Chapter 38b. Mortician
CJ couldn’t remember the last time he’d worked out with the team. It was nice, even if it felt strange to be the second-string behind Ryan’s starting position. He had no one to blame but himself. He wasn’t sure if he’d compete against his cousin when summer training camp began.
Ryan had won his position fairly. He was an ace kicker, but CJ knew he’d always wanted a shot at quarterback.
Walking along the pathway from the Athletic Center, CJ enjoyed the breeze and the late afternoon sun. They were two days into spring and CJ hoped winter was well and truly behind them. It had been the longest of CJ’s life, one he never wanted to repeat again.
He was pretty shore he’d forever dread winter just because the last one had been so fucked. It was a shame, too. Christmas fell within the winter months.
Out front, CJ sat on one of the benches, grabbed his cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, happier than he had been in days.
Mom and Rebel were back. Last night, they’d all sat down at the table and ate a meal as a family, then they went to the den, where Mom handed out souvenirs and the gifts she’d purchased for everyone.
She told them about her visit with Rule and his friend, Bianca, who he’d not mentioned to any of them when they called him.
Although Diesel joined them, he hadn’t brought Jana around since the day he introduced her. He kept her in the treehouse.
Rebel and Diesel were cordial, but they basically ignored each other. As for his divorce from Tabitha, the motherfucker was silent. Hopefully, Diesel got himself together. His little sister also kept her distance with Dad.
Tonight, they were doing karaoke after dinner. CJ and his brothers had a bet about Dad. He didn’t think Dad would sing. The Triplets swore he would just to keep Mom happy.
CJ had seven hundred fifty bucks riding on the bet. He hoped Dad didn’t disappoint him. Axel intended to invite Diesel to join.
If not for Harley, life would be good again. But he was worried about her. Sitting out here on the bench reminded CJ of all the times Harley would be waiting for him. He missed that as much as he missed her.
However, he needed to figure out what was going on with her before he started thinking about anything else. At the top of his list to help her was talking to Uncle Mort.
Jamming his cigarette in the corner of his mouth, CJ pulled out his phone and sent his uncle a text.
CJ: Can I stop in to talk to you in about an hour?
Uncle Mort: I’m at Tee’s with Harley. I’ll hit you up when I get home.
CJ breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, Harley would talk to her dad and tell him what was wrong. It would make CJ’s job so much easier.
He’d finish his smoke and—
“Hey, White Boy,” Nardo called, sauntering out of Clark Hall as if he owned the fucking world. He still wore his school uniform, unlike CJ who’d changed into sweats after he showered post workout. “I have a bone to pick with you.”
CJ flicked away his cigarette. “Fuck off,” he scoffed, getting to his feet.
Nardo planted himself inches away from CJ, almost in his fucking face. It gave him an opportunity to try and discern what the fuck Harley saw in him.
“I got something to tell you,” Nardo sneered.
To a girl, he was probably nice looking. He resembled that actor who’d starred in that movie, Fruitvale Station. CJ preferred the Creed movies, but that was just his personal preference.
“Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend if you know what’s good for you.”
“If you’re referring to Harley, you have no fucking control over what she does when she’s away from you.”
“I don’t fucking share, White Boy.”
“Yawn, motherfucker. Come up with something new. That isn’t the insult you think it is. I’m white and I’m a boy. Would you like me to return the favor and call you the name I fucking see you as?”
Anger darkened Nardo’s face.
“A fuckface fuckbag,” CJ said.
Surprise marched across the motherfucker’s face before his anger returned.
CJ smirked. That motherfucker expected something entirely different. “Your low opinion of me is crushing.”
“Harley doesn’t want you,” he sneered. “If you don’t back off, I’m telling my old man and my big brother, so they can help me take care of you.”
“Ooooo, I’m fucking shaking.”
“You should be. My old man is hardcore. He served hard time. He’s not a bitch-ass wannabe.”
“That’s strictly your fucking specialty, so I guess he isn’t.”
“You think you’re so fucking bad, Caldwell? Prove it. Fight me for the right to breathe in the same space as Harley. When I drop you, I’m going to make you beg me.”
“Motherfucker, the day I beg you is the day hell opens up.”
“Fucking bitch.”
“We can trade insults all fucking evening, but I have a fucking life and I’m wasting it talking to you.
” CJ wished that motherfucker swung on him to give him the excuse of beating the fuck out of him.
He snatched his bookbag, keenly aware of Nardo’s balled fists and how his legs were braced apart in a fighter’s stance.
