Cooper

by Hazel Parker

  "I've come to give you your audit notification, of course," he said, smiling and shaking his head.

  "You could have done that over the phone," I said, kicking my legs out, causing him to jump up or be hit.

  "I could have," he practically purred as he placed his fedora on his head and leaned forward to whisper, "but where's the fun in that?"

  I watched him leave, blood boiling in my veins. "You could have at least given me a time!" I yell at his retreating back.

  "I could have," he yelled over his shoulder as he went through the door.

  I should have been grateful. He didn't have to give me a heads up. The only reason he had was because we were greasing the inside of several IRS superiors’ pockets. He didn't like it, but he had a job to do and made it clear every time he saw my face that if he found so much as a decimal point off, he'd report us.

  Fuck!

  I slammed my hands flat against the desk. It's hard looking clean when you know you're not. I had to comb over every book and accounting entry to make sure every clean business that washed the money looked right even when I knew—and they knew—it wasn't.

  I sighed heavily.

  This is why I wanted to get clean. This extra shit was just that: extra. Extra work. Extra stress. Extra. Not worth it, in my opinion. I could see why we were in it though. The drug game was extremely profitable, and when we were starting out we had nothing and no one wanting to give us a thing. But that was 60 years ago. Hell, we moved from moonshine to drugs. I didn't see why we couldn't move from drugs to maintaining our actual businesses. Within five years, I'd gotten us the ownership of a car garage, three trucks, and was currently negotiating the ownership of a club. We didn't need the drug gig anymore. But motorcycle clubs are as democratic as your average dictatorship. We voted, but at the end of the day, Gus' word was law, and until Gus wanted out of the drug trade, we were still going to load them up into the base floors of our trucks and transport them underneath every day shipments.

  Banging my head against the desk seemed like the best thing to do, but I read somewhere that kills brain cells, so I checked my schedule instead. If there was one thing that ruined a Saturday, it was prepping for an audit.

  Date with Kaylen 8pm @ Oasis

  Kaylen and I had texted each other almost nonstop yesterday after she got off work. But between me helping at the club and her shifts, we’d only talked a little this morning to say, 'See you tonight.' And then I had to be a douchebag and cancel. It was the last thing I’d wanted to do. Plus, didn't girls think that meant you weren't interested? I didn't know what to say, but I had to play it right so she understood that I was canceling but not uninterested. I’ve always hated feelings for this very reason. They were unreliable and felt too much like game playing. I didn’t play games. I spent at least two minutes typing and deleting my message.

  "Hey, man," Jerry said, coming into the office. A quick glance at his face showed that he still looked sick.

  I mumbled to myself, "'Sorry I have to cancel tonight.' No, that's not right."

  "You rang?"

  "Yeah," I said, hitting his fist with mine per Bandito customary gesture. "We got a surprise audit coming."

  "Ugh. Bet. When?" he said, swinging the chair around and straddling it.

  "'Change of plans. I can't make it tonight. I'd love to reschedule.' No," I shook my head. "Tomorrow."

  "What?" he said loudly.

  "Yeah," I said nodding. I understood. It was almost not enough time. Almost. "'Can't make it tonight. Don't be mad. I'll make it up to you. Promise.' Yeah. That's it." I smiled and placed the phone inside my pocket, finally satisfied.

  I looked into Jerry's face and grimaced. He saw it and sighed, rubbing his unshaven faced. "I know. I know. You don't have to say it."

  "I do. Jer, you look like shit."

  He nodded and scratched at his scalp.

  "Is it Lila?"

  He nodded and rubbed his temple.

  "You want to talk about it?"

  "Nah."

  I hesitated for a moment, debating whether I should prod or let it go. Jerry was a grown man. He could handle his own, and it has always been my personal preference to stay out of other people’s business. I preferred keeping my nose in my own struggles. But he looked like he was dead on his feet. He obviously wasn't sleeping, and I didn't want to leave my brother if he needed help.

