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“We gotta go straight to 'em,” I went on. “Take everythin' we know and go straight to 'em.”
“I reckon so,” Blade said. I could tell he was hurtin'. He'd known Dutch was going sour, but now it was right there in front of us, like a brick wall you couldn't climb or bust through or go around. And I knew Blade was questioning a lot about what he'd done in Dutch's service. He was thinkin' about what kind of man he really was, if a man like Dutch wanted him as number two.
“You were VP long before Sylvia showed up,” I said. “Long before any of this. You know that, right?”
“Ayup, I know it,” Blade said.
“He wasn't always like this,” I pressed on. “You know that too.”
“Sure do.”
“You wanna try to save 'im?”
I hadn't entertained the idea, but it occurred to me that Blade might've. Instead of tryin' to cut Dutch down at the knees, we could go straight to him, before he had the chance to fuck himself and the rest of us straight off the map. Tell him what we knew, and how we wouldn't stand for it. Take him to rehab, get rid of that snake wrapped ‘round his heart, try to save his reputation, and let him retire quietly and honorably.
“No,” Blade said at last. “He wouldn't let us. I know Dutch. Used to be, this trait of his was a good thing. The bull-headedness. Now, it'll be what takes him down.”
Our own personal Odysseus. What drove a man to greatness, turned into his biggest failure.
“If he finds out we know, it'll be the bottom of the Missouri for us,” Blade finally said, his last words on the matter, punctuated by a shot of whiskey. I got to my feet, and he didn't seem eager for me to sit back down and stay awhile.
Truth was, I was tired. It had been a long enough day. I was pissed that Jase was still out there. I was heartbroken about Dutch. I was nervous about the future. But mostly, I was missin' someone sweet, someone who could make it all go away for one night, at least.
“I don't know about you, but I've got somewhere I wanna to be tonight. And seein' as how this might be the last night I get to be with her, I'm plannin' to take advantage.”
“Ayup,” Blade said, still gazing into the green glass of the whiskey bottle. “You give that brain of yours a break, 'cause lord knows we're gonna be needin' it.”
I let myself out, and stopped on the way home at Michelangelo's – they still made that eggplant parmigiana, exactly the way Bex liked it. That, and a large pizza with mushrooms, and a whole mess of garlic knots, and I was ready to see my woman. I knew her day had to be better than mine, since I'd sent a surprise her way that morning. I was fixin' to make her night a good one, too. While I still could.
Bex
I’m not too proud to admit that when I heard someone knock on the door on that Sunday morning, I nearly pissed my pants in fear. It was hardly a week since Jase attacked me, my wounds still fresh. And Cross was gone, off on another wild ride around Cutter, searching for him. All attempts so far had ended empty-handed. And since no one had ever knocked on Cross’ door before, I assumed the very worst.
I almost didn’t even answer it. That’s how scared I was. I was sitting on that awful couch, reading one of Cross’ books. It took two sets of knocks before I got up the balls to go to the peephole and see who was on the other side.
And when I saw who it was, all my fear was replaced with joy. I flung the door open, wide as could be, and launched myself into Ducky’s arms. My old friend laughed and wrapped me up, squeezing me so tight that I thought he was trying to crack my back.
“Bex fuckin’ Carter,” he said when he finally stepped back and put me down on my feet. “Still ugly as pig’s backside.”
“Ducky McMahon, still dumb enough to drown in a puddle,” I shot back, grinning wider than I ever thought possible. He looked just the same, really; brown hair, brown eyes, and the kind of face you might call “All-American.” Dressed in a flannel shirt, even with the summer heat outside, and faded blue jeans. He hadn’t aged a day, and I knew his smile as intimately as I knew the tattoos on Cross’ body; but Ducky had always been just a friend. A great friend, one of the best, but just a friend.
“I missed you, Bex.”
“You have no idea. How’d you…”
We were still standing in the doorway when I noticed the thing taking up so much of the hallway behind him.
“Was that here when you came in?” I asked, pointing to the gingham-printed sofa. Ducky turned and threw his arms out like he was Vanna White.
“A gift,” he said. “I heard a rumor about a sofa that could give you tetanus.”
“You didn’t!” I gasped, smacking him on the shoulder. “What?”
“I did,” he said. “Now, you gonna help me drag it inside, or…?”
