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And I would not have minded the pocket hit because the Valentine cabin is a little slice of peace and quiet and the enemy doesn’t know where it is. There’s also the bonus of multiple rooms, meaning I won’t have to share my sheets.
I leveled that her presence was making some wives and girlfriends uncomfortable, necessitating a little trip to stay outta sight a few days. In my limited experience with them, most club sweet butts knew the score, that it was a golden rule to steer clear of the wives and steady girlfriends, but observing her reactions, her body language, it was clear she carried this like it was her personal burden where most sweet butts would shrug it off. I didn’t bother telling her about the blue van; didn’t need to scare her if we didn’t know for sure they were looking for her.
I phoned my mother on speaker after Mustang Sally wrapped up.
“Jesse?” Ma greeted. “Hey you. Things are a little nuts over here tryin’ to get ready, so make it quick.”
“Hey Ma, you’re on speaker; I’m not alone. Got room for two more for dinner?”
“Of course I do! Thought you couldn’t make it. And for two?”
“Yeah. I’m bringing someone with.”
“Really? What’s her name? Is she there now? I’m on speaker, right? Hey, girlfriend! I’m Fern. How are ya?”
“Hey, Fern,” Gianna answered happily. “Happy Easter!”
“Happy Easter. What’s your name?”
I cut in. “Not a girlfriend, Ma. Club business. Her name is Gianna. I’m keepin’ an eye on her for Deke.”
She replied with, “Could be a girlfriend still. I got no limits on how many friends I’m gonna have.”
“I’m a voluntary hostage,” Gianna put in cheerfully.
“Oh really?” Ma asked.
“Really,” I confirmed. “Long story. Long story the hostage is not to be sharing.”
I shot her a dark look, which she withered under, saying, “Whoopsie.”
Ma laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I know snitches need stitches and wind up in ditches.”
Gianna laughed.
She shrank back and licked her oatmeal spoon again, this time swirling that little tongue around the spoon, which made me grind my teeth.
“Did I lose you?” Ma called out.
“I’m here. You need me to bring anything?”
“Just you, baby boy. And your voluntary hostage. See you when?”
“Two and a half hours or so.”
“Drive safe.”
“Bye.” I ended the call. “Whoopsie, she says,” I grumbled, shooting Gianna another look.
“Sorry,” she chirped.
She didn’t seem sorry.
“You keep your mouth shut about all that shit. You hear me?”
“All right, all right,” she replied casually. “I think you can trust your momma. Though, maybe I’m wrong. I know I can’t trust mine.” She licked the spoon again.
“This is serious shit. Or did you forget? Are you not here because lives are at stake? Are you not worried it’ll get out you’re with me and they’ll follow us and take us both out?”
“You’re right, you’re right.”
“There used to be a Jackals clubhouse in Bismarck, you know? You wanna put my ass on the line, G? And yours?”
“Jesse, I hear you.” She dug around in the mug with her spoon to get the dregs of her oatmeal. And I was glad she was about done with it because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could be around her while she lavishly licked her fuckin’ spoon.
“So, your momma adopts orphan strippers?” she asked, wisely changing the subject.
“She does holiday dinners for the girls from the bar who have no family to go home to at Easter, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. She’s the same with her neighbors, and some of the regulars from the bar.”
“That’s real sweet.”
“She’s big on Easter.”
“Religious?” she asked.
“She was raised Catholic and though she only went to church on Easter and Christmas, Easter was a big deal for her. And she knows what it’s like to have no family around.”
Managing a titty bar, living in sin, and dressing the way she does, not to mention swearing like a sailor meant she turned heads at that new-age type church, but she said they were kind to her anyway, unlike some of the other churches she tried to attend, where she got treated like a second-class citizen by some of the church ladies during the charity bazaars and bake sales she’d volunteer to help with.
“So, it’s mostly because of Skip’s wife that you have to relocate me?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t really want the answers to.” I wasn’t gonna lay it out about the van cruising the street. No need to induce hysteria at this stage.
“Gotcha.” She touched my radio dial again, turning the song up, then changing the station. “Better for me if I’m not stuck in your room and worrying about who I’ll run into on trips to the bathroom.”
“Yo! Who controls the music?”
“Your hands are full,” she reasoned, “Your momma told you to drive safe, right? That means hands at two and ten, not on the radio dial.” She smiled big.
