five lines deep, facing the tent and the podium set up behind it.
“They’re all here because they loved my mother,” Dax told the little boy.
“She was nice to us,” Keller said, pushing his black glasses up on his nose.
Dax smiled at him and said, “Yeah, she was nice to everybody. Come on, we get to go listen to people say nice things about her.” Dax and the boys stepped out of the limousine first. Doc still continued to sit there even as they walked across the grass toward the setup. His eyes scanned all the floral arrangements that had been sent and he found himself hoping that she could see them. Dallas loved flowers. His eyes filled with tears again and as he was wiping at the corners of them with a tissue, a pair of jean-clad legs appeared in front of the open door. Doc stepped out and was face-to-face with Coyote.
“I can’t even tell you, brother, I’m so damned sorry.” Coyote looked like he’d been crying, and Dax looked at his old lady, standing a few feet away, and wondered what she thought about the fact that Coyote had been in love with Dallas. Doc smiled at him. He missed his old friend often and he had regrets about how he had treated him as well. He was glad that things had turned out for him. Coyote had the Westside Skulls, the West Coast chapter of their club, thriving. He seemed to be happy with his old lady and he loved to brag about his son, Xavier, or “Wolf” as the brothers all called the little guy. Doc opened his arms and embraced his old friend.
“Thank you for being here.”
“Are you kidding?” Coyote said. “I loved her. I love you. Where else would I be?” Doc smiled at him again and Coyote slipped his arm around his old lady Colleen’s shoulders. They walked together toward the gravesite and Doc scanned the faces in the crowd as they did. Every Skull who wasn’t out on a run at the moment was there. The men working in Texas had come home. It looked like Coyote had brought his entire club, although most of them had never met Dallas; it was a show of respect for the “first lady.” Doc saw Randall Covey and Swinger, whom he still hated, and Swinger’s young son Zack, who seemed to have a lot more sense than his father did.
Doc was almost to where Dax and the boys were sitting when he saw Dax’s little friend, Katrina, and her father standing behind them. There were tons of empty seats underneath the pop-up and Doc was going to invite them each to take one when he saw someone who stopped him in his tracks. Detective Brady and his three oldest boys were standing in the crowd. When Brady saw him looking, he gave him a little nod. Doc couldn’t help but smile at him. He was reminded sometimes of the Roadrunner cartoon where Brady was the Coyote and himself the Roadrunner. They threw each other off cliffs all day, but in the end the mutual respect for what each of them did was still there.
Toolie and Lola stood to the right of the Bradys. Lola was Dallas’s only female friend on the ranch and she’d been good to her. People could say what they wanted about them, but the likes of Lola and Toolie were even able to teach Dallas something…that you don’t have to be what society deemed “appropriate” to have a good heart. Tears rolled down the face of the big man next to them. Tank had softened since having Macy. It was funny how family could change a man. Doc smiled and nodded at them all, truly grateful they were all here to see his beautiful Dallas off, one last time.
Doc sat next to his son and the boys, and the preacher took his place at the podium. The funeral home had asked for a picture of her. Dax tried to give them a recent one, but Doc had wanted one that captured who she truly was. He dug through her old photo albums that she’d left behind when she moved…and he found one of her that exemplified everything she was. It was taken on the ranch when Dallas was maybe only twenty years old. She was wearing psychedelic pants that had every color in the rainbow on them. Her feet were bare…and she had flowers that she’d picked, stuck in her long hair. The sun was shining down on her, but it didn’t come close to rivaling the smile on her face. The picture was blown up, and sitting on an easel next to the podium. Doc had to look away from it, or he was going to lose it again.
The preacher cleared his throat and said, “We are here today to celebrate the life of a beautiful young woman, Dallas Paxton.” Technically Dallas had taken her husband’s last name, but Doc didn’t want that name on her tombstone. “I didn’t know Dallas personally,” the preacher said, “but I talked to a lot of people who did. What I found out, when I asked them about Dallas, was that she had a strong spirit, a kind soul, and a big, generous heart. I found out much more than that, but instead of reading things off a list, why don’t we hear from those who did know, and love this beautiful soul?”
Doc was surprised when Dax stood up first. He walked up to the podium and nervously adjusted the microphone. “You all know who I am, I assume. But just in case, I’m Dax Marshall.” It was hard for Doc to watch his big, strong son struggle to hold back his grief and tears as he spoke. Doc felt the bruises in his soul and he was sure Dax did too. Strangely enough, it may have been the first time in his life that he felt something for someone else that deeply. “My mother and I had a tumultuous relationship, to say the least. I was born a bull, to what I saw as a sheep, for way too many years. She was so sweet, and she just loved me so much that I thought she must be nothing but soft inside. I was bothered by that. In my mind that meant she was weak, and for most of my life I had no respect for her because of that.
