23. Greta
GRETA
My heart beats hard for about a dozen different reasons as I lead Iron Jack up the steps to Uncle Sherman’s brownstone. We pause by the door, and Jack squeezes my hand. “You sure about this?”
“Totally!” But my voice is overly bright. “Just know they are nosy.” I hope adding that last bit helps cover how I’m feeling. Sure, meeting my family is part of it. But mainly, I’m worried about going behind Jack’s back to learn more about the receipt that he brought with him from Miami.
I hit the buzzer. Footsteps come forward, and my cousin Max opens the door, his baby girl Esme on his arm.
“Greta!” he says. “You’re here!” He gives me a brief hug. “So this is Jack?”
“Iron Jack,” I say.
“Jack is fine,” Iron Jack says.
Max looks from me to Iron Jack. “I’m happy either way.”
“Jack, then,” I say.
“Glad we cleared that up!” Max lifts Esme’s hand. She’s only four months old. “I’m Max and this is Esme. Wave to Auntie Greta and Jack!”
“Give that baby to me,” I say and take Esme. She waves her arms wildly but doesn’t fuss.
We walk inside the foyer. Jack helps me take off my coat while I hold Esme. Max and Camryn are in for a visit from L.A., and I’ve been soaking up the baby snuggles. It’s been a long time since Caden was so little. I hold her close. I love this feeling.
When the coat closet door closes, I turn to Jack to find him watching me with longing in his eyes. Does Jack want kids? Based on how he interacts with Carol’s children at the club, I would assume so.
“You want a turn?” I ask, holding out Esme.
“Maybe I should meet your family first,” he says, his gaze dropping to the baby.
“Might make you look more friendly, if you care about that,” I say. Between the motorcycle boots, the leather cut with the skull-and-roses patch, and his general menacing look, he might be a lot for the Pickles.
Jack bends down to peer into Esme’s eyes. “You going to make me look good?” he asks.
Max laughs. “She’s not at the stranger-danger stage yet, so you should be good to go.”
I pass the baby to him, my breath catching the moment he tucks the little pink-sleepered form into his elbow. It’s astonishing how right she looks there, so innocent in his arms.
Max leads the way down the hall to the main living room, which is filled with sofas and a decent amount of family for a random January weekend.
We have Rory, who discovered Sherman was her father five years ago after a DNA test revealed she was a product of the sperm he sold forty-five years ago to keep the original Pickle deli open. She and Mack are lawyers in New York now, and regulars at Sunday dinner.
Max’s wife Camryn sits with them, holding Rory’s new puppy Ajax, a wiggly black lab that is the miniature version of her elder dog Sir Winston.
My parents will be here eventually, too. They’ve remained in the New York and New Jersey area since the beginning, same as Sherman and Grammy Alma. Most of the Pickles have moved away at this point.
“Isn’t he the cutest?” Camryn says, holding up the puppy. All four paws move in tandem like he’s running a race in midair.
“Don’t hold him too long,” Max says. “Your allergies will kill you later.”
“Oh, spoilsport,” Camryn says, passing him back to Rory. “I better go wash my hands. But first, you should let Jack introduce himself, especially since Esme has already gotten a hold on him.”
I glance at Jack, who has his eyes on the baby. She’s got one of his fingers in her grip. “I think I’m in love,” he says, prompting the room to laugh.
This is good. He can’t be too scary or intimidating if he’s focused on her.
“Jack, this is a portion of the Pickle clan,” I say.
“Just a slice,” Max says, and the room groans.
“Prepare for more jokes where that came from,” I say. “You met Max, father of Esme. His wife is Camryn, who just relinquished the puppy.” I gesture to her.
“Nice to meet you, Camryn,” Jack says. “I might be stealing your offspring, though. She’s perfect.”
Camryn beams at him. Mothers always love people who love their kids. “I’ll be happy to pass her over when she wakes at two in the morning.”
“I’ll still be up.”
I point to Rory. “Rory is Max’s sister. She’s holding Ajax, the newest Pickle, a three-month-old Labrador. Next to them is her husband Mack.”
Mack stands up to shake Jack’s hand. “Good to meet you. I hear you’re in Miami with our errant cousins, Merrick and Diesel. Rhett and Bailey are down there, too.”
“I am.” He shifts Esme when she starts to squirm. “Merrick and Diesel are good friends of mine. And Bailey comes around a fair amount.”
Right, Bailey. She texted me yesterday to see how I was doing since I got home, and I haven’t responded.
I’ve been busy. Mainly being naked.
Max waves us toward the side door. “We should introduce Jack to Dad and Grammy.”
