Spike
I sit in my office with a glass of whiskey, staring at the blank computer screen and trying to imagine myself as a father. I try and imagine myself doing the stuff Dad used to do with me before he died, playing soccer and throwing the baseball around, smiling blandly and giving vague advice about being a good person. When I think of my dad, I get angry. I get so angry I wish I could turn back time and throttle him before letting him get behind the wheel of that car for his barbecue, which was so important it was worth our lives, apparently. I won’t put my kid at risk, not like Dad did.
There are men in the next room, but the mood is somber. Even from in here I can tell that. Nobody laughs or jokes. They drink whiskey slowly, glasses clinking quietly, and deal cards and talk in hushed whispers. Danny was popular around here, and they killed him. People aren’t happy about that. Too much bloodshed. I knock back the whiskey and pour myself another. I wonder if the kid’ll be a boy or a girl. A boy, I reckon. I wonder if he’ll have Yazmin’s blue eyes or my green eyes. I wonder if he’ll prefer books or bikes. I wonder if—I stop myself. I can’t get soft just because I knocked Yazmin up. I have to remember who I am. I have to remember my responsibility.
“We ought to kill every damn one of ’em!” Knuckles roars in the next room. “We ought to sneak up in the dead of night and slaughter ’em like animals. Why not? We’re stronger than those fucks. We’re tougher than ’em! I’m tired of this sneaking around shit!”
“The boss has a plan,” one of the men says quietly.
“Does he?” Knuckles snaps. “Right now, it doesn’t seem like it!”
I sigh, standing up. I don’t want to go out there and get on Knuckles’ case for talking about the boss like that, but that’s one of the downsides of being president. I have to discipline the men, even when I agree with them. I drain the whiskey and go to the door, putting on my boss face, forgetting about the news of life in the basement.
Knuckles is on his feet, standing near a small circular table, Justin sitting on one side and Alfred and Red-Eyes on the other. Kieran McCarthy, the man promoted to replace Danny after his death, is almost as big as Knuckles. He has shoulder-length black hair and a squinty stare. But he’s a solid man. Right now he watches Knuckles with a sideways smile on his face, as if he doesn’t know whether to be amused or confused. That’s something, at least. They haven’t all turned on me.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, causing the men to snap their gazes to me, the officers at the table and the men dotted around the room, all of them looking to me in surprise. I’ve been in the office since before they came in, so a lot of them had no clue I was in there.
Knuckles looks the most surprised, swallowing with a loud gulp and shaking his head. “There’s nothing wrong, boss,” he says quickly. “We’re just upset about Danny, is all.”
Knuckles is a big bastard, a scary bastard to some, but I can tell he’s scared as he waits to see what my reaction is going to be. He watches me the same way men watch wild dogs, waiting to see if they’ll attack, wary and careful.
I nod shortly. “We’re all upset about Danny,” I say. “He was a good kid. He didn’t deserve to go out like that.”
I return to the office, going to my desk. The clock seems loud today, ticking obnoxiously, each minute counting down to the officers’ meeting. Soon Knuckles and the rest of them will be looking to me for answers. They’ll expect me to have a plan, something to tear control away from the Scorpions. But even after disrupting their shipments and stealing their weapons and merchandise, these pricks still hit us more than we hit them. Maybe Knuckles is right. Maybe it’s time we go to war.
All too soon, it’s time for the meeting. I clear out the bar, making everybody leave except for a couple of pledges to serve drinks. I sit at the head of the table, Alfred to my left, Justin to my right, and then Knuckles, Red-Eyes, and Kieran spread around. I notice that Kieran sits up straight, adjusting his leather. This is a big moment for him, I guess. Later he’ll lie down with his girl and tell her about the big meeting he had, sitting there with the all-important president, the famous Spike Macklin who always knows what the fuck he’s doing. I almost laugh, before I remember where I am and stop myself.
I have to focus on the men, the club, even if all I can think about is a growing life that might give me a second chance at family. There’s a weight in my chest where there wasn’t one before, heavy, tugging me down. It’s a weight I haven’t felt since I was a kid, when I was concerned about staying out the extra half hour so my mom wouldn’t get worried, or when I told my friends to go on without me because I was babysitting Toby. It’s the weight of family, the knowledge that whatever I do now has effects beyond myself. And if there’s a measure of restriction in this feeling, there’s also a measure of comfort. I will have a family. I will mean something. I will experience love. But I can’t get soft. I won’t let myself.
“Boss?” Justin says. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I reply, realizing I’ve been staring off into space. I turn to the table. “We’re here to discuss any ideas we have about stopping the Scorpions from fucking us over every chance they get.”
