by Melinda Minx
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “Scary guy’s got a big purple eye.”
“Rhyme! Rhyme! Rhyme!” Logan shouts. He bobs up and down in Joanna’s hands, and she puts him down.
“He likes rhymes,” she says.
“Guy. Eye,” I say. “I wasn’t even trying to rhyme…”
“I never am either, but Logan always catches it. He’s got a way with words.”
“I got us a table,” I say. “Want to sit down?”
I take us to the table, and the waitress brings Logan one of those kid’s menus with the built-in coloring book. Logan takes the crayon and starts to draw big circles all outside the lines.
The waitress brings Joanna a cup of coffee, and we order Logan a kid’s orange juice.
“He doesn’t like coloring, but he’s big on drawing,” Joanna says.
“What you drawing there?” I ask.
He is making a huge circle with an orange crayon, filling it in as best he can. It looks like an orange tornado.
“Is that another kitty?” Joanna asks.
“No!” Logan shouts.
“Doggy?” she asks.
“No! Guess!”
I laugh. “I’ll wait until he’s done before I take a guess.”
Joanna leans into me and says in a low whisper. “Good luck, he’s not quite reached the point where his drawings are more than scribbles.”
“I bet you I can guess it,” I say, smiling wide.
I watch Logan scribble more and more orange, and suddenly he throws the orange crayon down and grabs a black one. He scribbles black all over the top of the page, but it’s a smaller blob than the orange one. I narrow my eyes, squinting, trying to make some kind of obvious shape or form pop out.
He throws the black crayon down and grabs a purple one. He puts the crayon into the middle of the orange blob and scribbles a smaller blob, then he throws the crayon down. “Guess!”
Joanna smiles wide at me. God, that smile. I’ve thought of it so much over the last three years. The memory of it kept me awake at night, and now it’s here in front of me. After daydreaming about it for so long, for that smile to be here in front of me right now, it feels too real. In prison, nothing could take my imagination away. I could imagine meeting Joanna, and I could imagine her smiling at me. In those daydreams, nothing was ever off or wrong, and those imaginary meetings usually ended with my fucking her raw. But now, it’s real. This meeting could end with her saying Logan shouldn’t be around me, or announcing she’s already engaged to some douchebag. The smile is real, but so is whatever happens next. After waiting so long to see her again, I could lose her just like that.
“Guess!” Logan says, holding the paper up to me.
Shit. I know what it is. A big orange blob with a black blob of hair on its head, and a purple blob on one side of its face.
“It’s me,” I say. “Right?”
Logan laughs. “Purple eye! Purple eye!”
“I’m genuinely impressed,” Joanna says. “Logan, do you know who this is?” She points to the drawing and to me.
“He’s purple eye!” Logan says.
“This is your daddy,” she says.
I hear her voice break as she says it, and I spot her biting her lip. Logan looks up at me and narrows his eyes.
“No daddy,” Logan says. “Don’t have Daddy.”
Shit. A dagger to my heart. I’ve been absent from his life long enough that he doesn’t even think he has a dad. Did Joanna not say anything to him about me? What could she have said though? How do you tell a kid who can barely talk that his pops is in prison for killing someone on a meth lab raid?
I see a tear stream down Joanna’s face, and she takes Logan by the hand. “Yes, sweetie. You have a daddy. This is your daddy.” She raises his hand toward me. “Can you point to your daddy?”
Logan looks at me, and then his face scrunches up, turns red, and he cries.
“Shh, shh!” Joanna says, holding him. She presses her lips to his forehead, and she tries to soothe him, but he keeps crying.
I want to take him into my own arms, but I’m the reason he’s crying. He liked me better as the scary guy with the purple eye, but who wants that as a father?
I clench my fist, and hatred for Lenk rushes through me. I need to take him down and put this shit behind me. Time is running out for me to be the kind of man I should be, a man Logan would want as a father.
“He’ll be okay,” Joanna says to me. “Don’t read too much into it.”
“I’ll make him proud, Jo,” I say. “I’ll do this thing I’ve got to do, and then I’ll be there. For both of you.”
