Page 20 of Chubs

“Aria? Really? Since when has she ever been silent?” I ask in amazement while remembering how talkative she’s always been.

“Since we were told you were dead. It changed her into a person I hardly recognized,” my brother says in a solemn voice.

A pang of guilt hits me hard, but I have to push it aside. I can’t change the past, and I have work to do to change our futures.

My brother and I continued talking for another hour, catching up and enjoying the ability to do so. Before disconnecting, we set a time for me to call him tomorrow. I flip the phone closed and feel true loneliness creep up on me. I’m no longer connected to The Devil’s Angels or Lucy, and yet I’m not back with my blood family either. I recognized the feeling immediately because it’s the same kind of loneliness I felt when I first left Chicago.

Barely 17 years old, no belongings, money, or transportation, Feds on my ass, I had few options but to run. Going back to my family was out of the question. They would be watched, and I’d only put them in danger if they were caught helping me. Same with any of my friends, so I put to use the lessons Dad had taught me. I stole what I needed and left Chicago behind me.

I can still clearly remember the fear of suddenly being on my own and being hunted. I knew the consequences of being caught, but I hadn’t fully accepted the reality of my new life either. I had fought against my father wanting me to become a criminal, but I ended up becoming one just to survive. Irony at its worst. After a few weeks, I had finally accepted the fact that sometimes we don’t have choices and that my survival instinct could override my morals. I vowed to be a better man as soon as I could safely become one.

Leaving the hotel early in the morning, I drive for a couple of hours without noticing much about the scenery. My mind is occupied with Lucy. I know by now she’s back in Denver and probably planning my demise. No doubt Bailey’s searching for the best places to dispose of human remains and Axel’s coaching both. I don’t blame any of them for whatever they plan because I deserve it with the way I left.

I spot a truck stop sign and move to the right lane to catch the exit. Parking in the large lot, I pull on shades and a hat before making my way to the door. Entering, I glance around until I find a small table near the large windows. Taking a seat, I scan the parking lot and find nothing out of the ordinary.

“Hi, I’m Marsha. I’ll be your server today. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?” a perky brunette says, standing next to my table.

“Hi. Coffee, please.”

The young lady walks off, and I turn back to the window. I watch truckers fill their semis with gas, chat between themselves, and wait for my drink. I also notice the large amount of lot lizards going from truck to truck offering their sexual services. We sometimes have to do things to survive, and it’s not my place to judge them for their choices when I’ve made questionable ones myself. Glancing at the menu, I make my decision as Marsha drops off my coffee.

“The Lumberjack breakfast, please. Side order of American fries, extra bacon, sausages, two extra pancakes, biscuits and gravy, orange juice, and a large coffee to go,” I tell Marsha.

“The Lumberjack breakfast comes with hash browns, three eggs, bacon, toast, and two pancakes, sir,” the server informs me of something I already know from reading the menu. “Did you still want the side orders?”

“Yes, and please add in an extra order of toast too,” I answer while holding the menu out to her.

I watch as she stares at her order pad in confusion before closing it, taking the menu, and walking off. A minute later, she reappears with my juice, another set of silverware, and glass of water. I say nothing as she sets them on the opposite side of the table from me, apparently assuming I have another person joining me.

It’s not long, and Marsha’s back with my to-go coffee, ketchup, jelly, and syrup. Another few minutes, and she appears with a large tray holding my breakfast on several plates. After carefully setting everything on the table, she turns with a smile and asks, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you, Marsha,” I answer politely before turning to my food.

Keeping an eye on the parking lot, I devour my meal. Just as I’m finishing the last few bites, Marsha reappears. Looking at each of the empty plates, then at me, she slides the bill onto the furthest edge of the table before retreating to the kitchen. I almost snort at the look on her face. Geesh, Marsha, your hand is safe. I haven’t eaten one of those yet.

I use the facilities then make my way back to my car. I leave the lot and watch carefully for a tail. Several miles later, I relax, knowing I don’t have one. After a few more hours, I take an exit and make my way to a Walmart. I shop quickly, gathering snacks, drinks, a few changes of clothes, and other necessities before hitting the road again. Long after the sun has disappeared, I find another sketchy hotel and rent a room. After a quick shower, I have a few snacks before getting to work on the new me.

Opening one of the shopping bags, I pull out the hair dye. Scanning the directions, I head to the bathroom with dark brown hair and walk out a blond. Keeping my face shaved of scruff, hair and eyebrows now blond, I add a pair of black framed reading glasses and look myself over in the mirror. Wearing blue jeans, dark gray t-shirt, and black hoodie, I look like a million other guys in America. Satisfied that I’ll blend in easily, I undress and flop down on the sleeping bag I had laid out on the bed. This being the same bed I sprayed a full can of Lysol on when I got here after I stripped it of all its bedding. I may be heading toward my death, but I don’t want the autopsy to show I had become friendly with lice and bed bugs.

Picking up my phone, I shoot a text to my brother.

Me: Anything happen today? Can you call?

Within a minute, he answers.

Les: No, nothing. Not alone. When are you hitting town?

Me: Not for a while. Feds will be watching for me there. The club will be looking for me too so I can’t leave a trail of any kind that clues them into where I’m going.

I had explained a little about the club to my brother during our previous call. I, however, had not told him about Lucy. I’m not ready to talk about her yet, and I’m certainly not ready for what Les will think of my choices.

Les: Stay safe. Love you, Drew.

Me: Be alert. Watch everything. Love you too, Les.

I flip my phone shut, but just having read his and Aria’s nickname for me brings up a rush of emotion. We were so close, the three of us. Drew, Aria, and Les. I called us “The Three Musketeers” once during dinner as I refilled my plate when Aria, staring at it, corrected me.

“Maybe ‘The Three Little Pigs’ would be more appropriate.”

---