by A. C. Bextor
Mockingly, he laughs at me through his words. “Are you fuckin’ with me, son?”
I’m quiet, but he’s waiting for an answer to whatever kind of question that is.
“What?”
After a few seconds, the boys pass us waiving at me in what I can only decipher as pity.
Once they’re out of eyesight, he hits me hard with his fist in the center of my back, and I lose the wind I was holding as breath. “You must be fuckin’ with me. This bike isn’t a fuckin’ toy, stupid. It’s transportation … for you.”
I gather the strength after the blow and explain to him. “Dad, I don’t understand.”
“Let me fuckin’ explain it to you then. I give you a package, you deliver it. Clear enough for you, or do you need me to draw it out with little pictures?”
As he seethes his anger onto me I feel the spit from his words land on my face and in it I smell his whiskey and coke coming down like rain over my joyous day. I’m working for them now. I’m nine and I’ve just been interviewed and hired for my very first job … running drugs.
Fuck.
Feeling defeated and knowing it’s all but useless to argue or negotiate my way through this, I nod in agreement. No, Dad, no further explanation needed.
“Gary.” I hear mom finally speak from the door.
She’s witnessed all this and if I ever thought my mother loved me, I don’t anymore. She looks just as eager as he does. “Give him the Angel’s package first.” Unsure what the hell that means, I look to my dad for an answer. He knows I’m lost with her words.
He smiles at her with a wicked twist then looks down to me. “Angel’s, you know them, right?”
“Yeah.” I do know them.
The Angels are known to be the creepiest motorcycle outfit in our area. The bikes are scary. The women I’ve seen on them are scarier, but it’s the men that frighten me the most. Everyone here knows they aren’t to be approached without invitation. I’ve watched on many occasions as they beat men in the middle of an abandon parking lot as I walked home from school. I never make eye contact, fearing I will be next in line. It never appears they use age as a means to discriminate.
“I have your first job ready for you. If you do this I’ll pay you. You think you may want that, son? If not, I can see if there’s another kid around here willin’ to man up and take the job … you know ... if you can’t handle it.”
I do not want this job, but I nod in agreement knowing I have no other choice. It’s this, starve, or take a beating. That’s the only part of this I can control, granted it’s not much of one, but it’s still a choice I can make.
He reaches in his coat and pulls out a large zip lock bag filled with powder. “You take this directly to them. You ask for a fella by the name of ‘Switch’, he’s waiting for it. Don’t be late. Don’t make me regret giving this responsibility to you. When you get home, your dinner will be waiting. I’ll be sure your mother makes your favorite - spaghetti and meatballs. Sound good to you?”
I feel a pang of guilt, but mixed with that comes a hunger pain. God, it does sound good. It sounds mouthwatering good. I’m selling myself for a hot meal provided by my own parents. Sadly, I feel a flutter of hope looming inside me. It’s something.
About an hour later I’m heading to the Angel’s Clubhouse as dad has instructed. The bag is taped to my ribs to avoid being seen. I’m not late and I have the package in hand - undamaged. When I arrive I’m met by a very large, tattooed, and angry man at the gate. He has mistaken me for a homeless peddler and is having fun spinning me around with the force of his body. Now I lay bloodied and beaten on the concrete near the street. Any bystanders that caught this turned a blind eye. No one came to help. It isn’t until Switch himself comes out looking for his delivery that my aggressor stops his pursuit against me.
“You fuckin’ dumbass! That’s the package.” Switch pulls a gun from the back of his jeans and knocks the huge monster on his ass using the butt of the weapon, and then puts out a hand to help me up. I relax just a bit, mistaking his gesture for compassion.
That was a mistake.
“I have your…” The air is knocked out of me upon impact of his fist connecting with my ribs.
“You don’t ‘have’ shit. Don’t talk, you stupid monkey.”