Here we go. This is the one that will be hard. I have to remember that I’m not necessarily introducing Jack for myself. We’ve only been together, or whatever it is we are, for ten days. I’m doing my best to avoid calling him anything that suggests he belongs to me.
Uncle Sherman chops onions on the kitchen island while Grammy washes potatoes in the sink. She turns off the faucet when she sees us. “Good gracious! I didn’t think they made men bigger than Max, but here you are!” She dries her hands on a towel. “Let me get a look at you!”
The light glints on Grammy’s gray curls as she heads for us, still with a spring in her step in her mid-eighties.
She is mostly retired from her tiny deli in Queens.
She says she lost her heart for it once Sunny left.
She’d mainly been keeping it open to give to her, but now Sunny is a literal princess.
A good staff keeps it open, but it’s a regular topic of conversation among the Pickles about whether to keep it running since no official Pickles are there anymore.
“This must be Iron Jack.” She peers up at him, barely reaching his chest. “I can see where the name comes from.” She glances at me. “That baby looks mighty comfortable.”
“Jack, this is my Grammy Alma,” I say. “Her kids are my dad Martin and Uncle Sherman.”
“Nice to meet you.” He takes Grammy’s hand and kisses the back of it, making her giggle.
“Oh, he’s old fashioned,” she says. “None of that big city nonchalance on him.” Her smile is huge.
Uncle Sherman sets down his knife, fixing a hard glare on Jack. “He’s definitely more on the hot-headed side, based on the trouble coming out of Miami.”
That’s not a very good start.
I glance up at Jack to see how he’s taking this opening salvo.
But he’s grinning. “I’ve found that when your reputation precedes you, there’s a lot less trouble when you arrive.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Grammy says. “Give me that baby. The potatoes can wait.”
“I’ll handle them,” I tell her. “Are we peeling them?”
“Yes, indeed. They’re for mash.”
“I love that kind,” Jack says, passing Esme to her. “Can I help?”
Sherman brings his knife down on an onion with a heavy thwack. “I understand you have women who do all your cooking and cleaning.”
This is going worse than I thought. But I should have guessed. All Uncle Sherman knows is that Iron Jack led an attack on another club and burned their buildings. And that Merrick is completely loyal as a member of the Wild Hair, possibly to his detriment.
“We have an organized assignment of duties at the club,” Jack says. “Everyone who lives there has a role.”
“Sounds good to me,” Grammy says, pressing her lips to Esme’s forehead. “Proper expectations lead to fewer quarrels.”
“Come on, Jack,” I say. “We can work on the potatoes together.” It’s best if Jack shows his willingness to be a part of the family rather than argue with the king pickle.
Grammy follows us to the sink. “Have you always lived in Miami?” she asks Jack.
“I was born there. Did a stint in L.A. when I was on the MMA circuit. Went back to Florida when my parents passed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Grammy says. “Do you have any siblings?”
“I’m a one and only,” Jack says.
I pass him a potato peeler, hoping he’s reasonably capable with it. I take up a small knife for myself.
He reaches out and trades, whipping the small blade around the potato in one long, swift, sure stroke, taking off the peel with little loss of the white underbelly.
“Wowee,” Grammy says. “Sherman, look at this man peel a potato. I’ve never seen anybody get it that close.”
Uncle Sherman grunts, dicing the onion so fine that it’s practically pulp.
I start running the peeler down the edges of my first potato, but Jack is so fast with the knife that he beats me three to one.
“I could watch that all day,” Grammy says.
My parents’ voices filter through the house. They’ve arrived. This introduction will be trickier. Sherman knows why I brought Iron Jack. He asked for me to investigate. Probably he realizes I’ve gotten involved with the man. He’s terribly observant.
But my parents are clueless. They weren’t part of the conversation where Sherman worried about Merrick and Diesel. My dad would have told him to back off, that the boys are fine.
Sherman, though, has a mind of his own.
A younger voice cuts through. “Where’s Mom?”
I set down my potato and step back. “Caden?” I was hoping to settle Jack in with my parents before involving my son. Jude was supposed to bring him in about an hour.
The three of them enter the kitchen.
Caden runs over to me. “Can I have more time on my Switch? I ran out at Dad’s. We didn’t do anything. It was so boring!”
“Maybe after dinner,” I tell him. “Why didn’t your dad bring you?”
Mom speaks up. “Jude had somewhere to be. You didn’t answer your phone, so he called us to see if we could bring him to the dinner.”
I reach for my phone, but realize it’s still in the pocket of my coat. “I’m sorry about that.”
She glances over at Jack. “I’m guessing you were busy.”
Oh, God. This is a lot.
“Please, Mom! The Switch!” Caden tugs on my shirt.
