by Adair Rymer
“You pull that shit out! That board is coming outta your fucking pay!” His face boiled over.
“Can't. I gotta go fucking kill chickens.” I pulled off my latex gloves, slapped them on the table and walked to the attached retail store to cool off and grab a drink. He cursed at me in Italian all the way out and made Julio, the dishwasher, remove the knife.
I'd been a part of the Veins for as long as I could legally ride. They hooked me up with my first jobs back in the day and since most of them were low-shows I had more time with the club. Over the years I'd developed a very unique skill set, that I just couldn't use in civilian life.
Getting Moretti to give me a weeks pay through bribes blackmail and threats was nothing but actually working for the man... Shit, I'm surprised I haven't killed him yet. I was doing my damnedest with this legit lifestyle, I really was, but I was struggling something fierce. This was a lot tougher than I'd thought it'd be. It felt like my every step on this path was through molasses. How the hell did people just put up with this shit?
I palmed the glass on the wall cooler that held the drinks out by the front entrance of the store. I needed a quiet moment. When I opened my eyes I could see my faint reflection in the glass. I was mostly translucent with the exception of the bullet scar on my cheek.
It was a daily reminder of the price I paid to wake up every morning next to Star. That was the price to not have to always be looking over my shoulder or worrying about who might be ready to kick our door in. I saw that ragged line across my face and remembered why I do all of this. Why Star puts up with Nachomama's. It was the cost of our freedom.
I opened the door grabbed and popped a soda. I chugged half of it and ran my hand over my face a few times, letting the calm set in. It's just a job. A few more weeks and we'd have enough to get us the hell out of New Mexico. Ride up west to Washington or Cali. I had a few distant cousins that might be able to get us back on our feet. Endure, Remy. Endure.
Through the window, I saw a bike pull up and park. Across the street was two more bikes. Lobos. They sat and watched.
In walked a teenaged hood rat sporting Lobos colors, yellow and red bandanas tied to his belt. The kid was strapped. I could see the gun butt jutting out of the kids boxers when he bent over to grab a bag of chips. The way he was meandering around nervously, trying to look inconspicuous. He was building the courage to rob the place.
I immediately felt for my knife but remembered I'd left it in the cutting board.
The store had half a dozen customers in it. This kid would be a fool to try anything in the middle of the day with all these witnesses. Still, it felt like something was about to go down.
The door was a few feet away. I could just walk out, not get involved and let the rocks fall where they may. It made sense. What did I care? If I left there'd be no blow back on me. I could say I went out for a smoke and wait for it all to work itself out.
I don't know why I stayed. I had ample time to bounce but I watched as the little Lobo finally found his balls, pulled up his bandana and whipped out his pistol. It was a gigantic revolver that was way too big for the mid-to-late-teens, punk. Had to be the kid's father's gun.
“Everybody get on the ground!” He licked off a shot into the ceiling. That was his first mistake. Everyone screamed and complied except me. I leaned against the cooler and watched.
He should have bee-lined to the cashier, quietly demanded the money and left. This wasn't a fucking bank heist. At best it was a smash and grab and this kid was fucking it all up. He didn't pull his bandanna up till after the cameras would have caught his face. Lucky for him the cameras were dummies. Strictly for show.
He walked past shivering children and terrified mothers. This kid was nervous at first but was bolstered by everyone doing what he said. And of course the gun. Fear as respect. Was that what Lobos were teaching their potential prospects now?
The hangaround threw his piece up, sideways at Julia, the cashier. She shakily emptied the drawer of everything and put it on the counter. Fucking kid didn't even have his own bag, he stuffed all the money into his hoodie pouch.
The kid threatened her and Julia dropped to the ground, terrified of being shot. The hangaround strutted. He was king shit. All the power in the world in his hands as he walked the aisles. He snatched the purse of one lady, took the wallet off another guy. His next mistake.
To be wearing Lobos colors so boldly, this had to be a test to see if he was committed enough to the club to rob a store in broad daylight. He was there to do a job and leave. Not to peacock around, terrorizing people for petty cash.
