Chapter 8 – Tyler
I’m starting to cool down after I take the bridge out of town. That was almost too much for me. I didn’t realize how much seeing the house would still affect me. I’d thought I’d made more progress than that. I slam my hand against the wheel, feeling the dull pain in my palm and forcing myself to focus on that and not the memories.
It’s been six years. Six years since a drunk driver took the life of my wife Christine and my eight-year-old daughter Amelia. They were on their way to the airport to pick me up from my final tour overseas when a drunk man t-boned their car at an intersection, killing them both. He died later in intensive care, which was good for me because I probably would have killed him myself if he’d lived.
They were my whole world. I’d waited at the airport gate, figuring they were just late. It wasn’t like Christine. She was always punctual. Always on time. She knew how important it would be for me to see their smiling faces when I stepped off that plane, but she wasn’t there. My wife wasn’t there. My daughter wasn’t there. And what’s worse, is they never came.
I called. I got no answer. It just rang and rang and went to voicemail. That was the last I ever heard of my wife’s voice.
I waited an hour, then I took a cab home to an empty house. An hour later the police arrived and told me the news. That was the day my old life ended and my new life began.
My heart was broken. The pain was too much to bear. I didn’t leave the house for a week, and when I did, I never looked back. I vowed to never get that close to anyone again. The loss was just too great. No one should ever have to feel what I felt and continue to feel to this day.
My foot presses harder on the gas. The truck roars as I speed onto the highway, passing a row of cars like they’re standing still. The wind is screeching through the torn weather stripping of my driver’s side window. I’m going way too fast, but I have to get out of there. I have to get home.
I reach my exit in record time and don’t even slow down as I take the turn. I finally brake before going over the tracks, my suspension squealing as I bounce over them and turn hard to the right. It’s quieter out here in the sticks. And that’s how I like it. I don’t want anything to remind me of them. Of what I’ve lost. Some may call it hiding, but it’s what I need right now.
My tires kick up dirt as I wheel the car onto my private dirt road leading back into the woods. I roll down the window and smell the forest, instantly starting to calm. The shadows are comforting, reminding me that I’m alone. My father left this piece of land to me when he died. My parents had planned to build a house on it, but after he died and my mom got sick, it just didn’t happen. But for now, it’s where I live.
I pull up at my trailer and get out, sucking in the clean air and forcing myself to calm down. I’m an idiot. I never should have gotten involved with that girl. What the hell was I thinking? I mean, there’s a million girls in the world with nice asses, why did I have to pick her?
It’s because she gave me lip, isn’t it? Or maybe because she wasn’t like all the other girls. She was covered up. Not hanging out, showing all the goods for everyone to see. If I could get her naked, it would be just for me. She would be mine.
Why am I thinking about her now? I’m on the verge of having a freak out and I’m thinking about some stripper. What the hell is wrong with me?
My heart’s starting to slow down as I make my way to my trailer. It’s not really a trailer. It’s more of a modular house. It has a full kitchen, an open living room, spacious bed and bath, and a porch I built on last summer to keep myself busy and give me a place to enjoy the weather. When I tell people I live in a trailer in the woods they instantly think meth making redneck and laugh, but if they ever saw the place they’d shut up.
The truth is, I’ve never brought anyone here other than my mom before she was in the hospital. I’m just not comfortable enough yet. Bringing another person into my space isn’t something I’m longing for, especially not a girl. I may not look it, but I’m a passionate kind of guy, and bringing a girl here would be a big event in my life. I’d smell her when she was gone. I’d feel her when she wasn’t there, and if we aren’t going to last then there’s no way I’m opening myself up to that.
Then why am I picturing Jenny here with me now?
You’re just being dramatic, I tell myself.
I’m upset. I’m thinking about the house. About Christine and Amelia, and now I’m projecting onto her.
Just calm down, I think as I pull the door open to the trailer and step inside. The small lamp in the kitchen is the only light inside and I slump down on the couch and look up at the small skylight above. I cut a couple of trees down so I could see the stars at night. The big dipper is just overhead, and I pick out the North star just like my father taught me. When I was young he and my mom bought me a telescope, and we used to love watching the eclipses through them. I wish I’d spent more time on those astronomy books, but we all know how life can get in the way.
