Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gone
Anthony
It was a prison.
What the fuck was I going to do to guard the entrance with a forty-five, that the uniformed professionals inside weren’t going to do ten times better?
It was busy work, and I knew it, I just didn’t know why.
Rather than drive myself nuts about it, I gave my back to the bike.
I put my glasses on, cupped the phone to my chest and closed my eyes for a few minutes.
I’d counted on waking up to a text from her, long before the two of them got back. Instead, I woke up to the phone being ripped out of my hands.
“This is all the further I can count on you?” Mark roared, when I followed the path of the phone off the bike.
He slammed it on the ground and kicked it away. I was so shocked by his open disrespect, I froze, but he didn’t. He grabbed my cut on either side of the chest and drew me back when I tried to go after the shattered phone.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Huh? Look, I know most of them prefer the diamond dust or whatever it is that makes their tits sparkle, but that doesn't make her pussy gold. Get your fucking shit together.”
The fuse of my temper felt like it had suddenly shrunk to the size of a tea candle wick. I clenched my jaw and let him heft me around.
I really didn’t have much choice, with Big Vick standing beside him.
If I responded, I probably wouldn’t even land a blow before I’d be eating the same pavement the phone did.
I tried to stay calm.
It was a throwaway phone, but all phones had a sim card, right?
I held onto that little shred of hope and closed my eyes while he raged about what a failure I’d been the past week. When he let go and stepped back, I thought he was going to hit me. His eyes were wild when I met his gaze.
Instead, he scoffed like I wasn’t shit and marched back to his bike.
Several other bikes were parked in a row beside him.
How the hell I slept through the approach of all them brothers, I had no idea. Every fiber in my being twitched while I watched him fire it up and circle around the lot.
“Let’s go!” He barked.
I shot toward the ditch, wading into the muck as I frantically started looking around for the phone. The weeds were as tall as my knee, making it an impossible task.
“Jesus, come on, Anthony. He’s fucking pissed.” Easy tried to reason, before starting his bike.
Finally, I found it, caked in mud and all but a corner of it submerged in nasty water.
“Fuck,” I huffed, hurrying back to my bike.
I had no idea just how many times I’d be saying that word in the coming week. Mark took us south, to a party near Cairo, and insisted we spend the next two days at what he called a Meeting of the Minds.
Which basically meant he was reconsidering the coke thing and looking for other avenues of income. Mark maintained a scowl that rivaled my own for much of the trip. He’d talked all that shit about me not being around to traffic for him, and here he was, looking to blow off the deal himself.
We were all sitting around the fire, the other clubs having gone to their own camping areas so we could speak amongst ourselves.
“I… I don’t know, Mark. This is just trading skillets or whatever the women say.” C.C. shrugged.
His brother’s face pinched up and he stared at him, clearly waiting on some elaboration. “What the hell are you on about? Skillets…?”
“You know, trading one pan for another.” C.C. nodded, “Does it really matter, pot, coke, pills…”
“Hell, yes, it fucking matters,” Monty spat back before anyone else could get a word in, “You go wave a bag of coke at a cop and I’ll do the same with some pot. See which one of us gets out before we need a wheelchair, and someone to puree our damned food, huh?”
I wiped my face and glanced toward Easy, glad we were never that prone to public disputes.
We both had about two good Fuck You’s in us, and if shit wasn’t resolved by then, it was time to get to swinging.
C.C. and Monty, the two of them could argue until one of them ended up slurring or passing out.
It was like there was an unspoken contest to see who could make the other huff in exasperation fastest.
C.C. usually won.
“You’ll go to Missouri and pick up a load first thing in the morning then,” Mark announced, without even glancing toward me.
My head snapped up and I looked around. If I wasn’t needed until morning, I had time to replace my phone and get my new number to the Pink Cabaret.
“You heard me. Go on. You and your brother, take Makaveli with you.”
Mak stormed off toward his bike, his jaw clenched in a way that spelled trouble.
“Fuck him,” Mak spat, once I caught up with him. “Let’s go to that titty bar. We got time…”
I couldn’t believe my ears, and damned if I was about to argue.
“What the—? Mak,” Easy spat, ever the soldier.
I rolled my eyes and groaned, turning on him. “You’re a fucking prospect, right? Do prospect shit then… Fuck off.”
He swallowed hard and lifted his chin.
He didn’t fuck off, but he didn’t speak out of turn again, either. He rode with us to Springfield, keeping his distance as we approached the Pink Cabaret.
Easy huffed and took his time getting off his bike.
“Man, that door guy’s already looking at us hard. He probably remembers we’re the ones that tore up the lot not so long ago. Why don’t you just go get your broad? Tell her to bring a friend or something.” Mak cleared his throat and slowed his pace.
I turned my attention toward the door, and sure enough, that nosy bastard was there. He looked every bit the snapping turtle that I remembered. It seemed to be his normal expression when he noticed me.
“Yeah, alright. I’ll be right back.” I hurried toward the door, hoping against all odds the man wouldn’t call the police.
“You good?” he nervously asked, when I stepped inside.
I wasn’t sure if I should ignore him, passively shrug, or act offended. My brief pause gave him time to lean closer and whisper, “She’s not here man. Jay–”
“Get back to work,” the suit snapped, stepping out of the hallway.
My attention pivoted to him as the doorman cleared his throat and moved off toward the bar.
“Crystal no longer works here. I’m going to ask you politely to leave now.”
“Wha–?” The way all the girls looked at me made my stomach twist. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Call the police,” the suit quietly commanded the girl at the counter.
Shit.
“I’m going.” I backed out the same way I entered and jogged back toward Mak, waving him toward the bikes.
I wasn’t afraid of the police, but I had a bad feeling, and I really didn’t want to end up calling Mark to bail us out.
The idea of explaining another Springfield voyage just did not appeal.
Thankfully, no police cars approached as we pulled onto the street and made our way to Crystal’s apartment.
“What the fuck?” I whispered, looking over the damaged entryway.
“City life,” Makaveli grunted, shaking his head with a grin.
“I’m gonna stay with the bikes,” Easy quietly declared.
“Like a prospect.” Mak grinned, thumping my arm.
“Knock it off,” I snapped, as that feeling in my gut compounded and my heart started to race.
The tall woman who had argued with Crystal when I dropped her off appeared at the bottom of the steps. When she saw us, she backed up toward the debris.
“We don’t want any trouble… Are you okay?” I held out my hands in a passive gesture.
“Get the fuck away. She’s gone. Okay? She doesn’t live here anymore.”
I glanced at Mak and sprinted after her.
“Oh shit,” he scoffed, scrambling off his bike to follow me.
“Wait, hey!” I yelled as she raced up the stairs. “Just give me her fucking number. What the hell? Where did she go?”
“I don’t want any part of this. I’m done. Go away. I’m… oh, my god.” She slammed the door and I heard the chains and bolts sounding on the other side.
Mak thumped my arm and I jerked away.
“Dude, she’s calling the law…” He laughed, “We gotta get the fuck out of here.”
“I– I can’t get the fuck out of here. I– my wife…”
“Your what?” Mak’s eyes lit up and his laughter carried on.
“Fuck you. Shut up.” I shot past him, unsure of where to go, or what to do.
It was a feeling that I knew all too well, but it hadn’t been this bad in years.