17. Char #2
Finally, a new bar top. Maybe their presence wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
I’d been after Miss Lilly about changing out that fucking thing ever since she hired me on a few years back.
It stayed perpetually sticky, despite using every single cleaner known to man on it to try and restore it.
I couldn’t wait to see how it looked during my next shift.
But, I had bigger things in play that needed my focus and attention.
I wasted no time in getting up to my place. I stripped myself down, got the smell of the bar washed off me in the shower, and busied myself with mindless cleaning. I had to wait until DeShawn had his kitchen cleaned and disinfected before him and M.J. would gravitate up this way with food.
My stomach growled at the mere idea of his cooking.
“Come on,” I muttered as I checked the time on my cell phone, “it’s already two o’clock. Where the hell are you guys?”
I mean, it wasn’t as if we had a single paying customer to dirty anything up.
Were the guys harassing them? Had they been stopped for something?
Worry pooled in my gut as I snatched my robe off the back of the couch.
If I had to go down there and yank them up here myself, then I would.
But, just as I approached my front door, ready to rip the damned thing off its hinges just to go find my friends, a soft tap came at the door.
“Sorry, that’s my foot,” DeShawn said.
“Open up! We come bearing gifts,” M.J. said.
And when I swung that door open, the smell of burgers and dessert wafted up my nose.
“Oh, hell yeah. Let me help you guys out,” I said.
I took the drinks from DeShawn and tried to pluck a couple of to-go trays from the mound that M.J. was carrying. We wasted no time in getting set up on the couch with the coffee table pulled over at our knees.
And when I popped open my steaming tray of food, I shivered. “God, I fucking love you guys. Thanks for this.”
I didn’t even get the first bite in me before DeShawn spoke, though. “Five million? Are we really going to believe that?”
M.J. took a bite of her salad. “I’d love to know where a crew like theirs gets money like that.”
“I don’t think anyone in town has money like that,” DeShawn said before taking a bite of his chicken alfredo.
I snatched a fry up and tossed it into my mouth. “Why do I get the feeling that however they make their money has something to do with the bar, though.”
“What do you mean?” M.J. asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Like, take my dad for instance. You know how he was wheeling and dealing to the police force in town?”
The two of them nodded their heads while stuffing their faces.
“Anyway, what if it’s like that?” I asked as I picked up another fry. “I found an article online, archived by The Weekly Layborn, and it shows that crew shaking hands with the sheriff.”
DeShawn balked. “You’re fucking joking.”
“Where’s this article?” M.J. asked as she wrestled out her phone.
I waved my hand in the air. “I can send it via text to you before I go to bed. The point is, at one point in time? That crew was helping out our local police force with things. Who’s to say that they haven’t found a way to work that in their favor?”
“That’s fucked up,” DeShawn said flatly.
“Do you really think that’s true?” M.J. asked.
I finally took a bite of my burger, and I couldn’t help the groan that escaped my lips. “Jesus, DeShawn.”
He chuckled. “Glad you like.”
I looked over at him and winked. “I always like.”
“Would you have given up the bar for five mil?” M.J. asked.
“Hell, no,” I said.
But, DeShawn nodded. “Yeah, I think I would.”
“Wait, really?” I asked.
M.J. sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately, I think I’m with DeShawn on this one. I mean, the bar isn’t doing well anyway. She probably saw it as her only chance to bail with some form of retirement.”
That shocked me. “Wait, since when was the bar not doing well?”
M.J. leaned heavily into the couch cushions. “Look, Miss Lilly swore me to secrecy when it was all happening, but I guess that doesn’t really matter anymore.”
“What doesn’t matter?” DeShawn asked.
I swallowed hard. “Debt, or lack of patrons?”
M.J.’s nose wrinkled. “A bit of both, I guess? All I know is that, over the course of time, Miss Lilly was paying a large chunk of our paychecks out of pocket.”
“She was using her own money to pay us?” I asked.
M.J. puffed out her cheeks with another heavy sigh.
“Especially these last few months. She’d give me her personal credit card to stock up on things.
