“Take your time. I don’t need no goddamn wet nurse coddlin’ me,” he grumbled.
The nurse fought a smile while she replaced his IV bag.
An uber took me back to my uncle’s apartment where I fought with my bike until the piece of shit finally decided to idle properly. Swearing, I revved the engine and gave it a minute, gaining me a dirty look from an old lady watering flowers in front of the building. I flashed her my best apologetic smile and it took her a second, but her expression softened, and she waved me off.
I was about to put the bike in reverse when a man who looked somewhere between seventy and a hundred came over and started flapping his jaws at me. I couldn’t hear him over the roar of the engine, and my parents had taught me better than to ignore my elders, so I turned off the key and engaged in the conversation.
“What was that?” I asked. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I owned a bike, once. Bought it back in fifty-nine? Or was it sixty-two? It was a real beaut, a 1955 Panhead.”
I didn’t know shit about sleds until I joined the Dead Presidents, and the limited knowledge I’d picked up came from repairing and tuning my piece of shit Road King. “Bet it was more reliable than this ol’ ride.”
“Oh, she was a great bike. Yellow, black, and so much power I could barely contain her. Drew the ladies like bees to flowers, that bike did. Met my first wife while I was on that bike.” He frowned and gazed off into the distance. “She was a beaut, too. Cancer got her in eighty-nine.”
I had no idea how to escape from this conversation, but I desperately needed to get shit done and get back to the hospital. “Sorry to hear that.”
He had a second wife, five children between his marriages, twelve grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. I must have stood there, listening, for at least a half hour, trying to find a respectful way to bail before he talked my ear off. He finally got a tickle in his throat and pulled a cough drop out of his pocket. Seeing the opportunity for what it was, I started up my bike again. It roared right to life, and I could have hugged it, I was so damn happy. Instead, I silently promised not to melt it into scrap metal when I found its replacement.
“Well, it’s been great talking to you, but I really have to go pick up some things for my uncle.”
The old man’s mouth opened again, but I was already backing out of the parking spot.
Someone in the building must have sent out an alert that they had a listener in the parking lot, because old people swarmed out of the front doors and headed straight for me, their jaws flapping in preparation. I had a ton of shit to do, so I peeled out of the parking lot and took off.
After picking up a phone charger, a couple changes of clothes, and some toiletries, I returned—parking on the other side of the apartment building—and sneaked up the stairs. As I opened the door the odor hit me, forcing me to stagger backwards. Powering through the stench, I held my breath and circled the space, opening every window I could find. I searched for candles or scented plug-ins but didn’t find jack, so I plugged my phone into the new charger and got to work separating the piles of laundry littering the hallway. I’d respect Uncle Jaime’s wishes and not tell my parents how filthy his apartment was, but there was no way I’d bring his ass home to this squalor.
Besides, it would be easier to pack after everything was clean, and I fully intended to move him to Seattle.
I started a load of laundry before filling the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water and loading it up with dishes. Then I powered on my phone and started an internet radio station. As I started to load the dishwasher, my tunes were interrupted with at least a dozen incoming texts. Drying my hands on my jeans, I glanced at the screen. The messages kept coming. Flint wanted to know when I’d be back. Wasp’s nosy ass wanted to know what I was up to. My parents wanted an update, so I called and gave them one before scrolling through the rest of the messages.
There were a few texts from numbers I didn’t recognize, but I scrolled past them trying to take care of the shit that needed to be handled. Felipe sent me a warning that Miguel was using my tools. I texted the asshole to promise a swift and painful death if anything happened to my shit. Wasp had sent out a group text asking for a head count for the holiday campout. Since my uncle’s health was still up in the air, I replied to let him know I probably wouldn’t make it. Flint wanted to know how long I’d be gone.
My eyes snagged on a message from my youngest sister.
Rosalie: Can you pick me up from school today?
My parents must not have told her about Uncle Jaime, or she would have known I was in Portland and taking care of him. I didn’t know why they’d chosen to keep it a secret, but I wasn’t about to break the news and upset their system. But I also couldn’t ignore her unusual request.
Me: Why? What’s going on?
Rosalie: I just don’t feel like walking. It’s not a big deal.
Alarms went off in my head, triggering my protective big brother senses. The house was eight blocks from her school. I’d offered to pick her up a few times when I was in the neighborhood, but she always said no. She liked walking with her friend who lived a few houses down from us. If she wanted a ride now, something was wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what.
Me: Someone giving you a hard time again?
Because of her cleft lip and palate, Rosalie had been dealing with bullies most of her life. Kids could be mean little shits, but she took their teasing in stride and mostly let it roll off her back. Every once in a while, a kid would go too far, and I’d find my sister crying into her pillow. I’d have to coax the truth out of her and then I’d follow her around, flexing at any little assholes who treated her with less than the respect she deserved until that bullshit stopped. It had been a while since I’d caught Rosalie in tears, and I was hoping the kids around her had matured.
Rosalie: It’s not bad, but I don’t want to deal with it today.
Dammit. She shouldn’t have to deal with itanyday. Since there was no way I could get back to Seattle before her school let out, I called the scariest motherfucker I knew.
Havoc answered on the third ring. “Hey brother, what’s up?”
“I need a favor.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “You got it. What’s up?”