He grabs me by the back of my coat, lifting it up around my waist as he searches for his property. He hasn’t paid me and fear dwells cold inside; thinking of going home without what I need to be able to eat.
Once he brings me inside the clubhouse, I see several things that I never knew existed. Naked women, men snorting lines upon a glass table, and other men cussing at each other while arm wrestling. If I had ever gotten to watch television with my dad, this was something that I could imagine us watching together. The scene chills me to the bones.
After dragging me back to an office he throws my broken body into a chair, glaring at me to ensure I don’t move. I wipe the blood off my face, inspecting it with the sleeve of the only jacket I own.
He cuts the small bag open and pulls out a couple of small drops of the powder. Although I’m only nine, I know this dust can mean money for my parents. This is important. His happiness in this product is what decides how my time at home will be spent.
Lifting a small pile into the fingernail of his pinky, he sniffs then turns to me and grins. His teeth look like a sharks would if I had ever seen one up close.
“Very nice.” Smug bastard that he is thinks I care. He stares at me, willing me to reply to this.
“Okay.”
“Okay? No, my son, more than okay. You give your father a message for me. I want more and will pay the agreed rate. However, he only sells to me. I find him selling to fuckin’ Peril I start takin’ heads as trophies, you hearin’ me? You tell him that.”
“Okay.”
He stretches his shoulders as he comes at me, bends to my level, putting his hands on either side of the chair where I sit and orders. “You tell me what I just told you to tell them.”
I know better than to show fear so I talk myself into not stuttering. “I am going to tell them that you want more and that you had better not find out he’s selling to fu—ck—in Peril.”
Stuttering self-talk … fail.
He laughs at me. I don’t cuss, I probably could and my parents wouldn’t care, but teachers would notice and I never dare bring unwanted attention to myself. I know what that brings. This is exactly what it brings.
He moves his arm quickly to my face and I wince, waiting for the strike. He laughs again at my fear. “Smart boy. I’m sorry about what happened when you got here. Going forward you’re to tell the animal out front you’re here to see me. Don’t hesitate or he won’t show you as much mercy. These boys tend to sense fear.” He rubs my nose, gently wiping away blood residue left from my first meeting with his ‘animal’. He doesn’t hurt me again, just scares me.
“Okay, can I go now?”
“Yeah, get out of here. Like I said, deliver that message exactly how I told you to.”
“Alright.” With that I get up, walk out of his office without looking back, and make my way through the chaos known as “Angels” all the while telling myself this isn’t the life I intend to lead. This is dirty and I want no part of it.
~~~~~
When I made it back to the house my father was elated. He gave me a pat on the back for the first time in years. He was proud of the beating I took. He told me how it made me a man and that if I could continue doing what I was doing then I was alright in his book.
That was my life for the next few years. Running drugs on my bike, laying low to not garner suspicion, and bonding with my dad over the soul sell out that was his pride and joy.
Pulling myself out of the dark thoughts that continue to plague me, I start the truck back up and head away from the gates of my childhood hell. I need to find Hem, right fuckin’ now.
Chapter Three
“In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invinc
ible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that…
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”
-Albert Camus
Pulling up to Peril, I see Hem’s bike parked in his usual lazy ass spot right next to the door. Thank fuck, though, my brother is already here. Sadey doesn’t have him twisted around her finger yet this morning, which is shocking. I’m in a bad place, I feel it as I make my way inside. I need an outlook change so I can forget the past and move on and live in the present.
“Hey there, brother. You look lost.” Hem is sitting at the bar, drinking and being carefree.
Lucky bastard.
“I’m feeling it, man. It’s fixin’ to be a long day. Things don’t feel right, and your sister is missin’ your mom.”
“Figured that would come, I miss her too. She should have been here for her, today of all days.” Hem hangs his head and has a private moment of silence.
“Doc should be here, as well. You know, he would have my ass if he knew I was keepin’ Mace forever. Especially if he knew Mace was his blood. Can’t say I would be the ideal husband that he’d have chosen for her.”