“As I was growing up, I heard stories about her…but only when someone thought I wasn’t listening. See…nobody held back when it came to my dad…but nobody wanted to say anything about Mom that might be misconstrued as disrespect. I’m looking around at your faces now, all of you who knew her before I did, especially Doc, my father, and when I said the word ‘weak’ you almost laughed. The sad truth is that only recently have I started to see her for who she really was and not just the woman that nurtured the hell out of me.” The crowd chuckled slightly, and Doc saw Dax reach up and wipe a tear out of one of his eyes. “Dallas Paxton grew up with a crusty old man who grew weed for a living as her only role model. Because of that, she should have been cynical in the ways of this world. Instead, she chose to see the bright side. She chose to see the good things. See, as a kid, I thought that was really all she could see…but that would have been easy, and Dallas Paxton never did anything easy.
“She made a choice to be the old lady of a man who was respected, revered, and feared by a big part of the population. She was never afraid of him. She never cowered down to him. She worked every day with some of the toughest, hardest men that God ever put on this planet…and somehow, those men were the ones that were different in the end.” Doc saw Dax’s eyes flash toward Coyote as he said, “Men fell in love with her, but because they all knew there was only one man that Dallas ever wanted, they were content with just being around her.” He looked at Cody and Keller then and said, “And when that relationship fell apart, her strength and goodness still held. She fought to make sure that two of our own didn’t get lost in the system. She put her own life on hold for that.” Dax let his eyes settle on his father’s face. “There is no one on this earth that I respect more than my old man…but, you all know him. He’s no Care Bear.” More nervous chuckles. Doc smiled.
“She lived with him for over a decade…but she loved him for two. She moved on with her life not because she was too weak to handle him, but because she had the strength to stand up for herself and for what she thought was best for me. But the one thing I do know about my mother is that if she loved you…she
went to her grave doing it. The world experienced a huge loss the day she was taken from us. I’m not a praying man…but for my mom I’ll say a prayer every day that she knows – despite my…Doc-like qualities–” he said with a smile of his own through tears that now ran freely down his face, “that she knows I loved her, and I only hope that I can remember myself from now on, how important it is to tell people how you feel…and to show them. You never know when you might not get another chance. Thank you all for being here.” Dax went back over and sat down next to Doc. He looked at his father like it was his turn and if it had been anybody but Dax, he would have told them to fuck off, and kept his grief private. He took a deep breath and stood up. Everyone was silent, holding their breath even, as he stood behind the podium.
“I’m not gonna make a long speech,” Doc said. “My son said most of what I needed to say already. Dallas was my sun and my moon. She was what made this hateful world turn for me. I’m a son of a bitch most of the time and you all know it. You all kiss my ass because you have to, or because you’re afraid of me.” He smiled and said, “Dallas tried kissing my ass once, thinking it might help us not fight so much. That lasted about five minutes.” They all laughed and when they were quiet again he said, “And I hated it. My love for her was all wrapped up in her strength and her passion. I’m ten times the man I was when I met her, and if I live another twenty years, I’ll be ten times the man I am today…still because of her. That’s all I got to say.”
And then just like that…she was gone forever. Doc, like Dax, had learned not only from Dallas while she was alive, but in her death too. He took his mother for granted. He let his father die without ever honestly telling him how he felt. He’d had a lot of good friends taken from him over the years…and once they were gone he would wonder briefly if they knew how much they meant to him, how much they impacted his life. He would always wonder that about Dallas, until the day they’d lower him into the ground. She was his sun and his moon. He looked at his son as people passed by to offer their condolences. Dax had his back straight and the tears that had swum in his eyes were gone. Almost every person at the gravesite that day would look at him and say:
“Doc’s son has his strength and his character.” But that wasn’t true. Doc wasn’t strong enough to change his life and give up the things he should have given up, for the woman who would have given up anything for him. Dax had his mother’s strength….and Doc wasn’t a praying man himself, but from that day forward he was going to pray that he also had his mother’s character. Dallas Paxton would live on in the heart and soul of her son forever…even if Dax remained too stubborn to realize it.
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Excerpt from Coyote:
Texas, 2002
“What’s that you’ve got there?” The social worker had gotten the call early that morning. She had been doing this for almost twenty years, and these calls still rattled her to her very core. She recently moved from California to Texas, somehow hoping that things wouldn’t be so dark there. She’d seen things that she had to suppress and they only came out now in her nightmares. Texas wasn’t any different; at least that’s what her first call of the day today was about to teach her. She sat on the dirty couch next to the little boy. If the cop who called her hadn’t told her he was a boy, she wouldn’t have been able to tell. He had his head bowed and tons of matted, dark hair hanging down over his face. It looked like his hair had been braided at one time, but they were dreads now. She wasn’t sure if that was intended or not. “Hey, the officer told me your name is Adan. I’m Trinity.” She held out her hand, close to where she knew he could see it under all that hair, but he remained focused on what he was holding in his lap. “Can I see this?” She touched it and suddenly the mute, still little boy became like a wild animal. He clutched the leather bundle to his chest and scooted back on the couch, peering out at her through an opening in his hair. Trinity gasped when she saw his face. She hadn’t meant to…but his skin was so dark, and so was his hair, yet staring out at her were the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. “Adan…” she said, again.
