Chapter 3
three
DANE
When I was a kid, just learning what my dick was used for, I found a nineteen-sixties biker magazine laying around the club. I flipped through it to check out the vintage Indians. There on page fourteen was an ad for Harley, a young model posed astride. Thick, dark lashes curled around doe innocent eyes. She smiled thinly, as if to mask how much fun she was really having. She looked like the girl next door who’d been convinced to go for a ride on the wild side. I ripped the picture out of the magazine, and pinned it to the wall in my bedroom, right next to the bikes I sketched.
I know I’ve never met Darcy before, but there is something familiar about her. Laying in bed last night, I realized that Darcy reminded me of the dream girl. The model was artifice created through the eye of a photographer, but Darcy is very real, dream come to life. At such a young age, I knew what I wanted. I guess I decided to wait to commit to a woman until I found it. And find it I have.
Now to claim it.
It’s still early when I park my bike behind the chain link fence at White Dog. Eight whole hours since I left my family. I haven’t slept, too geared up to pass out. Flinch is sending regular reports, but he says it’s been quiet except for the occasional flickering on and off of the bedroom light.
As I kick the stand for my bike out, I spot my father’s bike parked next to Linc’s. He’s supposed to be at his own office, managing the family farm, but pops in to visit. Good we can get this taken care of with one phone call. Linc wasn’t happy to be asked to come in before lunch. He’s taking early retirement next week, and long ago handed everything off to me he could.
All decisions are made by the president, unless a vote is called, so he’ll have to sign off on the transfer of the debt to myself.
I could just wait until I take the helm, but I can’t—won’t—hold off any longer than I have to. Every moment that ticks by is a precious moment I’ll never get back.
The steel door to the office is unlocked, but only one of the lights is on. When I pass, none of the employees are here yet. Glancing at the row of neat metal desks, I wonder which one Darcy occupied. Did she make the space her own, with cute framed pictures of her family and bottles of her lavender hand cream? Had she leaned back in the chairs, like I’ve seen the others do so many times, talking to her coworkers, or was she more focused?
A flicker of fury strikes me when I realize the others all knew her then. They saw her on a daily basis, knew her expressions and learned her habits. All because I was the one who dealt with a difficult situation for the club.
Knowing that I’ll soon be the one who knows her best is little salve for the darkness brewing in my gut.
Linc and my father are in the break room. I stop in the entryway and lean against the door jamb, my arms crossed over my body as I watch the pair. Linc’s leaning over one of those quick-brew one-cup coffee makers while he laughs at something my father said.
The pair go way back, having served in Operation Desert Storm together. My grandfather offered the returning vets jobs to give them the quiet and time they needed to decompress. They became prospects, then eventually older single dads together…two old war buddies trying to raise their sons into men.
Dad is in one of the vinyl chairs, carefully examining a long plastic container of cinnamon rolls. “Those from Presh?” I ask hopefully, referring to my grandmother by her nickname, short for Precious.
“I don’t think the woman knows how to make small batches,” my father says with a head shake as he pulls out one of the pastries.
“She cooks for bikers and farm hands,” I remind him with a snort. The cinnamon rolls will be gone before the entire shift is here.
Linc places the pod into the brewer, closes the top, and then leans down to examine the console closely, his forehead scrunched up in deep concentration. Pressing the “brew” button, he straightens his lean frame and smooths down his long silver mustache.
At the company picnic last year, one of the employees' children loudly proclaimed that he looked like Professor Dumbledore from Harry Potter. Linc was highly amused but has refused to wear his readers ever since.
“What happened last night?” Linc asks with his official ‘ answering to the Prez’ look.
Knowing he means with Seth, I explain. “We found an open window with a busted-out screen on the second floor of the house.” The debt might be small, but his evasion of so many of us is a slap in the face. A flash of an old memory washes over me.
Through the window and down the oak tree, Seth and I used to head straight to the clearing in the woods to meet up with Mudbug, Folgers, and whatever girls we could get, carrying the booze I stole from the club’s bar. I was only caught once by my godfather, Ruger. “What you up to boy,” he demanded in his thick Cajun accent. I knew better than to lie to a member of the club, and I knew I would be in even more trouble for not answering. After hearing my confession, Ruger shook his head and told me, “Only idiots climb out windows carrying glass bottles, and even bigger ones get caught. Haven’t you ever heard of a flask?”
He confiscated that bottle, and it felt more like penance for getting caught than anything else.
I slipped out the tree with Seth the next night with a six pack of canned beer that showed up in my overnight bag. It was just enough for us to have one each.
Another childhood memory Seth has spoiled..the oak tree. That’s what Seth is like though. The rotten apple that ruins everything.
