TWENTY-NINE

Hooch

God never put a more perfect creature on this earth than an empathetic woman. I reach out and pull Dagne to me, positioning her so she’s curled in on my lap with her head tucked beneath my chin. I came in here needing the contact for myself, but I think in the end it’s helped us both.

She says she’s fought her battle with the black dog before, but I think she’s only learned how to kennel it for the time being. Keeping people at arm’s length isn’t a healthy coping strategy. Like I’m one to talk.

“You still didn’t give me any advice on my problem,” I say.

She pulls away enough to be able to look me in the eye. “About being president?”

“Yeah.”

Her hand traces a pattern around the stitching on my cut. “I think you’re asking the wrong person; you need to talk to your friends about that.”

“I don’t know how to.” If I did, I would have said it before and not bolted from the room.

“Honest and direct. It’s always worked for me.”

“Yeah?”

She mumbles something I don’t catch before pulling a deep breath in. “Might not have had the right outcome, but it sure cleared any confusion over things.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t be as bad as mine.” I chuckle, thinking back to Murphy’s reaction when I said I’d reached out to her. Can’t blame the guy really; he remembers more than I do, having known her as an adult not a child.

“We’ll wager that shall we?” Dagne shifts so she’s astride my legs, hands rested on my stomach.

It’s nice. It’s right.

“My mom won’t even answer my phone calls,” she says. “What’s the worst yours does?”

“Left over twenty years ago, and the only person from the club she’s spoken to since is Dad’s favorite whore.”

“What?” Her face screws up in disbelief.

“Uh-huh. I see your distant mother and raise you a crazy one.”

She chuckles, hiding her smile behind one of her hands.

I pull it away, shaking my head. “Don’t hide that from me.”

Her smile fades, the rise of her cheeks glowing pink.

“If you want me to last the distance in this shit-fight called life, you’ve got to promise you’ll stick around too.”

The hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. “I promise.”

“Good.”

The air charges with unspoken questions, confusion thick in the silence between us. I can’t place a finger on what it is this traveller possesses that nobody has before her, but I know I need it. I’ve lost direction in life, and without her to steer me toward the sunrise I’d be forever lost in the dark, dank depths of my mind.

The door swings open, breaking our moment as Dagne scrambles to get off my lap. She stands awkwardly beside the washer while Jo Jo looks her over with his signature cool indifference.

“Everyone’s lookin’ for you, boss.”

“Thanks, Jo. I’ll be right out.”

He gives us both a jerk of his chin and shuts the door again, his footfalls evident now that Dagne and I have broken our little bubble of truths. I glance over to find her smiling awkwardly down at me.

“Sorry.”

“What for?” I came here to see her. What the hell does she have to apologize about?

“I probably gave them something else to talk about.”

I chuckle, rising awkwardly to my feet. My hips and legs ache, an unpleasant side effect of going cold turkey on my fledgling heroin addiction. Should have stuck to coke.

“What are you going to do?” Dagne sweeps up the spilled washing powder with her hands, dumping it in the compartment for the fabric softener.

“Place my fate in their hands, I guess.” I nudge her aside and remove the drawer compartment from the washer, tipping the contents in the tub. “Explain where I’m at, and if they think a reshuffle of the table is in order, I’ll support them in it.”

She watches with a thinly veiled smile as I wipe the remnants of the powder out with my finger and then set the drawer back in the machine, finally placing another scoop of powder in the correct side.

“Some women find that quite sexy, you know; a man who can do the washing.”

I glance down at her out the side of my eye and smile. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” She closes the top and twists the dial to regular, stepping back with a smug curl to her lips.

“You one of those women?”

Her smirk grows at my innuendo, but quickly dies to mortification when I lean over and pull the dial out to start the machine.

“Almost had it, fairy. You have any more trouble you give me a holler, you hear?”

She laughs as I leave the laundry room, the sweet notes of her humor following me down the hall as my mood shifts to one of apprehension.

My brothers sit gathered around the bar and pool table, chatting amongst themselves. The sudden silence is a slap in the face as they all catch sight of me.

Crackers slides off his stool and meets me halfway. “You good now?”

“Not quite.” I tip my head to the back deck. “You got a minute?”

“Sure.”

He accompanies me outdoors while the rest of the crew goes back to business. Before long the clink of glass, and crack of a pool ball punctuates the rowdy conversation.

“So,” Crackers starts, pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket. “What’s going on with you, brother?”

I hold my hand out for a cigarette. He shakes a stick out of the packet and passes it over, holding the flame for me before lighting his own. It’s not cocaine by any stretch, but it’s something to fool the senses and ease the cravings.

“Ain’t ever been right since they died,” I say. “Time hasn’t lessened the pain, my man. But it’s not the table’s problem to bear, so I haven’t said anythin’ to the lot of you until now.”

“We’re not blind,” Crackers states, staring out across the dark grounds. “We know you took it hard, and to be honest, not one of us blame you for it. Any one of us would be fucked up if we lost our loved ones like that.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t think I need any special treatment.” I suck back on the stick, going cross-eyed as I focus on the glowing tip.

“You’re our pres, man,” Crackers states softly.

“Exactly. Even more reason why I need to keep my shit in line. You rely on me to lead, not cry into my teacup.”

He shakes his head, scuffing a boot against the worn timber. “You’re just as stubborn as your old man, you know that?”

“I’ve been told it a time or two.” I can’t keep the smirk off my face. We may have butt heads over the years, and we may have lost time to wounded prides, but I loved the old fool more than he’d ever have known.

He was my father; what else do I need to say? He was my hero, no matter what sins he committed.

“What can we do to help?”

I swing my head his way, unsure if I heard him right. “What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever gets that smartass fuckin’ asshole back in your shoes, man. A few of the young guys are gettin’ a bit too big for their boots without you around to cut them down to size.” He digs me with his elbow, smiling as he takes another drag of his smoke.

“I wish I knew,” I say honestly.

How many nights have I lain awake wondering the same question? I’ve been like this, for so long that I don’t think I even know what it’s like to be “okay” again. What does normal feel like? Was I ever normal? Or did I simply not recognize the predator lurking below the surface until it was too late?

“I know what’s first, though.” I drop the remnants of the smoke and scrub it out under my toe. “I got to kick the habits.”

“Good.”

I scoff, folding my arms as I turn to face my VP. “As if you’re one to talk.”

“Occasional use has nothing on your dependency.” He points a finger my way. “How many times a day were you dippin’ into that box of yours?”

I look over his shoulder at the ghostly outline of the trees, trying to work out a typical day in my head. “I don’t know. A lot.”

“Damn straight it was a lot.” Crackers stamps out the last of his cigarette and then matches my pose. “The last time I spent a full day around you, I lost count at eleven.”

“No way,” I half laugh. “Just a few times a day to take the edge of was all it was.”

“Eleven.” He raises one eyebrow, daring me to challenge it. “How many days you been clean so far?”

“Coke? A couple of weeks.”

“What do you mean ‘coke’? What else is there?”

“H.”

He shakes his head, bringing one hand to his forehead. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot, you know that?” He reaches out, slapping both sides of my head in unison before I can duck away. “I swear there’s nothin’ in between here, sometimes.”

“Two days,” I relent. “I’m almost two days off the heroin.”

“Feel like you’re in purgatory?”

“Should that be any different than normal?”

He smirks, slapping me on the shoulder. “Lock down that gypsy bird, brother, because you’re gonna need yourself a nurse.”