“It probably would have been better if you didn’t have a black eye, Stone,” she says. “I know you have to do what you have to do, but maybe you can try to take care of yourself a bit better? Once you can take care of yourself, then you can start talking about taking care of us.”
“Jo,” I say, “It’s not--”
She cuts me off. “I see you are trying. And I know I should have at least told you about him...but I didn’t really know who you were. I’m still not sure I do. I’ve been doing this alone for over two years now, and--”
“And you shouldn’t have to do it alone,” I say. “Let me help you.”
We’re both having to talk louder over Logan’s wailing cries. Other customers are giving us dirty looks. Rather than feeling pissed off, it actually makes me feel more like a father. Those annoyed looks are saying, “get your kid to shut up.”
That’s right. My kid. My kid ain’t gonna shut up just because you scowl at me, asshole.
“Let’s get to know each other again first,” Joanna says. “When are you off…” She looks at my black eye. “Off...work? When are you free?”
Jesus, I have to meet with Tank for some fucking shakedown in a few hours.
“Tomorrow night?” I ask. “We can bring Logan, if--”
“No,” Joanna says. “You can see him when you pick me up, but I’ll drop him off at Jane’s.”
“Plain Jane?” I ask.
Joanna laughs. Logan is no longer wailing, he’s just buried his head into Joanna’s chest. “It’s a miracle I haven’t called her that to her face. But she’s been amazing help with Logan.”
More regret hits me like a brick wall. Since I haven’t been there, Jo has had to get her friends to help take care of my son. That stops now. I need to make up for lost time.
“At least let me pay her if she’s going to babysit,” I say.
“She loves Logan,” Joanna says, smiling. “You want to go to Aunt Jane’s?”
Logan stops whining and looks up at his mom. He nods, his lip still quivering.
“Do you like toys?” I ask. “Want daddy to get you a toy tomorrow?”
Logan looks at me now with wide eyes.
“Yeah?” I say. “You’d like that, huh? I’ll get you a cool toy.”
Joanna tousles his hair and says, “See, he’s not so scary, right?”
“I want a doo poe! Doo poe!” Logan says.
“A doo poe?” I say. “That sounds cool, yeah, sure.”
When we stand up to go, I whisper to Joanna. “What’s a doo poe?”
“Duplo,” she says. “He likes to build stuff. Duplo bricks are big enough that he won’t try to eat them.”
“Got it. You gotta get him to daycare, huh? I’ll see you tomorrow night...I’ve got the bill.”
She locks eyes with me before walking out the door, and suddenly all of that raw animal desire surges through me. I feel my cock twitch in my pants, and everything inside me urges me to kiss her. To claim her now and never let her go.
She kisses me on the cheek and pulls away before I can do anything. It does nothing to quench my desire for her, if anything it just sets it off and makes me want her even more. As she steps away, her scent hits me and lingers like a ghostly trail. I remind myself that this won’t be like the last time I saw her. I’ll see her again tomorrow night, not three years and one kid later.
“Can you say ‘bye’ to Daddy, sweetie?” Joanna says, stopping just short of the door.
I crouch down to match Logan’s eye level. “Say bye-bye to big purple eye?” I ask. This time the rhyme is intentional.
“Bye bye, big purple eye!” Logan says, giggling.
Joanna smiles at me, and then they are gone.
I can’t wipe the big stupid grin off my face after they are gone. Calling me big purple eye and laughing is much better than wailing and crying. I’ll take it. He can call me ‘Daddy’ later. I’ve got to earn that one.
Jo’s smell lingers with me even after I’ve long left the diner. As does the sound of Logan’s happy laughter. I have to remember what I’m fighting for. I can’t lose sight of it. I’m supposed to make contact with Ramirez at least once a week, and I want to have something on Lenk before I do.
Instead, I’m set to meet with Tank and go do some bullshit test run with him. No one is calling it a “test run,” but I know it is. One of Lenk’s lackeys is taking me out alone to do some low-level grunt work. They want to see how three years locked away has changed me, and they want to make sure I’m still loyal to the MC.
I pull up outside the Chrome Hog, and Tank is already outside. He laughs when he sees me.
“Dumbass,” he says, pointing at my eye. “You couldn’t even beat me sober.”
