Page 75 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

That will make it easy to get the job done.

“Because it’s a nice day out.”

It’s never a nice day out on the Indian reservation. This place is straight up ghetto and I don’t care if Oske blames me for it. I didn’t tell them to move out to the desert and frankly, whoever did clearly wanted them to burn to death. It’s hot as fuck here all the damn time and it smells outside. There are stray dogs taking over the front porch half the fucking time.

People drive by and spit on me just because I’m white. I can’t think of any other reason. Maybe the gunshots and the screams, but I know these people have nothing but racism and revenge in their hearts…

“I don’t believe you,” she says. “I think you’re up to something.”

“What could I be up to, Darlene?”

I can’t wait for her to be dead.

“You’re ready to apologize and accept that I made a mistake.”

This woman is fucking delusional. She spent over $25,000. I worked so fucking hard for that money. I thought I was supporting my wife and she humiliated me in front of all the Barbarians. I cut the tattoo off her skin already. Does she really think there’s a way back after this?

“Eat your ice-cream, Darlene.”

“I knew it,” she says. “It’s the pregnancy turning you on.”

Darlene couldn’t turn me on if she wrapped her hand around my dick and shoved it up her ass. I stare at her while she eats, hoping to scare her. She just keeps going in on the ice cream. My gaze drops from her face to her belly. The good thing about this being my first time doing a C-section is that only one needs to survive.

The baby.

I watch her eating ice-cream, trying to make myself feel something as I watch her. There’s nothing. Just numbness everywhere. I think the last time I felt something aside frompure rage was the night I found out about Doc. I grew up under the assumption that my dumb ass would die before Doc would. I never imagined for a second that I would have to go on without him.

Needless to say, he wouldn’t exactly approve of this.

“You’re staring,” Darlene says. “Be patient, big boy.”

I shudder and just keep watching her. Quiet. More self-conscious than concerned with Darlene and the thoughts in her head. Those thoughts will all go quiet soon and she won’t have to concern herself with who she has to lie to and fuck around on to get money, attention… all the stupid shit she cares about.

When she’s done, she slams it on the floor, rattling the bowl.

“All finished. Can I watch Real Housewives?”

She’s been into Potomac lately — constantly bitching that the “Indian bitch” as she calls Oske — doesn’t have a 4K television. Considering the way I’ve done her ass up, you would think her concerns would be a lot bigger than the pixels on her television.

“What does the baby want?” I ask her.

“The baby wants to fart,” Darlene says. Then, she farts.

It feels like a sign from God. Spiritual punctuation ending one chapter of my life and starting up another. I grab the bowl from Darlene and take it out to the sink. Having the Shaw boys in here was like living with a bunch of scrappy hairy dogs. All they do is scheme and gamble. Once I clean the bowl and spoon, I dry it and put it away. Wipe down the sink. Squeeze out the sponge.

Life without routine will drive you crazy.

I open the kitchen drawer with all of Oske’s implements. True to her heritage, the crazy bitch has every tool you could possibly need to skin a deer. Never seen a deer out here on the reservation but Oske took it personally when I asked her if she ever used those knives on a dog. It’s just a question.

Just a fucking question. Those folks are just damned sensitive — that’s what it is.

I set up all the knives and scalpels. Towels. There’s going to be a lot of blood. Warm water. Dry cloth for my hands. Soap. I feel like a fucking midwife by the time I have it all together. Ain’t no typical midwifing about to happen. I clear off the kitchen table, grimacing as I move aside a hunting knife, a vape pen and two scratch-off tickets, setting them on the kitchen counter.

I recognize the Walmart dining table’s flimsy materials once I clear it off. Solid, sturdy wood would give me more security that Darlene won’t fight so hard she’ll break the table. I’ll burn the table once I’m done, so I’ll have to get Oske a new one. Doesn’t matter.

I get disability checks from the Army. Gideon acts like he’s the only Army Ranger… He isn’t. I served my country like all the real men in our family. Like Gideon. Like Doc. Like the twins. My body stiffens with resolve as I think about Jairus and Jotham laid out in the desert like that. Not after the shit we went through.

Jotham and I were on the same squad. Went by Joe in the Army, led prayers for every meal… He didn’t deserve to die. But Darlene does. For her betrayal. For what she stands for. For making me look like a fucking fool.

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