by Tara Oakes
Back then there were only a few ways to do that in a small town like his. You either became an outlaw or you hustled on the right side of the law. Either way, though, you hustled.
And he did.
Quit school at sixteen, got a bogus driver’s license until he was old enough to get the real one, and started driving a truck. Without a proper education, his options were limited, but he always made sure he took care of his business.
The man dies not having owed a single penny to anyone his entire life. He may not have had much, but he never went without, either. Neither did his family. The one thing he would ever spend money on for himself was his tools, and that’s why he took such good care of them. He had worked his ass off and scrimped and saved to have been able to buy them and took pride in them.
He may never have had a tool shed of his own or a basement, or even a garage to house them, because we always lived in small apartments growing up. But he had the old rusty metal box. It fit neatly in his closet from place to place as we moved, and never let him down.
I have my own tools now, more than I know what to do with, in part to over compensate for him not being able to have the kind of set-up I know he would have loved.
Emphysema got him years ago, before Baby and I even bought this house. The entire time I was building this shed and stocking up the tool collection, I always thought of him and how I was doing it in his honor.
With not much to leave behind, I got the only thing I wanted as his only son. I inherited his tool box and it sits on a shelf as a memorial to him and every once in a while I empty it out and clean them all just like I know he used to do.
“You boys hungry? Steaks are almost done,” I hear my woman’s voice from over by the open garage door to the oversized tool shed.
One more screw to go until I’m done with the top half so I quickly put it in place before setting down the heavy screw gun and turning to face the small crowd. I don’t know how this turned into a fucking group activity, but it has.
Baby is the newest to join the group, making her announcement about the grub. The kid is swaddled in a soft pink blanket in her arms. Forget the mention of food, which is usually enough to grab the attention of these guys. They’ve now got a little girl to fawn over.
“I swear,” Uno peeks over her. “She looks more and more like you every day, Baby.”
Uno never had any kids of his own and I’m not really quite sure why. Not the kind of thing you ask a man. I know he seems to love kids, doting on Angel’s little girl, Sasha and now my own little girl too. His Ol’ lady, Trix, runs a goddamned day care and preschool. You’d think the two of them would have a had a littler of their own.
“She may look like me but she’s got her daddy’s cranky attitude sometimes and his bottomless stomach all the rest of the time,” my lady jokes although what she says is most definitely the truth.
I can be a cranky ass when I’m tired.
“You sure we can’t call her Lucy?” Dawson sucks one last sip of beer through his teeth before pushing Uno aside to see the baby. “She’s such a pretty little thing. Why do you want to call her Lu?”
Baby rocks Lu back and forth, but darts her eyes past our visitors and over to me. “Ask her pop. It was his idea.”
Damn straight it was and I stand by it to this day. “Because she’s gonna be a world famous architect and master carpenter one day, and I’m not having some sexist pig of a man see her name and automatically think her work is going to be less because she’s a chick. They see Lu and it’s a different story.”
Baby shakes her head. “See? Makes perfect sense, right?” She’s being sarcastic. “Because every little girl wants to grow up to work with tools. Why not plan her name around that?”
“Oh yeah? Then why’d you agree?” I’m just as sarcastic back.
She looks down at Lu and makes some sort of funny baby face to keep her interested. “Because I liked the name. It’s original. It’s cute. And, sometimes I like to let you think I’m letting you have your way when in reality it’s something I want anyway.”
Uno laughs and Dawson agrees. “I swear, they must teach you broads how to do that in school or something. Angel does it to me all the time. She’s so good at it, I don’t’ realize what she does it half the damn time.”
Baby smirks. “How else do you think we keep you boys in line? Speaking of Angel, she feeling alright? I remember I was as sick as a dog that early on.”
D shrugs his shoulders. “She gets sick most mornings, but tries to hide it.”
My woman’s eyes soften in empathy. “Yeah, I remember those days. Sucks. But, at least you’re there if she needs anything. Just keep letting her know that, and she’ll be fine.”
Now, I know Baby. I know her better than I know myself, and I’m positive she’s not taking a stab at me with that comment, but I feel the invisible knife burying itself in my chest anyway.
I wasn’t there for her back when she was the one getting sick.
I wasn’t there to to let her know I’d take care of anything she needed.
I was fucking gone, locked up in a cell to leave her all alone while she was going through that. The room grows silent, as everyone else realizes the irony of Baby’s words. She’s telling Dawson firsthand what to do for his own Ol’ lady. Telling him to do what I couldn’t back then.
It makes me feel like shit.
“Uhm. Steaks are getting cold. Everyone come eat,” Baby tries to cover up the awkwardness and leaves quickly, off in the direction of the house.
Uno and Gryff follow quietly, leaving Dawson and I behind.
I feel a rage of self-hatred building. One that started building the day I got arrested and doesn’t seem to have a limit to how much it can grow. Every phone call, every letter, every sonogram picture Baby would mail me while I was locked up would make me lash out at myself in anger.
I failed her. I failed myself.
A part of me thought it would get better once I was released, that I’d somehow be able to make up for all the shit I’d missed, all the shit I’d made her go through alone.
