by CM Genovese
“Not yet,” I said.
Everyone laughed.
“You should,” Frostbite said. “Experienced pussy is the best.”
“It damn sure is,” Carousel agreed.
Everyone knew Carousel had been fucking his office manager for years behind his wife’s back. Kathy, the fling he frequently fucked in the office, had two kids and I figured she must be the experienced pussy he was referencing.
“Kathy sure is experienced,” BP joked.
“Hey, come on now,” Carousel replied. “You ain’t gotta say her name like that, Pres.”
BP rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “It’s not like the whole world doesn’t already know who you’re fuckin’.”
“Whatever, man,” Carousel argued.
“There’s one more thing we need to discuss,” BP threw out there. “One of our brothers from down in Charleston is requestin’ to come up here and hang with us for a while. Probably not permanent, but he needs to come up here for a bit. His only family member, a younger brother, got a scholarship to play hockey at UAA.”
“Charleston, North Carolina?” Slitz asked. “I got a buddy down—"
“West Virginia,” BP interrupted.
“Oh,” Slitz said, “Yeah, I don’t have a buddy there.”
“There’s a Charleston in West Virginia?” Nugget asked, dumbfounded.
BP grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels off the top of the table and uncapped it. “Yes, there’s a fucking Charleston in West Virginia.” He swigged from the bottle. “I swear y’all are gonna drive me to drink.”
“What’s this cat’s name?” Rain asked.
“They call him X,” BP informed us. “He’s got a,” he used his finger to write an X on his cheek, “scar. Some people call him Hardy, too, ‘cause they say he looks like that dude from the movies.”
“The wrestler?” Nugget asked. “Jeff Hardy?”
“I said from the fuckin’ movies,” BP said, “not wrestlin’. The actor that’s in um… whatchamacallit. Venom. With the black Spiderman.”
“Oh, good movie,” Nugget replied, “but he ain’t a black Spiderman.”
“Whatever,” BP said. “That fuckin’ actor. Hardy.”
“Wait, I’ve met that motherfucker,” Oosik said. “He’s like half-Russian and hates Russians. Y’all are gonna love him. That dude’s fuckin’ nuts.”
“Maybe nuts is what we need right now,” BP said, “Quick vote on it. Anybody opposed to him coming up here?”
Everyone was silent.
“Cool,” BP said. “He’s been chompin’ at the bit to get up here. I’ll let him know.”
After church, which is what we called our meetings, everyone stuck around for a party. All the usuals were there. Kathy hired a babysitter so she could hang out with Carousel. Frostbite’s woman, Margarita, was there. She always reminded me of Amy Winehouse with the big, teased hair and super long, thick eyelashes. She was pretty in a scary kind of way. Rain disappeared early to be alone with Cassie in his room.
Pinky, Daisy, and the other club whores danced around me. It was Pinky who suggested doing shots, and I knew she was hoping to be in my bed by the end of the night. The thought crossed my mind too. She was a good one. Not only good in the sack, but she was thoughtful, kind, and smart. She’d paid attention in school and had even attended some college. She had a drug problem that most of the others at the MC didn’t know about. I knew she was getting coke from downtown.
Creedence Clearwater Revival’s ‘Before You Accuse Me’ played as Pinky swayed her hips in front of me. Her black shorts were cut low enough that I could see the top of her hot pink thong. Her black Paramore T-shirt was tied in a knot at her back, putting the smooth skin at her arch on display. Closing my eyes, I fought back the urge to pull her onto my lap. I had too much on my mind. Sure, I could pound Pinky’s pretty ass into the mattress in the meantime, but I wasn’t a complete prick.
I thought about Carla, and I was slightly excited at the chance to have a fling with her. Mostly, my mind went back to Tayla. It bothered the hell out of me that she had such a hold on me.
