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“Ah…” Murphy said, drawing everyone’s attention over to her.
“What, babe?” Slash asked.
“Just that… ah… psych facilities… they are going to make him sign in. And if this woman is as big a pain in the ass as you all think she is, don’t you think she’s going to check?”
“I gotta see my mom,” Rook said, jaw tight.
“Look,” Slash said, holding up a hand. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe Nancy will approve a visit there. If not, we will work our way around it. But we will get you in to see your mother, so don’t go off being a fucking idiot and going there on your own. The last thing your mom needs is for you to get your ass locked up again. You’re only good for her if you’re free. And it’s in all of our best interest to keep you that way.”
“Here,” Detroit said, handing Rook his burner. The fucking flip-phone type. “What do you want for your freedom meal before someone drives your ass to the transitional house?”
And then this fuck asked for goddamned buttered noodles.
“My ma was never a good cook,” he admitted. “I survived on pasta. Boxed mac and cheese, pasta with red sauce, white sauce, and butter. That was ninety percent of my diet growing up.”
Detroit was probably disappointed about not getting to throw together something fancy, but he set to making the buttered noodles as Slash showed Rook around the place, talking about our own sort of rules and understandings in the club, how everything was going to need to go down now that we knew about Nancy.
“You’re not worried?” Murphy asked me when we were in the kitchen with Detroit.
“Worried about what?”
“About this Nancy woman being in your lives, in a way. She sounds like a nightmare.”
“We’re going to do everything in our power to make sure she doesn’t know about us,” I said, shrugging. “Or, if she does, she doesn’t think Rook is associated.”
“Are they all so difficult?” Murphy asked.
“No. I mean we have heard some guys talk about how for a couple hundred bucks, their P.O. will leave them alone for a few months sometimes. Most people can be bought off for the right place. But self-righteous people… they’re more difficult,” I said, hoping Detroit didn’t think that comment was pointed, even if I was thinking about his brother, the cop, when I said it.
“Well, let’s hope that veteran guy gets an easier parole officer when he gets out,” Murphy said.
And I like that she included herself in that, whether she realized it or not. She was doing it more and more. Going from “I” and “me” to “we” and “us.”
For someone who was so used to being alone, it felt like a pretty big shift for her.
“Yeah, let’s hope,” I agreed. “You ready for the party tonight?” I asked.
Having gotten word that the guns were almost done, Riff and Raff were blowing back into town to wait for them, so they could deliver them as soon as possible to shut up the pain in the ass client who was waiting for them.
We’d originally planned to have it be a fun party for Rook, too, but it looked like he was just going to need to wait that out. I was sure Nancy was going to do random drug and alcohol screenings on him. He was going to need to be satisfied by just coffee for a while.
“Can I admit something completely ridiculous?” she said, giving me a little insecure wince.
I liked that too.
That she wasn’t working so hard to seem completely sure of herself, unflappable.
The guards had come down, and she was comfortable showing me some insecurity and uncertainty.
“Sure.”
“I’ve never actually been to a party.”
“Wait… what?” I asked, sure I was misunderstanding her.
“I warned you it was ridiculous,” she reminded me. “I mean, as a kid, my dad… he didn’t like crowds. So we didn’t have parties or attend them. And when he was gone, I just… I never had friends to invite me to one. So I’ve never been to one.”
“Oh, baby, we are going to show you the best fucking party I can throw together in a few hours,” I declared.
It was maybe too tall an order, considering most of the party people I knew were women, many of whom I’d slept with, and didn’t want Murphy to feel weird about.
But I was gonna figure it out.
Get some of the Murphy brothers to come over, bring some friends. The girls all had some friends around town they could invite.
Detroit would cook, but we’d order in too.
Drinking, food, music, friends, all the good shit.
Four hours later, we heard the car doors out front.
“Feels good to be home,” Raff declared after dramatically flinging the door open, making it knock off the wall, startling the cat who fell off the back of the couch. “Sorry, Devil Cat,” Raff said, ducking down to swoop the cat into the crook of his arm, cradling him upside down like a baby as he walked into the room.
