Devil on Your Back (6 page)

“I CAN’T
believe it’s the weekend already. Feels like just yesterday I dropped the little turd off with her father.”

I stiffen, poised mid-turn with another box of beer in my hands. It’s been two days since the news about Alice, and my mood has been hanging by a fine thread ever since. King sent me out to collect booze for the weekend—a prospect’s job, usually—and until now it had been successful at providing me with a distraction.

I saw the two women outside the clubhouse when I pulled in with the load, and let’s just say their level of conversation has been in a nose-dive since I stepped out of the truck. Keri, the club slut who’s been doing most of the talking, carries on, oblivious to the fact that her voice is loud enough to breach state lines.

“I mean”—Air hisses in through her pursed lips, crackling the cigarette in her grasp further toward the butt—“who says it’s the mother’s job to have them full-time, you know?”

Her friend, who wears enough makeup to render a clown naked, nods at the comment while I watch them, silently seething. The scorching mid-afternoon sun is doing nothing to cool my temper.

“Can’t wait until the bitch is old enough to move out already.”

Line crossed—I’ve had enough. Keri’s daughter, the ‘bitch’ she so lovingly speaks of, is no more than two years old. A babe, and far too innocent to realize what her mother truly thinks of her. How can some parents be so
detached?

“Hey, whore,” I call out. Both heads snap toward me.
If the name fits . . .
“What’s going through your head?” I place the box down, and step toward Keri.

She drops what’s left of her cigarette on the ground and places her hands over her eight-months-pregnant belly. “What’s crawled up your ass, Vince?”

“Your fuckin’ attitude—that’s what.” I flex my fists, the veins in my forearms already popping from the heat.

Her lips curl at the corners. The cow is ready to fight. “Sure you ain’t just a little . . . tense? Maybe you need some . . . release?” Her buddy giggles. “You not gettin’ laid, Lynch?”

“Kinda happens when there ain’t much to choose from around here,” I snarl. “Besides”—I gesture toward her belly—“even if I were desperate, it looks like I was beaten to the punch.”

“Fuck you, Lynch. As if I’d let you within ten foot of my cunt.”

I cringe at her continual use of the nickname I was unwillingly given. “Keep going, baby. You’ve got a fuckin’ way with words, and it’s makin’ me hot as hell.”

Keri throws up her middle finger while the bleached whale beside her cackles. The disgust I feel for this bitch triples, the very sight of her so repulsive my palm itches to remind her of her place in this joint. Stepping out, I halt as a hand comes down hard on my shoulder.

“It’s not worth it, Vince.”

“You didn’t hear what she was sayin’.” I spin on my heel to find the disappointed gaze of the only woman in the place I wish I
did
have the pleasure of knowing so intimately.

“I can well imagine with the likes of her,” Sonya whispers. “She’s got a mouth on her as vile as her behavior around here.”

“How can she feel that way towards the kid? She’s her own flesh and blood.”

Sonya shrugs, watching Keri waddle away with her buddy. “I’ve asked myself the same.”

Stopping myself short of fulfilling my fantasy and running after the stupid cow to tackle her to the ground, I take the better option and pick the box of beer off the dirt yard. Sonya moves out of the way and watches from the shade of the clubhouse as I traipse in and out of the back door, stacking box after box into the cool room, adjacent to the kitchen. Her stare penetrates the back of my head every time I step out into the sunlight, leaving me with the kind of buzz all over that only her presence creates.

“Did you come out for a reason?” I ask. Who knows what I’m expecting she’ll say, but it’s more than likely not going to be what I’m hoping for. I haven’t been able to get her off my mind since she kissed me.

“Only to see how far away you were from finishing so I can unhitch that and head out.” She nods toward the chilled trailer that I’m currently shutting the doors on.

Most members own a bike, nothing else. The singular mode of transport suits us fine, except for when we need to stock up for the weekend, hence why King bought an old, faded red F-150. It belongs to the club, but Sonya uses it more than the rest of us combined.

“I’ll have the trailer off and the truck ready to go in ten.”

She nods and stays right where she is, leaning back against the brick outer wall of the clubhouse, arms folded over her sizeable chest.
Naturally
sizeable chest, might I add.

