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“Shh.” He pulls me into his lap and rubs a hand up and down my back. “We both fucked up, we both hurt, and we’re both struggling right now. You’re sorry and I’m sorry and we’ll just have to find a way to move forward. Being without you isn’t an option now, sweetness, and so we’ll just have to learn to forgive each other.”
I stay curled on his lap for a long time, breathing in his scent and letting his nearness calm my bruised soul.
11
Fist
It’s a long ride to the shit hole trailer Tyler’s supposed to be working out of. It was a pretty, peaceful trip with Dad and Glacier from Montana to the very rural outskirts of Salt Lake City, and I enjoyed spending time on the road with my old man, but I’m glad when we thunder into the piss poor yard.
“You sure this is it?” I demand.
Glacier grunts out, “Yeah. This is the address he gave me when he told me he was moving. He said it was a nice house, and since we kept meeting at the warehouse in the city, I never knew he was lying.”
I nod and we align ourselves as we approach the front door. We all draw our guns, and I don’t even knock. I just throw open the door—dumb fuck had left it unlocked—and walk in.
Three men besides Tyler are scattered around, and all three of them lurch to their feet. One takes a stumbling step toward us, a .45 clutched in his hand.
Dad simply aims his own .45 and fires off a single round. The man jerks backward, his mouth opening for form an O of surprise, as the bullet slams into his head right between his beady blue eyes.
“Shut the fuck up.” The president’s voice is cold and calm. “If you’re smart, none of you will say another word.”
The other men fall silent, staring at us with mute fright. I nod in satisfaction and cross the worn linoleum floor to Tyler. He’s sitting at a scarred wooden table where a card game had been in progress. A cigarette dangles from his mouth and wariness lingers in his eyes.
“Why the fuck are you not out on the street selling our dope?” I ask.
“Why the fuck are you the one questioning me when I work for your pops?” he sneers out the reply, the false bravado evident to everyone in the room.
Dad aims his gun again, and Tyler howls in shocked pain as the bullet tears open a hole in his calf. “Answer the fucking question, pussy.”
Tyler’s lower lip pokes out like a child’s as his voice, laced with hurt, whines out. “Business has been slow. People haven’t been buying like they used to.”
“Yeah? Prove it,” I demand. “Let me see the product.”
“It’s out in the storage shed.”
“Then let’s go to the storage shed.”
“I can’t,” Tyler whimpers. “I can’t walk. In case you haven’t noticed, I just got fucking shot!”
I aim my gun at his uninjured leg. “Walk, bitch, or I’ll put a hole in your kneecap.”
Tyler gets shakily to his feet and limps out the back door, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
I give the remaining two wombats a feral glare. “If either of you so much as move a pinkie, let alone leave this trailer, we’ll find you and we’ll kill you. Understand?”
They nod, fear ripe in their eyes, and Glacier, Dad, and I follow Tyler out to a locked storage shed. The scraggly weeds are high around the twelve-by-twelve wooden building, and there’s a shiny padlock on the door. Tyler pulls a key ring out of his pocket, unlocks the door, and leads us inside.
Our product is stacked on tables, but the tables are only a third full. Glacier and I exchange a look, the Glacier turns to Tyler.
“There should be more product than this. I know how many kilos you were given, you miserable fuck.”
Tyler shrugs. “Someone must have sold it.”
“Bullshit.” My voice cracks like a whip across the small space, and I have the satisfaction of seeing Tyler wince at the cold slap of it. “You sold it, didn’t you? And kept the cash for yourself.”
My dad is quietly walking around, inspecting everything. He’s furious; I know he is. Most people wouldn’t recognize the signs, but I’ve known this man all of my life. I know the carefully blank face, the smooth movements, and the poker straight back are indicators that he’s struggling to hold in rage until he knows he has every right to release it.
I watch as he studies the left wall intently. Suddenly, he takes the butt of his gun and slams it into a wooden slat hard enough to splinter it. Working his fingers into the small hole, he breaks it away from the others. Then he pulls a second one loose, then a third.