Inevitably, he walked over to me, all low slung pants and attitude.
“Your wallet,” the kid demanded.
“No.” There was thunder in my eyes.
“Give me your wallet.” He pushed the barrel of his gun into the side of my head. “Bitch.” His last mistake.
No. Remy, let this go. I told myself. This isn't you anymore. I thought of Star.
“Look at me.” I put my hands up. “I'm covered in dead chicken. You think a butcher keeps his wallet on him?”
“Fuckin' pussy.” The kid punched me in the stomach. It didn't do much but I took a knee regardless.
This wasn't my fight, I forced down my pride. Teenager or not, I wanted to hurt him. Badly.
“Yeah, you'd better sit the fuck down, old man. Fuckin' Lobos run this shit, bitch! Remember that,” he rattled on. I wasn't listening.
Past him, I saw a woman and her child eying the door. They were close enough that she thought they could make a break for it. It was a bad idea, they'd make too much noise. They wouldn't make it.
“Hey,” I said, trying to distract the hangaround as the woman attempted to leave. It didn't work, he ignored me and drew down on them. If he didn't feel like he was completely in control, this kid would get scared and then... things would real get ugly.
“Stop!” The kid yelled. The woman ran anyways, her toddler in tow.
Don't get involved. This wasn't my town. I didn't know those people. I wouldn't be here long. Dozens of rational excuses flooded my thoughts. Every single one of them was reason enough to do nothing. If I intervened now, I'd be spitting in the face of any attempt at a normal life. My resolve to try going straight for Star would've been just sanctimonious bullshit.
If I didn't, I would have to watch a mother and her kid be gunned down by a scared teenaged shithead poisoned by the Lobos.
Sobbing and scared people laid on the floor too afraid to move. I thought of my town, Leslie. Where our charter was from. Was this what it would look like if the Veins were pushed out?
I thought of Star. Would she be able to look me in the eye if I did nothing? Would I?
The woman had the door open.
“Stop!” The kid yelled again. I could see it on his face that he was in over his head. He hadn't planned on killing anyone but the real Lobos, the men he wanted to be like, were just outside watching. They'd never let him become a prospect if he fucked this up. When he closed his eyes I knew what was coming next.
I kicked out the back of his knee, contorting his body slightly, and near simultaneously, palmed the hangaround's face, bringing him backward. Ass over teakettle. The gun went off. The shot went high. And the woman and her son escaped.
Continuing the motion, I brought the back of his head down on the tile floor. His head hit with a loud crack followed immediately by the dull thuds of the rest of his body. Bike engines roared to life in the distance. I stood and watched the Lobos abandon the now ex-hangaround.
The store erupted in screams as the customers rushed from the building. I looked down and stepped back automatically, escaping the red pool that rapidly spread from the kids head. In a town that probably didn't talk to the police, if I got blood on my boots, forensics would be able to determine a lot about me by my footprints. That way of thinking was second nature to me. It was like breathing. More of my MC skills that weren't marketable in the civilian world.
The
kid convulsed wildly on the floor. His eyelids fluttered, pupils rolled around disjointedly and blood spurted from his mouth. He'd severely lacerated his tongue when he came down. I pushed him onto his stomach with my foot to keep him from chocking to death on the blood or his near severed tongue.
Sirens screamed through town. It was time to leave. I stepped over Julia on my way to the back to drop off my apron and grab my coat. She was fine, just traumatized. Couldn't blame her for not being able to get up. Not everyone was as tough as Star.
“This is all your fault! Grab your shit and get the fuck outta here!” Moretti appeared and pushed a finger into my chest.
“That's the plan.”
“You're fired. Don't ever come back!” Moretti's face was beat red.
“I did you a fucking favor.” I slapped his finger away from me. “Better that than having a double murder happen in your place.”
“I see everything, you fuck! If you just lay down like everyone else, he'd have left. Now I gotta explain alla this to the cops,” his hands gestured like only the Italians could.