“You just gonna stand there and wait on me?”

“What can I say? I’m eager to go.”

“Why? Got a date?” I do my best to hide the disappointment at the thought while I unhitch the trailer, after winding the jockey wheel out to take the weight. Hopefully she bought it.

“Maybe.” Her lip curls at one side. “Maybe not.”             

I shake my head and turn away before she can see my smile.

“Suit yourself.” The door of the old pick-up creaks as I open it, and groans in equal parts resistance when I pull it closed after myself.

Faking that I’ve lost where I dropped the keys, I take the moment to look from behind my dark glasses at her in the reflection of the side-mirror. Her blonde hair lifts from her shoulders every so often in the warm afternoon breeze, and a slight sheen on her skin tells me she’s feeling this unusual humidity as much as I am.

The woman is nothing short of a natural beauty—so flawless, so real. A refreshing view in a sea of plastic and Botox.

I snatch the keys from behind the visor and turn the old beast over. The engine rattles to life. Checking the trailer in the mirror, I ease forward and out from under the trailer arm. Free from restriction, I give the truck a little gas and spin the tail end around in the wide parking lot, coming to a stop in front of her. She smiles as I open the door, and give a grandiose bow.

“M’lady.”

Her tits jiggle as she pushes off from the wall with one foot. Times like these I praise the fact that my glasses are darker than midnight.

Sonya stops before me and places her delicate hands on my shoulders. “Don’t let the scum around here get to you, honey. I know you’re worried about your boy, but taking it out on the deadbeats won’t ease your stress.”

“People like her don’t deserve kids.”

“No, they don’t. But let us women sort her out. You have enough on your plate.”

I stare into her soft, blue eyes and feel a calm wash over me. “Where are you going tonight?”

She smirks, and pulls her hands away. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”

Before she can move out of reach, I grip her about the wait and capture her with a kiss. She startles, but soon relaxes into the moment.

Sonya pulls away first and brings her fingers to her lips. “I do believe that’s the second time we’ve kissed,” she says with a smile. Pushing up to her tiptoes, she brings her mouth to my ear and whispers, “People will talk.”

I smirk as she saunters away and gets in the truck, flashing me a smile in the rear-view as she pulls away.

Let them talk.

THE NEXT
day, I have my guy—a trailer-park dwelling tweaker with an eye for the prize. Best thing about a gateway drug like marijuana? There’s always a wannabe drug lord out there, ready to spend his last dollar on the fucked-up idea he can make himself an empire before he dies from his own habit.

The ride from the clubhouse to where the tweaker lives is a solid nine hours. I’m four hours in, and forty-eight hours behind Sawyer. Fuck knows what the asshole is up to. King has his eyes and ears on the job, but our contacts around here are slim. It’s like trying to spot Waldo in all of the American continent. I’m not exactly holding a candle in the hope that they’ll dig something up, but you never know if you don’t try.

What King’s contacts
have
managed to dig up for me is a phone number. A very specific phone number: Alice’s. It was a stab to the gut when I heard he’s back in our hometown, and the knife is twisted knowing King can get a hold of his details with the right amount of monetary persuasion. How much of a failure as a father does that make me, when one failed attempt at tracking him down so many years ago makes me give up? I should have thought to try again; people move—I did.

An hour back, I took a moment at the rest stop and tried calling. Predictably, he didn’t answer. Unpredictably, I couldn’t leave him a message on his voicemail because I choked. I fuckin’ holed up and lost my voice hearing him spiel off on the answer service.

My kid is a man.

He has a man’s voice.

My kid grew up without me.

It hurt, stabbed me right through the heart. I missed the crucial years, the years that shape the man, the years that define who he’ll be. And what’s worse? I get the feeling in my gut that he became something better without me.

Isn’t that what I wanted?
Why then do I feel so cheated?

Still, I don’t hesitate in my determination to get there, to do what I can to stop Sawyer, to help my kid. Because, as Sonya rightly pointed out, if I don’t try, the regret will kill me. I’ll die a bitter old man, angry at myself, at the world, and at everything and nothing all at once.

