by Hazel Parker
Kyle smiled, but it was a slightly awkward smile—on anyone else, I might have found it creepy. But with Kyle, I knew he just couldn’t help the way he looked. He was not going to be someone who ever hurt anyone or acted cruelly.
We sat and talked at that table for only a few minutes, as Kyle said that he had to go to a meeting shortly thereafter. But as I saw him leave, I was reminded of why I wrote.
Sometimes, it was good to empower those who didn’t have much power to begin with. It was good to give those who didn’t have a fighting chance, a fighting chance.
I just hoped, as the rain came down heavily outside, that I had the awareness to understand who the empowered and the disenfranchised really were.
Chapter 1: Biggie
On a typical Thursday, it didn’t take much effort to figure out the mood of everyone.
Niner was the quiet one who rarely spoke unless the name Carrie was mentioned. He offered his insights, but he was easily the most hard-nosed and rigid of all of us.
Fitz was the one who liked to consider all sides and tried to set himself up at the philosopher or ponderer of the group. He’d gotten better about standing up for himself, but he was still the guy that we picked on the most in the club.
My uncle, whom we all called Uncle, was the brash hothead. In his world, the person that spoke the loudest and the most aggressively was the person that got their way. In some ways, it wasn’t wrong.
My brother, Marcel, was firm, tough, but fair. I knew him as someone who was soft to his girlfriend and his daughter but willing to do anything and everything to protect them and the rest of us Stones from danger.
And me? I was the optimistic guy, the joker. I was the one that, in a moment of tense silence, would make a joke and laugh at it myself; even if other people didn’t laugh out loud, smiles would start to form. You couldn’t have the nickname “Biggie” and not have a little bit of humor about yourself.
That’s how we were on a typical Thursday night, when we had our club meetings.
But today?
The roles were reversed.
Everyone else seemed extraordinarily calm and even happy with the status quo. My brother made a joke to Uncle, Fitz smiled, and Niner nodded his head along like he was listening to some great tunes. Laughter filled the air.
I wasn’t laughing, though.
I had never seen Kyle be so angry before.
Oh, I’d seen Kyle plenty angry. I’d seen him throw temper tantrums. But from the boys that I’d been around and the people I’d seen that went mad, it was never the ones who screamed and cursed at the top of their lungs who were a threat. It was the ones who seemed to finally just say “fuck it” and know exactly what they needed to do.
Maybe I was the only one not laughing because I was the only one who didn’t believe the best approach to beating Kyle was to kill him. Unfortunately, I was very much a man on an island in this regard; even Marcel believed at this point that the “Kyle politician problem” was best dealt with through physical means. I was the only person who believed diplomacy was best.
But if Marcel and Uncle didn’t believe such an approach would work and they didn’t believe that he could be saved, it didn’t matter how nice or empathic I was to Kyle. The two of them would undermine me at every turn, prolonging our seemingly unending battle.
“I’ve spoken to Richard in Las Vegas,” Marcel said. “It looks like they will ship us some weapons and body armor, but they’d prefer not to get involved in the fight unless absolutely necessary.”
“Fucking figured,” Uncle muttered.
“The weapons and armor they’re going to ship us will be military-grade, Uncle,” Marcel said. “It’s not as good as having bodies here, sure, but it’s a step in the right direction.”
“Oh, sure, of course, that’s nice. And what happens when Kyle is pulling in a whole new gang and we’re outnumbered? Then what? The fucking hippies out west going to send good vibes our way for us Yankees?”
I think everyone, at some point in knowing him, got a little fed up with Uncle. He was a good man at heart but “grating” was a kind way to describe his personality.
“Uncle, we will deal with it when the time comes,” Marcel said.
I could tell he was annoyed. His words were too rigid, too carefully spoken to suggest he was at ease and able to speak freely and easily.
“Damn better hope the rich boys can,” Uncle said. “What about the California ones?”
“They won’t come unless the Vegas Saints come,” Marcel said, which produced the exact kind of reaction that one would expect from Uncle in such a moment. “The Vegas Saints have the money. California’s got the manpower, but they’re not going to drive across the country.”
The rest of us stared at Uncle as he laughed sarcastically, a quite pitiful laugh.
“What the fuck did we make a deal for if they’re just going to act as our accountants?” he said. “We’ve got dorks here. Fuck, put some glasses on me, and I can order parts for the club! I knew this shit would happen. We give the Vegas Saints some money, and now they’re just standing on the sideline.”
“They are not standing on the sideline,” Marcel said firmly. “They are giving us firearms and body armor. They will come down if we really need them to help. But, Uncle, what threat is there right now? Yes, no one in here is thinking that Kyle is in his happy place. The shithead’s doing something. But we handled the Bloodhounds on our own without much trouble—”
“People got killed, Marcel!”
Uncle’s words put a chill on the already cold room. Marcel bit his lip and looked at everyone else, as if waiting for permission to speak his mind. I don’t think any of us had much interest in saying anything until the president had weighed in. It was a heavy weight he had as president, and while I couldn’t quite say I wouldn’t have wanted it, I knew Marcel was better suited for the role.