  "You sure?" I said, offering him a mental hand.

  "Let's get these numbers."

  "Alright," I said, pulling open our file cabinets, including the hidden one in the safe in the floor.

  When Shirley found us, we were knee deep in paperwork. It was everywhere. We both had old school calculators and pencils behind our ears.

  "You boys missed lunch," she said, her hands set firmly on her wide hips. Her red lips were set in a scowl. Her cheeks were as red as her hair, showing how hot cooking made her. She took it as a personal affront that we had missed chow time.

  Jerry went straight to apologies. “My bad, Shirley. What'd you make us?"

  "You know how it goes, Shirl," I said, standing up.

  "I know,” she said with sass and a smile. She turned to Jerry, "Sloppy Joes. That's why you have to come out of this den to eat it." With that, she turned around and walked out the door, fully confident we'd be following her.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  While we were holed in our cave to save the club from imploding, the brothers were gathering and chattering without a care in the world. Granted, there was less partying than usual – our brother had passed but Banditos lived by the code: tomorrow is a new day to steal. It was the lawless version of tomorrow isn’t promised and I liked it better. If you made it tomorrow, there was no reason crying over yesterday, you have a new chance to take something. I was planning to take control of the romantic aspect of my life. Thankfully, the office was soundproof. As soon as we left the room, the sound filtered in, increasing in volume the closer we walked to the main room. The club was more than a bar or gathering space: it was our home base. It was where we had meetings and fights, where we recharged and built a family. It was built like a cabin: with an open layout. You’d walk into the open room like a restaurant, based on the tables and chairs. To the right was a staircase that lead up to the ledge where there were three doors. One was Gus' and the other two were extras based on who needed it. There was a public shower in the back to the left. Around the bar was a fully stocked kitchen with food and booze, and through the back on the right side was our office.

  This place felt more like home than my own place. I spent more hours here. Hell, I grew up here. It hadn't changed through the years. If anything, it looked better with time. Like aging wine, when we could we updated appliances and appearances. What started as one man's dream became almost thirty men's dreams.

  Shirley had two plates waiting as we rounded the corner.

  "Eat." She made it clear it wasn't a suggestion, so we did.

  As I expected, some extension of Harrison was the topic. It was still too new and painful to be dropped.

  "You think she'll cremate him?" Warren asked.

  "Yeah. I think she will. Ain't no point in burying him. We should scatter his ashes on Cedar's Hill. What's the point in burying him? You know ain't nobody gon' visit," Gus said.

  He’s right. I don’t visit my own father’s grave; no way in hell I was visiting Harrison’s. When you’re dead, you’re gone. That’s what I believe, and I know a lot of the brothers feel the same way.

  Warren moved to Arizona almost ten years ago, but he still sounded like his hometown Atlanta, Georgia.

  "Well, it's not up to us. Has anybody talked to Lila?" Gus asked.

  "I brought her some food day before," Shirley said.

  I dragged my fries through the ketchup on my plate, not wanting to listen, but being unable to stop listening.

  "How’d she look?" Luke asked.

  "Like death warmed over," she said crassly.

  I caught Jerry wincing in my periph
eral vision.

  "Don't say that," he said darkly.

  "I'm just saying," she said defensively. "And it's true! You know spouses tend to die right after the other from a broken heart."

  I stayed quiet as I typically would have and just watched. Jerry visibly paled even more and he slapped the countertop loudly with his fist. "I said don't say that!"

  The club stilled and I tensed. Shirley never took too much from anybody. I feared she’d retort with something even more cutting.

  He stood, dropping his half-eaten sandwich onto his plate.

  "Lila needs us to be strong for her. Words mean things. Don't say no shit like that. Especially around me,” he said. “She's strong. She's going to be okay. She's going to make it," he said forcefully. "She has to," he said under his breath as he walked back to the office.

  The air was still tense when the brothers went back to eating. Conversation slowly bubbled up again.

