Preacher

by Zahra Girard

  He directs me to a self-storage place on the outskirts of town that is so run-down and post-apocalyptic-looking that I hesitate in the parking lot before turning my car off. I turn and look at him.

  “This looks like something out of ‘Mad Max’. Are you sure this is safe?”

  One of the corners of his mouth turns upward. “It’s safe. I promise.”

  “If I even hear the word ‘thunderdome’, I am dragging you out of there.”

  He chuckles. “Never would’ve thought you’d be a fan of good movies.”

  “My dad and I would watch them together a couple times a year… once I was a little bit older. I think I was six or seven when I first saw them. My dad loved those movies,” I say. I smile at the memory. I would always watch those movies sitting in his lap, and I’d always wind up bouncing around at the really actiony parts, sometimes so much that he’d threaten to set me down if I didn’t stop moving around. He never did though, no matter how much I bounced.

  “Not surprised a cop would like a movie series about an ex-cop wrecking shit in the post-apocalypse.”

  “Oh, he liked that, especially after a bad day. Though he’d always tell me it was wrong,” I say. I stop talking for a second and let myself just enjoy the memory. “But he also really liked the cars. He liked the ways they modified them. I never really understood his car talk, but I liked seeing him get so animated.”

  Preacher puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me a comforting squeeze. “Your dad sounds like a good guy.”

  “He was the best.”

  “I promise, if the guy working the front desk has a name tag that says ‘Hugh Mungus’, we’ll leave. Ok?”

  “Ok.”

  We go inside.

  The guy at the desk is named ‘Dale’.

  Dale gives me a quick, hungry glance that, thankfully, Preacher doesn’t notice when we enter his mildewy office. If Preacher had noticed, Dale wouldn’t be able to walk under his own power for a long time.

  “I need the key to Unit 28F,” Preacher says.

  The tub-shaped man pulls a key from a ring above his desk and tosses it to Preacher. “Help yourself. There ain’t nothing there.”

  “What do you mean? There should be some Harleys in that unit and a crate. What the fuck are you getting paid for, otherwise?”

  Dale holds out his his hands. “Look, the kind of guys that showed up asking about that unit the other day are not the kind of people you want to say ‘no’ to.”

  Preacher clears the space to Dale’s desk so quick it’s startling. He rams his fist into Dale’s face and takes hold of the man by the throat. “Who?”

  “Fuck if I know. Big guys, mean, armed. You all look fucking alike. You think I’m going to risk my life over some $14.99 weekly storage rental?”

  Preacher cracks the man in the face again and spits in his face. “I should kill you for costing me my bike. But I’m going to give you a chance. You have any security cameras in here?”

  Dale shakes his head. Sort of. I imagine it’s hard to move his head with Preacher’s hand around his throat. “They’re just for show.”

  Preacher shifts his grip, moving both his hands into a tight lock behind Dale’s head and he slams him face-first into the desk. There’s a bloody mark on the surface when Dale rights himself. I put a hand over my mouth and muffle a scream. Preacher lets go of Dale and turns to me.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  I follow him to the parking lot, to my car.

  “What the heck was that about?”

  “You want to know more about the people in this life? Lesson one: don’t fuck with a man’s bike and don’t fuck with a man’s cut.”

  “Cut?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Your jacket. It’s leather, you wear it, it’s got your club patch, your rank, it represents who you are in the club. We stored our bikes, cuts, and some gear here the first night we got in so we could scout without giving ourselves away. Fat fucking lot of good that did.”

  “Did you need to hurt him?”

  “He knew what he was getting in to. Either the Jackals were going to hurt him, or I was. You shouldn’t feel sorry for that sack of shit. The storage unit we rented smelled like a meth lab, and he runs whores part time out of the units further in the back.”

  My stomach turns a little. “This is what your life is like?”

  “Sometimes. When people threaten my family and people I love, yeah, it gets violent, because not a damn one of us will take that shit lying down.”

  I feel myself sinking and draw back from him instinctively. He moves closer and pulls me into a hug.

  “It’s not always like this,” he says. “Most of the time, it’s freedom like you wouldn’t believe. There’s nothing like being on the open road, knowing that everything you own is something that you’ve earned and fought for. You owe nothing to no one, and if you get into any trouble, you’ve got a whole family at your back.” His voice is warm and eases my nerves a little. “It’s not always easy, Jessica, and it’s not always safe. But it’s something worth fighting for. Even when it hurts.”

  I look at him for a second. Just look at him. He earnestly believes in what he’s doing. But I hear pain in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  No answer. He ignores me and pulls open the door to my car and sits down in the passenger seat. I get in and turn to look at him. “Talk to me, Preacher,” I say.

  There’s a tick of hesitation and something like doubt creeps into his voice. There’s a moment where it sounds like his voice breaks, though it’s so quick I can’t tell if it’s real or imagined. “I didn’t get good news yesterday when I went looking for the rest of my club. And now, finding out these bastards likely cleaned out our bikes and our fucking cuts, it feels like I’m losing my family while I’m stuck here on the sideline.”