The anger will eat me from the inside out, as it almost did eighteen years ago when Alice walked out the door.

The fuel light on my bike catches my eye as I lean into a sweeping bend. Taking notice of the numerous signs that fly past in a blur of green, I finally spot one giving me a distance to the next fuel stop. Filling my time over the last few miles before I reach it, I rerun the words I intended to say in the message on Alice’s phone. On second thought, maybe choking up was divine intervention. I’d intended to give him the whole nine yards—tell him what was happening and why I was calling. But in hindsight, maybe that wouldn’t be for the best. I know if my old man had called me after so many years and spouted something like that I sure as shit would have deleted the message and called him a crazy old coot.

No. I need to try a softer approach, gain his trust and let him down gently. I need to talk to him face to face, so he
can’t
hang up on me. I need to make sure he has no excuse not to see me in the flesh.

After this long, there is no way I can go without meeting my boy—without getting close enough to shake his hand.

After fuelling up, I take the bike over to a parking spot and recline on the edge of the curbed garden to eat the lunch Sonya packed me. To say it was a surprise would be an understatement. I get the feeling she’s interested in something with me, but doesn’t want the whole club aware of it. I don’t get why, though? Why would it matter what they all think?

The whole situation was was awkward; trying to slip out unnoticed and having her turn up with a bunch of shit to keep my energy up. Although, I have to give it to the woman—she knew the right stuff to give me. No cut sandwiches here, just beef strips, almonds, cooked rice . . . all the good things. Kind of makes me wonder if she knew a body-builder or two in her time. Most people don’t have a great knowledge about the best diet for men my size if they haven’t been in the lifestyle.

Two truckers walk past, and I give them a curt nod as I dive into the rice and vegetable mix. They eyeball me and keep walking—a typical response, so I keep eating. The mid-afternoon sun beats down on my leather cut, the black color causing me maximum discomfort. Yet, it could be a hundred degrees out and I wouldn’t take it off. It’s my message, my allegiance. It’s how I honor those who’ve been there for me in the worst of times.

But also in a way, it’s nice. It’s nice to be reminded that life isn’t easy, and that sometimes we just have to suffer the shit for the sake of getting through the day. If everything were a walk in the park, then what would we learn? Only when adversity strikes, does a person get a chance prove who they really are.

A lesson I’ve learnt repeatedly, but never paid due mind to.

Polishing off the rice, I pull my phone out and dial Alice. Again, his phone goes to voicemail, only this time I leave a message.

“Hey, Alice. I’m sure you’re wondering why I chose now to get in touch. It’s been . . . a while, but I promise there’s a good reason for this. Call me and we can meet up for a talk. Place of your choosing. I just have a few things to tell you—what you do with them is your choice.”

I hit end and pocket the phone. No way am I expecting a response from him. I’m almost one hundred per cent certain I’ll be making these captain’s log entries the whole fuckin’ way there. Only choice is to carry on, and hope like hell by some miracle he calls back.

Four hours of riding and half an hour of stretching my limbs out on the side of the road later, my phone vibrates in my pocket, sending waves across the surface of my skin. Traffic hurtles past me as I sit on the edge of the highway and pull it out.

One missed call: King.

I dial and wait.

“Hey, Lynch. Got some news. You sitting down?”

“On the bike, one hour out.”

“Cool, cool. So the guy I arranged to look into things for you?”

“Yeah?” I hang expectantly, hoping he’ll tell me they found Alice’s address, his whereabouts, and that he’s okay.

“He’s got news. Turns out Sawyer’s been busy already.”

My gut churns. “Spit it out. How bad we talkin’?”

“Bad, but not for your boy.” The relief almost knocks me off my bike. “Sawyer’s got to that kid Tigger, the knife kid, messed him up pretty bad, and it’s not confirmed, but I think he was a D.O.A.”

“Fuck. What now? How much do the others know?”

“The guy’s informant said the stories are that Carlos organized it. Don’t know how they know that—maybe they’re just linking the last names, I’m not sure. But your boy and his buddies are after Carlos.”

“The kid doesn’t know what he’s messing with.” I rub a hand over my face, frustrated that
this
is how my son wanted to grow up. So many other options . . .

