Chapter Five
The hum of my tires quiet when I pull into the only gas station in town and climb out, making for the narrow-barred entry door riddled in decades-old fingerprints.
The bell chimes above.
The icy air spits loudly from the AC in the back.
I’m listening to both closely when my boss's low crispy voice joins the melody.
“Chase, Chase, Chase…”
Billy Johnson is pissed.
I hadn’t shown up for my shift yesterday, and I had received my final warning a handful of warnings ago.
I don’t look at him. I grin smugly, then parrot, “Billy, Billy, Billy…” Stopping at the fridges in the back with a squeak from my shoes, I snatch two cold cans of Red Bull, followed by a couple of bags of Doritos on my way to the counter.
I throw the shit down, along with a pack of chewing gum. But Billy doesn’t ring me up. He places both wrinkly palms flush in front of him, on top of the scribbled on and messy counter, and stares directly at me.
And I do nothing but grin wider. “What?” I try not to laugh when I watch his shoulders deflate, the breath in his lungs whooshing out of him.
“Oh, fuck,” I say, snatching up the gum I’d just placed on the counter and quickly unwrapping it. I extend the open pack toward him, holding the neck of my T-shirt over my nose. “Take one, you stinky—”
He scoffs. “I’m not trying to impress anyone.”
“Yeah, well, you are definitely trying to kill ‘em. Take it,” I counter.
He huffs, unwrapping a stick.
Billy is in his late sixties, or maybe seventies, I don’t know, all I do know is that he’s a cranky old fuck and probably more forgiving toward me than he should be.
He chews on the gum, reaching to his side, returning to face me with the corded phone pushed to the side of his head.
“Ever heard of makin’ a phone call?” he asks, his dark, bushy and unruly eyebrows raising to his unfortunate receding hairline.
I slide my cell phone out of my front pocket and hold the black screen toward him.
“Dead, sorry, old man.”
“And what about yesterday?” He tries to catch me on my lie. “Let me guess, dead, too?” He throws up his arms.
“Yep,” I retort.
He points toward my truck. “What about that?” He crosses his arms, coughs. “Don’t tell me, no gas?”
I simply smile. Billy could tell himself whatever he needed to tell himself.
The old man turns, scurries through one of the drawers behind him, then spins back, throwing a pack of cigarettes down in front of me.
He punches everything into the till, and I watch the cash drawer open before he shoves it closed and looks toward me, pulling the brown and white striped handkerchief from his front pocket, blowing his nose with a loud honk.
“I missed my wife’s birthday dinner,” he says slowly, another blow out of his nose before he scrubs it and places the dirty piece of cotton back into the pocket of his dark denim jeans.
“Fuck—” I start, but he cuts me off with a clearing of his throat and a shake of his head.
“Language, son,” he scolds.
And I can’t help but laugh.
Billy walks around the counter and pinches my shoulder. I’m looking down at him, and when he exhales, it’s in exasperation.
“It’s fine. She was in one of her nagging moods, anyway.
” He takes a breath. “Any advice you take from me, let it be this one: don’t get married.
One minute they're all over you, then the next they couldn’t be more…
” He stops himself, shushes another breath out, thumbs his right brow, asks instead, “How’s Jade? ”
The question has me kicking the toes of my Vans into the ground, squeaking the rubber back then forward, then back again when the image of her crying as our father gripped her jaw less than an hour ago snaps behind my eyes.
I shrug. “She’s alright.”
“Just alright?” he questions.
I sniff, palm my chin, crack my neck. “You heard me. She’s fine.”
“Okay, okay, settle down, son,” Billy tries to placate me with a nod and another squeeze of my shoulder. He walks in front of me, takes a packet of strawberry chewing gum and a caramel chocolate bar. “Give these to her, I know they’re some of her favorites.”
I swallow, stuffing them into my pockets, then turn to grab my things from the counter. Billy walks with me toward the door, his hand back on my shoulder.
“Just remember, if you, your sister…or your mother,” he says warily. “If you ever need a place to stay, you are always welcome at ours.”
I suck on my front teeth.
It was a way out, but my mother wouldn’t take it.
I had never told Billy about our father, what he did to me, my mother, and now, what he’d done to Jade. But when you turn up to work beaten more often than not, I can imagine it would be hard to believe that it was another fall or brawl.
I walk out, a bead of sweat rolling toward my temple, even though it had been freezing inside.
My palm lays against the horn.