Doc loved all of us, and he’s not here to share this day, as he should be. I smile having my own moment of silence.
Hem pulls his head up with a smile. “Sure, you sick bastard, you were like a brother to her, remember? Well, fuck, you were supposed to be anyway. How did that workout for us all?”
“I know. Shit, he was on me constantly about how to treat a woman, not how to treat Mace, as that said woman. He would be livid if he knew how I like to fuck Mace, nothing proper about that. She has that mouth, Jesus, fuckin’ beautiful.”
Hem stands and attempts to walk away before I grab his shirt pulling him back to me. He doesn’t sit back down, just gets close to my face. “Brother, don’t come in here spoutin’ that shit off, please. Damn, my girl is hormonal as fuck with this pregnancy and I’m enjoyin’ every fuckin’ minute of her sexual demands. Don’t go there about my sister’s mouth for Christ sakes. You’re gonna ruin it for me.”
“Sorry.” I’m not, he knows this, but I say it anyway.
“You’re right about Doc, though. The man was like a father to me. He loved me, even when I didn’t like myself much. He hated Warren for me, before I even understood the real reason why. It’s too late to know if he ever knew Mace was his. I suspect he probably did, but protecting all of us he never let on.”
“Hem, brother, I’m gonna say somethin’ to you and I’m gonna say this already knowin’ it’s going to piss you off, but hear me out. I need to get somethin’ off my chest.”
Skeptically, Hem finally sits down beside me again at the bar signaling to the newbie to get me a drink. I don’t mention to him that I shouldn’t be drinking on my wedding day. Mace will go bat shit crazy if I show up even the least bit intoxicated, but then again my woman isn’t here so what she doesn’t know won’t hurt me … yet.
“I’m nervous.” I’m starting this off slow. He’s my best friend and if guys had soul mates, which we fuckin’ don’t, he’ll catch on to my intended meaning.
“Nervous about what? You nervous about marrying Mace?” Maybe not. Maybe Sadey’s fucked all the common sense out of him.
“Not about that.” I take a long pull from my beer, watching him take a drink from his whiskey. “I’m nervous about changing. I’m scared I’m going to end up…” He cuts me off by holding his hand up to get me to stop talking.
“Shut the fuck up, Shame. You’re not your parents if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”
“How do you know this? What if I am? What if what lies beneath the surface changes in time. My dad wasn’t always a wife and child beater, Hem. My mom wasn’t always a crack head. What if…”
“I swear to you now, if you don’t shut the fuck up and stop talkin’ like this you won’t marry my sister tonight. Having cold feet is one thing, but you’re taking this to a whole new and unneeded level. Sort your shit, brother, or I’m going to sort it for you.”
He’s serious. He glares at me and I know this look. He’s about to either attempt to beat my ass or talk me down. I’m unsure I would believe a word he said, but if he wants to go toe to toe - I’m up for it. I’m just not crazy about having marks on my face for Mace’s big day, fuck ... our big day. Damn it. I’m not thinking clearly. Shit is getting fuzzy.
He looks at me directly, after taking another drink. “Just a thought, man. Let it go.” Yep, he’s taking the easy way out. He’s going to try to talk me down first.
“Tryin’.” I feel a lump in my throat. In all our years together and all the shit I’ve gone through with him, I’ve never sat in a room next to Hem and felt alone. Right now, though, I do.
“Where’s my sister? She know you’re having these thoughts? You wanna talk to someone?”
"What the fuck do you think I came here for? I’m talking to you, jackass.”
“You know what I’m suggesting. You still got that lady doctor's number you talked to after …”
“After you what?” I know where this is going and I don’t want to hear it. My head is already full of dark thoughts, I don’t need another reminder. “Go ahead, man, say it. After, I'd assumed you'd fuckin’ died? The night I thought I lost you? About the same time, I knew I would be the one who had to take care of your shit because you decided to do what you did?”