But, it doesn’t. It doesn’t get any better.
If anything, it actually gets worse now that I see firsthand all the things I’d only been able to think about while being so far away. Sure, something as simple as morning sickness had always been part of the equation. She’d told me about it in her letters, brushing over it quickly to move on to some other topic. Whenever I’d make my collect calls to her in the morning, I’d be able to hear how raspy her voice was and know she’d just recently gotten sick but wouldn’t tell me.
Seeing the look in her eyes though, the look she gave Dawson when hearing how Angel was dealing with it… I saw something that made it more real to me than it had been back then when she was handling it.
Then, hearing the words come out of her mouth, advising D on how to be there for his Ol’ lady… It must be some subconscious thing that she had wanted and needed and didn’t get.
I’ve found myself searching for a hidden meaning behind most everything she says, looking for proof of how she must resent me, how she must hate me even on some deep level for abandoning her.
She hides it well most of the time, but every once in a while she’ll say something like what she just did and it’ll hit me like a fuckin Mack truck.
The handful of screws in my hand is digging into my hand, piercing skin and drawing blood as I squeeze, eager to give some physical pain to distract me from the shit in my head right now.
I pump my fist and squeeze some more, mentally willing the tiny little metal spikes to crumble under my strength.
“Fuck!” I give up and hurl the handful of bloodied barbs across the workbench where they scatter in a dozen or so different directions.
My eyes clench tight and I feel the rage begin to make my body tremble.
“She didn’t mean anything by it.” Dawson’s voice sounds echoed and far off.
There’s a pulsing beat in my ears, drowning out the s
ounds of the room as I retreat back into myself.
“The fuck she didn’t. You know as well as I do that she must mean some of it.” I don’t kid myself.
Heavy boot steps on the concrete floor make their way over to me before feeling Dawson’s hand on my shoulder. “You’re back now. That’s all that matters. The rest of the shit will sort itself out, bro. You gotta believe that.”
Dawson and I are close, probably closer than all of the other brothers and that’s the only reason I’m not shaking his hand away and telling him to go fuck himself right now. That doesn’t mean that I don’t’ want to.
“Yeah? Well, let’s see what happens if you get locked up and leave Angel to fend for herself for the next bunch of months while she’s carrying your kid. Let’s see what you think about it then.” There’s a bite to my words.
Dawson squeezes my shoulder. “If that happens then I’ll know she’s in good hands with the people I trust. Just like Baby was while you were gone. You may not have been here every day for her, but we were, Stitch. You know that. She wasn’t alone.”
The flood of anger-fueled adrenaline begins to wane. “I know, D. I’m grateful for that, really, you know I am. And you know I’d be there for Angel as if she was my own sister if you needed me too. But, it ain’t the same as being there yourself.”
“Yeah, I know it ain’t. That’s why you gotta make the most of the time you’re here. Because you never know when some shit will happen and you’ll get pulled away.” His words seem almost prophetic.
“You know somethin’ I don’t?” I press.
He exhales deep. “This shit with the Cartel. It ain’t over yet. I’m not naïve enough to think it is, although I don’t know when that other shoe is gonna drop. So just make sure you’re makin’ the most of every day.”
He’s only saying what I’ve known now for a while. There’s just something hovering, something on the horizon, and I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels it, although no one talks about it.
“Well, you make sure you do all the shit I didn’t. All that shit Baby told you to do? You do it. You make sure Angel doesn’t feel anything like Baby did.” I hope my own situation serves as a valuable lesson for him.
“Yeah, I am. I’m workin’ on somethin’ now that should really cheer her up,” he hints.
“Oh?” I could use a distraction right now. “What?”
Dawson nervously scratches his short beard. “Gonna adopt the kid. Sasha, her niece. She’s the girl’s mom in every other way so we might as well make it official. Then Angel don’t have to worry no more about losin’ her one day.”
Really? Wow, that’s not at all what I was expecting. “She gonna adopt the kid on her own or are you gonna be a part of this, too?”
I’ve seen how Dawson is with Sasha. He loves her. I never thought I’d see the day when Dawson McCade was a father figure to anything but it looks like it’s happened.
“Yeah. Give the kid a real family.” He sounds sure of the decision.
Now’s my turn to pat him on the back. “You’re goin’ from being single to settled down with an Ol’ lady and two kids pretty fast, brother. Let’s get you a drink. You’re gonna need it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
DAWSON
Your average person would have no fucking clue how to find a junkie. Not me, though. I’m sure I can track her down in no time at all.
“Tina Donovan. Two years older than Angel,” I give Gryff the basic information. “Here,” I hand over a corroborating photo, the only one I could find in Angel’s photo album of her and her sister.
My VP studies the worn picture just as I had. “She’s a fox. A ten, easy. Looks just like Angel, too.”
He’s right. They could probably even pass for twins if it weren’t that Angel was so much shorter than Sasha’s mom. My girl is practically a sprite, she’s so petite. Tina on the other hand, looks to be about five foot six or so.
