Chapter Six
Zeppelin
Iget home to find a little girl sitting on the front steps of Gloria’s old house. Normally, I wouldn’t give it a second thought because my neighbor always had people stopping by to talk or get some type of baked good, but Gloria died over a month ago.
I was a pallbearer at her funeral. And I’ve never seen this little girl around town before.
Crossing the street, I stop on the sidewalk to make sure I don’t scare the girl with purple glasses. “Hey, kiddo. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says, adjusting her glasses with the palm of her hand in the cutest gesture I’ve ever seen. “Just waiting for my mom.”
“Your mama’s coming here?”
She nods. “Yep. I think she forgot school got out early today.”
“Do you live… around here?”
Giggling, she sticks out her tongue. “I live here, silly. I don’t have a key yet.”
She lives here? “Who’s your mama?”
“Bernie!” a woman calls from the window of her car as she pulls into the driveway. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
The woman steps out, and I nearly gasp. Thin frame with a plump chest, big, round blue eyes, a button nose, and dark hair that frames her face as it falls from her loose ponytail.
She has a curvy ass that I want to reach out and squeeze, but I keep my hands to myself as she walks past me and up the front porch.
She looks too damn young to have a daughter this girl’s age. Which looks to be about eight or nine, I’d guess.
“It’s okay, Mommy. I don’t mind it in the shade.”
The little girl has the same dark hair and eyes as her mama, but she has a completely different style. Thick purple glasses make her look both studious and fun at the same time.
“Why don’t you go inside and get some water? I’ll be right in,” her mom says, handing her a key.
“It was nice meeting you,” Bernie says to me.
“Zeppelin,” I say. “You can call me Zep.”
“Like Led Zeppelin?”
This makes me laugh. A real one, and I don’t think I’ve done that since Johnny died. Not even imagining Nancy getting chased by a rabid duck. “Yeah, Mama’s their biggest fan.”
She waves and walks inside, and when I turn to her mother, she’s not very happy with me. What the hell I did to deserve it, I don’t know, but she stands with her arms crossed over her chest as she glares at me.
“My daughter’s usually a better judge of character than this.”
My eyebrows lift. This bitch doesn’t even know me. “Excuse me?”
“She knows better than to talk to strangers. Especially ones who look like you.”
Like me? “I live across the street. I don’t know that I’d say I’m a stranger.”
“We don’t know you, and you don’t know us.”
Sassy. I kind of like it. “Well, her name is Bernie, and she got out of school early today while you were working. You know my name is Zep, so I’m not really sure what the issue is.”
“I don’t know you, and people I don’t know don’t typically get access to my daughter. Sometimes knowing them doesn’t, either.”
She looks a lot like Gloria. Many years younger, but she has to be the granddaughter. “Misty, right?”
“How’d you know that?”
“I was friendly with your grandma. She talked about her granddaughter, Misty, and her great-granddaughter a lot. Expected to see you at the funeral, but I must’ve missed you. I was a pallbearer. How old is Bernie?”
Blinking, she looks taken aback. “Eight.”
Yep. Doesn’t make sense, and I try to do the math. She doesn’t look like she could be more than twenty-five.
“I got pregnant at fifteen.”
“I didn’t ask—”
“I saw the smoke coming from your ears as you tried doing the math. Not your strong suit, huh?”
Not just sassy. No, she’s got a sprinkling of bitchy in the mix, too. Unfortunately, that’s my favorite combination. “No, not really.”
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to my daughter alone. It’s a comfort thing.”
“What’s she got?” I ask as she walks up the steps.
Turning, she narrows her eyes at me. “Excuse me?”
“She just looks… She’s unique.”
“Wow,” she says. “You know what? Don’t talk to my daughter. Ever.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I say. “I remember Gloria talking about Bernie, but I can’t remember what she said she has.”
She sighs and gives me a look that feels like actual hatred. Pretty sure I can taste it, somehow. It’s kind of bitter. “Down Syndrome.”
“That’s right. That why she has the Coke-bottle glasses?”
“Yes.”
“They’re cute,” I say. “She didn’t inherit her friendliness from her mama, though, did she?”
Misty’s jaw drops to show perfectly straight teeth except for one on the top that sticks out just slightly. It makes her even more endearing. “Screw you.”
“Zeppelin Molloy. I’m across the street if you ever need anything. And I do mean anything.”
“I doubt I’ll ever need anything from a gang member, but thanks for the offer.”
“Biker,” I correct. “I’m in a motorcycle club, not a gang. But check us out. We’re legit.”
This makes her chuckle. “Yeah, only because Nevada is the only state that legalized prostitution.”
She’s heard of us. And she knows about Velvet Desire. “All of our girls are very well taken care of, and they make great money.”
“And your club is a collective pimp. Yeah, I’m sure it’s really fair.”
“You have an issue with women monetizing their sexuality? I thought modern women were against slut-shaming.”
There’s a satisfaction from the look on her face. I’ve caught her off-guard.
“You admitted to getting knocked up as a teen, so I wouldn’t have pegged you for a prude.”
“I’m not… This is…”
“For the record, I think you’re one of the hottest mamas out there. You don’t look like you have an eight-year-old.”
I think she wants me to insult her. To give her a reason to hate me. “You think I should go and apply at your brothel? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Sorry, babe, but we’d never hire you.”
“And why’s that?”
“Our girls are in the customer service business, which means they need to be pleasant unless paid to be otherwise. You’re not really coming across that way.”
Laughing, she shakes her head. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Not for lack of trying on my part. I’d love to get to know you better.”
My eyes scan over her, taking in that hot body she doesn’t really try to hide, and I wouldn’t mind distracting myself with her. With her attitude, I think it would be a really good time.
“No, thanks.”
“I’m sure we’ll see more of each other very soon. It was a pleasure to meet you, Misty Reynolds.”
“Lucky me,” she says and walks up the porch.
The door shuts, and I smile. I’m not even mad at Nancy for kicking me out of the Seven Crows anymore. I got to meet the new neighbors. And I think Misty will come around. Eventually.