Don’t punch him, Henri. Don’t punch him.
“Can we get this over with,” I snap as I rub the cloth over the skin on the back of my forearm, then toss it to Oscar.
As Oscar catches it, he whispers, “Dad is so going to kill me.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Selkie
A couple of blocks from the 311 Boys’ clubhouse, Hangman pulls his bike into a dark alley.
Eight parks his truck on the curb effectively blocking the entrance to the alley.
A couple of teenagers are hanging around across the road, eyeing us curiously. One’s short and gangly, the other taller and broader.
“What are you doing out here at this hour?” I say to them in my best mom voice.
Eight gives me a shoulder bump. “Behave.”
“How is me being concerned about two teenagers being out in the wee hours of the morning misbehaving?”
“Because them being out here doing whatever the hell they’re doing is not our primary objective.”
Hangman interrupts our bickering. “They’ll do.” As if we’re supposed to know what that means. He jerks his head towards the alley and says to the kids, “Get over here.”
They saunter over like encountering a vicious bike gang is an everyday occurrence.
Hangman isn’t impressed by their bravado. “Get in here,” he snarls, yanking the taller kid by the arm and throwing him into the alley hard enough to make the kid stumble. The other boy looks like he’s thinking of bolting, but Eight steps behind him, effectively cutting off his avenue of escape.
“Fucking assholes,” Hangman mutters as he reaches inside his cut.
For a minute, I think he’s gonna kill them, but he pulls out a bundle of cash and peels two bills off.
“Two hundred now,” he says as he hands it to the tall kid. “Two hundred when we get back. Keep an eye on the bikes.”
The kid who took the cash, nods. “Yeah. We can do that.”
“Our bikes disappear because you fuck off, I’ll hunt you down and scar you for life. Understand? I got no patience for shirkers.”
“I don’t know what a shirker is,” says the little guy.
“Fuck me,” Hangman replies. “Someone get this fuckin’ kid a dictionary.”
The taller kid says, “Don’t need one. We get the gist.” He’s acting like he’s too cool for school.
I shake my head at him. “You should be more afraid, you little fu…, uh… freak. That’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” I don’t know why I’ve suddenly become a Hangman cheerleader. Maybe it’s because I know Eight’s backstory and how Hangman was involved. Or maybe it’s because Hangman has a psycho reputation that’s most likely well-earned.
Hangman smirks at me as he starts to walk away from the boys, then stops and turns around. “Give your mute friend his share.” Then he waits until the guy with the cash reluctantly hands over half of it.
It makes me think about what a dating profile would look like for Hangman. Eats dogs and cats for dinner. Murders people and picks his teeth with their rib bones. Lack’s patience, diplomacy, and any signs of sanity. But has good teeth and a sense of fair play.
“Can we get on with it?” I say because I don’t want to let my thoughts leak out of my mouth, which is something that happens a lot.
Most of the bikers look at me like I’m a wasp they’d like to squash, except Eight, who seems to know that would be a bad idea. “We are getting on with it, Selkie,” he says exasperated. “We gotta make sure we’ve got a ride out of here in case we have to leave fast. And we have to make sure the rest of the brothers are where they’re supposed to be.”
I give him a slight eyeroll. “Fine.”
While we wait in the dark alley, some of the bikers talk softly to each other, but no one is moving except me. I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet and shaking my shoulders around like a boxer about to step into the ring, but when I try to pace, Eight grabs my bicep. “Chill, babe.”
