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To Vice, I gave a nod in agreement, “Before and after,” having no idea this routine would be ours for many years to come, thus saving lots of doors.
Cigarette between my fingers, I sorted through the drawings. Each one different, my free fingers grazed over unexpected words, Mammy’s bed… our bucket… little stool… I was no psychiatrist but knew it was odd to label every item. Did she not trust the actual drawing to be enough explanation?
At the new door, Dagger studied Elle while saying, “That accent was much stronger and clearer this time.”
Pops rocked on his boots. “Yup.”
Dagger smirked over his shoulder at him. “I think you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
Almost annoyed-like, Vice shook his head at me. “These old coots and their connection.”
A grin finally broke free from me. “I’m scared we’ll be just like them someday.”
“Bingo.” Vice leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Let’s hear it, old men.”
Smiling at each other, they both said, “Fiery Tierney.”
I slapped my forehead. “Fuck yes, the Irish club girl.” I couldn’t believe that I didn’t catch that sooner, but Elle’s accent was brief and lowkey when it appeared.
With hands in his pockets, Pops lifted onto the balls of his shoes and spun to face me. “Precious said Mammy’s da was a biker.”
Putting out my smoke, I gave one slow, guarded nod.
“And that her da was afraid of him.”
I gave another cautious nod.
He smacked his lips then confessed, “I don’t think our club is the first to make her MC royalty.”
Dagger grabbed the top of the door frame while watching Elle. “Son, you sure picked a doozy.” His back expanded as he inhaled deeply, then said, “Tell him.”
“Tell me what?”
Pops rocked on his boots again, then said, “Brass says there’s been a suspicious drive-by. Probably a tourist, but a man with dark hair took a picture of the building with a cellphone.”
There was no stopping my heart from beginning to thunder. I looked to Vice. “You told her there had been no sign of trouble.”
He rolled his eyes. “You suggest I tell her the truth? Cause her more worry?”
Words raced out of my mouth, “Bring her back inside.” I handed Vice the drawings. “Put these back.
Pops raised his hands. “Brass has men on the roof with permission to shoot and ask questions later.”
That didn’t shock me, and I appreciated it, but… “Bring her back in!”
Pops tried, “An ex-sniper. That’s who’s on the roof—”
“Why?”
We all looked to the door. Elle, with a puffy and sad face, stood there.
I had done so good, letting her cry and following advice, but I quickly regressed. My arms were waving, beckoning. “Come. Come. I need you.”
Elle rushed past Dag and Pops and into my arms, asking, “You okay?” She kissed me. “I’m here.”
As she crawled into bed with me, I heard the door shut.
We were alone again.
