Rock Bottom

by Manda Mellett

  “I don’t want to be that woman anymore.”

  “You’re not.” I risk a look at her face. She’s worrying her lip again, and I’m sorry that we had to bring her.

  Sam, sitting beside her, takes her hand. Though she speaks quietly, I can just about hear her. “For every Bible passage the pastor’s quoted there are others that contradict him. Hell, I could probably find a quote that would persuade Drummer to buy me a new bike.”

  Drummer’s hearing’s good too. He raises a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

  The sermon’s over at last. Now the pastor’s talking about upcoming events, including garnering support for a protest at an abortion clinic as if he’s arranging a picnic outing. I’ve almost had enough and would be ready to walk out there and then, except I have to remember we’re here for a reason.

  I sit and stand when required until, finally, the pastor seems fed up with hearing his own voice, and the service draws to a very welcome close. As people start to file out from the front I see White and Butcher pushing their way through toward us. Mission accomplished.

  “Let’s talk outside,” White suggests, ushering us out of the pew.

  “Becca!” A shrill female voice cries out.

  I’m cruel, but I do it for a good reason. “Remember Beef,” I tell Becca harshly.

  Immediately her eyes fill with tears, but she nods, understanding, as she turns to the woman who’s approaching fast, a man coming along at her side. “Mom. Dad.”

  “What are you doing here, Becca?” The woman takes a step back, allowing her husband to stand right in front of his daughter.

  Although intimidated, Becca stands her ground, making me as proud as fuck of her. “Have you heard about Alexis, Dad? He died last night in prison. He, he committed suicide.”

  Her mother obviously hasn’t, as her hand covers her mouth and her eyes open wide. Her father stands stunned, then nods, giving her mother permission to speak. “Becca…” She seems at a loss for words.

  With tears falling, Becca continues, “I wanted to come to pray. To get comfort.”

  Her father gives a smile which I notice doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course you did, Child. I’m pleased you came. You’ll be expecting to come home with us now you’ve no man to watch out for you. Come, no need to waste time. You can have your own bedroom back tonight. We’ll pray with you for forgiveness, and any of your failings as a wife.”

  Her failings?

  “I… I didn’t do a…a…anything w…wrong.” Her initial bravery starts to fail her.

  Her mother looks to her father as though again for permission, and then seems to speak for them both. “I can’t take in that Alexis is gone, nor that he took his own life. But he wouldn’t have done that if he’d had a good wife waiting.”

  It’s time for me to step up. “I don’t know why Pastor Gardner,” I refer to Hawk politely, “decided to off himself. But I can assure you it was nothing to do with your daughter. What I can tell you is that he put her under our protection. We’ve been taking good care of her and will continue to do so.”

  “Your hair!” her mother explains, seemingly out of the blue. “Why did you cut it off. Alexis wouldn’t like that…”

  I grit my teeth in an effort not to blurt out that Hawk was the reason she lost it in the first place.

  Not telling her he was now hardly in a position to explain, Becca tries to justify herself. “I wanted a new style.”

  “And gave no thought to your husband.”

  “Her husband is dead,” I remind her bluntly. “Becca can make her own choices.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Her father tries to take her arm. “Then you’re coming home with us. Didn’t you listen to the sermon? Seems you need reminding of your place…”

  This time he’s interrupted by White. “Mr and Mrs Salter, I’m sure you’ll want to visit with your daughter. Especially on such a sad day.” So he already knows about Hawk. “I need to talk to these gentlemen. Perhaps, Becca, you can catch up with your parents while we discuss business outside.”

  “A moment of prayer with the pastor will be in order,” her father suggests, seeming pleased with the idea.

  Becca’s gone dead still. Sam puts her arm around her waist, glaring at her parents. “Becca’s a married woman, well, a widow now. She makes her own decisions on who she wants to talk to. You’re unsettling her. All the peace and comfort she found by coming here today is being ruined. Mr and Mrs Salter, I’m sorry, but she doesn’t want to return to your home.”

  “My daughter’s got no way of supporting herself. She’ll have to come with us now she’s without a husband.”