“I’ll leave you with this warning. If I discover you’re hurting Harley in any fucking way, you’ll find out what the fuck begging is when I strap you to a goddamn table and slice small little pieces out of you until you fucking bleed to death. ”
By the look on Nardo’s face, he took CJ’s words as hyperbole.
According to Diesel, most motherfuckers did. Until they were introduced to the autopsy table in the meatshack.
Harley was jumpy. Every time the door opened and a breeze swept over their table, she glanced back to see who was walking in.
Mortician didn’t comment, wishing their regular booth was open, but Tee needed to hire more help.
Symphony was still recovering and Verna had never had the same energy.
Whereas Symphony bounced from table to table, checking on customers, talking and laughing with them, Verna waited until she was summoned from behind the counter.
He knew Symphony wasn’t there to fuck with him, so he hadn’t seen a problem picking up his baby girl from school and bringing her to Tee’s, once their favorite spot.
But she’d barely eaten. Fuck, neither had he.
Bailey had done a number on him. Bunny was still upset over Digger, who was healing, even if Mort was concerned his life was still in danger.
Stupid fuckheads constantly did stupid shit.
He’d also been avoiding Meggie because he had to fix his fucking mouth to tell Prez all that Bailey had said. With his current mood and his new license to kill…yeah, Mort couldn’t see that turning out good for him or Johnnie, since shit that floated about could eventually get back to Meggie.
Focus, Mort.
None of that shit mattered. They were all grown motherfuckers.
Mort covered one of Harley’s hands, gripping the table so tightly, her head turned toward the door. She jumped ten feet in the goddamn air.
“Oh, Daddy, it’s you,” she said, sounding so fucking relieved.
It was as if they hadn’t been at the table for the past hour.
He wondered who the fuck he had to fucking kill.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, instead of voicing that.
“Nothing. I’m just…I just…” She lowered her gaze, then snatched up a handful of cold, greasy French fries to stuff in her mouth. “Starving,” she lied around a mouth full of food, her eyes wide and teary.
Mort squinted.
“Thought that was you, Harley,” an old motherfucker said, then nodded to Mort. “Who the fuck is this?”
Mort got to his feet, pleased that he towered over the fuckhead. “Her daddy. Who the fuck are you?”
“Mr. Grevenberg,” Harley squeaked. “That’s Nardo’s father, Daddy.”
The motherfucker put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. A pretty woman—though a little haggard looking—bustled over. “Harley! Ned said that was you.”
“This my bitch. Doreen,” Ned said. “This is Harley’s daddy.”
Harley didn’t raise her gaze.
“Mind your fucking manners, Harley,” Ned barked, “and say hello to my bitch.”
“Harley, baby, you don’t have to talk to this motherfucker’s widow,” Mort said with a feral smile, ignoring Doreen’s frown. He smiled at the motherfucker, who seemed to have it fucking twisted. “Walk with me, Dead. Let me holler at you.”
“Daddy, don’t do this,” Harley said, trembling, and raising a pitiful gaze to the motherfucker with an expiration date that would come quicker than his son’s. “Mr. Grevenberg is a jokester.”
“I’m not interested in nothing you have to say.” Dead glanced at Mort’s cut. “Mortician.”
“Suit yourself.”
Mortician returned to his seat, looking forward to snatching that fuckhead later and cutting his fucking tongue out. He’d just watch him bleed to death.
Fuck, too easy. He’d figure it out.
“Uh.” Doreen looked hesitantly at her dead man walking. “Are you…are you…the Death Dwellers? Part of the club?”
He nodded.
She began wringing her hands. “He, uh, Ned has been drinking.”
“Not much since I don’t smell alcohol on him,” Mortician replied.
“Stop talking to this motherfucker like he matter, Doreen.”
“But—”
Apparently, Doreen had heard of the club, but her motherfucker hadn’t. Or, maybe, he had and was tired of living, so he found a quick fucking way to die.
Dead Ned jerked Doreen away.
“Come back here, motherfucker!” Verna yelled, moving faster than Mort had ever seen and hustling toward the door. “You didn’t pay for your fucking food—”
“I got it,” Mort called, ignoring the customers looking at Verna.
She was the fucking reason Mort hadn’t been able to scoop that motherfucker up then. Symphony kept shit moving. With Verna, the place was fucking packed because she dragged her fucking feet.
Still, he couldn’t have her calling the cops and ruining his fucking fun.
Standing, Mort pulled out two hondos and placed them in Verna’s hand, then nodded to Harley. “Come on, baby.”
He’d taken one of the club’s vans because he hadn’t known if Harley had worn slacks with her uniform or a skirt. Outside, clouds covered the setting sun.
Harley scuttled to the van, silent and subdued. She didn’t talk during the entire ride back to the clubhouse.