Page 9 of Tank

“Famous last words, Pres,” Dex says, a glint in his eye.

Flack’s shaking his head from side to side knowing that shit could go sideways any moment with this lot involved. Add in a creative type woman with no inner monologue, and well, it could very well be a recipe for disaster.

Marx must recognize this because after a moment he says, “I’ll talk to Mama Debs.” He nods.

Everyone knows if there is anyone with the power to look chaos in the eye and wrangle it into submission, it’s Mama Debs. I mean, shit, being Pops’ Ol Lady ain’t for the weak.

“Alright, Church over. Behave yourselves.”

Mira

Once Marx makes his announcement I march straight over tothe table that I think will be the perfect place for me to write and I start unpacking my tote. It has all my writing essentials - laptop, colorful notepads, and pencils with pompoms on the top. Various fidget toys and this fat hippo that wobbles when you pick it up.

“What are you doing?” a small voice asks and I’m jolted out of my setup. Looking around for the voice, my eyes land on a small dark girl with dark blonde curls and large hazel eyes, and her little friend, pale skin with almost black hair and eyes. There’s a boy standing with them that looks a lot like the dark-haired girl, but he seems bored with this conversation already.

“Oh, I’m just setting up my writing stuff.”

“Why?”

“Because I write?”

“Is that a question?” the boy asks. I think it’s aimed at me even if he’s looking somewhere else.

“Yes?”

The dark-haired boy frowns down at the floor like I’m an idiot. A beautiful darkly tanned woman with wild hair steps up next to him. She’s also not looking directly at me, instead looking somewhere over my shoulder. The boy turns to her, but doesn’t look up.

“She’s not very good at answering questions,” he tells her before walking off.

I would be offended but I don’t have time as more women join the one across from me.

“Hi! Tank didn’t introduce us before.” An equally beautiful woman with black hair says.

Ruh Roh. These women are all stunning. And kinda normal looking. I, on the other hand, am not normal by any stretch of the imagination. Three of them have baby carriers strapped to their fronts, one looks like she may have a slight bump, and theone with wild hair is pushing a stroller. I’m not sure we’ll have much in common, but I’ll try.

“I’m Nat,” the one who spoke first says. “This is Ana,” she indicates a woman who has super shiny dark hair and is wearing very fancy clothes for a mom, super classy like. “This is Lovely, and Blanche, they’re sisters,” That’s easy to tell, they look very alike, much like the boy who questioned me and the little girl who is still staring. “Oh, Remy is coming this way now.” A blonde woman skids to a stop in front of me, giving me the sweetest smile. “And the woman with the gator is Chewy.”

I double blink at this information. “Can you repeat that?”

Nat gives me a sly grin and then says slowly, “The woman with the gator is Chewy.”

“Chewy” gives me a megawatt grin, leans into the stroller, fussing for a moment before slowly bringing her hands up. My eyes follow her movements as she slowly reveals a snout, a long scaled body, and then the tail.

“This is Chomper!” she coos over him then cradles him in her arms.

“Huh. Did you ever think of calling him Darth Gator?” I ask her.

Her eyes narrow for a moment and then she shakes her head. “No, not this baby. He’s special needs. See his jaw? Severe underbite, we have to cut his food up for him. The name Chomper gives him back some of his mojo. Do gators have mojo?” she asks the room.

“Momma, what’s a mojo?” the little girl with the curls asks one of the women in front of me. I’m not sure which as she doesn’t seem to resemble any of them strongly.

“It’s like his power. His spirit,” the blonde woman, Remy, answers.

“Like the kind that sometimes gets left behind when you die and haunts places?” the little girl asks with a frown.

“Not quite, baby. I’m not sure gators can be ghosts.”

“Nothing can be ghosts,” Chewy answers matter of factly.

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