Chapter Thirty-Four
Hunter
Not long after I pick Charlie up from Yolanda’s, feed him, change him, and sing him a few bars of a Johnny Cash song — there’s something about the Man in Black’s bass-baritone that just lulls that little man into slumber — there’s a knock at my door. Before I even reach for my weapon, a familiar voice announces, “Hunter, no need to shit your drawers. It’s just me, Diesel.”
He’s loud. Too loud.
I throw open the door and draw my weapon, anyway. I don’t point it at him, just hold it in a grip at my side that lets him know that I’m mildly perturbed at him. “Keep your voice down.”
Diesel looks as he always does: somehow perpetually young, despite the fact that we’re the same age and have about the same mileage. It might be his hair being back in a ponytail at the moment — the damn thing always makes me want to hack through it with a fucking knife — or the light tan, or that he always seems to be smiling. With all we’ve been through together, he still somehow keeps a smile on his face.
His eyebrow raises, but his voice lowers. “That’s it? No ‘hello, Diesel, how are you?’ No ‘thanks for getting here so quickly?’ No ‘thanks for bringing all this cool stuff?’”
“What cool stuff?” I say.
He hefts his old Army Rangers rucksack off his shoulder and opens the top. There’s the usual stuff, like a spare sidearm, ammunition, some rations, and some of his sketchpads and tattooing equipment, but there’s also a few containers of baby formula, a pack of diapers, and a children’s picture book — Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.
“Thought you could use a resupply. There’s a bottle of scotch at the bottom, too, underneath the diapers. And the book, well, it was my favorite when I was little. I used to wish that the sky would rain chicken pot pies; I loved chicken pot pies when I was little and my mom would hardly make it because it took a lot of work and she was always tired from her job at the bank. So I’d hope that the clouds would open up and rain down steaming hot chicken pot pie on me so I could just gobble those motherfuckers up. Nevermind that I’d probably get third-degree burns from all those hot pies cracking open on my head. I wasn’t the brightest kid. And, well, here I am, not the brightest adult, either.”
I take the diapers, the formula, the book, and the scotch. “Diesel, you're a lifesaver. You have no idea how quickly I go through diapers. Charlie’s not even twenty pounds, but he shits like an entire platoon of Marines. Come in, but keep it down. Charlie's sleeping."
Diesel nods and steps inside, his boots barely making a sound on the worn floorboards. He glances around my sparse living arrangements, his eyes lingering on the crib in the other room, visible through the open door. "How's fatherhood treating you, old man?"
I set the supplies on the kitchen counter and run a hand through my hair. "It's an adjustment. But Charlie's a good kid. Sleeps through most of the night now."
Diesel smirks. "Unlike his old man, I bet. You look like shit, Hunter."
"Thanks," I mutter, pouring us each a finger of scotch. “And that’s accurate. But Emily’s been helping with that. And Yolanda, too.”
“There’s an Emily and a Yolanda? You’re really setting up home here, Hunter. Gone and built yourself a harem?”
“Yolanda’s just a babysitter. Besides, she’s ancient, she’s one of the ol’ ladies’ grandmothers, and she might just be tougher than you or I put together.”
Diesel wiggles an eyebrow. “So is she single?”
“You’re welcome to try, but make sure you’ve made your funeral arrangements beforehand. She’ll eat you alive, brother.”
“So what does that make Emily?”
I hesitate. I know Emily thinks she’s ready, and she’s tougher than she gives herself credit for, but telling Diesel about her is just another step towards bringing her into my world. It’s something I said I’d do — ain’t no way around it when you tell someone you love them — but that doesn’t make it any less scary. “Babysitter, too. And something more. A lot more. She started out just helping me with Charlie, and fuck, I needed her. I was more lost back then than I am now. Since then, though… things have changed.”
“So, not only are you a single dad on a mission to avenge your brother’s death, you’re now fucking the babysitter? You’re just making all the fun decisions lately.”
I bristle at how dismissive he sounds. “You need to modulate your tone regarding Emily, Diesel. It’s more serious than just fucking.”
He breaks out into a grin wider than the Pacific Ocean, then wraps me in a hug. “For real? Holy shit, I’m so happy for you, brother. Maybe she’ll make you less of a hardass.”
I push Diesel away, trying to keep the smile off my face. "Alright, alright. Enough with the touchy-feely shit. We've got work to do."
Diesel nods, his expression turning serious. "Right. So, what's the plan? I assume you didn't call me here just to babysit and drink scotch."
I take a sip of my drink, savoring the burn. "No, I didn't. Babysitting isn’t all drinking scotch and singing ‘ Ring of Fire ’ to a baby. I know there are some of Moretti’s guys in town. They’ve been harassing Emily, which, obviously, I can’t fucking allow. What we need to do is start turning over stones, see what scumbags turn up. Once we find out who’s responsible, we make sure they can’t hurt anyone else."
Diesel's eyes light up with a familiar gleam. "Now we're talking. When do we start?"
"Soon. I need to make arrangements for Charlie, see if Yolanda can take him for a few days. And I have to figure things out with the Twisted Devils. I’m still working that angle to get in, get the extra protection and put down some roots, but that’s up in the air.”
“So what are we doing until then?“
“I said babysitting wasn’t all drinking scotch, hanging out, and singing Johnny Cash, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t sometimes.” I pour another round and raise my glass. “Cheers.” I take another sip of scotch, feeling the warmth spread through my chest. "Diesel, I love her. Emily. I love her in a way I didn't think was possible for someone like me."
Diesel's eyebrows shoot up. "Whoa, Hunter, that's heavy. You sure about this?"
"As sure as I've ever been about anything." I lean forward, my voice low and intense. "And I need to make things safe here. For Charlie. For Emily. No matter what it takes."
"What exactly does that mean, brother?" Diesel's eyes narrow, searching my face.
Without breaking eye contact, I reach for my sidearm and place it on the table next to our glasses with a dull thud. Then, never looking away from Diesel, I pull up my pant leg and draw the smaller pistol from my ankle holster, setting it beside the first.
"It means I'll kill every motherfucker who threatens them. I'll burn this whole goddamn town to ashes if that's what it takes to keep Emily and Charlie safe." My voice is a growl, my words dripping with venom and determination. "I've never wanted anything like I want this, Diesel. A family. A home. And I'll be damned if I let anyone take that away from me."
“So we find these threats and we kill them all?” Diesel says.
“We kill them all.”
In the other room, Charlie begins to cry.