I drop my arm to the open window, tapping my fingers against the outside of my truck, waiting for the steel gate to creak open.
When it does, I roll through, park in the back, snatch the now sweltering cans and bags of chips, moving toward the large brick building that is the Devil’s Peak MC clubhouse.
I’m forced to squint. The last of the day's sun spears me in the eyes as it glints off the yawning dented steel door in the back.
I watch Harlen come through it, the metal creaking before thudding shut.
He takes a seat on an upturned black crate beneath a large, thick tree that weeps its long gangly limbs over the lot.
He is yawning, knuckling his eyes, stretching.
I throw him the energy drink, along with the bag of chips.
He catches both, pops the can, mumbles his thanks into the top.
I drag one of the broken crates beneath my ass, take a seat and crack my own.
“Let me guess…” I say, as I down half the can, wiping my mouth across my forearm. “You just woke up.”
Harlen laughs, it sits beneath his breath, barely there. “Right on.”
I shake my head, take another sip. “You lazy fuck.”
He waits for me to look at him again before flipping me off.
“You gonna tell me why the fuck I woke up to a hundred missed calls?” Harlen exhales, burps. He finishes his drink, drops the can to the ground, squashing it beneath his socked foot. “That’s damn clingy, I’m starting to think you...”
“Fuck you, I was writing.” My voice echoes inside my drink.
“Ahhh.” Harlen nods, his golden ear-length curls doing much the same. “It really was a matter of life and death.”
When I don’t reply, because I know the motherfucker is looking for a bite, he cuts his dark blue gaze toward me and grins. “What went wrong?”
“I couldn't find what was missing.” I squash my own can, then crack my neck. The pop is loud and aggressive; it rings in my ears. “But Jade did.”
“Show me,” he says, jerking his head toward the clubhouse and pushing to his feet. He doesn’t wait for me, moving for the back door.
I follow behind him, catching the door he hauls open and stepping through it.
It’s quiet, no one except Kali is here.
The brick walls that usually carry testosterone and insults and a buzz of calamity, now echo the soft rap music drifting from Kali’s phone perched behind the old timber bar.
“You boys want some fruit?” she offers, slicing into a watermelon, placing the cut triangles onto a large ceramic platter.
Kali had been hanging around the club for longer than I had. A tortured soul that became part of the furniture. Though no one's specifically, she was in some way, someone to everyone. Big heart, with an even bigger set of tits.
I look down at the bag of Doritos stuffed in my back pocket and decide it’d be worth fueling my body with something half decent today.
Weaving my way around green-felt topped pool tables and tattered leather couches, I reach over the scarred bar and snatch a piece of watermelon, pushing it into my mouth, and taking another in my free hand.
Harlen does the same. “Thanks, Kal.” He smiles. “You’re the best.”
A blush crawls across her freckled cheeks, her curly black hair feathering her long dark eyelashes.
“I know.” She returns his smile with much brazenness. “Oh, also…” She spins and bends at the knees, reaching into the under-bench drink fridge. When she raises to her feet, she holds a golden pie in the palms of her hands. “I made an apple—”
I cut her off, and I know it’s rude, ungrateful, even disrespectful but the thought of eating another slice of pie sends bile trekking up the back of my throat. “I’m all good, thanks though.”
Harlen shoves the piece of watermelon into his mouth and speaks around it, “More for me.” He is rubbing the palms of his hands together, and he rounds the corner of the bar and steps up beside her.
Kali takes a knife and begins cutting a slice. When she pushes the tip of the blade to make a second cut, Harlen stops her, readjusting the knife to make it a larger slice. Kali drops it to a plastic plate.
“You really are the best,” Harlen confirms, shoveling a mouthful with a moan. He pulls her in for a one arm hug, smacking his mouth, expressing his gratitude.
And at least one of us could.
It has me thinking of my mother, the pie she’d labored over for hours, the effort to placate a mess she didn’t create, then I quickly shove the thought away, not letting myself return there today.
With a small kiss on Kali’s cheek, Harlen steps back. “Okay, show me.” He is talking to me now about the song I’d been working on.
We both amble our way down a small hallway, slipping into another, much smaller room in the back.
The derelict couch that I upgraded to from the park bench after my father started kicking me out at fifteen, sits in the corner, its red leather torn and peeling away, revealing patches of white foam.
Flecks of red had embedded into the dark beige carpet beneath, and I knew this room hadn’t been vacuumed in years, because I spent more time in it than the one I had at home.