I focus on my breathing. What a night. Barry and Moore are probably still getting dances, oblivious to everything that’s gone on tonight. That’s okay with me. The club wasn’t my scene anyway.
Just as I drift off to sleep, I find myself thinking of her. Jenny. The t-shirt wearing stripper with the sassy attitude.
What a gal, I think as my eyes close.
The next day I’m at the shop, and I’m tattooing a girl’s vagina.
Yes. Her vagina.
She already has “Lucky You,” right where her pubic hair would be if she had any. It’s hideous, and definitely not one of mine. Whoever did it was probably a hobbyist or some sleazebag who calls himself an artist. I take pride in my work, even if it’s a portrait of Satan with his mouth open across a girl’s pussy lips like I’m doing now.
“So, have you ever done one of these before?” she asks me, looking up at me. Stephanie. That’s her name.
“This is a first for me,” I admit, sighing just enough to not offend her.
“Not for me,” she says, nodding in reference to her “Lucky You.”
“Yeah, I see that. Who was the lucky guy?”
“Oh, whoever it was that night!” she says, breaking into a laugh. I move my hands back as she giggles, not wanting to screw up this incredible poon portrait.
“Careful,” I tell her. She tosses a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, sorry!” she says. “Not a bad view for you though, right?”
She’s been hitting on me non-stop since she got in two hours ago. I half wonder if the only reason she’s even getting this tattoo is to try and get me to fuck her. I know that sounds insane, but this girl isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders if you get my drift.
“It’s all right,” I say, moving on with the tattoo.
“Hopefully I’ll find someone who can really appreciate it,” she says, actually licking her lower lip as she looks down at me. “If I have a guy who appreciates me, believe me, I take care of him. I mean, that’s just the kind of girl I am.”
“Right,” I say, trying to keep my tone from sounding too annoyed. There’s no bigger turn off than a girl throwing herself at you. That’s why I like Jenny, I realize. The rest of the girls at the club give the impression that they’d do anything for a buck, but I don’t think I could get Jenny to do anything by tossing money at her. I smile, and Stephanie thinks it’s for her.
“Are you seeing anybody?” she asks, getting right to the point.
“Uh, not really,” I say. “But I’m not really ready for a relationship right now.”
“Oh, me either,” she says quickly, lying through her teeth. “I mean, just something casual. Something cool, ya know? Something fun with the right person. And if it goes somewhere then it goes somewhere, ya know? No pressure.”
“Mmhmm,” I say, really wishing this piece wasn’t so big so I could be done.
I hear her getting ready to say something when the doorbell chimes. I look up to see the last person I want to see right now.
Little Nicky.
Little Nicky is the local tough guy. He runs basically every aspect of the underground crime world in the surrounding five towns, possibly more. He’s a weasel of a man, medium height, silver fox hair with wrinkles from a hard life, not from age. He wears a pair of enormous glasses that would look funny on anyone else, but on him somehow make him more dangerous. It’s clear he doesn’t put too much care into his appearance, and that’s just a testament to his power.
He steps into my shop like he owns the place, and his two goons Vinnie the Hat and Don the Screw come in behind him. Vinnie is a fat son of a bitch who got his nick name because his boys realized he never wore a hat. Like ever. How your friends end up noticing something like that is beyond me, but there you go. Don the Screw got his name because he owns a repair shop. Or because he fucks a lot. Or because he’s always screwing people over on deals. He’ll never specify which one is true, and I suspect it’s because they all are.
“Good morning, Ty,” Nicky says in his thick Cockney-British accent.
“Nicky,” I say.
“Who’s the tart?” he asks, nodding towards Stephanie who is apparently not bothered at all by three new men getting a look at her most private of privates.
“Do something for you?” I ask.
