CHAPTER TWO
Ty
There I was, minding my own business, polishing a rack of glasses at the bar, when a beer bottle exploded against the wall beside my head.
I set the glass down with a thump, glaring around for the culprit.
As it turned out, the bottle was not meant to hit me; it was a stray from a tangle of four guys who were about to embark on an epic brawl.
"God dammit," I grumbled, rolling up the sleeves of myleather jacket. I wore motorcycle boots too because, well, I rode motorcycles, but also because they were great for stomping. They had steel toes and made lots of noise on the wooden barroom floor as I approached the fight.
All four guys were taller than me, but as soon as I grabbed one shoulder, the commotion ground to a halt. I snarled up at all of them, baring my teeth, "You fucks better cut that shit out, you don't fight in the Den. You just don't.Not on my property." I flashed them a smirk and patted my chest, where everyone knew I carried my favorite weapon: a knife. "You know what happens when you piss off theCanis Grandis. Now get the fuck outta here."
It had taken me nine years of incessant fighting, nine years of bloodshed and turmoil, but eventually, people learned that arguing with me wasn’t a good idea. They knew I meant what I said. All four guys dispersed, downing the last of their drinks. Donning their jackets, they scrambled out of the bar, mumbling under their breath. I straightened myself out, rolled my sleeves back down, and went back behind the bar.
"Jesus. You'd think they’re animals, not just named after 'em," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.
"I know, right? It's like they're a bunch of hardened criminals or something," snarked Charlie, my right-hand man. "Why are you even here, boss? We can take care of the Den."
"Yeah, I know. I've got a deal with some guy later. Apparently, he's a total tool, and Manley thinks he'll buy this counterfeit Flathead off us for authentic price." I smirked to myself. "If he does, that'll be very good for us. We're talkin' thirty or forty grand, cash."
"Holy shit. He's not a gangster?"
"Nope. Just some rich moron. But Manley's already told him that there can't be a paper trail or whatever."
"Ah."
"I need the cash," I said.
"Don’t we all," Charlie agreed. "It sounds a little sketchy though, boss..."
"It'll be fine, this is what we do. I won't even be there for most of the deal. I’ll probably just hand off the bike. But, you know, the guys feel better if I'm around."
"Sure, boss. Nobody fucks with you."
"Damn right." The last person to fuck with me had their thumb ripped off with a pair of pliers. "You finish with these glasses, I gotta do some paperwork in the back."
"I can take care of the paper—" Charlie started to say, but all I had to do was look at him and he backed off. "Okay, alright. The office is all yours." Charlie waved a hand at me and shook his head, grabbing the dish rag.
I went back into the office, locking the door behind me. It was about seven in the evening, so there weren't many people around just yet. It wouldn't really be hoppin' until midnight, and then we'd most likely go until dawn. Before that ensued, however, I had a very important phone call to make, and I couldn't have anyone eavesdropping. I took out my phone and scrolled through the contacts, selecting Barbara. I felt bad having her in my phone as her first name, but I was also a notorious crime boss. Couldn’t have it any other way.
And I couldn't have people knowing that my mom was my best friend.
"Hi, Ma," I said when she picked up.
"Hi, honey," Her voice made me feel calm, most of the time, but occasionally I had these waves of guilt, on account of my keeping so much of my life a secret from her. "How's your day going?" she asked.
"No complaints so far, but the night is young," I laughed, "You never know what's going to happen at a bar. Plenty of time for shi— er, stuff— to go haywire."
"I worry about you managing that place," she said. Of course, Ma had no idea that I was a criminal. I mean, I'm sure she had her suspicions that I did more than just manage a dive bar, but she no real reason to believe otherwise and I meant to keep it that way. My two lives were completely separate. Well, pretty much. My kid brother Justin knew more than she did, but still, not everything.
"I know, Ma. Once I've got enough money saved up, I'll invest in a nice, wholesome family diner," I said, unsure whether I was joking or not. "Speaking of a diner, did you guys eat?"
"Yes, I made pork chops and salad. I had Justin help with the salad dressing," she laughed.
"Good, good... how's he doing today?"
"Oh, he's all right," she sighed. "Had a doctor's appointment today. The fracture still hasn't healed properly, he keeps knocking his arm into things."
