“Doesn’t sound good. Funny thing is that after we moved that shit for Junior, there was a break in at one of the hideaways.”
“I didn’t remember that.”
“Storage unit was empty so never thought anything of it. Shit happens, you know? Thought it was a vagrant trying to find someplace warm in the winter.”
“Junior might have followed us and sent someone to break in?”
“I’m guessing that might be the case. Shit, now I’m gonna have to send Easy and Michigan down to rip apart what Junior had us store.”
When we agreed to move some of Junior’s more sensitive shit, we knew it wasn’t going to be legal stuff. No one hides legal stuff. But we didn’t look because Judge is an honorable guy. What was Junior’s business was Junior’s business. Judge was just lending a hand.
But you didn’t put someone in danger without giving him a head’s up. To hide the ball and place Judge in jeopardy was a dick move. And for some it would mean outright war and the Death Lords is big enough to bring the struggling Misery crew down.
Judge continues, “I’m hoping Junior’s just a dumbass and there isn’t anything in there but booze and guns. Do you need more back up? I’m reluctant to send anymore reinforcements because it might tip Junior off.”
“No, Abel and I are fine. There’s only a couple of guys living in the house and we’re moving on as soon as we can find a place.”
“Make that a priority. I don’t like knowing that Chelsea is sleeping so close to scum. Maybe you outta send her home.”
“First, she wouldn’t leave and second, no. I bring her back to Fortune and she won’t stay.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He sighs. Chelsea’s his little girl and I can hear the reluctance in his voice. He’d like for her to come home but she’s with me now and he’s got to let her go.
“I promised her when I got out, we’d never be apart again. Can’t break that promise to her. Plus you have to start trusting that I’m going to watch out for her. She’s not just my girlfriend. She’s everything to me.”
He’s silent for a minute. “Hard not to forget that you’re not that snot nosed kid who wrecked that bike when you were four.”
I bark out a laugh. “I served three years of hard time and you still think of me as a kid.”
“Once a dad, always a dad. Speaking of which…” he trails off. “Pippa wants to have kids.”
“Yeah so?”
“That bother, you?”
“You’re the one who has to teach the snot nosed kid to ride when you’re sixty.”
“You’re a fucker.”
“Learned from the best.”
19
CHELSEA
Registering for classes takes longer than I’d anticipated. The school’s admission’s officer presents me with more options than I’d read about on the website. I can take nail technicians classes only which is a ten week program. I’d have to do an additional two hundred hours at a salon before I could get a certificate from the state. The three years I'd worked at the Cut n Curl didn't count. Not even a single day which seemed unfair but there is no arguing with the fierce lady dressed all in black.
A full-on hair cutting, styling, and coloring program is ten months. I’d learn makeup techniques and nail stuff along with cutting hair. Marge doesn’t need another stylist but…I ran my finger down the classes offered. An esthetician's certificate would only require me to go through one semester of classes and it'd be half of what I originally had thought school would cost me plus no one in Fortune offers facials and massages.
Shoot. I can’t believe I’m making a decision based on whether my skills will sell in Fortune. When I was there, I couldn’t wait to get away but only a few days in the cities and I’m already thinking about going back. I wish Grant had stayed with me but then again, he’d be useless telling me only to do whatever I wanted to do.
Back in Fortune, I could have asked Marge or another old lady or even Pippa, my stepdad’s new girlfriend. Here in the cities with the mass of people, I’m more alone than I’ve ever been.
“You having a hard time deciding?” The admission’s officer brought me to another lady who is going to help me check out. Her nails are long and a deep purple and she’s rocking multiple layers of honey blonde hair and the most perfectly applied winged eyeliner I’ve ever seen.
“I’m not really interested in cutting hair,” I confess.
She flicks her hand. “Lots of girls aren’t interested in that anymore. Take the esthetician classes. There’s huge demand for facials, skin wellness, microdermabrasion.” She leans forward and I get a strong whiff of floral perfume. “Plus if you can get into a salon that has a dermatologist attached you can do fancier stuff like laser work. Classes start in just a couple of weeks.”