“After dinner. That’s final.” I’m pulled in several directions. Sherman with his passive-aggressive pulverizing of the onion. Dad’s concerned perusal of the room. Mom putting two and two together.
I have to take a deep breath not to snap.
Jack taps Caden’s arm. “You want to learn how to do this?” He peels the potato with such speed that everyone stops to watch.
“Whoa,” Caden says. “How did you do that so fast?”
“It’s all in how you angle the blade. Want me to show you?”
“Should he give him a knife?” Mom asks.
“Nonsense,” Grammy says. “Sherman and Martin were slicing pickles as soon as they could stand on a chair.”
Jack picks up another potato and passes it to Caden, then wraps his hand around Caden’s to show him how to hold the knife.
“Thank you for picking him up,” I say to Mom. “This is Jack. He’s the president of Merrick’s new club. He’s good friends with him and Diesel.”
The room goes quiet other than the incessant chopping of Sherman and the slow scrape of the blade both Jack and Caden are holding.
They get halfway around the potato when Caden pulls away. “That was cool. I’m going to go play with the puppy!” And he’s off.
“All right,” Grammy says. “Fran, you take the baby. Jack, you’ve done enough. You’re our guest. Go meet everyone. I’m sure you and Martin have a lot to talk about. He rarely gets to see his boys and will want a report. Greta, you too. Shoo!”
Mom and Dad file out. Jack waits for me. “You go ahead for a second, if that’s okay,” I tell him. “I want to talk to Uncle Sherman.”
“Not a problem,” Jack says. “I’ll be out there.”
Grammy heads back to the sink and turns on the water.
Sherman stops chopping to look me in the eye. “You didn’t report while you were there or when you came back. And now you have brought the president of the club to my house?”
Oh, he’s not happy. And when Uncle Sherman is displeased, everyone knows it.
“I stayed a whole week, by invitation.” When Sherman raises an eyebrow, I add, “Actually, one of the older women in the club, she goes by Betz, challenged me to do it. She didn’t think a city girl like me would make it all seven days.”
This gets a chortle out of Uncle Sherman. Good. We’re out of the woods. “I bet you showed her.”
“Of course I did. I did a swamp tour. Saw a live alligator not twenty feet from me. And I attended both an official club meeting as well as one of their protection gigs. I have a pretty good handle on their operation.”
Sherman sets down his knife. “And what did you conclude? Are your brothers all right? Involved in anything illegal?”
Oh, how to answer that.
“They mainly run the bar, Uncle Sherman. Yes, there are altercations between clubs, some animosity. But the club mainly does construction work with a few protection gigs on the side.”
Sherman picks up a new onion. “What are the protection gigs like?”
“We went to a wedding where the brother didn’t approve of the groom for his sister. The Wild Hair successfully got the angry parties to leave without any disruption to the ceremony.” I’m creatively editing, but it’s all true.
Sherman slices through the onion with a heavy thwack, thwack. “And what about your personal relationship with that man? He looks at you like you’re breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
Oh, he’s figured it out. “I’m a big girl, Uncle Sherman.”
“I never would have sent you if I thought you’d take up with him.”
“It’s nothing serious. But I need to ask you about something.” I pull a piece of scrap paper out of my pocket. “I need to look up someone he knows.”
That makes Grammy turn off the faucet and turn. “You’re spying on that boy?”
“No, I mean, yes. That was the whole point.”
Her small gray eyes take me in. “I think that man is half in love with you.”
“No. Of course not. We’re having a…thing.”
“Tell that to him.” She peers at the paper. “What do you have there?”
“The name of someone who might be part of all the trouble in Miami.” I place it on the chopping block in front of Uncle Sherman. “It’s Aaron Nelson.” I haven’t had a free moment to Google him since finding the receipt this morning. I suppose I could do it now.
But Sherman already knows. “He’s an MMA fighter known as Grey Beast.”
“Oh.” I didn’t expect that.
Sherman picks up the slip of paper. “Didn’t Jack say he was a fighter in L.A.?”
“Yes. He did. Maybe it’s just an old friend,” I say, although I know better. Not if his name was on a receipt used by the Kin.
“I’m glad you brought me this,” Sherman says. “Get Max in here. He knows the MMA circuit. He hangs out with them. He’ll know more about this guy.”
“You should get back out there,” Grammy says. “You can’t leave him with your parents when you haven’t even introduced him properly.”
“But I want to hear what Max says.”
Sherman continues chopping. “We’ll let you know what we figure out. Go on, now.”
I’m dismissed. Damn it. But they’re right. I need to get out there. And they can figure out what is happening with Iron Jack. I’m too close to the situation to be any help.