  “We don’t know what provisions Hawk made for her yet. Even if she’s left penniless she’ll have a home with us, I assure you.”

  “Becca…”

  “No, Mrs Salter.” Sam’s intent on getting her message across.

  “Who do you think you are?” Becca’s father challenges.

  “Her friend,” Sam states, earning her a weak smile from my woman. “Come on, Becca. We’ll go sit in the truck and wait for the men to finish their business. Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Salter.”

  With the parting shot that’s clearly a lie, and with her arm firmly fixed around Becca, Sam leads her away. Becca’s parents are left with their mouths hanging open. I suppress a grin as I walk out, noticing Drummer is watching Sam carefully, making sure the girls get to the truck unmolested.

  “You know what to say?” White advocates as soon as our group has removed itself out of earshot of the other parishioners.

  Bull nods. “Absent in body but present in spirit. 1 Corinthians v. 3.” I hide my smirk. Particularly apt in the circumstances. I bet Stub had a chuckle at that.

  White and Butcher visibly relax, though Butcher grimaces and looks up at the sky. Uh uh, I think to myself. He’d do better to look downward.

  “So let’s talk business.” Chaz takes the lead. “Hawk gave us the job to move your stash.”

  “Thank Christ for that.” Butcher speaks for the first time, and rather irreverently in my view. “We’re running out of funds. We’ve got a big rally coming up.”

  “Did I hear you discuss the rally?”

  Butcher swings around, the expression on his face changing swiftly, now one befitting a church-going man. “Ah, Pastor. Didn’t realise you were there. Yes, these gentleman are helping with the finance.”

  Pastor Alton beams. “You’re good men. And very welcome to my church. I trust you enjoyed the sermon?”

  We murmur something that could be interpreted as affirmative.

  Butcher obviously wants rid of the man. “Well, we need to get down to the details. I’m sure you’ve other parishioners to talk to.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course. Well, it was good meeting you. I hope to see you here again.” Then he turns around and walks off.

  Bull takes out his cigarettes, extracts one, and points it still unlit toward the pastor. “He know anything?”

  “Fuck no.” The church-goer persona has disappeared again as Butcher stares at the retreating pastor. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him, making sure he doesn’t snoop.” He nods at Drummer. “That’s why I was here the other night. Pastor Alton wants the rally to go ahead, but won’t dirty his hands making arrangements.”

  Chaz leans lazily back against the wall as Bull lights up. “Don’t think there’s a lot more to be said. We’ll get the stuff shifted and collect payment. You just need to tell us where the pick-up point is.” This, of course, we already know. It’s extremely close to where we’re standing.

  “Hawk described the split to you?” White’s turn now.

  “Of course,” he lies. He’s no intention of giving these men anything.

  “What club are you?” Butcher asks.

  Bull rolls up his sleeve displaying the tat on his arm. “Wretched Soulz.”

  The two men exchange glances and chin lifts. Then White speaks again. “If your boys want some fun, you could join us at the rally. Bust a few bl
ack heads, send those fuckin’ immigrants back where they belong.”

  Bull almost imperceptibly flinches, but his voice belies his physical reaction as he inhales then blows out smoke. He doesn’t care when it wafts over their faces. “Sounds good to me. You’ll have to give us the details. But for now, we want to get on with moving the…product.”

  “Course you do. And you’ve clearly got the manpower. At night’s best.”

  I only half listen to them finalising arrangements. Satan’s Devils’ involvement ends here, and thank fuck for that. But it’s interesting that Butcher and White do know where the weapons are kept, and I suspect that knowledge has signed their death warrant. But having heard what they plan to do with the funds they expect, they deserve it.

  At last the discussion’s finished. After handshakes all around the two men wander off.

  Drummer turns to Chaz. “We can leave it with you now?”

  The Wretched Soulz’s prez is still staring after the men walking away. “Unless you want to be part of putting them in the ground. Did you catch they were the only two aware of Hawk’s hiding place?”

  “Much as I’d like to see them put down, I’ll forego that pleasure and leave it in your capable hands.”

