Page 16 of Karma

He brings the piece of steak to his mouth and chews, but doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it all. He kinda looks like he’s in pain. I glance at the tats covering his forearms. It’s bright orange flames covering vicious looking scars on both his wrists. I think those tattoos are a visual representation of the story he just told me and I’m not sure how to respond. He looks like he absolutely doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and it feels like winter has come early on this warm, late summer evening.

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” I say. “If you wanna talk about it, I’m listening.”

“What good’s talking about it gonna do?”

“The best way to get over something is to face it.”

He stabs at his steak again and this time the blood lands on my hand. I just leave it there. What’s one more drop of blood?

“Joker had the same idea a couple of days ago,” he says. “I told him he’s full of shit too.”

“It’s not just bullshit,” I say. “It’s good to talk about what’s weighing you down.”

He scoffs derisively. “Nah, it’s good to move on and forget the past. Just like Honey would always say, the past is past, nouse dwelling on it. Though she did spend a hell of a lot of time talking about the past. So there’s that.”

“Who’s Honey?” I’m not sure if he’s sharing again or just trying to change the subject.

He grins. “Are you a little jealous of Honey?”

Maybe I did feel a little twinge to hear him talk so lovingly about another woman. No idea why. We’re nothing but a good time to each other.

“Relax, she was just my father’s whore who raised me after he died. Dead almost twenty years now,” he says and brings another piece of steak to his mouth. “I try not to think about her too much, but Joker dragged me to see her grave in Chicago.”

I’ve known Joker, the president of their MC, for a couple of years now and would never accuse him of being a particularly caring sort of guy. Machiavellian and calculating, sure. Kinda scary. But not someone who visits the graves of dead whores.

“He’s a good friend to you,” I say.

He nods. “Yeah, he’s like a brother to me. Saved my life a bunch of times and helped me burn those bodies. You’d already know that if you hung around us more. But you’re always in such a hurry to move on.”

The Lost Sons MC have hired us for a bunch of jobs over the last couple of years. Easy sort of things, overseeing takeovers of strip joints and such.

“We can’t stay in one place too long,” I say. “There’s too much heat on us. And you have more than enough guys to handle your shit on your own.”

I pick up a fry off my plate, but don’t bring it to my mouth. Maybe he’s got a point. Not much good comes from talking about the past. Those knots in my stomach from before have now turned into ice cold stones and I hardly remember the pleasant ride through the forest that brought us here. Or dozing in his arms by the lake all afternoon.

“How about we get this food to go and take it back to the cabin?” he says.

I put the fry down and smile at him as best I can in my new apathetic state. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

He grins and waves the waitress over. “See? What did I tell you? Honey was right about a lot of things. Talking about shit from the past just ruins your appetite. Best to forget it.”

I shrug, but I can’t deny it so I don’t say anything. He seems to be in a better mood and I want the same thing.

He makes a good point. I’ve lived through enough sadness to last several lifetimes. There’s really no use unpacking it everywhere I lay my head for the night, since I’ll never get rid of it anyway.

7

Scorpio

Talking about personal stuff, and especially the shit I’ve been through, never ends well. Tonight it was my fault, asking about her past like some moron and then almost telling her about mine. As though I’m not here at the lake trying to forget it all again. It took my appetite like it always does, all I could taste was the blood dripping from my steak, and even the ride back through the moonlit forest didn’t help.

But being back in the cabin with her kinda does. The familiar scents of lake water, damp wood, and bourbon help. I’m sure drinking some of the latter will work even better. But there’s also that strong yet faint scent of early summer flowers and fresh green leaves that’s all Karma. I’d rather stay sober and enjoy her tonight.

“We sure managed to bum each other out, didn’t we?” she says as she takes off her riding jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair. Our food is on the table, tightly wrapped in foil and plastic bags, but I can still smell the blood from my steak.

“Yeah, but we don’t gotta wallow in it,” I say and take her hand. “Come here.”

Her kiss is like a rope that pulls me out of deep black water where I got stuck. And her firm yet velvet soft body in my arms is better than any life raft. It’s better than bourbon. Especially as she wraps her arms around my waist and sort of melts into me as she surrenders deeper to the kiss.

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