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With a sweet smile, she stroked my cheek. “There is nothing weak about a man who can show his vulnerability every once in a while. What’s going on?”
“Mar. I shot a man the other day. I had too much to drink and one thing led to another and I shot him in the back.”
Marlene shrank in the seat, staring ahead. “One of the Aklark boys?”
I shook my head. I reached for the unopened water bottle in the cup carrier and took a sip before I answered her. “No, it was someone from Nanuq.”
“What in the hell has gotten into you trigger-happy men? Two weeks ago it was one of the young prospects and another one? What happened to your NO FIREARMS rule?” The tender Marlene was replaced by a devil woman who had every right to be upset. However, I was afraid to tell her who was shot this time around based on our past with the Dixon family.
“I wasn’t thinking straight. I was so upset about Bryan and his failing grades, as well as Suzanne not making the cut on the gymnastics. Not to mention the bills piling up from your operation. The stress is just piling up, and I drank too much.” I was trying every excuse not to tell her but, I knew Marlene better and she’d somehow drill it out of me.
“Drinking too much because of stress gives you no right to shoot a man. So, tell me now, who did you shoot, Kenny?” Marlene snapped while crossing her arms over her chest, giving me the signs that I couldn’t lie to her.
I figured since I was already chained outside next to the doghouse in her mind. I may as well be honest with her. “I shot Tyler Dixon,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me? Did I hear you right? I think you need to say it louder because I didn’t hear what you just told me, Tyler Dixon?” Her voice carried and choked, immediately bringing her to tears. “Cheese, rice and tarnations. What in the fuck is your problem, Kennedy Charles? That girl, you know his precious daughter, Charlene, lost her mother when she was sixteen and now you’ve taken her father away from her?”
I squeezed my eyes closed. It had been years since I had seen Charlene, that I’d forgotten Tyler had a daughter. Ugh, it’s the alcohol that’s affected my long-term memory and since she wasn’t part of the Nanuq Shila club; little Charlene was, like, out of sight, out of mind. The thought never crossed my mind about his daughter and who he was leaving behind in my selfish act of violence. “What should I do, Mar?”
“For one, don’t tell the kids. You don’t need to alienate your own children because you can’t control your liquor or temper in that damned clubhouse of yours. You will find Charlene Dixon and apologize for being a stupid ass.”
There was no way I could just show up at her house with a tray of brownies and apologize for shooting her father. How in the hell would I even approach her?Oh, uh, hi, Charlene. I know it’s been a long time. I hope you like triple chocolate fudge brownies. They're my way of saying, hey sorry, I shot your father.
“I think we can forgo tonight’s BBQ,” I told Marlene.
She shook her head. “No, we already spent the money buying all the fixin's. This will keep your mind off things for a while. I will, um, make some calls to ask about Tyler. You better hope for your sake he’s still alive.”
ELEVEN
CHAR/JOHNNY
Pulling up on my father’s Victory, I killed the engine and sat for a moment, wondering how in the hell I made it to the Nanuq club in one piece. I wasn’t used to such a heavy bike and had no control over it, at first, until I got used to it — to a degree.
I was thankful I was the only one outside. And slid off the bike before removing my helmet. After placing it in the saddlebag, I ruffled my fingers through my hair; no clue why I did that when I was going to slip on my dad’s worn Stetson. When I checked my chest, it was good. I was still flat-chested but able to cover it with a flannel and old vest that belonged to my father when he was twenty pounds lighter.
My makeshift junk felt weird and as I inspected the area, I noticed one of the wadded pairs of socks inched toward my thigh. Looking around, it was safe, and reached down, adjusting the sock, moving it toward my crotch where it belonged.
Why did I think dressing up like a man was going to be easy? This was a pain in the ass already.
Before I took a step inside, I rehearsed my lines. “Hi, I’m Johnny, Johnny Wayne.” Nope, that voice was still too feminine. “Why-uh-hey there, pardner. I’m John Wayne, like the actor.”No, that was lame and my John Wayne impression was bad.
“Hey! ‘Sup Marquez. Name’s Johnny. What’s it to ya?”Bingo, we have a winner.
I moseyed on up to the saloon door, tipping my hat at the butterfly buzzing around me. “Howdy partner,” I said, testing my dude's laugh, too. Swinging open the door, I was met by some loud rock music and the men were standing around shooting the shit. Even slamming the door shut didn’t get their attention, until I shuffled my feet close to a few that looked somewhat familiar. I corrected my posture before they saw me as I slumped my shoulders and took on what I thought felt like a masculine gait.
“Sup guys!” They all stopped talking and shook their heads.
One guy tore the hat off my head. “No covers allowed, newb.”
Yup, that sounded like a rule my father, the Navy vet, would've established.
“Are you a new prospect?” The same guy asked.
Feeling brazen, I cocked my head condescendingly and answered his stupid question with a snarky tone. “Psh, yeah, I came here on a bike.”
“Motorcycle?”
“No shit, bruh! Of course, it’s a motorcycle.” He gripped my arm and dragged my smart ass over to the podium by the door. “It’s a mutha fucking Victory Octane, beeyotch!” I said excitedly before playfully punching his overly muscular arm.