“Drink this,” Pinky said as she handed me a shot glass. Amber liquid filled it and I brought it to my nose for a quick sniff. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her, it was that I didn’t trust strange liquids. Tequila has its own unique smell, so I knew I was in for a harsh hangover tomorrow but a good night void of thoughts before then. I drank it and Pinky smiled as she downed her own glass. “What have you been reading lately?” she asked.
“Of Mice and Men,” I said.
“A classic.”
“It is.”
“And such a sad story.”
I’d read it once before, back in high school, and I remembered it having a profound effect on me. Lately, I’d been feeling a lot like George, like I was just out of reach of understanding all life had to offer me. My past was Lennie, standing in my way. It was a past that needed a bullet in its head, but I couldn’t seem to pull the trigger, so I dragged it around with me knowing it would be my undoing.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I held up a hand to tell Pinky I’d get back to her in a second. When I checked my phone screen, it was a message from Tayla. It was a picture of the kids, Caleb and Myra, with chocolate all over their faces. The caption read: Making brownies with Mommy.
She’s a great mother.
Below the picture and the caption was the message: Thought you’d like to see this. I’m sorry you miss these things.
The message gutted me. Not only because I was sorry I missed those moments too, but because she thought enough of me to send the picture in the first place. Somewhere deep down inside, which was evident by the way she always touched my hand at the park, she cared. I wondered if she regretted her decision to stay with the asshole captain.
Not knowing what else to type into the phone, I punched in only two words: Thank you.
Then I put my phone back into my pocket and gestured for Pinky to come back and sit on my lap.
“Get me another one of them shots,” I said.
She was gone and back before I could even blink. It was either that or I was already feeling numb from the couple of beers and the one shot of tequila I’d downed. Or, even worse, I was distracted by thoughts of Tayla and my kids.
Your kid. Myra isn’t yours.
She wasn’t, but that didn’t matter.
The music changed to ‘Bad Man’ by Blues Saraceno as I held up the second shot and stared into the yellowish liquid, smelling the buttery scent I always associated with tequila.
“You are a bad man,” I whispered.
“What?” Pinky asked.
“Nothing.”
The shot went down smooth, and I grabbed my beer off the table beside me to chase it, guzzling the beer until my throat burned and the bottle was empty.
Pinky straddled me and whispered into my ear. “You know, George did what he had to do at the end of the book.”
This one was too insightful. She was definitely using her psych degree, and I didn’t like being psychoanalyzed. When I looked at her face, her eyes were locked on mine. She brought her lips closer and whispered again, her breath smelling like the cinnamon candy she was sucking on, “You can do whatever it is you have to do… now… to me.”
My cock was tempted. It nudged her and she bit her lip, letting me know she felt it. The devil was playing hell on my conscience. Any other night, I probably would have fucked her. Why not? She wanted it. I wanted it. But tonight, it felt wrong.
The buzzing of my phone gave me the excuse I needed to pull away from Pinky. She scoffed and rolled her eyes as she got off my lap and went back to the bar. “I’ll be around if you need me,” she called out.
I know you will, babe.
This time there was no picture accompanying the message. It was from Tayla, again, and this time it read: I’ve been kind of thinking about you lately.
Fuck.
She was so much trouble. First, there was Cubby. He’d go
apeshit if he found out about us. BP wouldn’t feel much better about it. He might kick my ass just for causing drama with Cubby. Then there was the trouble she’d be in with her husband. That piece of shit was already putting his hands on her.
And she left you. She chose him over you.
I didn’t reply to the message. She’d see that I read it, but I couldn’t think of an appropriate answer. Of course, I’d thought about her too. She was all I thought about.
Pinky shook her ass to the music. It was so tempting. I ran my hand through my hair and stood to move toward my room.
“Where you goin’, stud?” she asked
Take her with you. Fuck this aggression out.
Ignoring her, I left the main clubhouse, part of the old airport hangar we used, and walked toward the living area. She was right behind me. “You don’t like me anymore?”