“Tell the cops, the kid slipped and took himself out. End of story.” I brushed past the angry Italian.
“Yeah? Just like that, no problem? Cops start asking who was here today? Then they ask for paperwork, then they look through my books, then what, huh? Maybe I get a visit from the Lobos now too. I knew I shoulda never took you in, You mess everything up!” Moretti was pissed but I started to realize it was because he was nervous.
If he was willing to hire me, no questions asked, then what other laws was he skirting? Probably at least some sort of tax evasion and now I’d brought down a big spotlight on him. I still couldn't muster up any guilt about it though. He'd made his bed, he could choke on the sheets for all I cared.
For once it wasn't my problem. I ducked out the back as the cops pulled in. All I had to worry about was how to break the news to Star.
Chapter 3
Star
“Rachel hun, there was a spill in the walk-in, be a doll and take care of that for me?” Molly told me as she pushed through the kitchen doors with no regard to anyone in front or behind her.
“Molly, I have three tables wait—” Both of my arms were full with trays.
“Thaaaaanks.” She walked by absently thumbing through her phone.
I looked at Janet and Tonya but they could only shrug, that disgusted look on their faces. They felt my annoyance. It was the lunch rush and everyone was busy. Everyone except Molly. She sat behind a “Please seat yourself” sign at the Hostess desk.
I could strangle that bitch. I knew I had it in me.
I had to shake my head to dislodge the thoughts. Molly callously tossed around commands and threats more than she made small talk. Every waitress, busboy, dishwasher and cook was here to serve Molly Rodriguez first and then the customers. And no one called her out on it because she was Emanuel Rodriguez' little angel.
I quickly made the rounds, delivered the food, and headed into the back to clean up what was no doubt Molly's mess. Some of the perks of being the boss's daughter, was treating the restaurant as her own personal play pen.
“Ugh, that lazy bitch!” There was an open bag of chips on a shelf and guacamole all over the fucking walk-in floor. She'd obviously stopped in for a snack and knocked the tub on the floor then just left. This was a ten minute job when I had maybe thirty seconds in between tables. I was going to get yelled at either from the customers or from my boss. Fucking wonderful.
The walk-in door was spring loaded and the interior handle was busted so to prevent myself from being locked in I had to wedge the door open slightly. I grabbed some paper towels and went to work, cleaning up someone else's mess, in a giant refrigerator. And silly me, not bringing my winter clothes.
That's when I heard the whistle. I looked through the crack in the door and saw the dishwashers clear out. Then I saw the boss or owner or whatever the hell he was leaning against the sink talking to one of the bikers I remembered from the Lobos clubhouse. While he was recovering, Remy told me all the Lobos cabinet members names and rank. I think that one was Spyder, he was the Sergeant At Arms. The club's enforcer.
“I'm sorry I haven't been over to visit sooner, Manny.” Spyder was carefully groomed, he had a long, greased ponytail, with not a strand of hair out of place. He clasped the man on the shoulder. “Club business, you know.”
“Bones keeps you busy, I get it,” Emmanuel shrugged. He seemed unconcerned.
“You've done a good job here, holmes. In such a short time too. I knew it was a good idea to bring you in.”
“I was ready, Spyder. I told you, you could always count on family. So what's up? I love you, brother, but I know this isn't just a social call. What can I do for you?”
“Yeah, not so much time for social anymore. The club is expanding, Manny. Taking on more territory in the next few weeks. We're going to need to move a lot more money.”
“How much more? I'm pretty full here.” Emmanuel regarded the man with a little worry.
Spyder held up three fingers.
“Jesus, man... OK. OK but I'll need another location. I might even need two. Fuck...”
“Don't get your panties all bunched, little brother. We're already closing on a spot for you. Leslie, Oklahoma. Twice as big.” Spyder pulled out his phone and showed Manny a few pics.
“I'll have to get the specs but it looks good. And the Steel Veins?” Emmanuel nodded. They were talking about Remy's home town. That didn't bode well.
“Not your concern.” Spyder looked confident. “Got it all taken care of.”
