Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  “I’m not pissed off at you, I’m just pissed.” He swung the toe of his boot against a pebble, and kicked it across the shop floor. “Just got off the phone. They indicted Meathead.”

  “Bad?”

  “Felon in possession. Firearm in furtherance of a crime. Gave him the RICO act with the last charge, which was some bullshit about the guy being black. Said it was a hate crime.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I said. “White, black, brown, or yellow. Meat hated all motherfuckers equal.”

  “Agreed. The ATF brought charges against him. Impossible to fight those pricks.”

  “Motherfucker.” I took a hit off my vape and shook my head. “And, I thought my day was going bad.”

  He pointed toward my bike. “Phone’s ringing.”

  I turned away. “Probably Cholo. Got three jobs coming up.”

  Surprised to see it was Sandy calling, I considered not answering, then swiped my thumb across the screen and raised the phone to my ear. “This is Smokey.”

  “Smokey, this is Sandy. We need to uhhm. We need to talk.”

  The tone of her voice alone made my asshole pucker. Visions of her telling me I needed to go get a Z-Pak to cure something came to mind.

  “Whatever it is, you can say it over the phone.”

  “No. We need to talk in person.”

  “Anything you need to say can be said over the phone.”

  “We need to meet in person, really.”

  I hated to be a prick, but I had to. I enjoyed her company too much. If I met her in person, it’d be a matter of minutes and I’d be fucking her – or wanting to, anyway. I knew me well enough to know if I started again, stopping would be impossible.

  “Not gonna happen. You can either say what it is you have to say, or I’m going to hang up.”

  She sighed into the receiver. “Fine. I hope you’re on stable ground.”

  Prepared to learn what strain of disease I needed to prepare to rid myself of, I cocked my head to the side, made eye contact with Crip, and waited.

  “I’m pregnant. And, I know what you’re going to ask, so I’ll answer it first. Yes, it’s yours.”

  “Hello?”

  “Hello?”

  “Smoke? Are you there?”

  Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Eight

  Sandy

  My throat went dry on the way to answer the door. I reached for the knob, paused, and pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Satisfied I’d at least be able to say hi, I pressed my eye against the peephole, even though I knew it was him.

  A fish-eyed view of his handsome face and broad shoulders caused my stomach to sink. Talking to him wasn’t something I wanted to do, it was something I must. It was what was right.

  But it was going to hurt.

  I pulled the door open.

  He stood in the breezeway with a plastic bag hanging from his left hand, and his right thumb resting against the top of his belt. His mouth slowly curled into a smirk.

  I must have stared for longer than I thought, because he cleared his throat and reminded me that I hadn’t invited him in or stepped out of the doorway.

  He took half a step back and looked at me. “I might have been confused. You wanted me to come here, right?”

  “Uh huh.”

  He nodded his head toward me. “You want me to duck under your arm, or are you going to move?”

  I released the door handle and stepped to the side. “Come in.”

  He walked past me. With each step, the plastic bag swung wildly – a result of his bravado swagger. I looked him up and down as he sauntered toward the living room, wishing for that fleeting moment that everything was different between us, but knowing it never would be.

  He sat down on the couch as if it was something he’d done a thousand times. He lifted the bag to his lap, and as he fumbled to get something from it, the girl in me interrupted his plan.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  He paused with his hand buried deep in the bag, and chuckled. “Couldn’t wait another fifteen seconds, could you?”

  I sat down on the loveseat across from him. “No.”

  He pulled out a book, stood, and extended his hand. “A book.”

  Surprised, I reached for it nonetheless. “You brought me a book?”

  “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” he said. “Best book there is for a pregnant woman.”

  It wasn’t at all what I expected. I figured he brought a sandwich, some bananas, or maybe an ice cream. A box of condoms as some sick joke seemed his speed, but not something motherly. I looked at the tattered cover, opened it, and quickly realized as I thumbed through the dog-eared and highlighted pages that the book was well-used.

  I met his gaze, all the while struggling to contain my emotions. “Thank you.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you take care of it.” He waved his hand toward the book. “It’s got sentimental value.”

  “Was it yours?”

  He relaxed into the seat and nodded a few times, lightly. “It is mine. I’m letting you read it.”

  I felt offended and privileged at the same time. “Oh.”

  “It was Christine’s.”

  Great. He’d given me the book that his former skank had before she gave birth and then took off. I set it to the side, and then pushed it as far away as I could. “Uhhm. Thanks.”

  He gazed down at his lap. While I prepared to begin what was sure to be a long conversation, he beat me to the punch.

  “We’d read it every night. Probably read that damned thing half a dozen times if I read it once. I highlighted the important stuff, but don’t just read what I’ve got marked, it’s all useful.”

  “She’s your ex? Christine?”

  Still staring into his lap, he nodded. “Eddie’s mom. Yeah.”

  “Where is she now?” I asked, my tone almost snide.

  “She died.”

