Page 22 of Disturbed Lucidity

It had been almost two weeks since I started, and while I was still getting the lay of the land, it was an easy gig. Heading out the back doors, I spotted a familiar face and smiled.

“About time you showed up, girlie. I was getting lonely.”

Smiling, I placed my plate of food on the table and sat next to the old man who I’d met on my second night, when Puck introduced the old coot to me. We struck up an instant friendship. Unlike the grouchy big guy glaring at me at the other end of the table.

Hannibal still hadn’t said a word to me, but I was wearing him down. I could feel it.

“Good evening, Gunny. What brings you out tonight?”

I enjoyed it when Gunny showed up. His real name was Winston Richards, but everyone called him Gunny. A former Vietnam veteran, Gunny did two tours in Vietnam before a Vietcong damn near decapitated him. According to Gunny, he was clearing a foxhole when the altercation occurred. The Vietcong didn’t make it, and Gunny had a constant reminder of how fleeting life was with a scar that ran from his right eye, down his face, across his lips to his neck. It wasn’t pretty, that was for sure, but Gunny didn’t give a fuck. He lived when many of his brothers didn’t. He told me once that the scar on his face was so he never forgot them, and he never did.

“Wanted to see my favorite girl.”

“Really?” I smirked teasingly. “Do I know her?”

“Don’t play with me, Ivy. You know you’re the only girl for me.”

Gasping, I grabbed my chest with one hand, fanning my face with the other. “Be still my heart. A declaration of love. Finally. See, Hannibal, it’s easy. Just say something. Anything.”

The big guy growled, got to his feet, and stormed away.

Unable to stop myself, I yelled after him, “Your silence is speaking volumes, big guy. I know you like me!”

“Girl, that boy doesn’t like anyone.” Gunny sighed.

“Oh, he’s just playing hard to get.” I smirked.

“Sure, sweetheart.” Gunny chuckled when I opened the napkin Elvis gave me and laid it in front of Gunny. Taking half of the large roast beef sandwich, I laid it on the napkin before grabbing the small bowl of fruit and placing it next to the sandwich.

Handing Gunny a spoon, I smiled. “Eat up, Gunny.”

“You are too good for me, Ivy.” The old man smiled, reaching for the sandwich and taking a bite. Placing one of the two bottles of water I snagged from behind the bar on the table, I twisted off the cap and handed it to him.

I learned shortly after meeting Gunny that he was homeless, living in a shantytown a few blocks from the clubhouse. It broke my heart hearing that the lovable old coot lived on the streets. As a former street rat myself, I knew what hardships he faced daily. But Gunny wasn’t just some street rat. He was a veteran. He served his country with distinction and honor. Knowing how this country treated him, and many others like him, pissed me off. Men like Gunny should be revered, honored for their sacrifice; instead, this fucking country ignored them, turned their backs on him like he was trash.

Fucking bastards.

Feeling my new phone vibrate, the one Slash bought me, I frowned. No one had this number. Not even Gladys. Reaching around my back, I grabbed it. Flipping it over, I saw a private number calling.

Ignoring it, I placed it face down on the table before reaching for my bottle of water, only to notice that my hand was shaking.

“You okay, girlie?”

“What?” my body jerked toward Gunny. “Oh, yeah. It was nothing. Wrong number.”

“Wrong number spooked ya?”

I shrugged, picking up my sandwich to take a bite when the back door opened and Mouth yelled, “Ivy, get in here! We got visitors!”

Placing my sandwich down, I sighed.

Sliding my plate over to Gunny, I grabbed my phone and bag and headed back inside.

I wasn’t hungry, anyway.

Rushing inside, a hand shot out and grabbed my arm.

Turning, my eyes widened as I stared at Hannibal.

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