“At least no one can say I don’t got balls,” I say, grinning.
Tanks slams his big, meaty hand onto my shoulder and laughs harder. “Come on, dude, let’s go fuck up some greedy chumps.”
We both get on our bikes and tear down the road. We ride side by side. Tank riding on a bike still looks like some exaggerated cartoon character rather than a real person. The ratio of man to bike is just too far off, as if the bike might collapse beneath him at any moment.
We pull into some shitty neighborhood, and Tank slows down as we approach a cul-de-sac.
He shouts to me over his engine. “This guy is gonna be a runner. I’ll knock, you intercept.”
I nod.
I get off my bike, climb a chain-link fence into someone’s yard, and I pass through it. When I reach the backyard, I see a scrawny guy hitting a bong. He coughs up a puff of smoke and looks like he’s about to shit his pants when he sees me. I raise a finger to my lips and shake my head. He keeps coughing and mimics my gesture, I turn my back to him and jump the back part of his fence.
I circle around behind the houses until I’m in the backyard of the guy we are shaking down. He’s got a bunch of rusted crap in his backyard. There’s a rusted pile of scrap metal, an overturned wheelbarrow, and a bunch of other crap that’s piled everywhere in his yard. There’s a big tarp in the back corner of the yard, covering some kind of building. There are some sparse weeds growing up through the sand, and his back patio is covered with a torn and destroyed screen. It’s the tell-tale disrepair and shabbiness of a meth head’s place. But this guy isn’t just any meth head: he’s dealing, and he’s not buying from Lenk, which means he’s got his own shitty lab running somewhere.
I crouch down behind the pile of scrap metal and wait. A minute or so later I hear Tank’s bike roar from the front of the house.
Just seconds later, I see the rusted screen door swing open, and a guy with a garbage bag runs full speed down the yard.
He’s coming right for me, and I duck behind the scrap pile and listen for his footsteps. When I hear his panting just on the other side of the pile, I jump and dive.
My head slams into his gut, and I knock him flat onto his back.
“Shit!” he screams. “Take it, man! Just take it!”
His body is flailing, but my knees are pinning his arms to the ground.
His bag has hit the ground, and I see a bunch of Ziploc bags full of meth spilling out across the sand.
“That shit ain’t even cut yet, man, just take it and I promise--”
“I don’t want your garbage product,” I shout. “Now fucking stop flailing around!”
He stops, but he’s trembling.
I hear the screen door open again, and when I look over I see Tank’s giant body ducking down to fit through the door frame.
“Shit!” the dealer shouts. “Not him!”
“Yeah,” I say. “Tell me where your lab is before Tank gets to you. He won’t go easy on you.”
“I don’t got no lab, man! Look! This is all I’ve got. Take it and I’m done! I swear!”
“The lab,” Tanks grunts. “Where the fuck is it?”
Tanks gives me a look. He wants me to do more than scare this guy. I can’t stand the idea of Logan knowing what I’m doing right now, but if I don’t do it, I’ll fail Lenk’s test. I’ll never get Ramirez what she needs to take Lenk down. I’ll never get to keep my promise to Jo and Logan.
I make a fist and slam it into the dealer’s nose. It shatters and blood seeps everywhere. He wails and screams.
“Fuck! Man! I swear--”
“Stop fucking swearing,” I rasp into his face, just inches away. “And tell me where the fucking lab is.”
“God!” he wails. “The shed, it’s in the shed!”
He points back. The big blue tarp. This dumbass is stupid enough to have his lab in his own fucking backyard? You don’t shit where you eat.
“I’ll check it out,” Tanks says.
I hold the dealer down while the blood covers his face. He’s crying now, begging me to take the meth and leave him be. “You know where the lab is, man. Take all the shit, take it. Just let me go, please, man!”
“Shut the fuck up!” I hiss. “Tank smells weakness, and if you act like a fucking bitch, he’ll tear you apart.”
It’s true. Tank is much more likely to let him go if he mans up. If he wails and begs like this, Tank might just put a bullet in him.