Pulling back one of the chairs of the dinette table, Linc sits, crossing one leg over the other at the ankle, and focuses his eyes on me. “That was quite a pronouncement you made,” he declares. “The prospects were running their jaws about it all night.”
I walk over to the table and pull out a chair. “Sounds like they have too much time on their hands if they’re standing around gossiping like little bitches.”
“Time to pull out the pressure washers,” Dad remarks with a laugh.
“I’ll have them clear out the second bedroom at my house.”
Linc gives me a knowing headshake, “Suddenly need your second room empty. So it’s true then?”
Clasping my hands in front of me, I lean toward him. “I want this.”
“You’ve never even hinted at wanting an old lady before,” Linc points out.
“I didn’t want one until I met Darcy.”
“And it had to be Seth’s wife?” he says with an incredulous chuckle.
“It’s her or none.”
My father, watching the exchange carefully, leans back in the chair, his eyes focused on me. That’s Dad’s way, listening attentively before he tells you exactly what he thinks, whether you want to hear it or not. “You know that baby isn’t but a few weeks old. Have you thought of that? It’s not just her you’ll be taking on, but a kid. That’s a huge change.”
“She’s mine, so the baby is as well,” I declare. The fact that Darcy’s a mom isn’t going to discourage me. Owen’s a head start to our family. From the get-go, I’ll get to have our firstborn in my hands while waiting for another to come along.
Linc’s voice is resigned when he answers. “What deal are you considering cutting with Seth?”
“It’s simple,” I say with a careless shrug. “I get Darcy and the baby. He gets the fuck out of town.” There are no other options. This is what is going to happen.
The coffee maker spurts at the end of the cycle and then beeps. Linc stands and pulls the styrofoam cup from under the brewer. His warning glance back at me is his approval. “I want the entire debt, small as it may be, transferred to the club before you do anything. Do you have a contact at the parish jail to deal with this?”
“Yeah, I got it handled.”
Coming back to sit at the table with us, Linc leans back and rests his palms against the back of his head, fingers interlaced. “You know Darcy is a very nice girl. She used to help the others when things got busy and always came in with a smile on her face. But she’s also never sent an asshole customer my way.” He delivers the last statement with a pointedly raised eyebrow. I get the message. My woman can hold her own.
A slow smile finds my face. “Sounds like maybe she’ll fit into our world then.”
“How are you going to keep an eye on her until she understands?” my father asks. It’s a question, but there’s a nod to things long past hidden in his words. It was wartime when Mom took off in a temper to visit her sister without telling Dad. But it serves as a reminder to keep our old ladies safe.
“I want Darcy to manage the office at the new auto supply store,” I announce without preamble. “I checked her employee file last night. She’s young, but she seems qualified. That’ll put her in eyesight of the garage at all times.”
Linc nods his head in approval. “She’ll be able to handle the job just fine.”
I’ll have to arrange things. We may not be her first choice of employment after our visit last night, but with Seth in jail and a new baby, she’ll need money sooner or later. With the way she reacted to me, she may need a little more time to sweat things out before accepting the job.
A light flickers on, the fluorescent glow interrupting our privacy. No talking club business when someone unpatched is in the building.
My father places an arm on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m real proud of you for how you’re taking care of things. Plan before you jump so that your family is safe.”
Anything for them.
As I stand to leave, Linc chuckles. “You know what this means?” he asks, his gaze directed at my father with a teasing grin. “We’re gonna have to get you a patch that says Grandpappy for your cut.”
My father shoots him a look of amused annoyance. “Fuck off. Grandpappy, my ass…”
Leaning down, I reach for a cinnamon roll from the open container with a napkin and push out my chair, enjoying the sounds of easy teasing from the decades long friendship.
One day, in the blink of an eye, that will be Mudbug and Folgers, ribbing me over the birth of Owen’s first child.
* * *
Shit follows Seth, which means that there’s no telling who else will show up at Darcy’s door looking for him. I don’t want them around my family. She and Owen will be mine soon, and until they’re under my roof, the only way I can do that is by staying as close to them as I can. As soon as I get the all-clear, I immediately pack a small bag and head toward the neighborhood on the outskirts of town.
In any small community, any business interaction is likely with someone you already know. Which is why I’m not surprised at all that the only home with a clear shot of Darcy’s belongs to my old math teacher, Mary Grant. She dubbed Mudbug, Folgers, and me the three horsemen of the apocalypse. When Folgers pointed out there were, in fact, four horsemen, she informed us, “You three will suffice.”
Despite it all, I know she secretly liked us. She didn’t even rat us out when we wired the horn to the brake light relay of the principal’s car. Since he refused to give business to the club, he was forced to drive around honking every time he pressed on his brakes for weeks.