“Don’t get fresh, darling,” Nicky says in his low musical voice. If someone told me he voiced a cartoon bear who was also a mad scientist in some kid’s show on Saturday morning, I would believe them. “We ask the questions.”
“One second,” I tell Stephanie, setting my tattoo gun aside and standing up.
“Take us somewhere where we can talk,” Nicky orders. “Got a proposition for you.”
By proposition Nicky means he has something he wants me to do and if I don’t do it for him there will be consequences. I met Nicky when I got into underground bare knuckle boxing matches. He basically runs the whole scene, has a few fighters of his own, and is notorious for fixing matches or paying guys off so he can collect the bet winnings. With my fight tonight I would put good money on that being his reason for dropping by.
“All right. Back here,” I tell him, leading the boys into the back office. I take a seat and Don closes the door and leans back against it, twirling a tooth pick between his lips. The guy is always sucking on something. Oral fixation he says with a laugh if you ever mention it. He has a sunny disposition, but I’ve seen him personally beat a man half to death with a pipe for insulting him at the bar. And no one did shit about it, because they know he works for Nicky and Nicky will kill their whole family and not think twice about it.
“What can I do for you, Nicky?” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“I’ll tell you what you can do for me, slugger. You can throw the fight and make me a very happy man.”
“Is that right?” I say, giving him just a little lip. He’ll take a bit from me, because he’s “asking” me for something, but I know not to lay it on too thick or things could get hairy.
“That is right, punchy. And I’ll tell you what else. There’s a fat ten thousand in it for you as well.”
“That’s a lot of money,” I say, not letting my sarcasm be too apparent. This is pissing me off. These guys think they own me. Nicky thinks he’s the boss of the world, and I tolerate him because I don’t need to start a war in my home town. Twelve confirmed kills in my two tours in Afghanistan, but he doesn’t know that. As far as he knows I’m some washed up MMA fighter just fighting to get by.
“You bet your sweet arse it is,” Nicky says confidently, standing as close to my desk as he can, looking down at me, trying to look as tough as possible. I’d wreck this son of a bitch in a one on one fight, but the retaliation from his crew would be the end of my life as I know if.
If they let me live, I certainly wouldn’t be walking straight. They’d burn down my house, my trailer and kill anyone I’ve ever known or cared about. These boys are not to be fucked with.
I don’t take well to being bossed around, but I do need the money.
“We understand your mom’s been having a bit of a rough time,” he says. I’m shocked, briefly.
How does he know about that?
“You do, huh?” I reply.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asks, smiling. He knows he’s got me.
“Cancer,” I say grimly through clenched teeth.
“Oh, that’s a tough one,” he says. “Got my dad too. Never did like the man. Wasn’t too bothered to see him go. But you, Ty. You like your mom don’t you?”
I nod slowly.
“So I’ll tell you what,” he continues. “Tonight’s fight, you go down in the third, and I’ll have a nice ten grand waiting for you. How’s that sound? Put it towards your mom’s treatment.”
“Ten grand would sure help,” I admit. “But it won’t go that far.”
“Yeah? Well tell you what, tough guy. You help me out on this one, and maybe we’ll discuss doing business in the future. How’s that sound?
The air is thick in here, and I can’t help feeling a bit closed in by the three men standing in front of me. Every instinct in my body is telling me to lash out and drive my fist through this smug asshole’s snotty, yellow, British teeth. But I can’t do that, and I could use the money. Any amount of money is a help at this point. Chemo and radiation aren’t cheap, and mom’s insurance is pretty bad.
“All right,” I say. “You got a deal.”
“That a boy!” he exclaims. “In the third, your arse goes down.”
All I can do is nod. This isn’t something I want to do. But my mom took care of me when no one else would, and I owe her my life. I have to take care of her now, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I do.
“Got it.” I say.
“That’s my boy,” Nicky says, rubbing his chubby fingers together. Don and Vinnie both smile at me like I’m a chump before turning and leaving the office. I feel the anger rising in my chest. Now I have to go back out there and finish this girl’s pussy tat. I clench my fist and slam my desk, putting another dent in the soft metal top.
“God dammit.”