I pressed my lips together hard. Ma didn't like me cussing, but I was so sick of having to hear about Justin's problems - not because I didn't care, but because I felt responsible for him, and getting him treatment was expensive. Every time I thought I was getting ahead financially, the poor kid would need something else. But I didn't blame him for it at all, I swear to God. I just felt bad for the kid. His life was so hard, having to put up with so much pain and being disabled. I wanted to cuss, not because I was angry but because I felt powerless. I felt guilty that we couldn't always afford his treatments. The insurance only covered so much, but he needed surgery and that wasn’t cheap. I gritted my teeth in frustration. If the deal with the rich idiot and the counterfeit bike went down tonight, then we could schedule Justin's surgery the next day. We had such a long history of missed payments and delinquent accounts that the hospital wouldn't do any "non-essential" treatments unless we could pay upfront. Apparently, treating my kid brother's broken arm was a "non-essential" procedure. Thinking about it made me want to stab someone - in fact, I thought, I just might stab someone tonight, just to remind those bastards who’s the boss.
"Don't worry, Ma, we'll get it taken care of," I told her. "Just another week or so of collecting tips and everything, and we'll have enough for his surgery. Hang in there." The usual, daily pep-talk. I knew she needed it. Looking after Justin wasn’t easy to begin with and it only got worse when he had some extra physical problem going on. "You're doing great, you know that? You're my hero."
"Oh, Ty," she said. I could hear the tears in her voice. My heart clenched and I tried to think of something to change the subject. I couldn't stand to hear my Ma cry.
"Hey— hey. How's that guy you've been seein', huh? We never got to talk about your date, how'd it go?"
"Oh, my," she sighed. There was a flutter in her voice that put a huge, shit-eating grin on my face. "He's quite a man, Albert is. He's very active, you know, he plays tennis. And he goes to the Y all the time. And he's got great hair—"
"So you think he's hot?" I teased. " That's great, Ma, but is he nice to you?"
"Oh, Ty," she sighed dreamily, "I've never met a man who was so nice to me. Not just nice. Kind. Gentle. A gentleman, a true gentleman. I was going to ask you if you can watch Justin tomorrow night, I'd like to go out with him again...?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course, Ma." I had gangster shit scheduled for tomorrow night, but I'd be damned if I let that stop my Ma from going on a date. She hadn't been on a date in, like, a thousand years. And she sounded so excited. "Tell Albert he can pick you up, uh... anytime after six. Yeah. I'll be home by six for sure."
"A date," she crooned, "I can't believe I'm going on datesagain. After yourfather left, I swore I would never even look at another man twice, but..."
"That was a long time ago Ma, it’s good that you’re movin’ on. Hey, I gotta go. I'll see you later. I'll be home early in the morning."
"Good, I have a hair appointment as soon as the salon opens, so don't be late."
"Sure, Ma. Love you."
"I love you too, Ty. Take care of yourself."
"Yeah."
"Make sure you get a good meal tonight."
"Will do, Ma."
"All right, goodnight baby."
"Night."
I hung up the phone and stared at the Call ended notification, blinking at me. I took a moment to reflect on my life, to think about how much I loved and cared for my mom and brother. To think that if it weren't for them, I would probably be strung out on meth or in prison by now. No matter how wild things got on the streets, it kept me sane to know that when I went back to the little white house on the corner in Southeast, my mom would be there to give me a hug and a kiss and offer to feed me, and Justin would always be there to bust my balls, and be my confidante. I took a few moments to be soft, to feel human and then I erased the call from my call history and put the usual, stone-cold grimace back on my face.
It was time to go back to work.
***
The bar was packed for a Thursday. By midnight, there was hardly any room to move. A haze of cigarette and pot smoke clouded the air, mingling with the stench of spilled, cheap beer and sweaty dudes in leather jackets who refused to take them off no matter how hot it got. After all, it was a part of their image. Funny how women always got stereotyped as vain, but I knew that men were just as concerned about appearances - they just didn't talk about it as much. Women were supposed to look neat, pretty and put-together; biker dudes put just as much effort into looking all rough-and-tumble and mean.
I was pouring drinks like a madman to keep up with the crowd when, from the raised bar at the back of the room, I noticed a couple entering. I knew that was my mark, and for whatever fucking reason, he'd brought his girlfriend. A surge of anger jolted through my body. The guy was tall and looked pretty muscular. He was probably a gym rat, which, however, meant that he’d be hopeless in a bar brawl around here. He wore the dorkiest polo shirt and cardigan I had ever seen, paired up with slacks that were way too tight. I hated him already just because of the way he looked, but his girl… Oh, man.