  I seemed to do a pretty good job of making myself out to be an idiot in his presence. I cleared my throat, swallowed hard, and then offered an apology. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. I know at some point you’ll ask, and I don’t ever want it brought up in front of Eddie, so I’ll just tell you now.” He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “She died of a heroin overdose the day we got home from the hospital. She was clean the entire pregnancy, but didn’t last a day after Ed was born. Never did figure out where she got it, but it doesn’t matter much.” He shook his head, and then his eyes fell to his lap. “Addiction’s a bitch.”

  I felt sick. “I thought. She uhhm. Wow. I’m sorry. Really.”

  He shrugged, but didn’t speak.

  “You said you had a daughter, right?”

  He looked up. “Yeah. Her name’s Eddie.”

  “Is it short for something?”

  “Short for Eddie Cassandra Wallace.”

  I smiled. My first name was Cassandra, but I wasn’t going to tell him. At least not yet. “I like it. A lot.”

  His eyes widened just a little. “Which part of it?”

  “All of it.”

  He smiled a dimple producing smile. Seeing it all but melted me.

  I was on a roll, so I pushed on. “What’s your name?”

  “Grayson Edward Wallace. Middle name’s my father’s. First is his father’s. It’s a family thing.”

  “I like it. So, you named your daughter after your father?”

  “Yep.”

  I folded my arms under my boobs and hugged myself tight. “I’m scared, Smokey.”

  “It’s not going to be that bad,” he said.

  I shot him a look. “How can you say that?”

  “Been a while,” he said. “But I remember most of it. It’s not bad until the very end. Well, the puking is the shits. If you get the morning sickness, that is. Not bad, other than that--”

  “Raising a child alone? You know a little bit about that, don’t you? I’d think you’d be a little more sympathetic,” I said.

  He leaned forward and scrunched
his nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?

  I spread my arms wide and glanced down at my non-existent stomach. “This.”

  “Oh, you’re doing it alone, are you?”

  His response came so quickly it confused me. I hesitated for a moment, and recalled exactly what I had said, and how he responded. I decided I hadn’t made myself clear, and that I needed to take a different approach. “I have no one. I’m not going back to New Mexico to live with my aunt and--”

  He stood, folded his arms across his chest and shot me a glare. “Whoa. Hold on. I’m not walking out on my kid, if that’s what you’re thinking. Stone cold sober, we both made the decision to fuck. It was a risk we took, and this is the result. Now, we’re going to get through it, together. One way or another.”

  With my eyes fixed on his, I stared back at him, and blinked. Slowly. “Are you saying--”

  “I’m saying I went to the doctor, and the he said my fucking vasectomy is dicked up. I’m saying I’ve done the single parent thing, and it ain’t worth a shit. I’m saying watching a kid grow up wondering what it would be like to have the other parent in the picture isn’t a pretty sight. I’m saying we need to figure out a way to try and make something work. And, I guess, I’m saying I’m willing.”

  I should have been flattered or grateful, but, oddly, I wasn’t. I was fully prepared for him to get mad and stomp out, leaving me to make all the decisions – and raise the child – alone. His acceptance of the situation we were in wasn’t at all what I was expecting, and as much as I should have, I didn’t like it.

  “We don’t really know each other. I mean. You can’t say you love me.” I looked him up one side and down the other, and although he looked amazing, I tried to act as if I found him repulsive. “I know I don’t love you. I mean. You’re cool and everything, but--”

  “Fuck no, I don’t love you,” he snapped back. “Hell, I don’t even know you. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try and make something work. Our child doesn’t need to be punished, that’s for sure. He or she, whichever it is, deserves to grow up with both parents.”

  “Two parents that don’t love each other?”

  With his arms still folded in front of his chest, he shrugged. “We might end up in love someday.”

  I laughed. “Really? How’s that work?”

  He glared at me. “Fuck, I don’t know. We get to know each other, then we fall in love. I’m no fucking expert. People do it all the time.”

  “They get to know each other, fall in love, have sex, get married, and then have kids.”

  “Well, your little fantasy world got fucked up when you were riding my cock in the kitchen, and I don’t know what to tell you. All I know for sure is this: I watched Eddie cry herself to sleep at night on and off from the time she was five until she was eleven. I wouldn’t wish that pain on any child. So, maybe we do all the shit you’re talking about, we just do it out of order. But they’re still the same fucking steps.”

  I stood and stared at him blankly. I was speechless. I collapsed onto the couch. My chest tightened, and all but suffocated me. I lowered my head into my hands and began to cry. I had no idea what I wanted, and I was an emotional wreck. While I sat there and wept, I felt the couch give as he took a seat beside me.

  His arm slid across my shoulders.

  Then, pulled me into him. “Don’t cry,” he whispered.

  I rested my head on his shoulder, uncertain of why I was so emotional. As his hands began to softly rub my back, I realized, at least for that moment, that I wasn’t alone.

  And, I liked it.

  Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Nine

  Smokey

  Be careful what you wish for. I’d said that phrase so many times over the years that it had all but become a mantra. Now, I could look in the mirror and say it to the man looking back at me.