  I forget all about his violence earlier. I understand his desperation, his fear, his pain that he keeps hidden beneath the veneer of ferocity. I’ve lived with mine for years. I reach out and take his hand. “We’ll find them. I’ll help you.”

  He kisses me. It’s softer, more tender than before. “Let’s go home.”

  He pulls me with him and walks with me to my car.

  I know he’s dragging me deeper into this world. It’s dangerous. I should be cautious, I should be smart and break away. But I can’t. I’m falling for him. I know in that moment that I’m going to keep helping him.

  I’ll help him either find his family, or get his revenge.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jessica

  I come into work the next day with a plan. It’s something I spent most of the night thinking about, once Preacher finally fell asleep in bed beside me. I laid there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling and taking apart this problem piece by piece. He might not have anyone in this city other than me that he can rely on, but I have plenty. I need to take a lesson from my father: I have friends and people as close as family and it’s time I use them.

  I text Mark that morning and ask him to keep his eyes open and let me know if any of him or his EMT friends get called out on jobs that involve bikers or people that might be related to the shooting at Joker’s Wild.

  His answer comes while I’m taking a breather in the break room drinking my third cup of coffee of the morning, trying to wake myself up after a mostly-sleepless and thoroughly-exhausting night with Preacher.

  I’ll do it. But this is not a good idea. Stay safe, he writes.

  Bryce gives me about the same answer when I ask him to let me know if he hears anything. And then he asks me to drinks again. I tell him only after he’s gotten me in contact with the witness, Tanya.

  I have Cassie talk to a few of her friends at other hospitals. She hears ‘biker’, ‘tattoos’, and ‘dangerous’ and she’s all over it.

  By midday, I have people in half the hospitals across the city on the lookout for me.

  I don’t contact Detective Erickson.

  I know his answer would be ‘no’.

&nbs
p; But there’s one more person I need to get on my side. My boss, Tracy.

  It’s at the end of my shift that I find myself in Tracy’s office for only the third time in my short career at Reno General. The first time, I hardly paid attention to my surroundings I was so nervous at being interviewed. The second time, I was only in here long enough for her to tell me that I’d done well during my probationary period and that they’d be keeping me on full time. That was a good day. Until later that night, things went to heck.

  Now, I take in my surroundings while I wait for Tracy to come back to the office that she hardly uses. Like most hospitals, Reno General is overworked and woefully understaffed; most of Tracy’s time is spent out on the floor.

  Her office is nice. Her Bachelor’s of Nursing diploma is on the wall, alongside a certificate from several years ago honoring her for ten years of distinguished service at Reno General. Next to it, in a nicer frame, is her Master’s degree. She’s worked so hard to get where she is.

  There are two framed pictures on her desk, one of which faces me. She’s in her graduation gown, holding her diploma in one hand and with her other arm around the waist of a giant of a man who is impeccably dressed in a suit that looks expensively tailored. The suit’s a stunning contrast to the winding tattoo on his neck, the goatee, and the shaved-bald head. They’re both smiling wide.

  I think it’s the first time I’ve seen Tracy smile. She looks so proud.

  On the front of her desk is a nameplate. Tracy Rhodes, Chief of Nursing.

  Some day, after I’ve paid my dues, I’ll be sitting in a chair like that.

  I wait almost a half hour for Tracy to show.

  It’s an agonizing wait. I’m nervous. I know I’m about to ask Tracy for a huge favor, and several times I’m tempted to get up and leave and pursue a different way. But I can’t stop thinking about Preacher. He has a chance to find his family, a chance that I’ve never had, and nobody deserves to have that taken away from him.

  He doesn’t deserve to go through any more pain and loss.

  I’m taking a big risk here, but it’s worth it to help someone like him.

  “Caplan? What are you doing here?” Tracy says from the doorway behind me. “Is something wrong?”

  “Kind of,” I say, standing up and waiting for her to take her place at her desk. It feels strange and deferential, but Tracy has always seemed to be a stickler for protocol. The jubilant woman in the graduation gown that’s in the picture on her desk seems a far cry from the woman sitting across from me. “I need a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “It’s related to the shooting the other night.”

  “Do you need time off? Because that’s not a problem.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I say, pausing and trying to come with a reason for her to do what I’m going to ask. “Look, you’d do anything for your husband, right?”

  Her eyes follow mine to the graduation photo on her desk. “That’s not my husband,” she says. “That’s my brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  The two of them look nothing alike. He’s a beast of a man and she’s… exactly what I’d picture an executive-level nurse to look like. Complete with reading glasses in a small case on her desk.

  She nods. “Older brother. We grew up poor, my mother and father didn’t have much, but he made something of himself and practically paid for all of my college — bachelor and master’s degrees. I wouldn’t be here without his help. So, yes, I’d do a lot for him. That’s not to say I don’t love my husband — I’d do anything for him, too,” she says, before pausing — as if considering something weighty — and then hesitantly taking a different framed picture from it’s spot on her desk and turning it towards me. In it, she and a man who looks a lot like her stand side by side on a beach, with the sun setting behind them. “What do you need?”