  "He's right. Maybe we should stop by again and make sure she's getting out of the house," Gus said from behind a glass of beer.

  Shirley pulled a rag from behind the counter and began to wipe down the wood, "I didn't mean nothing by it," she said, looking around.

  "We know, Shirl," I said, patting her hand before handing her the empty plate. "Thanks for lunch."

  "Take this to him, will you?" she said, pushing the rest of his sandwich towards me.

  "You got it."

  I entered the office and closed the door behind me. Jerry was sitting on the couch with his head leaned back and his eyes closed.

  "You must be close to the edge, yelling at Shirley."

  "I don't need a lecture."

  "I wasn't going to give you one. Just saying. You need to find some chill before you lose it completely."

  "I hear you," he said unmoving even as the couch dipped under my weight.

  "Bet. Now eat your sandwich. We still got hours of this shit."

  He peeked open one eye at the sandwich on his lap and nodded as he bit into it.

  Kaylen

  I turned back towards the mirror, trying to see myself from every angle.

  I think I look good.

  This would’ve been the perfect time to have girlfriends. I mean, I had friends at the hospital, but we had yet to explore a friendship out of those four walls. But I could’ve used one right about then to tell me truthfully if I looked good or not. But I didn’t have any here and I didn’t have any from my past. No one lasted through the sifter that was my marriage. I didn’t blame them for leaving. I was quite negative and in a very draining situation. But now that I’m not as young, but more independent, I was ready to give this dating thing a go again and I couldn’t even figure out what to wear! Something evil reminded me of what he would say.

  You look terrible. You’re still gaining weight. You shouldn’t show too much skin; it makes you look like a whore. Who do you think wants to see all that?

  "SHUT UP!"

  He wasn’t here. I brushed my hair smooth, pulling some to the front, draping it over my chest. I could barely stand still and my body jiggled excitedly as I freshened my makeup. This was it. I tried to think on the positive instead of the negative man I left behind. For the first time in years, I was going on a date! I could barely hold in my squeals of excitement.

  What’s the protocol for such an event? Am I supposed to let him know I’m excited? No. That’ll look too eager. Should I text him when I get there? Probably not. Maybe we’ll just find each other inside.

  Checking the time, I saw that it was six forty-five.

  I better go. Between the car ride and the wait, I'll be right on time.

  I went back and forth the entire Uber ride debating if I should text him.

  Maybe I could tell him when I get outside. Perhaps just say, ‘Can’t wait to see you inside.’ No. I even debated asking the Uber driver.

  But when the car pulled in front of the club, I took Evan's silence as a sign. Fate was in charge here and I decided it was best to trust the situation. We’d met twice before in the hospital; surely we could meet again in a crowded club... with loud music and sexy women probably throwing themselves at him.

  When I’m finally let in, the scene made me feel ten years older than I was. I was reminded just how long it had been since I’d been to a club and how much I missed dancing. Weaving through the crowd, I was reminded just how out of place I was. I wasn’t in the tightest dress, the tallest shoes, and I didn’t have a best friend on my arm. It seems that everywhere I looked, women were coupled in twos, obviously enjoying each other’s company and protecting each other from unwanted attention. I felt ridiculously out of my element, but I came on a mission and I pushed my way to the bar for liquid courage to fulfill it.

  I looked around for Evan for what seemed like hours, but was probably only one. My worst fears played in my head. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe he ditched me. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he decided he had better things to do with his time. I didn’t want to believe any of them, but that’s what my brain made me think. It was ridiculous to put my issues on him but this was the first time I’d been out in literally years. The least he could have done was show up on time. He had struck me as a punctual kind of guy – maybe my impression of him was wrong.

  I shook my head.