“Unfortunately, that’s part of the deal.”
But it wasn’t Marcel who spoke. It was Niner.
“We knew when we started this club that we were going to attract violence. Violence was just an idea when Kyle was making political moves or when Richard came in here and talked. It was not when the Bloodhounds appeared. Trust me. This is the new normal.”
“Fuck…”
Uncle muttered what all of us felt at that moment. It wasn’t a “fuck” of expectations thrown for a loop, but rather, of our worst fears confirmed.
“Well, shit, if people are going to get killed, why the fuck aren’t we calling the Saints over?” Uncle said.
“Because until people are killed—”
“They were!”
“In this current skirmish,” Marcel said. He was very much approaching his breaking point. “They are not going to help us. This is not something that we have the room to negotiate, Uncle. This is just part of the deal.”
Marcel took a scan of the room. Fitz was his usual, quiet self. Uncle’s mood and attitude were as visible as the full moon in a cloudless sky. Niner had cast a pall on the room. And me…
I sure wasn’t smiling now.
“Biggie,” Marcel said. “What’s going on? You look nervous as hell.”
Marcel might have asked me the question, but there was no clearer sign of his nerves than that. He didn’t call people out like that unless it was to deflect attention from himself and give other people to speak.
“I just can’t help but wonder if we’re doing the right thing, you know? Like all we’ve done is escalate things with Kyle repeatedly. What if—”
“Smite the bitch,” Uncle said dismissively. “There’s no room for negotiating with this bastard, Biggie. Kill him and we move on.”
“No, for real, Uncle, I’m serious,” I said. “Look, he has reason to dislike us, especially from our past. And right now, we don’t know anything. The Bloodhounds are gone, at least as they were, but they could come back. A new club could come back. All we know is Kyle made a threat. And you know who he made that threat to? Me.”
“And before you came out, Uncle, when I was speaking to him, I saw a brief glimpse of a man that wanted this all to end. A man that was tired of the madness and the nonsense. We’ve had so much violence with him and his cronies…maybe it’s time that we extend an olive branch.”
“An olive branch!” Uncle said, smacking the table. “Are we going to light the branch on fire before we give it to him?”
“What the hell has your strategy done for the club?” I shouted, the words escaping me before I could reconsider them.
“I’m the whole fucking reason that this club exists!” Uncle said. “You broke-ass mechanics weren’t doing shit until I came along! Your brother was in jail!”
“You’ve given us the money and a whole lot of problems, Uncle!” I shouted. “Your belligerent attitude only provokes Kyle—”
“A man who will continue to harass and ruin this club until you wipe him out!”
“Enough!” Marcel said, pounding the table with both of his hands. “I can very clearly see that we are in no mood to have any type of serious discussion about anything with the club. Therefore, until cooler heads prevail—or at least until the hotter heads burn themselves out—I am closing this meeting. We will convene an hour before our party tomorrow, assuming that we still have it. Everyone out.”
Fitz looked the most eager to leave, clearly feeling out of his element. Niner rose but did not leave, still of the mindset of staying where violence was most likely to erupt. I rose, but a look that Marcel gave me suggested I ought to remain. Uncle scowled at Marcel and me, muttering expletives under his breath that I tuned out just enough that I wasn’t sure what, exactly, he had said. Niner followed Uncle out the door.
“Shut it,” Marcel said, nodding to the door.
I did so and sat across from Marcel.
“I know you’re right,” Marcel said. “I know that the way we treated him as kids, it’s like the justice for our sins has come full circle. But I don’t see how we can change anything at this point, Biggie. He’s so far removed and so far on the other side of the battle that even if we try and make peace, he’s just going to use it as a chance to off us.”
“I know, I know,” I said, all too aware of the danger that Kyle presented. “But we need to be the bigger men and apologize. Do I think we say it once, and the war is over? No. I think it’s going to be a process. But I can promise you one thing. Even if apologizing only has a five percent chance of working, it’s a lot better than the zero percent chance that this battling is going to give us.”
Marcel took a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaled slowly as if trying to lower his heart rate.
“If we take the diplomatic approach,” Marcel said. “You need to do it. And you need to pursue it through back-end channels.”
“I understand.”
“Give me a second to elaborate, Biggie,” Marcel said. “This isn’t just about you and me against Kyle. This is also about you and me, both as brothers and as club leaders, against Kyle, our brother and our enemy. We cannot look like we’re backing down in public. Whatever attempts you make to reach out…we can’t let other members of the club know. Not even Uncle.”
“Especially not Uncle.”
For the first time that meeting, both of us shared a brief smile.
“Let’s do it like this,” Marcel said. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to do to solve the issues diplomatically. But you do it as a brother, not as a Savage Saint. When you’re with the club and facing everyone else, I expect you to follow my lead. You don’t have to be like Uncle and say we need to condemn him to hell or any of that nonsense, but I need you to be on my side. OK?”
“OK.”
Marcel smiled and stood up. I followed his lead, and the two of us put our arms around each other as we walked out of the door.
“Uncle can be a real pain in the ass, huh?” Marcel said with a laugh.