  “I want to know if you hear anything about anyone related to the shooting showing up at any of the other hospitals in town.”

  “That’s not exactly ethical, Caplan. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear this.”

  “Look, I don’t need to know any specifics, I don’t need to know anything that would violate any rules,” I say, and I look at her directly. “I’ve been talking to a police friend of my dad’s, and these people might be from the same gang that killed my dad. And then, just the other night, they try to kill me. I just want to know if you hear anything, that’s all. I’m trying to get closure.”

  She frowns at me long enough that I feel like I’m out of a job.

  “I won’t do that,” she says. “I understand what you want, and I’m not upset at you for asking — I won’t hold this against you — but you don’t understand the type of people you’d be getting involved with, Caplan. Take some advice: stay away, keep your head down, and focus on your job.”

  I stand up, clear my throat, and somehow manage to look her in the eyes, though I feel like she’s just slapped me with a warning. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, before I turn around and leave.

  She calls after me, stopping me as I’m in the doorway. “Caplan, I’m only telling you that because these Jackals are more dangerous than you know. I don’t want to lose a promising nurse and a good person because she chose to get involved with some very violent people.”

  “Thank you, Tracy.”

  “You aren’t involved, are you?” She says, eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. “I know the cops are still investigating the shooting, and I know that one of the men who came in with you, who the police wanted to question, disappeared that night. You haven’t received any threats, have you? Because the hospital can arrange protection.”

  I shake my head and am thankful that my voice comes out calm and even. “I’m fine, Tracy. Just looking for answers.”

  “Ok. Be careful, Caplan,” she says as I shut the door to her office behind me.

  I can’t tell if that’s a warning or a threat.

  On the car ride home to see Preacher, I take my time, driving slow to soak up the world around me. Things feel different now. More vibrant, more real, but also so frighteningly fragile. I’ve made a commitment and put my name out there that I’m looking for some information on some very dangerous men.

  This is real. And if I’m not careful, I could end up meeting the same fate as my father.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jessica

  Preacher is pacing when I get home. Back and forth, rapid, anxious, edgy, like a caged animal. When I peel my eyes way from him, I see my apartment is spotless. The surface of my coffee table actually shines, reflecting the dim overhead glow of my failing ceiling lights. My laundry is stacked and folded in a tight, professional way like I got it back from an expert dry cleaners.

  He had to have spent all day on this.

  “Did you get any rest?”

  He shrugs. “I followed your advice. Well, close enough. I took it easy, but there’s only so much I can do, you know?”

  I nod and smile at him, because, as shocked as I am at seeing everything he’s done, it’s also a pleasant surprise. “Well, I appreciate what you did. Lord knows this place needed it, and I don’t usually have the energy to deal with it after work. Thank you.”

  He nods and grins a little, happy at the acknowledgment. “You’re welcome.”

  “You’ll be happy to hear I asked around for you.”

  That smile turns into a frown. “What did you do?”

  “I asked around. Talked to a few people I know through work. If anyone from your club turns up at any of the hospitals here in town — not just Reno General, but all the hospitals — I’ll know about it.”

  He comes to my side and puts his hands on my shoulders in a tight grip. “You did what?”

  I draw back a little. Well, I try to; he’s got a tight grip on me. “You need to find your club. I wanted to help.”

  Just as quick, he lets me go. “You should’ve talked to me first before you went and did something stupid like that.”<
br />
  I straighten up. “Stupid? Excuse me?”

  “Yes. Stupid. You just put a giant fucking target on your back. If the Jackals were able to find out the second my club came into town, track down where we kept our weapons and our bikes, and try a hit on us within hours of us arriving, don’t you think they’ll know that some nurse is asking around for them?”

  There’s so much frustration and anger in his voice it’s startling. I take another step back and raise my hands almost instinctively. “I’m only trying to help. I’m sorry.”

  His angry expression cracks and turns to contrition. He sighs.

  “You need to talk to me before you do something like this. You don’t know the kind of people we’re dealing with. I’m just trying to keep you safe from all of this.”

  I tilt my head sideways a bit and cross my arms over my chest.

  “You keep talking to me like I’m some sort of innocent. That just because I’m a nurse and care about helping people that I’m some sort of flighty fucking ingénue. I’m not. Sit down, Preacher.”

  He takes a seat right away and I sit next to him on the couch. I put my hand on his leg and look right into his blue eyes — they’re shining with anger, confusion, curiosity.

  “I’ve seen plenty to show me just how dangerous people can be. When I got out of college, I worked for a year with Nurses Abroad. They match nurses and other medical staff with refugee camps and conflict zones all around the world. I spent six months in Kenya, on the border with Somalia, and I spent another six months in Bangladesh on the border with Myanmar. Do you want to guess the kind of things I’ve seen?”

  He squeezes my leg gently. “I had no idea”.

  I take a breath and it shudders in my chest. It’s hard for me to think about that time in my life and some of the things that I saw, even though my time volunteering is something that I’ll always look back on with pride.