I turned and took her face in my hand, rubbing her cheek with my thumb. “I like you just fine, sweetheart. You’re incredible. But I got other things on my mind tonight.”
The truth was, I could fuck her all I wanted to, but I could never have a relationship with a chick like Pinky. She’d been with too many of my other brothers in the club. She was a club whore. You fucked her. You didn’t marry her. She was well aware of that fact. All that shit was explained to her long ago and she’d decided to live this life. She could leave anytime she wanted to, but if she stayed, she knew what that meant.
“A woman?” she asked.
“Plural,” I replied.
She looked sad when she nodded. “Got it.”
I kissed her forehead and headed toward my room.
Pinky was gone, back inside the clubhouse where she’d find somebody else to occupy her time. I was about a foot from my door when I heard a crash inside my room. Pulling my gun, I threw the door open and entered, ready to blast anybody snooping through my shit.
Instead, I found Slitz’s tattooed, naked ass balls deep inside some raven-haired chick I’d never seen before. She was naked too and had a hell of a body. A tattoo of a snake intertwined with roses ran from her left knee all the way up her side and ended where it nipped at her large fake tit. She’d been tanning, as no white girl had skin that dark in Anchorage unless they hit the salon. Slitz had her bent over my dresser.
Slitz took one look at me and grinned. “Hey.”
“Brother, you’re in my room,” I said.
He pulled back and pumped into her as he explained, his voice coming out in huffs with each thrust. The girl didn’t seem bothered by my arrival. She closed her eyes and put her head against the dresser, biting her bottom lip as she took Slitz inside her.
“Beezus is on my bed with Lena’s friend,” Slitz said as if that explained everything.
“So, naturally, you had to use my room.”
“Hey, I didn’t use your bed. That’s disrespectful without asking.”
“So why is Beezus using yours?”
“He asked.”
“Right. Why isn’t he in his room?”
“His bed broke. He really likes Lena’s friend. By the way, this is Lena.”
Lena lifted her head from the dresser and waved at me. “Hello.”
She had some sort of accent, maybe Russian. That didn’t sit well with me given the issues we were currently having with the Russians and the problems we had in the past. It was like sleeping with the enemy.
“This is awkward,” I said. “Go ahead and use my room. Use my bed, man. It’s fine, but you have to clean my fuckin’ sheets tomorrow.”
Slitz winced and dug his fingernails into Lena’s waist. He nodded and whispered through gritted teeth, “OK.”
“Fucking hell,” I cursed as I closed the door behind me.
A few doors down, in Slitz’s room, I could hear the headboard knocking against the wall. Beezus was in there putting it to whoever the hell Lena’s friend was.
The night was chilly, too cold for a ride on my bike, so I took one of the pickups out of the garage and drove away from the clubhouse and back into Anchorage.
7
I could have found a place to sleep at the clubhouse, or I could have had a few more drinks and waited for Slitz to finish, but I was in a mood. I was in my head, and I needed to be alone for a while. It was the reason I’d gone to my bedroom in the first place.
I drove to the one place in town that brought me peace but totally destroyed me at the same time. Of course, the lot was empty when I pulled in at the park where I always met Tayla and the kids. There, I got out of the truck and walked past the slide, around the monkey bars, and sat down on one of the swings.
It was a quiet night. Not freezing, but cool. With a jacket on under my kutte, I was warm enough to sit for a while. I watched the empty sandbox for a few minutes, remembering how happy Caleb was to take his dinosaur into that pit. How Myra followed after him, chasing her older brother like she looked up to him. I played no part in his upbringing, and I wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I stared at Tayla’s last message: I’ve been kind of thinking about you lately. My thumb brushed over the keypad as I contemplated replying.
I knew only a few streets over she was probably curled up on the couch watching a movie alone. He wouldn’t even be with her. She told me he was always down in the basement working on his model planes or up in the bedroom reading. He never touched her anymore.
Because he’s touching someone else. She knows it. You know it.
