feel better,” I said with a grim smile, the smile of a reaper on the edge of an abyss. “The first time I shot up—that was the first time in months that I didn’t feel any pain.”
“But that gets you addicted.”
“I was already addicted. Now, I could just afford to indulge whenever I wanted. That’s when I started running with the Damned. I had always liked bikes. I had always been good at riding and good with fixing things. They took me right away and they looked the other way if I skimmed a little bit of my stash, so long as I didn’t cause any trouble.”
“That’s not normal gang behavior.”
“What is?”
“Not caring if you’re using the drugs you should be selling.”
“You’re right, but Fatman looks at it this way—he knows that addiction is more powerful than loyalty, so he’d rather have you addicted to something that he can provide cheap, than having you profess your loyalty and all that empty bullshit.”
Claire lapsed into silence. I watched her the expression on her face drift away, away from the thoughtful look of listening into a silent, almost ecstatic expression of transcendence.
“She’s fading fast,” Joel murmured. “I can feel her starting to shake.”
“How much more do you gotta’ do?” I asked.
“Maybe… Ten minutes? I could leave it like this but…”
“No, finish it,” Claire said, lapsing back into consciousness. “Fang, tell me about your childhood. Give me something to focus on.”
“My childhood?”
“Yeah. Just talk to me.”
This was way the fuck out of my comfort zone.
“Let’s see. I grew up in Tallahassee. We were poor as shit. Trailer trash. My dad was a drinker but he rode a real souped up chopper until he crashed it and splattered his brains all over the freeway.”
“And you still don’t wear a helmet when you ride,” Claire murmured, her voice almost a coo.
“Yeah, us bikers, we’re not a clever bunch…” I said through a grin. “My mom pushed me to go to college but we ran out of cash after my first two years of community college and my grades weren’t good enough to get a scholarship.”
“So, you joined the Marine Corps to pay for school?”
“That’s right. Boot camp, then straight to beautiful downtown Kabul.”
“Kabul… That’s where my husband was killed…” Claire murmured.
“I know.”
She looked at me pointedly.
“You’ve mentioned it, I mean,” I said quickly. “I remember my dad riding his chopper home from work—he worked at a grocery store, while my mom worked at a JC Penny and then a Wal-Mart. I remember finishing up my homework and running outside to watch him roaring down the dirt path to our trailer. Kicking up dirt. Hot, sticky summer sunshine and sweat everywhere. I remember him picking me up and hugging me, the smell of beer already on his breath.”
“Where’s your mom now?” Claire asked after a few moments of silence.
“Died last year. Lung cancer. She was a smoker her whole life, since she was thirteen. That’s how it was. If it’s not lung cancer or liver cancer that kills you, it’s a car accident.”
“But you got out.”
“Out? Hell, honey, I ain’t out. I’m just in a different hole,” I said with a growl, my voice little more than an angry snarl. “Life’s just one who after another and there’s always motherfuckers trying to push you in and get you trapped.”
“That’s pretty cynical…” Claire said, her voice still strong despite the sleep and exhaustion tugging at her face.
“You’ll understand why when you meet the Damned. There’s a reason we call ourselves that.”
“Why you call yourselves the Damned?”
“Sure. Joining the Damned is no one’s first choice. It’s not even plan B. Hell, it’s so far down the list that it doesn’t even have a letter.”
She cracked a smile. I liked that. I liked that
“But that gets you addicted.”
“I was already addicted. Now, I could just afford to indulge whenever I wanted. That’s when I started running with the Damned. I had always liked bikes. I had always been good at riding and good with fixing things. They took me right away and they looked the other way if I skimmed a little bit of my stash, so long as I didn’t cause any trouble.”
“That’s not normal gang behavior.”
“What is?”
“Not caring if you’re using the drugs you should be selling.”
“You’re right, but Fatman looks at it this way—he knows that addiction is more powerful than loyalty, so he’d rather have you addicted to something that he can provide cheap, than having you profess your loyalty and all that empty bullshit.”
Claire lapsed into silence. I watched her the expression on her face drift away, away from the thoughtful look of listening into a silent, almost ecstatic expression of transcendence.
“She’s fading fast,” Joel murmured. “I can feel her starting to shake.”
“How much more do you gotta’ do?” I asked.
“Maybe… Ten minutes? I could leave it like this but…”
“No, finish it,” Claire said, lapsing back into consciousness. “Fang, tell me about your childhood. Give me something to focus on.”
“My childhood?”
“Yeah. Just talk to me.”
This was way the fuck out of my comfort zone.
“Let’s see. I grew up in Tallahassee. We were poor as shit. Trailer trash. My dad was a drinker but he rode a real souped up chopper until he crashed it and splattered his brains all over the freeway.”
“And you still don’t wear a helmet when you ride,” Claire murmured, her voice almost a coo.
“Yeah, us bikers, we’re not a clever bunch…” I said through a grin. “My mom pushed me to go to college but we ran out of cash after my first two years of community college and my grades weren’t good enough to get a scholarship.”
“So, you joined the Marine Corps to pay for school?”
“That’s right. Boot camp, then straight to beautiful downtown Kabul.”
“Kabul… That’s where my husband was killed…” Claire murmured.
“I know.”
She looked at me pointedly.
“You’ve mentioned it, I mean,” I said quickly. “I remember my dad riding his chopper home from work—he worked at a grocery store, while my mom worked at a JC Penny and then a Wal-Mart. I remember finishing up my homework and running outside to watch him roaring down the dirt path to our trailer. Kicking up dirt. Hot, sticky summer sunshine and sweat everywhere. I remember him picking me up and hugging me, the smell of beer already on his breath.”
“Where’s your mom now?” Claire asked after a few moments of silence.
“Died last year. Lung cancer. She was a smoker her whole life, since she was thirteen. That’s how it was. If it’s not lung cancer or liver cancer that kills you, it’s a car accident.”
“But you got out.”
“Out? Hell, honey, I ain’t out. I’m just in a different hole,” I said with a growl, my voice little more than an angry snarl. “Life’s just one who after another and there’s always motherfuckers trying to push you in and get you trapped.”
“That’s pretty cynical…” Claire said, her voice still strong despite the sleep and exhaustion tugging at her face.
“You’ll understand why when you meet the Damned. There’s a reason we call ourselves that.”
“Why you call yourselves the Damned?”
“Sure. Joining the Damned is no one’s first choice. It’s not even plan B. Hell, it’s so far down the list that it doesn’t even have a letter.”
She cracked a smile. I liked that. I liked that
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