  That couldn’t be. We were texting almost nonstop the other day. Granted, the past few days had been slower, but I thought it was just because of our different schedules. I didn’t know what he did for a living exactly but I was sure he was just busy working—not disappearing. He couldn’t have just lost interest. Something had to have happened. He would have called or something if he had to cancel. I had to believe that. Since I couldn’t drink anymore for fear that I’d be drunk when he did come, I took myself to the dance floor. What better way to stop worrying?

  Finally, I see him. In the dark of the club all I could see were his high cheekbones and mischievous eyes. He danced like no one was watching, but of course they all were, including me. I couldn’t take my eyes off him and he didn't care. As if drawn to me, he looked up from the blonde dancing in front of him and locked eyes with me. I moved before my feet realized that they were walking, and then we were dancing. In Evan's arms, I remembered how much I loved dancing. It all came back to me like riding a bike.

  The music moved me like a puppet on strings, my head bobbed so hard my brain was in shut down mode. There was so much sweat on my skin and not all of it was mine. The DJ played some remix of Bohemian Rhapsody and the electric harmony of Freddie Mercury’s voice with the techno beat was intoxicating.

  Is this the real life?

  Clubbing made my synapses jump like beans in a tin.

  Is this just fantasy?

  I couldn't have been more alive than if I was shouting from a mountain top.

  Caught in a landslide—

  The music was a drug that brought me higher, higher until my mind buzzed with pure joy. I felt as if my soul was going to shine so brightly my skin would start to glow, like my aura would have become visible.

  No escape from reality—

  But that wasn’t true. I was escaping right then and the night was still so young, my limbs had so much energy I could have danced for millennia and then some more.

  I don’t know how long we danced together or how many women he turned down to dance with me. All I know is that after seconds, minutes, possibly hours, he dragged me off the floor to hydrate me.

  "That was amazing," I gasped.

  "It was,” he replied, equally out of breath as we gulped down water.

  "I thought you weren’t coming."

  "I didn’t think I was either,” he said, slamming down the glass on the counter. "But I'm here now." He smirked before pulling me to his chest by my behind, “So what are we going to do about it?”

  I gasped at his behavior. In the hospital he was so tame, so patient, and obviously hurting. But there… he was in control but in a completely different way. I never expected this kind of man to be under his d
emure package. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the whiskey I could smell on his breath, but whatever it was, I was buzzing with heat in between my legs and I felt alive. I couldn’t bear to remove his hand from my ass.

  I decided to play his game. “I don’t know. What do you think we should do about it?”

  He opened his mouth and closed it as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

  "Hold that thought."

  His face illuminated with the fluorescence of his phone as he read a text. He typed something back quickly and frowned.

  "What’s wrong?"

  "I’ve got to blow this popsicle stand."

  "Oh," I said, obviously disappointed.

  "But you’re still invited back to my place. I can give you my address and you can meet me there."

  “Oh. I don’t have a car. I got a ride here.”

  He tilted his head to the side. "Well, that complicates things." As if deciding he no longer cared, he shrugged and said, "You down to take a ride?"

  I didn’t know what to think but I nodded and as if sealing my fate, he smiled. The side of his red lips tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his godlike face. Then he took my hand and led me outside to his motorcycle.

  "This is Poison," he said introducing his bike. Then he leaned over as if talking to her and said, "Play nice."

  He swung a muscly leg around the bike and straddled it, giving me a perfect look at his shapely behind. “You ever rode a bike before?”

  I shook my head quickly, making myself a little dizzy. "No."

  He smiled again as if my inexperience excited him. "Climb on. She won’t bite."

  He started the engine and the bike screamed too loud, spitting gravel behind it, and then we were off. I squealed and buried my head in his back, peeking from the side to see the blur of lights passing us by. After a few moments, I relaxed and really felt what was going on. I could smell the lingering scent of the rain from two days ago and the grass someone recently cut. My hair billowed around me, ruffling in the wind. It was out of its signature bun. Between my legs I could feel the heat and the rumbling of power in the engine and against my sensitive skin it turned me on even more. I felt vulnerable and free.