I look down at the sheet again and then fill out the application. With every stroke of the pen, I feel more sure about the decision. Taking just a few classes now with the option of more later makes the most sense. I sign up for the esthetician classes and then write out my check for the tuition. I can barely fit the words five thousand, four hundred, and eighty nine dollars on the check line. It’s the biggest check I’ve ever written. By the sighs and suspicious looks from counter lady, I guess most folks pay with a credit card.
“I’ll need to see your license.”
I hand it to her and she photocopies it twice, clipping one copy to the back of the check and placing the other in a file I can only presume is marked Girls who can’t afford to pay with a credit card.
After she’s done taking all my money, she hands me a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” I scan the paper. It contains titles of books like Your Skin, Your Beauty and then a “tools” section that lists about twelve different implements. I suck in my lower lip. This was a cost I hadn’t anticipated.
"Problem?" The counter lady asks.
"No. No problem." It’s not really a lie. Grant had told me we had plenty of money to cover it but whatever cash I had saved is totally depleted by this. With having to pay rent, all the utilities along with tuition and books and supplies, I’m starting to realize how expensive life is away from my family.
I tuck the sheet away and take the course book the woman offers me.
“Here’s a print out of your class schedule. If you have any questions you can contact Toni Lotz. She’s in charge of your program.”
“Thanks.”
She gives me a dismissive wave. I gather up the materials wishing I’d brought something bigger than my small cross-body purse. It’s hard to hold my phone and the booklets. I look for a place to set my stuff down when a voice pipes up beside me.
“Need a hand?” Another pair of perfectly manicured hands reach out to take my course materials.
“God, yes. Thank you.” I give her a grateful grin and pull out my phone to shoot Grant a text.
Ready.
“No problem. When I first enrolled I was surprised there were books. Like if I wanted textbooks and homework, I would have gone to college.” She laughs. Her merry eyes look familiar. “I thought it’d be all hands on but there were books and tests and stuff.”
“Hopefully it’s not that hard.” The phone buzzes.
OMW. 20 min.
“Nah, you’ll get the hang of it.” She hesitates for
a minute and then says with a wrinkled nose, “This is kind of rude, but I think we met before. At a party over on Grove Street?”
“Grove Street? I just moved here from Fortune. Chelsea ____.”
“Right!” She snaps her fingers and points at me. “Chelsea, you’re the girl who, um…” she trails off but suddenly I know exactly where the party at Grove Street took place.
“The girl who sleeps with her stepbrother. I didn’t catch your name.” My tone is about as cold as the temperature outside—icy enough to freeze water before it leaves the faucet.
“Mandy Johnson.” She’s undeterred by my frostiness. “And hey, he’s smoking hot so I can see how that’d be a constant temptation if you lived together. My brother is a whiny, pimply seventeen year old.”
Her friendliness starts to warm me up. “I met Grant when I was fourteen but we didn’t start dating until I was almost eighteen.” I didn’t admit that I wanted him from the first time I laid eyes on him or that every dirty dream I’d ever had from the minute I knew what dirty dreams were starred him. Dating’s probably the wrong word for it too. We started sleeping together when I was almost eighteen.
“That was some night, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows. Her face is so expressive. With long luscious brown hair, curled at the ends, and immaculately applied makeup, she seems a touch too polished for the biker crowd. She’s right though. My introduction to the Misery MC included being insulted, getting fingered and eaten out by another guy with Grant holding me up because I couldn’t stand from the overwhelming sensation, and finally watching a Misery member be kicked out of the club.
“Just another night in the life of a motorcycle club,” I deadpan.
She laughs—an open mouthed, belly laugh. “Isn’t that the truth. The parties those guys throw are insane in the membrane. I can’t stay away. They’re all like a bad drug habit that you can’t kick. How long you been with your, um, boyfriend?”