Page 26 of Fury

By the time I turned fifteen, Dad had landed in jail for possession. Meghan got real mad at him and started turning on the charm with Reich. Instead of returning the charm, Reich seduced her sixteen-year old daughter. I’d found them fucking on the kitchen table one night.

My room being just down from the kitchen, I used to hear a lot of shit. That night a girl’s high-pitched squeaking noises had woken me up, and I went to investigate, figuring I’d see something I could use as a visual once I got back to my own bed. But what I saw nauseated me. Tracy, my half sister, had this expression on her face that was something in between fear and excitement. Reich had his one hand around her throat, and her face was red.

Reich noticed me, but kept pumping into her fast, glaring at me from the kitchen island where he had her splayed out half-naked. He tilted his head and flashed me a dramatic snarl of his white teeth, like a wolf warding off a competitor to his prey. He grabbed a tight hold of a titty, taking full possession of his meat of the day. She let out a wail.

“You like that, don’t you, you little fucking tease!” he’d said through his clenched jaw, and she only moaned in reply.

I’d receded into the dark hallway once more and went back to my room where I finished a half empty bottle of bourbon I’d taken from the bar earlier. I drank and listened to the sounds of their bodies slapping together, her cries, his thick grunts.

The next day Reich threatened me, telling me to keep my mouth shut or he’d tell Meghan that I’d been the one who’d touched her precious daughter. I was sure he’d probably told Tracy to back him up on that, and I was sure she would. I knew better than to get involved in that mess. Meghan would only blame me for something.

But Meghan was no dummy. She figured out the truth real quick, and wasted no time going to the state pen and telling Dad all about it. She left him steaming, and he had his first major heart attack. That night he was taken to the hospital where I got to see him after he had a bypass operation. Meghan didn’t bother visiting him. She left the club with her girls to go out east.

Two years later, when Dad got out of prison, first thing he did was go after Reich, but by that time Reich was a big shit around the club, and Dad’s quest for revenge wasn’t met with too much sympathy by his bros. I don’t think he’d ever gotten over the lack of vengeance or the lack of true brotherhood in the face of such an injustice.

Dad didn’t hear from Meghan and his girls much or talk about them, at least to me, and I was glad. I didn’t give a fuck about them. They were like mosquitoes trapped in your room at night, always present, buzzing around. I was relieved to be rid of them.

As I’d gotten older, Dad had taken more of an interest in me, whenever he was around, that is. Maybe it was easier for him once I hit my late teen years; we were two guys with some shit in common. He helped me pay for my own bike and fix it up. He taught me stuff he knew well: setting bombs, setting fires for insurance fraud, covering your tracks, shooting straight, how to survive long runs, how to drink, how to roll a joint, how to fuck a woman.

I wanted nothing more than to prospect for the club once I got out of high school. He’d told me his father had been a founding member in the years after the Vietnam War. Dad had dropped out of high school and joined up in the heyday of the club in the explosion that was the seventies. Now it was my turn. The day it became official that I was to prospect, he gave me a gift. A small package covered in brown paper.

I tore open the paper.

“It was your grandad’s,” he said.

A brass compass slightly smaller than my palm. Dented in spots, scratched. Beautiful. Intriguing.

“Said it was his lucky charm,” Dad continued. “Got him out of a lot of scrapes with the commies. It’s from World War II actually. He always kept it with him, and he used it here riding. Said he needed it to keep him on the straight and narrow. If there was one thing he wasn’t, though, it was straight and narrow.” He laughed loudly, and I grinned at him, envious of the memories he was reliving. “He gave it to me when I got patched in, and I want you to have it now. I’m real proud of you, Kid. Real proud that you’re shooting to be a Flame. He would’ve been too.”

My heart lurched.

I wanted to hug him, needed to hug him. I would’ve, but I stopped myself. Dad wasn’t a hugger or affectionate, even with his old lady and their daughters. If I was lucky, I’d get pats on the back here and there, a hand ruffling through my hair. I’d learned to enjoy the fleeting loaded silences between us.

I’d been a prospect for three months when I’d been taken by the Smoking Guns, taken as payback for us ignoring their warnings to stay off their territory.

Doing business on their territory with one of their contacts had been Reich’s great idea, and everyone had been game.“Show them what we’re made of!”But I remember Dad shaking his head, grumbling the words “stupid show off” as he’d lit another cigarette.

“Justin!” Dad had yelled out in the woods. That’s the last thing I remember, him shouting my name. He’d never said my name before. I was hauled off by the enemy like a hunted buck deer, and Dad’s deep voice had stretched out toward me in the dark.

“Justin!”

But I was on my own.

7

The next twonights, loadsof the guys came in bringing me stuff to eat, movies to watch, booze. Even Sandwich Girl came in and danced for us, stripping off her clothes. I’d forced myself to give everyone a few grins so they felt good about their efforts. I did appreciate it, but it was a lot of fucking noise. The movies were a blur, the girl gyrating was a blur.

Tonight, Chaz checked in on me, bringing me my favorite double cheeseburger from the local burger joint. He cracked open a beer from the six pack he’d brought with him as he watched me peel the bun off the meat. He drank as I got through half the burger and a slimy leaf of lettuce, all of it styrofoam in my mouth, my stomach churning.

He snapped open a third beer. A fourth. He was uncomfortable. “Man, sorry about your dad. He was a one in a million. Kerry told me she told you about it.”

“Yeah.”

“You know how I felt about him.” He glanced at me, then went back to staring at his beer can, rubbing the smooth aluminum. “He was real special to me.”

I said nothing. I covered my burger remnants with the greasy paper wrapper.

Chaz sniffed in air. “We had a good funeral for him. Stellar. He woulda loved it, you know. We sang all his favorites. Real good turnout.”

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