Fucker doesn’t want to bring up more shit right now. I’m still half pissed about how that whole scenario played out.
“No, lose the attitude, Shame. I’m tryin’ to help. I meant after you and I met your parents at the hotel that night they came back.”
“Oh, right. You mean the night I killed my father - after finding he'd murdered my mother?”
He mutters ‘Fuck’ in reference to my sarcasm but doesn’t say anymore.
He’s losing patience with me. Welcome to the party, Hem. I’m losing patience with myself.
“She won’t talk to me. Our, uh, ‘relationship’ ended after I bent her over her desk and fucked her hard a few weeks after discharge. Told her I would call…”
“But you didn’t.” He smiles into his whiskey as he finishes another sentence of mine.
“Jesus Christ, Hem, you gonna let me finish a fuckin’ thought here? I came here to talk to you, not have you finish my damn sentences. The girls, our girls, they are allowed to share a brain, we, brother, are not.”
Worryingly, he puts his glass down, the liquid shakes with the force. “I know you, and I know your thoughts. Not to sound too pussy-like here, but I think you also know how much I see that you love my sister. If she were any other woman I can’t say with certainty that you wouldn’t end up like your father, but I don’t see you ever treating Mace that way. Not because I wouldn’t put a bullet in you myself, because I fuckin’ will if you ever walk that dark road, but because you exist only for her.
“Shame, buddy, she’s finally fuckin’ yours and you’re about to get everything your sick bastard mind ever wanted since she was sixteen years old. She loves you like that, too, ya know? The love you two share is fierce and intense. It’s raw and it’s strong and, Shame, it’s yours. You need to thank the fuckin’ stars above you have that. You won’t fuck it up. Get your sick father's voice out of that head of yours.”
He’s right, but the demons are always close. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t lurk when I try to push him out. The thought of hurting her or Ryder ... fuck me, it makes me sick.”
He lets out a heavy sigh of exasperation. “Damn, Doc would skin your ass for this, wish he were here.”
Well fuck, Hem, that’s reassuring.
; Without another pause, we clink beer bottle to shot glass and drink to Doc. We both miss him just the same, but our memories of finding him are different. Hem met him first, and I met Doc under a very different and cruel circumstance.
My first experience two years prior ‘on the job’ didn’t go as planned. The results were a success in my father’s eyes, but not mine. He secured a place within the Angel’s; supplying them directly with cocaine and heroin that he purchased at a much cheaper rate from a dealer in Columbus, Ohio. It was about an hour drive from where we lived, but he made the trips with vigor knowing it would pay off for him back here.
~~~~~
“I don’t know about the Lights of Peril, Mom. What if they do the same to me as the Angels did when I first went in there? I’m scared.”
“I’m not going over this with you again, Neil. You’re stronger now. You know how it works. Daddy needs you to do this. We need to expand to stay afloat and compete in this market. Do you want to find out what happens if you don’t?” She straightens my coat, roughly, tugging on it to get my attention and keep me focused on her words.
Can she hear herself? She’s concerned about ‘staying afloat.’ We wouldn’t have any issues staying afloat if Mom didn’t shoot and snort her way through the product as she ‘tested’ it and if Dad would put down the fifth of whiskey long enough to regain his sobriety and see that Mom was far past an innocent habit that is knocking on the door of addiction.
She wants to continue to compete in this ‘market?’ This market isn’t going away, there are so many channels to distribute it’s almost ludicrous that she sits home and worries about that of all things. She should be worried about the sunken eyes and rotten teeth that have been handed to her - courtesy of the drugs.
I suppose I’m thankful she doesn’t sit home and worry about dad’s liver or her veins. If she did, then they would be functioning members of this household and since they’ve acquired the taste for supplying drugs to organizations here, I’ve been left alone. This is mostly because they’re either so ripped with substance or I disappear on my bike.