“OK, I'll need some time to train managers. How soon should I be ready?”
“A month. Two, tops. We gotta wait till this thing next week shakes out to know for sure but I'll let you know as soon as I can.”
“I'll be ready. Anything else? I have to get back, this is a busy time for us.” Emmanuel cocked his head toward the front of the house. “And Molly is shit with the customers.”
“That's it. You gotta learn Spanish some day, little brother. I could make you so much more money if you just embraced your roots, ese.” Spyder rubbed his fingers together and laughed.
“Some day. You know how mom always felt about it.”
“Yeah yeah, first generation American guilt. That's bullshit, you lazy gringo wannabe.” Spyder hugged Manny. “Send my love to Frida and the niños.”
“I will.” Manny slapped Spyder on the back and they both walked out. “Luis! Gino! Breaks over, those dishes aren’t washing themselves.”
Woah, that was heavy. Nachomama's being a front for the Lobos money laundering and them setting up shop in Leslie. I have to tell Remy! Then the doubt set in. Should I tell Remy? We agreed to put that life behind us and he's been working his ass off to fit in to a normal life. What would he do if he found out? It wasn't like we had any plans to return back to Leslie, especially with the Veins thinking he was dead.
I was torn. I hated having secrets between us. And this was a big deal. A few more weeks and we'd be heading west, out of Lobos territory. This whole thing would be just a violent memory.
When Remy was recovering, I spent most of my time watching over him and dreaming of the day that we'd be whole again, for the first time. Away from all the blood and danger. I was so thankful that we had survived at all. And with each passing day, he got better. Stronger.
I began to think about an actual future with Remy but I had a lot of trouble placing what I wanted that future to look like. Would we eventually get married? Have children? It was what I always wanted before Remy Daniels but now... I didn't know. Those white picket fence dreams belonged to another girl. The Star that was left behind. Buried with her aunt and uncle.
We were always so caught up in the now that we hadn't given any real thought to what came afterward. We had a little more breathing room but it still felt like we were doing it. Was going west our way of pushing normal off for a few more weeks? Would we ever truly be there? And would
we even like it when we got there?
Remy hated his job and I wasn't doing all that much better here. I could tolerate it better because, I guess I had more experience putting up with shit then he did. I did notice that it was getting more difficult though. I had a harder edge than I used to. I used to be such a pushover.
I looked at what I was doing, just spreading the guacamole around. I wasn't cleaning anything. This wasn't even my job to do! Fuck this, it was the end of my shift anyways. I'd do the final rounds then punch out. I needed to get the hell out of this place.
On my way out I passed Molly, still sitting where I last saw her. Still doing nothing when everyone around her was busting their asses.
“Rachel hun, I need you to pull a double tonight. FYI, we have a catering job for the law firm later,” Molly said, in typical condescending fashion, not bothering to lift her gaze from her phone.
Of course she would wait until I had grabbed all my things and was already on my way out to tell me this. Something she'd known for hours. That was the kind of person Molly was. Incapable of consideration of any kind. To her it was the Molly show, all day, everyday. I was so tired of all the Mollys in the world. I was fed up. Something liberating washed over me.
“Hey, Molly.” I snatched the phone out of her hands and dropped it in her soda. “Get fucked.”
“What!” She looked at the cup in horror, like I had killed her dog. I left before she could put herself together enough to say anything else.
Molly came running out of the restaurant and caught up to me as I was unlocking the car door.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch? You just lost your fucking job, cunt! You're nothing, you four-eyed, twat. Do you have any idea who my father—?” Molly was throwing her arms around and making a scene.
Like the click of a gun's safety switch. All my mental safeguards, the ones drilled into me since childhood, to behave in public, to tolerate shit from others, snapped off.
I turned abruptly, my face a hairsbreadth from Molly's. Her threats cut in half and her face turned pale when she heard the click of my switchblade followed immediately by the cold, metal kiss of the blade's tip, lightly on her stomach. That was the thing about threats. Words backed with inaction were nothing compared to action wrapped in silence and dripping with intent.