She started buying what the kitchen needed at a store instead of ordering fresh from distributors like she used to.
And by my projections? Even just the ones I could calculate in my free time?
We wouldn’t have made it through the new year. ”
“No, you’re joking,” I said.
“I wish I were,” she said as she stabbed at her salad.
“Honestly? After hearing that, I’m just glad I’ve still got a job,” DeShawn said.
I put my tray of food on the coffee table. “So, you’re telling me that you honestly believe that some motorcycle crew is here to help us when their very name strikes fear into the hearts of everyone in this town?”
And when they didn’t answer, I spat out the only question I knew to ask.
“Why the hell is everyone so afraid of them, anyway?” I asked.
M.J. looked over my shoulder at DeShawn. “Tell her.”
I turned toward DeShawn. “Tell me what?”
“You sure we should talk about it?” he asked.
M.J. sounded behind me. “She needs to know. It was before her time, anyway. It’s not like she would know.”
“Know what?” I asked.
My patience was wearing thin, but I did my best to hang in there. It was clear that my friends were struggling with something. Something big. Something personal. I didn’t have to wait long, though.
Because after DeShawn took a pull from his drink, he cleared his throat. “Look, you didn’t hear it from me, okay?”
I lowered my voice to match his. “Understood.”
Then, he scooted closer to me. “You talked about how you found that article?”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Well, the rumors around town would back up your suggestion. The article that you’ll send to you guys, it does say that they were contracting out their services?—”
M.J. barked with laughter. “Contracting their services? Right. More like stealing shit from the evidence locker for themselves.”
“Shhhh!” DeShawn hissed. “The hell, M.J.! You want us to get caught or something?”
She immediately lowered her voice. “I’m just saying, let’s not act surprised about this article when pretty much the entire town knows about it.”
“Great,” I said flatly, “I love it when I’m the last in line.”
“It’s nothing personal,” DeShawn said as he nudged me, “it’s just… something the town has been dealing with on the down-low for a while. That’s all.”
“One of those, we-don’t-talk-about-it-but-it-matters, kind of things,” M.J. said.
I grabbed M.J. and pulled her closer to me. “Tell me everything. Please.”
M.J. lowered her voice to a whisper. “One day, Mr. Lyle came into the bar and swore that he saw those crew guys hauling things out of a warehouse on the other side of town. He swears on his life that he saw guys in leather jackets just like theirs driving away in Mr. Neely’s old van.”
My brow furrowed deeply. “The van that he used to get high in all the time?”
“That’s the one,” DeShawn said.
I leaned back against the couch. “But, that van was confiscated when he—oh.”
“Yep,” M.J. said as she dug into her side of mashed potatoes. “Jesus, DeShawn.”
He grinned. “I love it when a pretty girl moans my name.”
My nose wrinkled. “Ew.”
M.J. giggled, however. “Seriously, these mashed potatoes you make are amazing. You have got to give me your recipe for these things.”
“Girl, you know damned good and well that if it ain’t made in a microwave, you can’t cook it,” DeShawn said.
I erupted into laughter. “He’s got a point.”
M.J. glared playfully at us. “Assholes.”
“But,” DeShawn said through his laughter, “I’ll let Momma know you approve.”
“Ah, another Momma recipe,” M.J. said as she shoveled another spoonful into her mouth, “no wonder.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I said.
M.J. looked up at me and started chewing with her mouth open. “Okay, Mommy.”
I giggled as I reached for my food and took another delicious bite of my burger. “Momma teach you this, too?”
“You’re damn right, she did,” DeShawn said, “and you can thank the city of Dallas for teaching her.”
“To Dallas!” I exclaimed as I held my burger up in the air.
“To Dallas!” DeShawn said as he picked up his tray of alfredo and held it next to my burger.
M.J. followed suit with a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “God Bless Dallas!”
“Trust me,” Dallas said from just beyond my front door, “God don’t bless what he don’t like. So, you might as well keep the praises to yourself.”
I’d never felt so sick to my stomach after eating such delicious food.