“Adam!” The sound that came out of the small boy’s mouth startled her at first.
“I’m sorry, I thought it was Adan…”
His blue eyes cut toward the bedroom. The woman that had been there was gone. Trinity had watched them load the black bag that bore her body into the ambulance when she first got here. The first light of morning was just showing over the horizon then, but now the sun was climbing and Texas was waking up. She looked at the little boy sadly. Her compassion for human beings had drawn her to this job, but her empathy might well destroy her someday. “She called me that,” he said. “I don’t want to be called that anymore. My name is Adam. Adam Marshall.”
“Marshall?” she asked, confused.
The little boy slowly opened up his arms to reveal the vest that he was holding so tightly. It had a big, round patch on the back that said, “Southside Skulls, Boston Chapter.” He turned it over and Trinity saw what was stitched on the front of it. “Doc Marshall, Prez.” Well, maybe at least this poor little baby with eyes like sapphires wouldn’t spend the rest of his life alone…
Boston
Spring 2002
Coyote sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. He’d been staring at the same spot for fifteen minutes. The door to the bathroom opened and Colleen stepped out. Coyote shifted his focus and his eyes roamed his wife’s sexy body. “Is it bad that I’m horny again?” They had made love the night before—it had been passionate and heated—then again that morning when they woke up, but considering what day it was, it had been slower…sweeter. Colleen could always sense his moods and she always knew when he needed her.
She laughed at that and picked his tie up off the dresser. Standing in front of him, she draped it over his neck and moved his long, thick hair so she could slip it underneath. “We don’t have time.”
“Let’s not go,” he said, while she worked on the tie. He lifted his arms and put them on her hips. She had wide, sexy hips. He loved them.
Colleen smiled down at him softly and said, “If I thought you meant that, I’d stay right here with you. But I know you wouldn’t let them lay him to rest without you being there.”
Coyote sighed. “I fucking hate this. We’ve been to way too many funerals lately. I hate funerals. But this one…fuck, babe, this one is the worst.”
She stopped fooling with his tie and bent down so she could press her lips to his forehead. “I know, love. It’s always hard to say goodbye…but when it was so unexpected…”
Coyote chuckled and said, “I honestly believed he would live forever.”
Colleen sat next to him on the bed and took his hand. “He will,” she said. She ran her free hand down his back, over the patch on the kutte he was wearing with his button-down shirt and tie. “Because of this,” she said, and then she moved her hand around front and put it against his chest, over his heart. “And this,” she said. “Because of men like you, who will carry on his legacy. He’ll live forever, baby, and so will you.”
Coyote chuckled again, mostly to fight back the tears that were pressing hard, trying to get out. “I’ll never leave a legacy like he did.”
“Hmm,” she said, “we’ll see. Now stand up and let me do your tie.” Colleen was his biggest fan. Coyote had never been overly confident. His childhood was shit and his early adult years hadn’t been much better. Meeting Doc Marshall had changed his life in so many ways. Who would have thought that falling in love with the man’s wife would have pushed him into the greatest opportunity of his life? Doc banished him to California and for a hot minute, Coyote thought that was it for him. But somewhere he found the resolve he needed to get things started out there…and somehow, things had taken off like one of the wildfires that burn every year in the foothills above the valley that he now called home. He’d met Colleen, and they’d had a son. His son was grown now…and he was a fine young man. Coyote had made s
o many mistakes along the way, though. He had secrets, even from his wife, that ate away at him daily. He made decisions that ended lives. He walked around in his kutte that said “Coyote, Prez, Westside Skulls” on it, like he owned it. But sometimes deep down in his gut, he felt like he was still faking it. “There,” Colleen said, finally getting the tie all tied up. Coyote pushed the knot up and had to take a deep breath to fill his lungs. He hated wearing the fucking things, but if anyone ever commanded enough respect to deserve one worn at his funeral…it was the man he was going to say goodbye to today.
“Alright,” he said, reluctantly, “I guess we should do this.” They walked out of the room and down the stairs hand in hand. The ranch had changed a lot over the years, but it always did Coyote’s heart good to see the pictures on the wall of the great room when he reached the landing. They had been added to, but none had ever been deleted. He knew there was a lot of talk about taking Hawk’s picture down. The Skulls had been searching for him for three years, but so far, not a trace. One could only hope that the man who betrayed his best friend, and the man they all loved and respected, was dead in a ditch somewhere south of the border.