It took some struggle on my part, but we managed to get the sofa inside, and the old sofa outside. The effort made it all the sweeter to collapse back onto the new couch with two tall glasses of iced tea and ten years of stories to tell between us.
“How’d you know where I was?” I asked. “Ask around the club?”
“Actually, Cross called me up at the store,” Ducky said. “Surprised me a bit, but he said you could use a visit from a friend, and told me where you were spending your time.”
Now, my smile felt small and special, and I looked into my iced tea to hide it. Cross. He hated how close Ducky and I were, always had. But he knew how much I missed and needed my friend, and made sure that I got a chance to see him. That was just about the sweetest thing he could have done.
“I’m glad you guys are back together,” Ducky offered. “You two always did seem…fated.”
“Yeah? Sometimes it feels more like doomed,” I said with a roll of my eyes. But Ducky looked like he was about to ask me to explain, and I didn’t quite feel like doing that. So I changed the subject. “Well, there’s about nothing in this world I would have bet on you ending up with Mary!”
Ducky laughed and rolled his eyes.
“I get that a lot,” he said. “But after high school, everyone changed, you know? A lot of shit stopped being important. And we just…well, it just worked.”
“And you’re gonna be a father,” I said. “Daddy Ducky.”
“A little girl,” he said. “Just found out.”
We kept on talking for hours, like we’d never been separated at all. For the first time in a week, Jase didn’t enter my mind every half hour. Even when I was with Cross, he was so dead determined to find him that I could never really let go. And whether or not Ducky knew about Jase and what he’d done to me, he didn’t bring it up, or ask about the wounds still healing on my face.
It was nice, seeing my best friend doing so well, being so happy. But it made me wonder what was so wrong with me, with Cross and I, that we couldn’t have lives like that. Ducky came from the same side of town we did, but he was living that picket fence life.
But then, I knew what the difference was. Growing up on the wrong side of the tracks was different than growing up with the Dead Crusaders. Wildness and rough living was in Cross’ blood, and mine too. Would I trade it?
I admit, I wasn’t sure. Certainly, Ducky’s wife didn’t have to worry about being assaulted, or having her man blown to smithereens in a shootout.
Seemed pretty nice to me.
The day darkened into night and we still sat there talking. I didn’t even have a free moment to wonder where Cross was, if he was still out there or at the clubhouse or on his way home. When I heard his key turning in the lock, preceded by a wafting smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce, I was on my feet in an instant, nearly knocking the food out of his hands when I hugged him.
“Thank you,” I whispered into his ear, knowing he knew just what I was thanking him for. And I knew he would have hugged me back, if he wasn’t holding a pizza box and plastic bag. He managed to kiss the side of my face before I let him go and took the boxes from his hand; Michelangelo’s. My all-time favorite. I wondered if we were celebrating something.
“Good to
see you,” Cross said, offering his hand as Ducky rose to take it. It was the first time I ever saw them interact without immediately insulting each other, and I smiled at how far we’d all come. “And…good to see you.”
Cross was looking at the couch, puzzled but clearly appreciative.
“Where’d that come from?” he asked, turning back to look at me. But I nodded my chin to Ducky, who blushed a bit.
“I just thought…well, last time I saw your couch…I just want Bex to stick around as long as possible, and I figured a little creature comfort might help in that regard,” he said with a shrug. Cross looked, for a second, like he was contemplating murder. And I could understand why; a guy he wasn’t fond of, showing up to give me something that Cross hadn’t thought to give me? Bringing hoity-toity furniture from the JC Penny catalog into Cross’ well-curated den of manliness?
“Thanks,” he finally managed, and even pulled off a smile that didn’t make him look like the Joker. “It’s nice. You like it, Bex?”
“I love it,” I said, sliding up beside Cross and wrapping my arms around him, leaning up on my tiptoes. “Almost as much as I love you.”
“And that’s my cue,” Ducky said through a smirk.
“You want to stay for pizza?” Cross offered, almost sounding like he wanted the answer to be yes.
“Naw, I got a pregnant wife at home, and she’ll be wondering what happened to the living room sofa,” he said with a wink, leaving me and Cross to our own devices.
“You got Michelangelo’s,” I said, beaming.
“I got Michelangelo’s,” he said.
“Pizza and eggplant parm? Are you planning to roll me into bed later?”
“Baby, I’d roll you anywhere,” he said, leaning down to nip at my nose.
“Are we celebrating?” I asked, pulling away to gather some plates and utensils.