“Bud, I think he does. I’ve been looking into them a little more, and yeah, they don’t take on light jobs. Don’t take this the wrong way, but your kid ain’t no boy anymore.”

Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out slow, watching the cars zip by. “I know, man. I know.”

“They’re jacking up this kid’s funeral for somewhere in the next few days. I’ll be in touch when I know the details, but in the meantime run with your plan. You’ll need the alibi.”

“All good here, buddy. I’ve got my fuckin’ ducks in a row, don’t you worry about that.”

“Good. But for fuck’s sake, keep a level head if you can.”

I laugh and hang up on him. Keep a level head. Don’t think I ever have.

• • • • •

A COUPLE
of younger hang-arounds play pool at the corner table as I vacuum the common room. It’s a Monday, and the place is pretty quiet. Only the live-ins are here during the week, and these days that’s not many.

I’m on my last leg, just moving the plug for the machine to a new outlet, when King walks in, his face a storm.

“Hey, Sonya.” He drops into the sofa beside where I’m gearing up to go again.

“How’s things?” I’m burning to ask about Vince, but I know the rules: women aren’t privy to club business.

“Busy,” King says with a groan. He drops his head back on the sofa and sighs. I lift my foot to start the vacuum, but drop it back to the floor when he speaks again.

“You know that Vince lost his wife, right?” He drops his head forward again and his green eyes bore into me.

I nod, uncomfortable at his choice of topic. I’ve never felt right talking about people’s personal affairs when they’re not present.

“The guy puts up a pretty brave front,” he warns, “but he’s still really messed up about the whole thing. I think you’ll be the only one who can help him with that, you know.”

I frown at him. “How so? When did he lose his wife?” It can’t be recent considering I’ve never heard anyone here talk about her, and I know he was unattached when he came in.

“Quite a while ago. He’s never said exactly, but I get the impression his kid was young when it happened.”

I tip my head to the side. “King, I lost Mike pretty recently in comparison. If he’s still cut up about it after that long, how am I going to help?”

“Because you know what he’s thinkin’. And don’t tell me you don’t want to—you can’t help yourself, woman.”

“You think because of Mike that Vince and I are bosom buddies?” My heart aches just saying my dead husband’s name. “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“It’s exactly what I think.” King shifts, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You get it.”

“Does he want help, though? I mean, after that long a man has to be pretty settled in his situation.”

He slowly shakes his head. “Or he’s been too stubborn to ask for help.”

I place the vacuum head down and take a seat next to King. He turns his body to face me as I lean back, throwing my hands over my head to rest on the back of the sofa.

“I don’t think I’m the answer, though. I’m not sure if ‘getting it’ is enough, Lloyd.” I use King’s given name to push just how serious I am. “I mean, I understand, but I can’t offer him more than that. I don’t have any magic solution to the pain, the regret and the heartache. It’s been five years since Mike died in that accident, and for five years I’ve continued to grieve.”

“But you’ve moved on, right?”

“I wish.” I snort and shake my head. “I think, if I’m honest, for every ounce the pain of loss lessens, the heartache at what you’re missing out on grows.”

“He needs someone to make him see it’s not his fault, Sonya. The guy still blames himself for everything.”

“I don’t even know how she died. How can I tell him it wasn’t his fault if I don’t know what happened?”

King fidgets with the crown-shaped buckles on his boots, the very things that got him his name, and thinks it over. I can see the war within; does he tell me, does he not? I pray that he doesn’t.

“It’s not my place to tell you the story, babe. That’s for him to do. But I will say it wasn’t easy and it wasn’t quick.”

My heart aches anew at the implications of those words. What horrific thing happened to Vince’s wife? No wonder the guy is messed up over it.

I place my hand on King’s leg. “I’ll see what I can do. Only because I owe you.”

“I’ve told you before, Sonya. You owe me nothing.”

He stands and leaves, shoulders hunched and the weight of the world on them. He’s a good man, one who took me in and made sure I didn’t suffer alone when Mike died. My mortgage foreclosed, my belongings were sold, but King gave me a home, a place to live and a reason to get up in the morning.