“Firstly, boss,” Knuckles says, “I just wanna say sorry about before. I shouldn’t run my mouth off like that when there’s men about, I know. But what I said, I meant. I think we need to do something big. We need to do somethin’ the pricks can’t ignore. We need to take these assholes down. I’m tired of ’em killing our boys. And I know what you’re gonna say. They have more men than us. Fine, but we’ll have the—whatdycallit—the element of surprise.”
“What about the girl, though?” Alfred asks, and the weight in my chest gets that little bit heavier. “Has she told us all she knows? I’m guessing she has, since we haven’t done anything big this past week. So what now? We just going to let her stay down there, a permanent guest? Shouldn’t we use her in some way?”
Since it’s the old man who’s spoken, the men feel they can nod in agreement without risking anything from me. Red-Eyes twists his lips into a small smile, his eyes flickering around from one man to the other. “I’m sure all of us can agree that Yazmin Lafayette is a nice girl. Many of us have spoken to her when guarding her outside. But we can also all agree that Yazmin Lafayette is no good to us if she isn’t helping us against the Scorpions. Maybe in peacetime we can be kind and giving and all that, but this is wartime, and in wartime we have to be tough. I think we should use her as a hostage, tell Snake we have her and use her to make him back down.”
“Hmm-mm,” the men mumble, all of them.
“Well said,” Alfred adds, voice gruff, his age seeming to add importance to the words.
They all turn to me, waiting for my response. A few hours ago I agreed with them—I wouldn’t have put Yazmin in danger, but telling the Scorpions about her had been my plan—but now, I get angry when they bring up the idea. I’ve shared with Yazmin now. I’ve opened up to Yazmin now. And Yazmin is carrying my child now. A man who allows his child to be bargained with is no man at all.
“No,” I say, keeping my voice level, unwavering. I have to stand strong on this. “We’re not doing that.”
They all turn to me like I’m crazy. I can see it in their eyes, looks that they’ll usually reserve for the more naïve pledges flitting across their faces. Part of me wants to roar at them, “Don’t look at me like that!” But that’d made me seem even crazier. I remember Sonny putting his hand on my shoulder and telling me that if a man could stay strong, no matter what, the men would respect him. Well, I’m staying strong when it comes to this. Yazmin is my woman now. She has my child in her belly. Already I’m discovering that that changes a man.
“We’ll go with Knuckles’ plan,” I say. “We’ll plan a raid on those pieces of shit. Justin, Alfred, Knuckles, I want the three of you to work out a plan. I want every damn thing accounted for, down to what color boots each man’ll be wearing on the night. This is going to be a military operation. Slick, clean.”
And when those Scorpion fucks are dead, I think but don’t say, we’ll have no reason to use Yazmin. She’ll be safe.
I stare down the men for a long time, waiting for them to nod. Kieran nods first, the new officer eager to not annoy the boss. Next, it’s Red-Eyes, because Red-Eyes can always be relied on to agree when there’s battle involved. Knuckles nods next, eyes turning inward as he thinks of the raid. Alfred says, “It’s time we had some fire in this place.”
“But are we sure?” Justin asks. “Is hitting them really the best idea?”
The men try and shout him down, but I wave them quiet. “Let him talk.”
Justin shifts awkwardly when all the men face him, but he doesn’t look away. “From a business perspective, what possible benefit is there in attacking their clubhouse, in slaughtering them all?” He’s speaking in an off, tight-lipped way, as though angry or frustrated for some reason.
“If they’re dead,” I explain slowly, “they can’t mess with our business anymore. That’s the business benefit, Justin.” I feel foolish having to explain something so simple. “Unless you’re planning on dating Snake, and this ruins your plans of romance, eh?” I try at a joke, hoping for Justin to laugh and diffuse the tension. A VP shouldn’t make himself look this stupid.
He laughs, after a pause. Even if the laugh sounds forced, it’s better than staring at me offering up bad ideas. “Of course,” he says, smiling vaguely. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. Sorry, lads, but you know me. I just had to be sure before we started in on the killing.”
“We’ll tear these bastards to pieces!” Knuckles roars. “We’ll cut them from ear to ear—”
The door slams open and a man with red streaks across his cheek stumbles in, panting heavily. “Our club in town . . . Scorpions . . .”
“Fuck.” I growl, throwing on my leather, checking my gun holster.
“Fuck,” the men agree, doing the same.
“Looks like the killing will start sooner than you thought,” Alfred says, watching us go.