“Yeah? Well she’s also a junkie that abandoned her kid, so look for your next fuck someplace else. Just find her. I’ve got some papers that she’ll be needing to sign.” I cut Gryff down. He’s like a rabid dog in heat, looking to hump anything with tits.
Normally I’d think twice about giving him the assignment, but there are two reasons why I changed my mind. The first, is that everyone else has their hands full right now. Stitch is going through his shit with adjusting to being home, and with him being on probation, the last thing I need is for his ass to get caught visiting local drug houses looking for this chick. Chase has gotten his hands full acting as middle-man between us and the Kingsmen over in Chisolm, who have been trying to schedule a sit down for the past few days. Uno, the prospects and a handful of brothers are helping Trix set up for the carnival this weekend.
The second reason I feel it’s safe to put Gryff on this is that Tina is a junkie. Now, just because we bring the shit into town to supply the dealers, it doesn’t necessarily mean I condone my boys personally using the junk, but I know some of them like to hit a line or two every once and again.
All except for Gryff.
The man can drink his weight in booze for sure, but wouldn’t dare think about sticking a needle or some powder in his body. He’s too vain and paranoid to mess with “perfection”, as he likes to call it.
Every single waking moment that’s not spent with us, is spent at the gym and drinking those goddamned nasty green shakes he’s always guzzling. He even tried to give up meat once, thinking it would help with his endurance.
Once me and the boys found out about that, we stepped in, eating nothing but T-bones and bacon cheeseburgers around him until he caved. I mean, you want to drink some spinach looking milkshake, by all means, go ahead. You wanna spend your free time lifting shit up and throwing it down, go right ahead. But I draw the line at my boys becoming some kind of new-age, hippie, vegan, cultish freaks.
So, given his high opinion of what goes in and out of his body, I think he’s the safest bet to send gallivanting around to drug dens and dealers, looking for this girl.
“What do I do when I find her? Bring her back here?” Gryff slides the photo into the inner pocket of his cut.
I’m busy throwing back the shot of whiskey in my glass to speak, so I wave my hand no. “Fuck no! Every time that chick came around, it would put Angel and her ma through the ringer. She don’t need that right now. Just find her, put her up in a motel for a couple of days until the lawyer works up the papers and then we’ll have her sign them and be on her merry little way back to whatever flea bag place she’s been holed up in.”
I pour Gryff a shot and offer it to him.
“What if she wants a little… incentive. You lookin’ to bargain here or am I scaring the shit outta her to make her sign?” He asks bluntly.
I don’t know this chick from a hole in the wall, other than the stories Angel and Lillian have fed me. They don’t paint Tina in a very good light, although I haven’t really seen any junkie look good when their family talks about them, so I take it all with a grain of salt. But, from what I’ve heard, Tina’s addictions are bad enough to cause her to lie and steal from people who don’t have enough to spare. A person looking to score cash for drugs that badly would most definitely look to get some type of compensation anywhere they can.
Even for signing away rights to their kid.
“Feel her out. If she’s looking for cash, if that’ll get this done quick, then I’m willing to pay. I’m gonna hold out hope that she’s not too far gone where she’d look to sell her kid, and, instead, would want to do the right thing for Sasha’s sake alone, but I’m prepared to be wrong.” I’ve learned never to underestimate a drug user and never to have too much faith that people will do the right thing for the sake of their own conscience.
Deep down, we’re all flawed and fucked up. Some more than others.
Let’s find out where Tina falls on that line and take it from there.
“No prob, boss. Give me a couple ‘a days and I’ll find her. But, you know,
I think this should count for something,” he throws at me.
One of the reasons Gryff got his road name is because he’s a conman, a grifter. He can talk a nun outta donating her panties to save the blind if he wanted to. I’m not surprised he’s lookin’ to benefit from this somehow.
“Oh?” I ask, amused. “And what should it count for?”
He steeples his fingers together like a mad scientist and I can’t help but laugh. I’ll bet he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
We’re the only ones sitting at this end of the bar, but he looks around anyway as if someone could be eavesdropping. It’s early enough in the night where the place hasn’t begun to fill, as the best dancers don’t take the stage until later.
With Angel knocked up, I’ve had to hire some new girl to work the bar, but even she’s at least ten feet away pouring some brews for customers.
Just to be safe, Gryff, leans forward as if he’s telling me a secret. “If I do this for you and make sure Angel knows nothin’ about it, then I want Uno in the dunk tank at the carnival this year.”
I nearly spray out the whiskey in my mouth.
We haven’t drawn straws yet to pick the person who’ll be dunked over and over all day in the tank.
“I’m gonna dunk the motherfucker myself and see how he likes it this time.” Gryff plots his revenge.
Thinking back, I can’t remember the last time Uno was in the tank. It was Gryff last year, Shooter before that, Hops, me, Stitch…
You know what?
Come to think of it, I’m not sure Uno’s ever even been in the tank. Fair is fair, and every Slayer needs to serve his time in there for a good cause.
“Deal,” I agree. “Uno’s in the tank this year.”
~*~
“Take it off!” A clean cut man that’s clearly drunk off his ass calls to the stage where Candy is busy straddling the pole and pretending to lick it.