  “Perhaps I’ll make them pray first,” Chaz says casually, then his eyes narrow and he looks at me. “Understand your woman’s problems better now, Rock. She really brought up with all that shit?”

  “She was.” I look at the truck for the hundredth time. My eyes have been on it while we’ve been talking, hoping her parents would keep their distance, which they seem to have done. Prez’s old lady must have scared them off.

  “Well, we’re coming back tonight. Get this shit moved, loose ends eradicated, and take it from there, Drummer. I’ll fulfil my part of the bargain and get the Herreras off your back. Warn you, they won’t like it.”

  “Herreras will always be a thorn in our side,” Drummer agrees, his expression showing it’s not going to make him lose sleep. Then he takes Chaz’s offered hand, pulls him in close, and they slap each other’s backs.

  I say my goodbyes in similar fashion to both Chaz and Bull, then we return to the truck and to Chaz’s muscle car. The sweet butt is leaning against the hood, her blouse unbuttoned now, titties all but hanging out as she shakes them at her prez.

  A final chin lift goodbye in response to Chaz’s wink, then I’ve just put my hand on the door handle when my phone vibrates again. Taking it out, I read the text.

  Shooter: Best you and Becca get to the hospital as soon as you can.

  My eyes close for a second, then open. I pass my phone to Drummer.

  “We’ll all go,” he says gruffly, while his hand rests on the back of my cut. “This will be hard for all of us, but particularly on you and your girl. We’ll be there for you, Brother.”

  Chapter 38

  Becca

  Rock pulls me to him as he sits beside me in the truck. He holds me tightly, his head resting against my neck. I feel his chest heaving. Something’s wrong. Although I’ve a good idea what it is, I allow him a moment, just letting the comfort I want to give him seep from my body to his. It must be Beef.

  I’d prayed harder than I’d ever prayed before, begging even more than the times I sat in that church and my prayers involved giving me the strength to survive my marriage to Hawk. On my knees, I’d poured my heart and soul into my pleas for Beef’s recovery. If I’m reading Rock right, my words were useless and had no effect at all. Beef’s fate’s decided before my request could be heard.

  Drummer’s driving, and he’s not wasting time, his foot to the throttle, exceeding the speed limit. He’s not speaking, his face is set in concentration.

  It’s a good few minutes before Rock pulls himself together sufficiently to explain. “We’re going straight to the hospital.”

  “Beef?” But I already know the answer.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s not good, Becca.” Each word seems like it’s being dragged out of him. The tentative hope I’d been hanging onto starts to fade.

  “Will we get there in time?” Beef might not be conscious, but I’d like the chance to see him one last time. To say goodbye. The word I couldn’t bring myself to say this afternoon.

  “Gonna give it a damn good try,” Drummer says over his shoulder.

  Nothing of consequence is said on that two-hour drive back to Tucson. Each of us lost in our own fears and recollections of Beef. Beef who’d been so good to me, taking me out of the clutches of Petty and Roller, comforting me while Rock didn’t want to see me. Responsible for getting us together again. Beef, my first proper male friend. That a big man so strong could be struck down by an infection seems inconceivable.

  As we draw nearer to the hospital Rock’s arms are tight around me. I’m all but holding my breath, scared of what we’re going to find. Are we too late? Has he already gone? Rock shudders beside me as if his thoughts are along the same lines. Beef is Rock’s best friend. Rock will need me. I’ve got to be strong for him. I hate myself for not being able to find adequate words of support. I can’t suggest Beef’s no longer with us, nor can I pretend he’s going to be fine. Anything I say would only be meaningless. My man’s lost, or is about to lose, the brother he’s been best friends with so long. The brother he’d ride with, laugh with, and, though this particular thought I don’t much like but can’t deny, fucked with. Could any two men ever be closer?

  Drummer finds a parking spot. As we get out of the car Rock pulls his shoulders back, pauses for a second, then, standing taller, takes my hand as we follow the prez and his old lady.