  I’d spent every day since Eddie’s birth wishing her mother had lived, and that we could have had the opportunity to raise our child in a two-parent home. Yearning for a slice of normalcy, yet knowing it would never be, every day I wished Eddie could have a life similar to most of her friends. The thought of her being abandoned by a stepmother prevented me from being serious with anyone over the last sixteen years, leaving her mother, Christine, as my last relationship.

  If I could call it that.

  It was the longest one night stand in the history of mankind. The wend result was the best thing that ever happened to me even if it didn’t go how I’d hoped. Now, fate comes knocking on my door once again, and my wishes are granted.

  Kind of.

  I’d wanted the ability to raise a child in a family setting. Much to my surprise, my prayers had been answered with Sandy’s pregnancy. Embracing the situation, however, required going against the grain of a lifetime of efforts to protect Eddie from harm.

  But I had to do what was right.

  We sat in a local coffee shop talking as if we’d just met.

  I took a sip of coffee, pushed the cup aside, and studied her. She was a gorgeous woman, if she was nothing else.

  “You’re walking through the grocery store parking lot, and there’s a wallet in front of you. You bend down, pick it up, and open it. Twelve $100 bills, and a handwritten note is all that’s inside. No ID, no credit cards, nothing. The note says, Apple juice, graham crackers, and bananas. That’s it. What do you do?”

  She grinned. “Where do you come up with this shit?”

  “My vault. Answer the question.”

  “I load my groceries in my car, lock it, and then go to the customer service counter, and turn it in.”

  I nodded. “Good answer.”

  “Why does the note say those things? Apple juice, graham crackers, and bananas?”

  I shrugged. “They’re things a kid would eat. I was trying to tug at your subconscious heart strings a little.”

  “Oh.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side and gazed down at the table. After a moment, she looked up. “What if the baby’s a boy. Eighteen years down the road, are you going to encourage him to ride in a club?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not a place for everyone. If he decides on his own that that’s what he wants, so be it. He’ll get no influence from me.”

  “You’re his father. He’ll admire you. He’ll naturally want to follow in your footsteps.”

  I widened my eyes. “Who says I’ll still be in a club when he’s old enough to make decisions?”

  “So, you’ll quit, or whatever?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Favorite album?”

  She chuckled. “I thought you were going to say color.”

  “I’m only asking important shit. Favorite album?”

  “How can my favorite album be important?”

  I glared at her in disbelief. “The type of music you listen to defines who you are. Okay, instead of favorite, if you were stuck on a fucking island, and you were going to be there for two years before anyone rescued you, what one album – if you could only have one – would you have with you?”

  She twisted a lock of hair with her index finger and gazed down at the floor. After taking a few drinks of her coffee, she stopped fucking with her hair and looked up. “I don’t know. What about you?”

  “Rolling Stones, Sticky Fingers.”

  “Don’t know it,” she said.

  I grinned. “You will.”

  She hoisted her coffee, appeared to realize it was empty, and set it aside.

  “Want another?” I asked.

  “No thank you. I’m full.” She appeared to be preoccupied in thought, so I let her be. After a moment, she focused on me. “I think maybe Maroon Five, It Won’t Be Soon Before Long.”

  “The album?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Do you like Coldplay?”

  She shrugged. “I mean. I don’t know. Kind of, but not--”

  “You’ve said enough.”

&nbs
p; “Why?” she asked. “Do you?”

  “No, and if you did, I was going to leave. Coldplay’s a deal breaker.”

  She laughed. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  She chuckled, and then seemed to have an epiphany. “If you could meet anyone, dead or alive, and go to lunch with them, who would it be, and what would you say?” she blurted.

  “Good one,” I said. “Let me think.”

  After a moment, I met her gaze. “Kennedy. JFK. I’d tell him not to go down Elm Street.”

  She looked surprised. “Why?”

  “I think he would have made a great president. Things might be different now if he would have stayed in office. Same question to you.”

  “That’s easy,” she said. “Doris Day.”

  My jaw dropped. “Doris Day?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What the fuck? Really?”

  She grinned and nodded eagerly as if truly satisfied she’d given the answer she wanted to. “She was always smiling, and her smile is infectious. Every time I see her movies, I either smile or cry, and her movies are awesome. Pillow Talk? Oh my God, that was so good. And Send Me No Flowers? Lover Come Back? Move Over darling? They were awesome. And Please Don’t Eat the Daisies? Yeah. It’d be Doris Day for me.”

  “What would you say to her?”

  “Thank you. That’s it. I’d just say thanks for making me smile.”

  Her blonde hair normally hung straight down over her shoulders. She’d fixed it differently, and it was fixed into a mass of curls, leaving it not near as long, but twice as big. I studied it, and wondered just how much time she spent making it that way.

  After deciding she must have spent an hour doing it, my focus went from her hair to her face. With her elbow resting on the edge of the table, and her cheek against her fist, she seemed to be daydreaming.

  I let her sit there for a moment, lost in whatever she was thinking of. When her eyes appeared to focus again, I grinned. “I like your hair. It’s different today.”

  “I made it big. I like big hair. Well, sometimes.”

  “I like it, too.”

  She made the “O” face, and then rapped her knuckles against the table. “What do you eat on a hot dog?”