The kids would be asleep by this hour. She might be too. Finally, I allowed myself to respond.
I typed: Me too.
The message sat on my screen for a moment, its bright light making me squint. This was a bad idea, but I wanted, no, I needed her to know she wasn’t alone in her thoughts. She might go cold again and completely fucking wreck me. In my experience, women were wishy washy that way. One second, they wanted you but then they’d change their mind and want someone else.
I didn’t know where Tayla’s head was at. More than likely, this was only a rebound response for some kind of hatred she was feeling for her husband. He’d either said something cruel or done something stupid to set her off.
Me too. I mashed the send button.
It was a lame response, but it was all I was willing to reply. I only hoped she was happy right now. That she was safe. That he wasn’t slapping her around.
My message went unread, and after sitting on the swing a few minutes longer, the cold temperature got to me and I returned to the truck. I considered driving to the pub to see how Carla was doing, but at this point, my head was a mess. Not to mention I might seem like a stalker.
Depression is a bitch.
Instead, I sat in the cab of the truck, right there in the park parking lot, and drifted off.
Suddenly, I was standing outside an elementary school, leaning against a tree. Across from me was the school’s nearly empty playground and bicycle rack. A kid, maybe the age of ten, wore one of those orange banners across his chest, ready to monitor the students at recess. The bell rang and young kids ran out of the school and onto the playground while the hallway monitor blew his whistle and demanded they slow down.
None of the kids did. They cheered and shouted playful words at each other like, “Bet you can’t catch me,” and, “Your mama runs faster than you do,” and, “Beat you to the slide!”
It was a joyful scene. The kids were happy.
As the kids reached the playground, I realized that all around me was a white mist that seemed to be moving in as if it had been out over the sea and was only now blowing in over dry land. The kids didn’t notice. Their laughter filled the air.
And the mist kept coming. It reached the parking lot and passed the school’s front door. It drifted over the bicycle racks, wrapped around the tree where I was standing, and hovered around the playground, giving the entire scene a white smoky frame.
From across the street I heard an engine rumble. A car was coming.
My
first instinct was to check the kids, to make sure none of them were moving toward the parking lot. In the lawn across from me, about halfway between the street and the playground, two little boys bounced a big red rubber ball between them.
It dawned on me that one of them was Caleb. He didn’t see me, even when he looked toward me to catch the ball bounced by the other boy.
“Caleb,” I said softly.
The car’s engine rumbled again and then I saw the front grille and headlights push past the mist as a black limo, an old-fashioned one I recognized, shoved the mist out of its way. The white smoky substance whooshed over the car’s hood and swirled away.
It was driving down the paved parking lot that divided me from Caleb.
The limo was only ten yards away when Caleb turned toward me and finally recognized me. “Uncle Pipe!” he called out with a happy wave. “Uncle Pipe, can you see me?”
“I can see you,” I replied.
He walked toward me, still waving.
“No!” I yelled. “Go back to the playground.”
“What did you say, Uncle Pipe?” he asked as he kept moving closer.
I stepped onto the parking lot’s roadway, but the limo screeched to a halt in front of me. It sounded like rusty wheels on an old shopping cart.
“Uncle Pipe?” Caleb called out, but he was too short, and I couldn’t see him with the black limousine between us.
On the opposite side of the car, I heard a door click open.
“Uncle Pipe?” Caleb called out once more.
“Caleb!” I yelled. “Get away from that car!”
Caleb screamed and I knew it was too late. The door slammed. I ran at the nearest window and punched it, but my fist bounced lazily off it. I swung again but my arm seemed to be moving in slow motion. By the time I reached the glass, there was no strength left in the punch.
Hysterical laughter came from inside the car.
The window rolled down only a crack, and pale, bony fingers reached out. Black, cracked fingernails tapped against the glass.
I stepped back, shocked by what I was seeing. I’d witnessed this before. I’d seen these same fingernails at this exact window.
