Lola is wiping the smudged mascara off her face. I can hear my dad mutter to her, “Guess we were meant to be, you and me.” He puts his hand on her ass as he looks over his shoulder at me, giving me his glare. It is the same glare that once made my mother and us boys cower, but now holds no weight over me.
“It’ll last as long as she stays your meal ticket,” I respond back as Lola shakes her head and they keep walking around, gathering their things.
I head down to get back to work. He has no more control over this family any longer.
“Lost another one?” Jagger strolls in and laughs. His assumption is based off the obvious fucking mess of the bar he is looking around at.
“Maybe,” I answer noncommittally.
“Seriously, bro, you need to learn to play nice with others.”
“Look, unless you’re here to take on another night—step it up a bit—I don’t wanna hear shit.”
“I liked Lola,” he says as he sits down on the other side of the bar.
I hold my finger in front of my mouth, keeping him quiet, and point up. “You hear heels clicking up the wooden stairs into the apartment?”
When he looks at me like he has no clue, I raise my eyebrow and shake my head.
“No shit?” he asks when he catches on.
“Just found ‘em in my fucking office. Told him a month ago, when I caught him skimming from the till, he was out. Not to step foot in my fucking place again, or he could pack his shit.”
He nods and then shakes his head. Then, his fists ball up as he takes a moment to look down.
“What are you gonna do?” he asks finally.
“He’s packing his shit.”
“You for real, man?” There is a mischievous look in his eyes, making my kid brother look kind of happy. Looks good on him. Ain’t seen it in a long damn while.
“As fucking real as terminal cancer.”
Some people wouldn’t find that the least bit amusing, but they aren’t Caldwells. If we aren’t able to find humor in our misfortunes, we would never laugh a day in our fucking lives.
I look up when the door opens to see my buddy Johnny, the cop. It isn’t unlike him to stop by on a chilly morning and grab a cup of coffee.
Jagger stands to greet him while keeping his eyes on mine. “Got bail?”
“You’re fucking joking, right?” I shake my head as I look at his knuckles, and nah, he isn’t joking.
“Jagger, you know I have to take you in.” Johnny is pissed. “You beat the shit out of your landlord.”
“His kid was crying. Heard her through the wall, opened the door, and she’s running down the hall. Fucker came out chasing her with a belt.”
“So you beat him to the ground?” Johnny asks, taking the cup of coffee I slide across the bar. “How about call 911? That’s my job, man. Now she’s so scared she’s not talking and won’t press charges—”
“What do you mean, won’t press charges.” Jagger’s vein is popping out of his neck. “She had switch marks across her goddamned neck, Johnny. She’s a fucking kid; she needs someone—”
“She’s seventeen. Can’t make her do shit, you hear me?” Johnny states then points to the door. “Restraining order, so you got nowhere to live, and when the judge asks where you work, what are you gonna say? ‘I smash people up in abandoned warehouses while others stand around and watch?’ It’s fucking illegal.”
“Nah, man, I got a job.” Jagger chuckles. “I’m a motherfucking astronaut. Just got back from the moon last night. Shit looks good up there.”
“Last time, you told the judge you were a fucking OBGYN apprentice, and that got you a week in county.”
Jagger smirks and looks to me. “Do I have a place to live?”
“Of course you do.” I lean against the bar and cross my arms over my chest.
“I work here, right?” Jagger winks.
“Yeah, man, you do. Call me after your photo shoot and fingerprints. I’ll be down to pick you up.”
With that, I watch them walk out. Only Jag can climb in the back of the squad car like he is getting in a damn taxi. Then, I see the old man and Lola the bar whore walk by with garbage bags from the side alley. They must have taken the back exit. Good riddance.
I feel a weight lift off my shoulders just before the guilt washes over me. I should have booted his ass years ago. Then, maybe Momma would have paid attention to the few symptoms she did have, cramping and shit. She wouldn’t have thought they were just everyday stresses of working too damn hard. The everyday stresses I knew damn well came from dealing with his sorry ass.
I wish I could go back so fucking bad.