The girl was tiny. She flinched as they walked past a noisy group of guys who all burst out laughing at a joke most likely made at her boyfriend's expense. She was short, and very thin, with huge brown eyes in the middle of a pale, pretty face, and she had shiny, straight, jet-black hair. Part of me wanted to shove my way through the crowd just to throw her out since the guys were already staring at her like the hungry wolves they were, and she just looked so damn vulnerable. Not to mention the guy she was with wasn't paying any attention to her.
"Boss?"
"Huh?"
"You just poured a whole glass of triple sec," Charlie said. Actually, he yelled; he had since the place was so damn loud. I looked down at the puddle of syrupy liquor all around the cocktail glass.
"Fuckin'..."
"You were lookin' at that guy?"
"Yeah. I'd bet my left nut that's the guy for the Flathead. I told the guys to start at forty-five grand and let him haggle, but I wouldn't be surprised if he just pays up the forty-five. Jesus. How fucking clueless can you get, showing up to a biker bar looking like that?" I was talking shit about the guy, but my eyes were glued to his girlfriend. She was wearing a white blouse and pale pink pants.
"Tell me about it," Charlie said. "Should I go tell 'em to meet us out back?"
"Nah, let 'em stumble around a little. Get him off his guard."
"Heh."
Wishful thinking on my part.
I knew as well as any other venue owner that a tight crowd can be dangerous, especially in closed quarters. It could be like a brush fire if you weren't careful. I wouldn't hesitate to seriously fuck someone up if it meant preventing a brawl involving the entire bar because it was easier to get between two or three guys and suffer a stray punch than having to fix up the whole place the next day.
I should've known better than to underestimate the power of a rich asshole in the middle of a bunch of drunk white trash.
The animosity toward him was palpable almost as soon as they walked in, and grew the moment they started walking around. The preppy guy was quiet at first as he sized the situation up, but then, he started talking shit about us. Apparently, he didn't know that you don't go on a gang's turf by yourself and start talking shit, but it was no surprise that he was clueless. My guys started talking back. I dismissed it as harmless braggadocio because this pansy-ass wasn't really gonna start anything, right?
Wrong.
I don't know what he said, but he said it to the angriest, drunkest guy in the bar. They exchanged a few shouted insults when suddenly, the rich fucker shoved my guy.
The whole bar went silent. Countless pairs of eyes were trained on the two of them as the moment stretched out, like a bungee cord, tighter and tighter, then:
Snap.
Have you ever been hit by a renegade bungee cord? It was the human equivalent of that.
Seven dudes in the immediate vicinity assaulted the guy at the same time. It was almost like watching a pack of wolves attack a deer or something. That spoiled kid tried to run and actually managed to get about a third of the way to the door, before he was stopped by a bunch of other guys. They were so eager to rough him up that they wound up hurting each other, and like a ring of dominoes, the fight radiated out from the preppy moron, throughout the whole bar. The noise escalated to a deafening level. Glass broke. Drinks spilled. The stench of spit and blood rose drowned out the smell of beer. I headed for the back door since, at this point, I had no choice but to bail and pick up the pieces in the morning, and that’s when I saw her.
She was stock-still in the middle of it, her hands pressed over her mouth as she watched them pummel her boyfriend to a bloody pulp. Her tidy white blouse was already stained with beer and blood. Guys all around her were fighting and grappling for no goddamn reason, carelessly knocking her tiny self around. I almost left her there, but she was just so small and innocent, reminding me ofAlice. So when a really drunk guy grabbed her arm and tried to force himself on her, something in my brain snapped.
I plunged into the chaos head-first. I decked the guy so hard, his tooth went flying and the poor girl's shirt was flecked with more bloody spittle. I yanked her by the arm, dragging her toward the edge of the crowd. I had to draw my knife on someone, slashing the back of their hand as they grabbed at her. I barely heard her whimper over all the ruckus, but I could tell she was terrified. Her little arm was shaking in my hand. I kicked someone's shin with my steel-toe boot to make them get the fuck out of the way, and finally, we broke free of the crowd. I shoved her down a dark little hallway, her voice was more audible now. She was bawling.
