Alice
“So, Al, be honest. How is the new job treating you?”
Lexie shifts on her bar stool as she talks to me, her hand twirling her stirring-straw in her gin and tonic.
It’s quiet in The Smiling Skull saloon right now. It’s maybe half an hour after opening, which puts us well before lunchtime. The only people in here are a few Reaper’s Sons in a corner booth, and even they’re not drinking — they’ve got coffee in front of them, to go along with some takeaway breakfasts from Al’s Diner down the street. They’ll probably be here for an hour or so while they hang out and get through breakfast, before heading off to the auto yard, or to run some other business for the MC.
Given the small crowd and the deep bass of a Johnny Cash song coming from the jukebox, I feel alright talking to my best friend about work while I’m actually at work.
“Not bad. I’m actually liking it a lot more than I thought I would.”
“You look a lot more relaxed. It’s really nice to see.”
“That’s called actually having a little bit of breathing room and something to do with my time other than taking care of mom all day,” I say with a sheepish grin. “Not that I wouldn’t take care of her full time if I had to, but now, I can actually feel like I’m productive, you know?
“That’s great, Al. Are you doing ok otherwise?” she says, slowly.
“Like?”
“You know. With money. Look, I’m as uncomfortable asking about it as you might be answering, but I know you haven’t been going through the easiest time. I have a cousin who went through what your mom’s going through, only she had some different kind of cancer instead of breast cancer, and I have a pretty good idea of how much it can cost. It’s insane.”
She says it slow. She’s as uncomfortable saying it as I am hearing it, or even thinking about it. I’ve accepted how hard things are — that’s why I applied to The Smiling Skull, which is a job way below where I used to work — but there’s a difference between accepting something on the inside and saying it out loud. Saying it out loud makes it more real.
“It’s… not the best. I had an emergency fund, but, well, this was one big-ass emergency and so I used it up. So, yeah, I’m broke and I’m just thankful to have this job and not feeling so scared all the damn time,” I say. I pour myself a small glass of beer and take a drink even though it’s still well before noon. “Listen, can we just leave it? I’m going to be fine — I got nearly a grand yesterday for running an extra job for Hammer. It’s a good start and some actual breathing room.”
She sits up straighter as I say that.
“A grand? Seriously? What’d you do? And, more importantly, can I do it too?” She says. Then, adds “as long as it isn’t sexual. Hammer’s not my type.”
I grin.
“Funny, cause based on what he’s told me, you’d be exactly his type. But, no, it wasn’t sex. I transported a car from his dealership down to some town just south of Tijuana and brought back one of his cars from down there.”
She frowns and ponders the lime floating in her gin and tonic.
“That’s it?” She says. “What’s the catch?”
I shrug. “It was a long drive. And it was a bit creepy, I drove through some places that were kind of sketchy and definitely wouldn’t want to have broken down in. I probably should’ve brought mace or something.”
She leans forward.
“Are you sure it was legal? The Reaper’s Sons haven’t always been a, um, legitimate organization. I grew up here, I remember the stuff they got into with that other club, the Rebel Riders. It was violent and ugly.”
“I made it through the border fine. And the papers that came with the car checked out. Honestly, I don’t care. I really don’t. I need this job, I need the money, everything else doesn’t matter to me right now. If I lose this, all I’d have left is to start some GoFundMe or something and just beg for money.”
Lexie nods and then pats me on the forearm. “Just take care of yourself. Please. And if it gets too suspicious, maybe see if Hammer has other jobs you can do to earn money.”
I give her a non-committal grunt.
“We’ll see.”
“Anyways, I’m glad you’re doing better. And if you need help with anything, just tell me,” she says, finishing her drink then setting the empty glass down on the bartop just a little bit closer to me. “It is nice though having a friend who’s a bartender. I can see myself coming in here quite often.”
I look down at the empty glass. “You still have to pay.”
“You serious?” She says.
I grin. “No. But you should tip your bartender.”
