Page 24 of Death's Deal

She rises from the picnic bench. “As I said before, I’m a big girl. I can tie my own shoes and everything.”

“Antonia!” the food truck guy yells out.

“Oh! Those are mine.” Stepping to the junk truck’s window, nearly dancing from foot to foot, she pays for a tray of churros. Turning, looking my way, with her smarmy grin and eyebrow wiggle, Toni thinks she’s won a small victory. She returns to her seat with a steaming hot tray of cinnamon grossness, brimming with joy and a happiness that is oddly infectious. “Have you had one before?” she asks.

I growl, “Of course I have. I just don’t eat garbage.”

Holding it aloft, she points the flimsy dough stick in my direction. “Take it. Let this be the olive branch between us.”

“I don’t like olives.”

“Yeah. You don’t like mustard either, and I don’t do hot peppers. At least churros can be a happy medium in our relationship.”

Relationship? Like we have a relationship.

“This is an arrangement, Toni. Nothing else.”

Toni’s becoming quite comfortable in our association in a short period of time. How am I going to keep this up? Keep this professional and all business? I need to nip her exuberant attitude in the butt. Rising off the bench, I pick up her full container of churros. Taking it and my garbage to the bin, I announce as I walk toward my ride, “Time to go.”

With her eyes wild with disgust at my actions, she protests quite loudly, “I was eating those! Why did you throw them out?”

“I’m fucking bagged and it’s been a long day, Princess. I don’t have the willpower to fight over extruded pancakes.” Starting it up and not caring I pissed her off, I wait for her to join me.

“That was rude, Death.”

She stomps her way over. “I’m tasked with your protection. That’s it. We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend and this wasn’t a date. It’s a moment shoved together by fact not fated love.”

“Don’t be mean—” Giving the engine a rev, it drowns out her continued protest. When she realizes there’s no winning this war, Toni hops on, latches her helmet, and crosses her arms around my waist to keep from falling off. When I give it a second rev to make the point of ignoring her attitude, the two of us leave Bayside Park, and slip into traffic toward my home.

The full gravity of this moment is stressing me out. Years back this would’ve been a dream. Right now? I feel thrust into a nightmare. I didn’t want to see her ever again, as every thought of her reminded me of those days when she betrayed me. That moment made me the man I am. I’d rather be anywhere else I could, without her.

Driving away not even thinking of her behind me, I speed toward my home. On the outskirts of Anaheim, it’s a little sixties bungalow that allows for me to have time when I need away from the club. It’ll keep her safe, and allow me to keep my distance from her.

Heading down the road, pulling up the driveway, and clicking the button for my garage opener, I drive straight in. Killing the engine and dismounting, I tell Toni, “Inside you’ll find a room on the left down the hall. That’s yours. Don’t ask to chat, don’t expect we’ll get along, and don’t think we’re friends in any way. I’ll feed you, keep you safe, and send you back to your family when this is over. Understood?”

Toni steps off the bike then stops, “I didn’t think you—”

With fervor, I demand, “Stop. Nothing you do will change how I feel about this whole thing, Toni. You told lies in court, and I was incarcerated for it. You chose to save your family over what we had.” Pausing, I take a deep breath to erase the pain and annoyance I feel. My anger is not misplaced, it’s just not the time to unleash my pent-up frustration. What I do need is for Toni to know where we stand. “I know what I want out of life and you’re nothing more than a payday, Toni.”

With a pang of regret or disappointment coursing her features, I’m not quite sure which, she composes herself. “I’m so glad you cleared things up for me. Don’t worry, Death. I don’t have on rose-colored glasses about this. This is in no way about getting you back in my life. I know what I did to you, and I know I’ve made mistakes. Back then, I chose wrong. You may not believe it, but I’ve paid for my mistakes just as you did, and I’m only trying to survive the mistakes of my father. Plain and simple.” Pulling the door wide, without another word, she steps inside.

No matter who or how this has come to be, there is a history between Toni and me that we cannot avoid. This situation will eventually come to a head. We’ll unleash all of our hatred on one another, or fuck each other out of our systems, of that there’s no doubt in my mind. It simply comes down to how we’ll survive it.

Grabbing a beer from the garage fridge and popping the top, I take a heavy swig. If needed, I’ll sleep on the floor of the garage beside my bike to stay as far away from her as possible.

Letting the pain recede with every gulp of the amber liquid, I look around at the boxes I’ve stored here from the clubhouse while it’s being repaired. Stacked picture frames with torn memories, broken cases and shattered glass, it’s not much different than my soul. Its contents are in about the same condition. Lifting a few of the smashed frames, shifting them until I get to a cherished picture of my dad, I turn it over. It’s him just after my mother died. At the time of this picture, I had just turned fifteen. Barely out of diapers, Jaz only remembers snippets of her, and Tlaloc has no recollection of her at all. In a way, I started to think she was never real, just a part of my memory no one else saw. An imaginary friend. Like a kid who never knew their father, it was as if they had imagined they were a doctor, astronaut, or someone of great import, and I had imagined the woman she was. She was placed on a pedestal.

No pictures remained of Hylocereus in the clubhouse after her death, as my father removed her from our lives, wanting no trace of her. He was the President of the club as well as the ruler of our lives, therefore, he got whatever he wanted without question. One day, I was lucky enough to find a photo stuffed in an old album with crumpled and torn edges. To this day it is still one of my greatest treasures. Reaching into the work bench beside the fridge, pulling free the only picture I’ve kept of her, the frail photo shows the beautiful woman she was. Her long jet-black hair, the deep forest-green eyes framed with thick lashes, and the freckle that rested just under her left eye. When she laughed, the freckle disappeared into the laugh lines of her eyes. She was soft, gentle, and caring, and to anyone who would dare to cross her, she was a prickly woman who captured the heart of an even pricklier man. That’s how she’d gained her nickname, Desert Cactus.

“Shit!” Sputtering my beer, it spews across the room. She was the cactus in the book. Piper had said the Queen adored and revered my mother, and for years she’d been at Alta Noche in Mexico. Piper said she hadn’t died when I thought she did, but I didn’t believe her. Not until now.

So the question is, how much did my mother have to do with the cartel? It wasn’t far-fetched to think she had that power, after all, Busta’s father—who everyone believed was long dead—was the man beside the Queen. Controlling the cartel’s interests from the safety of Mexico, far from those who thought he was no longer alive, Hector had lived carefree for years. So why couldn’t Hylo have done the same?

Setting the beer down, pulling open the door for the house, I shout inside, “Toni!”

Coming around the corner from the kitchen, flying in as if I’d told her the place was on fire, with a worried look she asks, “What?”

“We need to go.” Setting my beer on my workbench, she closes the door to the house without question and walks back out. As I start the bike up, Toni takes her helmet in hand. Locking it on her head before hopping on behind me, without another word she holds on with the bike taking off down the street. My mind reels with the recent epiphany. That symbol can address questions I desperately need answered. Hopefully, it can give us an upper hand where we didn’t have one before.

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