Gift From The Bad Boy

“I’ll see you later, Ben.”

# # #

A few weeks went by and we settled into somewhat of a rhythm. It took a while to come down off my constant edge, but eventually it became almost normal to have the low-level tension rumbling in my stomach whenever I was home with Carmen. She’d been hard at work buffing and rearranging the house. It seemed like she was really throwing herself into it judging by the amount of change I saw every time I came back from a day hauling half-eroded boxes out of the club’s decrepit basement.

I’d slink in through the door, my neck screaming with a million different aches and pains after being hunched over all day long, to see her beaming with pride at the newest blooming plant or tastefully chosen picture hanging on the wall. I didn’t know the first thing about decorating, and my idea of feng shui was having the liquor and my gun close enough that I could grab either one without getting up from my seat. But even I had to admit that the place had started to look pretty damn good.

“Where’d you learn how to do all this shit?” I asked one day, almost three weeks after the wedding had gone down.

“I dunno.” She shrugged, turning her sparkling smile on me. “I just see something and know what’s supposed to be there. Kinda weird.” She crinkled her nose. “You like it?”

“It looks great,” I said. I turned to face her squarely. “But—what are these called?” I asked as I rubbed the velvety white petal of a flower between my finger and thumb.

“Gardenias,” she said. She smacked my hand. “And don’t touch the petals; you’ll kill it.”

I dropped the flower, but went on to say, “If you tell any of my boys that I have goddamn gardenias in my house, I’ll dropkick you into the next county.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Killmore?” she asked coyly. She’d taken to calling me Mr. Killmore whenever she wanted to get under my skin. I hated it. For some reason, it made my hackles rise like no other.

“Watch it, little girl,” I growled. “You’re gonna get yourself into trouble that you won’t be able to get out of.”

She batted her eyelashes playfully. “That sounds just awful.”

I turned away to hide my grin. Behind me, I could sense her disappointment, but it was for the best. There’d been too many moments scattered throughout the last few weeks like this, when the tension between us was so damn obvious that I’d have to be an idiot not to notice. It was like a ticking time bomb, one that I was doing my best to keep batting down the road so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. The strategy was working so far, and I kept telling myself, If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

But the whole plan to find an exit out of this marriage was looking more distant and unlikely with each passing day. I’d assured myself then that it would be a cinch to find an easy way to nullify the thing and get the hell out of Dodge for a little while, but thus far, nothing presented itself. I didn’t have any other choice other than to batten down the hatches and keep myself to myself.

Another day, I was sitting in the bar, shooting the shit with Jay, Slick, Duncan, and Spark as we took a break from schlepping the crates of files up and down the basement staircase. All of us were filthy from head to toe, covered with spider webs, dirt, and an impressively colorful array of mold and fungi. But the beer had never tasted so good.

Duncan was telling a story about the night before. He and Spark had gone out to a local bar, on the prowl as usual. The kid was a walking, throbbing erection. He had a hankering for pussy like I’d never seen before.

“Damn, son, I used to think I was bad back in my younger and wilder days,” I said, shaking my head. “But you, kid, need to be stopped. Jesus.”

He laughed. “It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, prez,” he said. “You know how it goes. You walk into a bar and every townie girl there is crawling on hands and knees just to get in the line that leads right to your dick.”

Spark nodded in agreement. “It really is something else,” he said in his baritone rumble.

We all chuckled and took another sip of our beer. “I’m sure the married life is a little different, eh?” Slick asked casually after a moment had passed.

The smile fell from my face instantly. I saw Slick pale out of the corner of my eye. I slowly wiped the foam off of my lips, then stood up, cold and grimacing. “Enough chit chat,” I said. “Let’s get back to work.” No one said a word. They all left their beers on the table, half-finished, as I turned and strode towards the basement.