“Yeah…just a smidge,” I said with a smirk. But we need him. Everyone who is in this club is someone we’re going to need.
“Go get some rest,” Marcel said. “I’ll keep an eye out on the shop. Uncle and Niner are staying here as well. I assume they just went for a smoke. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?”
“Alright, stay safe, bro.”
But I had no intention of just going home and heading off to bed. For starters, I didn’t fall asleep until two in the morning on a typical night, and second, because of the nature of the meeting, there was no way that my mind was going to slow down enough for me to get to sleep even if I was dead tired.
So instead, I decided to go for a walk in the area.
Such walks before might have proved suicidal with the presence of the Bloodhounds, but their elimination had at least spelled a temporary reprieve. And it wasn’t like said walk was going to take me right into the middle of the ghetto—I was intending to only walk in the most public of areas, spots where, even if an enemy saw me, he’d have to be truly desperate to make something work.
The scent of rain was everywhere, even though it had let up over twenty-four hours before. The feeling after a rainstorm in this part of town was always one of “lingering.” The scent lingered. The moisture and puddles lingered. In some ways, it felt like the mood the rain cast even lingered, although that was more a function of the current state of affairs than anything else.
I passed by the building that was once Southern Comfort. The sign for the store had been removed, though no one had moved in. Last I had heard, Uncle had invested an undisclosed sum on Niner’s behalf to help Carrie get her steakhouse off the ground. That was what I meant when I said Uncle had a heart of gold—he was never someone you wanted to spend more than fifteen minutes with, but he was someone you didn’t want out of your life, either.
I saw the coffee shop across the street and thought of getting something but decided against it. I’d already been to that coffee shop before, and if I was going to go someplace to help me clear my mind—and maybe even come up with some ideas for the club—it needed to be in a new place that would command my attention.
I walked another two blocks before I found such a place. It was a shop with blurry windows that made it impossible to look into, almost like a diner of some kind. It very much said “P.M. Coffee” though, also marketing itself for the night owls of Brooklyn. It was, in other words, the kind of place designed for someone like me.
I crossed the street, double-checked the hours, breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was open until midnight, and opened the door.
The barista at the counter was checking her phone, obviously not having a rush of customers to deal with. The place had a brighter-than-expected atmosphere, though it was still pretty dark for a coffee shop. I looked to my right and saw a woman closing her laptop. She was stunningly attractive.
Perhaps by coincidence, perhaps by luck, perhaps just by random chance, her eyes locked with mine as her laptop closed.
Neither of us were able to tear our eyes away.
I smiled.
She smiled.
I walked over.
Chapter 2: Lilly
I’d gotten two chapters into my next pass and felt pretty good about it.
So much so, in fact, that I decided to give myself an early out for the evening. I was in the process of closing my laptop and getting ready to say goodbye to Lisa, the barista, when I laid eyes on a man that looked incredibly familiar.
I couldn’t peg him exactly from my past—he was bald, had a cute smile on, and a bit of a five o’clock shadow on his face. He looked like a teddy bear with some stubble on, and though that may have made him sound haphazard and unkempt, it honestly just made him quite cute. The fact that he was smiling so perfectly, his lips curled back and his white teeth on display like in a modeling ad, only helped his cause.
But where the hell did I know him from? His face looked like someone I knew, but that was only from the eyes down—I didn’t know anyone who was bald that looked like
him. Middle school? High school? Someone from elsewhere in my childhood who had once had hair but had lost it to the inevitable scourge of genetics and age?
It wasn’t a big deal to not place him. He was walking toward me, anyway, and I’d learn soon enough who he was and what connection he had to me. And in any case, even if he was just a stranger, he was cute enough that I’d chat with him for a couple minutes. Brooklyn had so many people—and New York City as a whole had so many more—that it was almost impossible for people to not have doppelgangers or, put more humorously, an evil twin somewhere.
I just told myself to not judge this book by its seemingly familiar cover. Now, if my readers would just do the same goddamn thing for my books.
“Hey,” he said, his voice so friendly and relaxed.
“Hi,” I said back.
A brief pause came as both of us, just smiling at each other, waited for the other to say something. It wasn’t awkward at all; in fact, it was kind of sweet and cute. Whoever this guy was, he was making me feel happy in a spot when I perhaps should have just been looking to get to the front door as quickly as possible.
“Guess I came to the only coffee shop in town with some privacy, huh?” he said.
I giggled a little. He couldn’t have known that I actually had complete privacy—save for Lisa, but she never came from behind the counter—for the last hour and a half. And before that, I had only had to share the shop with two other people—a couple that was more content to watch the world go by than one that insisted on blabbering on and on about the gossip in their lives. In other words, the perfect couple for having as background, but not as a distraction.
“Just a little,” I said.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your privacy; I just saw you were closing your laptop—”
“No! No, no, you’re fine, you’re good,” I said with a laugh. “You’re right that I normally don’t talk to strangers. But then again, I usually don’t take writing breaks.”
“Well, I hope the sight of me entering wasn’t the reason that you closed your laptop.”