She laughs and puts a few bills on the table. “So, bartender, can I get another?”
I start to make her another drink when some shouting comes from the booth in the corner. “Ms. Alice, come over her for a second, will ya?”
Lexie stares at me with a bemused look on her face.
“Ms. Alice? You’re Ms. Alice, now? Did you get knighted or whatever when you got this job? Is the Queen back there? I love her hats.”
I shoot her a look before I quickly finish making her drink, extra-strong this time, and slap it down on the bar in front of her with just a little bit more gusto than usual.
“Shut up,” I say, smiling. “Hammer calls me that. The rest of the guys just sort of took it up. It’s better than what I’ve heard them call some people, so I’ll take it.”
“Why did he start calling you that?”
“I think to make fun of my education. But I don’t mind it, really. I’m actually kind of starting to like it.”
“Alright, well, Ms. Alice, don’t let me keep you from helping that customer over there.”
I give her a last look to remind her to behave herself while I’m not around and then I walk over to the booth where some of the Reaper’s Sons are having breakfast.
The one who called me over, Lucky, is a veteran member of the club. He’s been one of the more frequent visitors to The Smiling Skull and, when Hammer’s not around and I have a question, he’s the first I turn to. Though he’s just a patched member and doesn’t have a higher rank like Enforcer — which is Hammer’s rank — he still has that kind of confidence around him that only comes with experience.
“What is it, Lucky?” I say.
“Hammer sent me over. Can I get a pint of that IPA we got on tap?”
“He sent you over to drink a beer?” I say. “Was he that desperate to get rid of you?”
“No, wise-ass,” Lucky says with a bit of a chuckle. “I’m to tell you that there’s another drive in two days. Head to the auto yard at the same time as the last time, pick up the car — it’s the red Mustang, it’ll be parked out front — and take it down to the same place in Rosarito.”
I nod. It’s nice knowing there’s more work for me and the chance to put even more distance between myself and bankruptcy.
“Got it. Same pay?”
He nods.
“Same.”
I pause for a second, considering.
“Listen, Lucky, I had something else I wanted to ask you…” I say, then I stop and look over at the man sitting next to Lucky. I don’t recognize him and he’s not wearing a patch.
Lucky nods, letting me know to relax. “He’s ok. Ms. Alice, meet my brother, Richie. Richie, this is Ms. Alice, our bartender and the woman who helps run errands for Hammer. She’s off limits.”
He says that last bit in a far more serious tone than the rest of his introduction. I think I spot Lucky deliver an elbow under the table to Richie, too.
“Got it,” Richie says. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Alice.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I say.
“Now, what did you want to ask me?” Lucky says.
I clear my throat, nervously. “I wanted to know if there were other jobs, with the bar or with the auto yard or whatever, that I could take on in my spare time.”
Lucky pauses for a moment and a serious look comes across his face. Concentration crinkles the mustache riding his upper lip. “How do you feel about selling drugs? Richie here is getting in a shipment of MDMA — Molly — in a few days and could use help distributing.” He stares at me for a second, taking in the confused look on my face, and then his serious look melts away into a chortle. “I’m kidding, Ms. Alice! Lighten the fuck up. You’re doing great, but, no, we don’t have anything else for you. If something comes up where we need someone with legitimate professional business experience, or even if we need someone to stand in front of the auto yard, wearing a bikini and holding a sign, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Lucky. Now, what can I get your brother?”
“I’ll have that IPA, too.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and take a note of their order.
I don’t know which is worse: that for a moment it really did feel like Lucky was offering me the chance to sell drugs, or that there was a part of me that — if I absolutely had to in order to keep helping out my mom — would say ‘yes’.
It takes me three tries just to pull each of their beers from the tap, I’m so damn lost in my thoughts I keep spilling.
But I end up hitting a realization when I finish pouring their drinks. I’d do anything for my family, and whatever it takes to keep my own head above water instead of going broke.
Desperate times call for desperate measures and I’m about as desperate as they come.