I fucking hated it when girls cried. Got me right in the man parts. Did something weird to my brain. Made me want to protect 'em and hold 'em. Made me feel all... sensitive and shit. I hated feeling soft outside of my Ma's house, it was dangerous to feel like that on the street.
I dragged her through the back door and we emerged in the disgusting little loading dock beside the dumpsters. She was gasping for breath as she cried, her knees knocking together and everything, I was kinda worried she would collapse at any moment.
"Don't cry, it's fine," I said, trying to step back from her, but she just buried her face in my shoulder instead, crying even harder. She was shaking all over, gripping the lapel of my jacket, so small and delicate and helpless. I badly wanted to hold her and make her feel better, but I couldn't allow that right now, I had to be Canis Grandis. I settled for awkwardly patting her on the back as she sniffled and moaned into my chest.
"You're okay," I said again, as she calmed down a bit, "I mean... you are okay, right? Are you hurt?" I prayed she wasn’t hurt, I couldn’t stand it when a tiny girl like her was hurt and crying.
"I— I—... I think I'm okay," she mumbled meekly, sniffling and wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "Plenty of bruises, probably, but nothing serious."
"Good."
"What are they doing to Brad?" she moaned, burying her face in her hands. "I hope he's okay. Oh my God, they're not gonna kill him, are they?"
"Uh..." She looked at me with those huge eyes. They were all shiny from her tears and her little nose was all red. I scowled at her, hoping to mask the way she was making me feel, all soft and worried, which was distinctly un-gangster-like. "Look, I don't know what they're gonna do to your fuckin' idiot boyfriend, okay? I mean it's not like they're askin' me whether they can kick the shit outta him, and if he dies— hey!"
She had turned and started walking back toward the bar. Halfway to the door, I caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?"
"I have to make sure he's okay," she said, her lip trembling.
"Please don't cry," I pleaded, "look, he's a jackass, he deserves whatever he gets—"
"How dare you!?" she cried. "No one deserves to be treated like that! I can't believe—"
"Hey, that's life on the street," I said with a shrug.
"I love Brad and I have to make sure he's okay—"
"Look, lady." I turned her toward me, frowning at her adorable face, trying to make her understand how serious the situation was. "This is my bar, alright? I've been in more fights than I can count, and you couldn’t pay me enough to go back in there. You have no idea how dangerous it is—"
"Which is why I have to save Brad." She whirled and started marching again.
"What do you even think you're gonna do!?" I yelled after her, but she didn't even glance over her shoulder at me. I could not believe the stupidity of this little chick as she slipped back in the back door, her waifish body immediately consumed by the commotion. I huffed and sighed, pacing in front of the door. I was arguing with myself. I knew I had to go after her, but I really didn't want to. There weren't many things that scared me, but an angry mob in an enclosed space? Yeah, that scared me. Then again, it was my fear that had gotten Alice killed, and—
"HEY!" I yelled as I saw the preppy fuckwit staggering around the side of the building. He looked like shit, covered in blood, lip split, nose bleeding, one eye blackened and swollen shut. He couldn't even stand up straight, but he was limping as fast as he could. He ignored me and limped even faster, uttering a strangled, growling kind of cry that might have been words, but I couldn't make them out. I realized he was heading towards a silver BMW parked like half a block away. He reached the car, heaved himself inside and sped off, swerving and fishtailing all over the place.
He got away.
He left.
Without the girl.
I plunged back into the chaos without hesitating another second, my blood boiling with rage. By now, the crowd was like a snake eating its own tail. The guys hardly noticed me as they were absorbed in fights, drinks, drugs, or trying to force themselves on the tiny girl. A group of four guys had surrounded her and my heart swelled with admiration because she was fighting tooth and nail, jamming her foot into one guy's balls, dodging their hands, spitting in their faces. Despite her best efforts, she was just too small and not to mention, outnumbered. One of those bastards grabbed her as I shouldered my way through the crowd; I heard him scream in pain when she viciously bit down on his hand. He retaliated by hitting her. Hard. So hard that she lost consciousness.
I was kinda glad she fainted so that she didn't have to see what happened next.
The guy who had hit her? I slit his throat from behind. He let go of her and slumped to the ground. I punched another guy in the face so hard that he turned around and vomited. As I glared at the last two, they quickly backed off. Putting away the knife, I picked up the girl and finally got the fuck out of the bar.