  Going to the ICU, Sam splits off to go to the waiting room, while Drummer, myself, and Rock go straight to Beef’s. A nurse comes out just as we’re entering. As she stands aside, I notice she’s smiling, which registers as a strange expression in these depressing circumstances. But perhaps she’s trained to give comfort in situations such as these.

  “You can go in now. The doctor’s just finishing with him.”

  Finishing with him. It sounds so final and such a brutal way of putting it. Is he dead? Has he been preparing a body?

  “What the fuck?” Rock sounds, well, unlike Rock. His voice squeaking.

  I’d been scared to look. I’d purposefully averted my eyes at the Chaos Riders’ clubhouse, looking quickly away at the bodies lying around. I’ve not been face to face with a dead friend before. But as I raise my eyes I realise today’s not the day I’ll get that chance. Beef’s pillow’s been slightly raised, there’s still oxygen tubes in his nose, IVs everywhere, drips still full of liquid. Beef himself? Well, his eyes are open and he looks alert.

  I gasp, my emotions haywire. I grab on to Drummer to steady myself as Rock’s supportive arm falls away and he almost leaps forward and takes hold of Beef’s hand.

  “Brother…” he stammers out. “Fuck it, I love you man.”

  “Love you too, Rock.” Beef’s voice sounds dry and croaky. But as I never expected to hear it again, I’ll take that.

  The doctor’s still hovering, looking from his patient to us. Gradually a smile spreads over his face.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Drummer asks.

  The doctor looks at Beef, who gives a weak nod, permission to tell us everything. “That man there. Strong as an ox.” Once started, he doesn’t hold back. “Thought we’d lost him. One moment he was struggling to breathe, and we were going to ventilate. His blood pressure was rock bottom, his urine output nil, and his temperature sky high. Next moment he opened his eyes.” He breaks off and shakes his head. “Never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

  “How is he now?” Drum asks sharply.

  I watch the doctor, waiting to be told this is only a temporary reprieve. That we’re still likely to lose him.

  The doctor looks at a container under the bed. “Urine output’s good.” Then his eyes check the monitors. “Pulse rate a little low, but that’s not unexpected. Blood pressure’s creeping up and is already out
of the danger zone.” As if he doesn’t believe it himself, he puts a thermometer to Beef’s ear. “Temperature has come back down to normal.” He raises his chin to Beef. “You must have an iron-clad constitution, that’s all I can say. Somehow, you’ve fought off the infection.”

  “Prognosis?”

  Now he shakes his head. “Speed of his improvement? I’d say the signs are good. He’ll probably shock us again and make a full recovery in no time. But we’ll have to run some tests. His immune system was pretty badly compromised after all. We’ll leave it tonight, but tomorrow we’ll do a full function test of all his organs.”

  “See,” Beef croaks, actually grinning. “I’m a fuckin’ medical miracle.”

  Rock still hasn’t let go of Beef’s hand, but his eyes find the doctor. “What time was this? What time did he start showing signs of improvement?”

  The doctor consults the tablet he’s carrying. If he’s surprised at the question, he doesn’t show it. “I can tell you almost exactly. As I said, I was called in as he was struggling to breathe. A couple of minutes after that? Say six thirty-eight pm.”

  Rock gets out his phone and consults it, then his eyes widen as he looks at me, then turns back to Beef. “Fuckin’ miracle you called it. I reckon you got Becca to thank for that.”

  “Whatcha mean, Rock?” Drum looks confused.

  “Six thirty-five was the time Shooter texted me and told me he was about to be put on a ventilator. Becca was on her knees praying at the time. You were praying for Beef, weren’t you, darlin’?”

  I was, but… I shake my head. “I admit my prayers were answered, but it has to be coincidence, surely.” The big man above had never looked out for me before. But perhaps he has been all along. He brought me to Rock, the man who saved me in more ways than one.

  Beef sucks on an ice chip and then manages a strangled laugh. “Divine intervention? And me a sinner?”

  Drummer’s looking thoughtful. “I’d have said there wasn’t a God in that heathen place we went to. But you never know, present or not, He might have been listening.”