Tank comes out of the shed holding his nose. “Dirtiest fucking lab I’ve ever seen. Can’t imagine how garbage quality your shit is. Should have bought from us, you greedy fuck, but you threw your life away making shit like this?”
The dealer’s eyes widen in fear as Tank approaches.
“Here’s what we do,” Tank says, pulling a pistol out of his pants. “We trash the lab, cap this guy’s skull, and put his body in the lab. Send a message.”
Tank cocks the gun and hands it to me. “You do the honors.”
I take the gun in my hand. Fuck. I need to prove myself, but this isn’t a fresh start. If I shoot this piece of shit, I’ll be moving so far in the wrong direction. I’ll be the big scary guy with the purple eye. I won’t be worthy of being called a father.
I put the barrel of the gun up against the dealer’s chin.
“Wait! Wait!” he cries out. “Look, you kill me, that’s a strong message, sure, yeah! Sure it is! But hear me out!”
“Shoot him,” Tank grunts.
“Hear me out!” he says, voice trembling wildly. “You see I’ve got a big mouth, yeah? Imagine how big a message I could send. ‘Don’t fuck with the Fallen Phoenix MC!’ That’s my new message, my new mantra. It’s what I sing day in and day out, I tell everyone I know what happens if--”
Tank laughs. “Yeah, we let your big mouth live? That’s a weak-ass message, ain’t it, Stone?”
Shit. This is a test. If I don’t pull the trigger, I’ll fail. I’ll have to do one more awful thing--soak my hands with the blood of one more life--before I can dig my conscience free. My adrenaline is surging, and the gun feels so fucking light in my hands.
Wait. It’s not just adrenaline, the gun is too light. Like it’s not even loaded. I look into the dealer’s eyes, and something seems off. He’s wailing and begging and sobbing, but there’s not fear in his eyes--something else. It’s almost like he’s laughing at me.
A test. A test I can’t fail.
I pull the trigger.
Click. Thank God. Just a test.
I feign anger and pull the trigger three more times. I shout, enraged, as if I’m furious I don’t get to blow this guy’s brains out. Click, click click.
I scream louder. I’m not faking it this time, I’m fucking furious that I was forced to pull the trigger--that Lenk could put me into a bind like that. Remmy never made me execute anyone. I suspected the gun was empty, but I wasn't sure.
The “dealer” starts to cackle. “Tank! He passed! Stone’s a stone-cold killer, huh?”
Tank grunts and nods. “I figured he’d pass. He’s got balls.”
I stand up and stare Tank down. “Why the bullshit? You don’t trust me? You think popping some junky means shit to me?”
“You never used to kill no one,” Tank says, narrowing his eyes at me. “Not unless they were shooting at you first.”
“You’ve done time,” I say, my voice going cold. “You know how it is.”
Tank nods. “Yeah, teaches you that life is worthless. The guys we kill, they’ll get themselves killed or kill themselves anyway.”
The bloody-faced “dealer” springs up to his feet. “Yo, Tank, you gonna--”
“Shut the fuck up, Winston,” Tank shouts. “The grownups are talking. Take your shit and get the fuck out of here.”
Tank throws down a bag, and Winston dives for it. He grabs it out of the sand and runs inside with it.
“Fucking junkies,” Tank says, shaking his head. “You’re clean, right? Didn’t get hooked on nothing on the inside?”
“No,” I say, spitting. “I’m not a low-life junky. Though I’ve seen some in the MC.”
Tank nods. “Think of them as rabid dogs. Lenk likes to keep them around, and they’re easy to control. But if you want into his inner circle, you gotta stay clean.”
I nod. His inner circle. Lenk wants to bring me in? He thinks he’s broken me and tamed me, and now he wants me loyal and by his side.
Perfect.
13
Joanna
“So you’re giving him a real chance?” Jane asks. “Is he done with that whole biker gang thing then?”
“Uh,” I say. “He’s on his way out.”
Jane rolls her eyes. “If he really is being serious about you and Logan, you think he’d make a clean break.”
I bite my lip. I trust Jane, but I don’t want to tell her that Stone is working undercover. It doesn’t feel like I have a right to share that secret with anyone--I know that Stone wasn’t even supposed to tell me.