The look on Mary’s face when one of her star pupils shows up unannounced on her doorstep eight years later is hilarious.
She stands in front of me in a pair of slip-on shoes and a brightly colored mumu with an “ aww shit ” expression on her face. At her feet, one of those small rat dogs dances around.
“Hello, Mrs. Grant,” I say with my best smile.
She stares at me, unimpressed. “And why may I ask, am I blessed with your presence?”
“I need to use a room in your house,” I offer. “With compensation, of course.”
“And why is that?” she asks, amused.
“My woman is living across the street at the Williams’ old house. See, I’m in a little bit of hot water with her, and we have a brand new baby. I need to be close by, but she won’t exactly let me into the house right now. I don’t want to leave her alone when I’m at work, so I thought the other guys could keep an eye out for her when I’m not around.”
“Gerald Robinson’s oldest daughter is living over there. Are you trying to tell me you have a baby with her ?”
“That boy is absolutely mine,” I say firmly.
“You know, this sounds enough like an episode of Maury Povich that I almost believe it from you,” she says flatly.
“One of us would need to be here at all times in case something happens. I’m willing to offer you, say…” I blow out a long breath, thinking, “A hundred a day.”
“Who is us?” she asks suspiciously.
“Depends on who is available, but likely me, Abe, and Jameson,” I answer, referring to Mudbug and Folgers by their real names. I’ll have to introduce her to Flinch later, since he’s likely to be needed as well.
“Of course, the three of y’all are still friends,” she mutters.
“To the grave,” I reply smoothly.
“Two hundred, you clean up after yourselves, and Abe’s not allowed in. Payment upfront.” I smile at her third request. She always wrongly insisted that Mudbug was the ringleader of our bullshit.
“You know, he was the only one you never wrote up,” I remind her.
“That’s because I couldn’t catch him,” she harrumphs. “I know he gave Steven Livaudais that split lip!”
That was actually me. Livaudais might have been the golden boy of Parran High, but he liked to pick on the Special Ed kids in the hallway between classes. Someone needed to teach him manners. I bite back the smile growing at the memory of the little shit’s face when he cried after the first punch.
“Two hundred, you let me use your wifi, and Abe doesn’t come anywhere near your house,” I suggest.
“Done, but I want two weeks upfront,” she insists.
“Ten days. I’m hoping we’re done by then,” I counteroffer. That’s the day I become president, and Darcy’s deadline.
When I hand her the cash, she smiles, pleased. “Nice doing business with you,” she says. “You may use the upstairs guest room.”
She starts counting out the twenties and fifties after I hand them to her. “Mrs. Grant, I’m hurt.”
“I have graded your arithmetic papers,” she reminds me as the Chihuahua at her feet starts barking at me again.
I walk away to retrieve my overnight bag, laughing. The woman’s not changed a bit in years.
I sling my duffel over my shoulders, carefully concealing my gun. Mrs. Grant doesn’t look up from her soap opera when I let myself in. The Chihuahua she calls Manny is now sitting in her lap, shivering. “Which door is it?” I ask.
“Last door on the right. Be careful to jiggle the handle in the washroom. It’s tricky,” she warns. “I’d show you the way, but my bunions are killing me.”
As far as crash pads go, I’ve had much worse. Cream-colored wallpaper with small white roses peeling at the corners shows the sheetrock underneath. A queen-sized bed takes up most of the room, made with linen that looks clean. Throwing my duffel onto a doily-covered dresser, I start unpacking. When I come to a square package from the local big box store, I lay it on the bed. My secret weapon. Fifty bucks, and it’ll probably work just as well as any of Folgers’ toys.
Using my pocket knife to slit open the top, I pull the baby intercom out of the cardboard. After plugging it into a nearby outlet, I scan the signals until I hear the loud wail of my boy giving his mother hell. Darcy’s soothing voice gently shushes him before there’s the creak of wood, likely the rocker, and the sound of the back-and-forth motion.
She’s nursing him again. I take note of the time, so I can learn their schedules, before shooting off a message in the group chat:
Dane
Audio is set up. How long will the cameras around the perimeter take?
Folgers
I’ll have them up a few hours after dark.
Opening the blinds wide, I wait, watching for any signs of Darcy and Owen. Within ten minutes, she walks out with the baby in his seat. Fuck, she’s leaving. This neighborhood is in an unincorporated area with only one main road. Regardless of where she’s going, she has to drive through town to get there. She’s not carrying a bunch of luggage or bags, just her purse and what looks like a diaper bag, so I doubt she’s leaving town.
Dane
Have someone wait at the gas station to follow Darcy.
Flinch
I’ll be there in seven minutes.
Running to my bike, I ride down a back road so that we miss one another, my body thrumming with excitement.