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Not much was said inside my truck even after I asked. She wasn’t giving me much at all, trying hard to keep walls up, which was telling. When my gentle questions were met with her turning up the volume on the radio, I finally shut it off and speared her with a dark look, demanding, “Talk to me.”
She muttered she had to ID the body as next of kin; but said she was shown a picture, which was better than having to see Kailey on a slab, though it was obvious she was on a slab in the photograph. She was asked questions. About Kailey, the Jackals, and about us, particularly about Edge. They sent Delia out after finding out she was Edge’s adoptive mother and asked G some questions. And that was it for now.
“Rudy said something about the funeral home. We need to do that after this?”
“No, Delia said she was going to make calls for me back home and arrange a no-frills cremation.”
“Ah.” I said.
She got agitated then but looked like she was trying to hide it.
“That a problem?” I asked.
“She offered to host a memorial at a restaurant her friend owns. But I told her it probably wasn’t necessary since nobody would come.”
“Friends, coworkers? Other girls you guys know from the club?”
She shrugged. “Got stuff to figure out. I’ll think on it.”
I dropped it then. She reached for my radio dial again.
“Yo. Driver controls the radio. You keep forgettin’.” I was going for levity.
She snatched her hand back, saying, “Sorry.”
“I was teasin’. You can control it today, tomorrow maybe. After that, it’s back under my care for the foreseeable.”
She didn’t smile. Didn’t reach for the radio either. So, silence it was.
As we pulled past the gates to the trailer park, after me telling her Axel and Dave needed to stick close, I’d said, “Rudy says Delia is takin’ up a collection for the funeral expenses. People give a shit, baby.”
She dabbed at her cheeks with a Kleenex. “Yeah, she’s one of the few. I don’t want her doin’ that; she’s hard to talk down.”
“I know the type. She reminds me of Ma.”
“I can see that,” she replied, looking out the window.
“Nothin’ wrong with lettin’ folks with good intentions help.”
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“You don’t, but thanks.”
“Actually, I kinda do. But that’s a story for another day. You got another way to pay for the funeral?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“How about you let people help?”
“They hate her.”
“They don’t hate you.”
She knocked on the door to her aunt’s trailer a second time, and finally it was opened by a frail-looking five foot nothing over-sixty bleached blonde, limp long hair and dark mixed with silver roots. She wore a blue velour tracksuit and house slippers, puffing a cigarette with a two-inch ash hanging off the end. The woman’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her niece.
“Oh, it’s you. What do you want? Who’s he?”
Her eyes moved to the two Harleys behind my truck. “They with you?”
“I need to talk to you, Aunt Francie.”
The woman looked her over judgmentally. “You look like shit.”
I bristled. She looked like someone who was grieving. She didn’t look like shit.
“I bet,” Gigi sighed.
“Got shit to do today, girl. Why didn’t you just phone?”
“Aunt Francie…” Gianna whined, exasperation showing, “I need to talk to you. Please.”
The woman sighed exaggeratedly. “Gianna, I don’t got time for you and your usual bullshit. You know better than to come here and bring someone with you without callin’ first.”
Gigi huffed. “Something bad happened.”
The woman’s eyes rolled with annoyance. “Come in for a minute, I guess, but just you. I don’t know who this is.”
“Jesse,” I said and held out my hand.
She stared at it for a second, then shook it limply. “Who are you?”
“Aunt Francie, please can we go inside?” She was clasping her head in frustration, “Let us in for five minutes. This is important.”
The woman huffed and flicked her cigarette ash onto the porch mat and then backed up, waving us in. “Make it quick. I got a medical appointment this afternoon.”
“Appointment?” Gigi asked with surprise.
“Yeah. Let me guess. Kailey, right? What’d she do now? She in jail? She OD?”
“She…” Gigi started and got choked up.
“Maybe we should sit down,” I suggested, gesturing toward the couch. The place was decorated in newer furniture. Cheap tchotchkes everywhere. Cigarette smoke and cheap, cloying perfume hung in the air.
“This your boyfriend?” she asked, eying me with scrutiny.
“Yeah,” I replied at the same time as Gigi said, “Bodyguard.”
Gigi’s eyes darted to me with alarm before bouncing back to her aunt, cheeks tingeing red.
“Bodyguard? What for?”
“Long story,” Gigi replied. “To do with the Kailey thing.”
The woman looked me over for a minute before muttering,
“What is it? Boyfriend or bodyguard?”
“Both,” I replied.
Gigi glanced at me and then quickly looked away, stiffening.
“Finally caught yerself a biker, huh?” She rolled her eyes and butted her cigarette out in a blue ashtray on the coffee table as she sat. “Been fishin’ for one long enough.” She gave me an exaggerated look of annoyance as she sized me up some more.
