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Axel
I’m watching Rod get loaded in the police vehicle. He’s been arrested on major drug charges. Desperate to unload the very large amount of dope that got delivered from southeast Ohio for a client that no longer want to do business with our club, Rod started shopping it around. Loudly. Dumb fucker wasn’t careful at all, and now he’s headed to jail, to be charged with possession and intent to sell. That’s a felony, and he’ll be in jail for probably five years because of it.
I feel sick. The cops are going to be sniffing around the club like nobody’s business now.
I load Lipstick onto the back of my bike and we follow the cruiser down to the precinct, watching as Rod is booked. Lipstick tells the cops she’s pregnant, that she needs to see him. It must be her mascara-stained face and her tiny bump of a baby belly, because they let her. They take her back and let her sit with him.
All the while, I’m trying to advocate for him.
“This must be a mistake,” I say. “He doesn’t touch drugs.”
“He’ll be appointed an attorney,” the front-desk cop says. “If we’ve made a mistake, then the attorney will provide the evidence as such.”
“He’s got a baby on the way,” I say.
“Lots of guys have babies on the way,” the cop says. “What’s it to me?”
“Can’t you get him out on bond?” I ask.
“I can’t get him out on anything,” the cop says. “A judge makes that call and I am not a judge. It’ll be Monday or Tuesday before the issue of bond gets in front of a judge.”
“Fuck,” I snap.
Lipstick comes out after about fifteen minutes. She’s still crying. I ask if I can get a minute with Rod and the cop nods and tells me I get five minutes.
Back in the cell, Rod’s hair sticks up every which way. He looks like he got punched in the gut.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I whisper.
“Needed to get it gone,” he mumbles. “Too much, nowhere to store it.”
“You’re usually more careful than that, man,” I say.
He shrugs. “I ain’t myself lately. I think it’s you who told me that in the first place. My head ain’t in the game. I fucked up.”
“Well, now you got a baby mama who’s got to raise your kid on her own. So much for steppin’ up, asshole.”
“Axel, you’re my best friend, but goddamn, I will punch you straight in the teeth,” he says, his voice louder now. “You think I don’t feel like a piece of everlovin’ shit for leaving Lipstick and the baby like this?”
“I suppose you do,” I say. “Hope you get a good lawyer.”
“Me, too, brother,” he says. “Just promise you’ll keep an eye on them? Make sure they have what they need while I’m gone?”
I nod, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“You’re in charge now,” he says. “It shoulda always been that way.”
I snarl and give him the finger. It’s as good as hugging in our world. He gives me the finger back and I salute, then head back out to collect Lipstick.
I get her back to her apartment and she asks if I want something to eat.
“I ain’t gonna lie,” I say. “I’m pretty hungry. But you’ve been through a lot. Why don’t I order us a pizza or something?”
“No, no, I need something to keep me busy,” the blonde says, pulling out pans and ingredients. “You like pasta?”
Pasta. Makes me think of Millie. Me, naked on her kitchen chair, just trying to wig her out. It makes me grin just thinking about it. But once I start thinking, I can’t stop. I am such an idiot.
Lipstick, I realize, is waiting for me to answer. I grunt, “Yeah, I like pasta fine.”
She starts a pot of hot water to boil, then wanders over to the counter, resting her chin in her hands, staring at me as I sit on the bar stool, all hangdog and pathetic.
“You okay, Axel?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I grunt. “You?”
“No,” she says, her eyes wet with tears. “I’m not okay.”
She wipes tears away with the back of her hand and looks off at some random spot on the wall, her lips quivering.
“He’s such an idiot,” I say, mostly to myself. “What the hell was he thinking?”
“He was thinking he needed to get rid of the product as quickly as possible,” she says. “You know how gets. Single-minded, focused. He kept saying it was his fault the buyer walked. He felt like he needed to fix it, and fast.”
“Why didn’t he just ask me to help? Why shop it around all secret-like?” I ask. “He knows better. There are protocols. We’ve had unsold product before.”
“He didn’t want to bother you with it,” she says. “He felt like you were already tied up in other club business, what with Jackson and the borders and stuff.”
She turns away to add pasta to the boiling pot. Again, I’m imagining Millie. I’m seeing myself in that little house, in her kitchen. In her bed. In her.
“Do you love him?” I ask.
“I do,” she says quietly. “At first, I liked the idea of him, you know? I liked that the club president was into me. I liked the idea of having status, maybe being his old lady, maybe not just being some random club girl.”
“Why do women hang around the club?” I ask.
“Same as men, I suppose,” she says with a little laugh. “I mean, I like the lifestyle. I like the bikes and the rides. I like the parties. I like the sex. I made friends with the other girls. We’re like our own little club.”
I nod, impressed at how open she’s being with me. “I never thought about the women that much,” I say. “Nice to have ’em around an all, but never thought about why they’d even want to be around a bunch of big thugs.”
“’I don’t really think of you all as thugs,” she says. “You’re just guys. This is your business. It’s a different kind of business. It’s not, like, all suits and stuff. But it’s a business and you’re a brotherhood. There’s some honor to it.”
“I think you’re puttin’ us on a pedestal we don’t belong on,” I say.
“Maybe,” she says. “But it’s the way I feel.”
“So when did things switch for you and Rod?” I ask. “When you got pregnant?”
“For me or for him?” she asks.
“Both, I guess?”
“For me, I mean, I was sleeping with him for several months. I knew he wasn’t known for being exclusive so I knew I wasn’t the only one he was with. I wasn’t stupid about it, you know? So one night I slept over and we did a lot of talking. He was real open with me, told me he’s never really cared for the idea of being tied down by some old lady. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else because he didn’t think he did that great a job of taking care of himself.”
We both chuckle at that. “He is kind of a man-baby,” I say.
“That he is,” she says. “But I don’t know, we kind of ... bonded? That night we talked more than we ever had and when I left, I just felt like I knew him a lot better. And I let myself fall for him little by little. When I found out I was pregnant, I expected ... well ... I didn’t expect what I got.”
“And what was that?” I ask.
“Well, I figured he’d say it could be anybody’s, call me a whore, tell me there’d be no way to tell it was really his. I’d seen other guys do that to my friends. At best, I thought he might say it was his but not care, or like tell me to get rid of it.”
“But he jumped in whole hog,” I finish for her.
“He did,” she says, her voice breaking as the tears start again. “And it made me love him even more. And I feel sick that he’s in jail now until God knows when.”
“Maybe we can get him out,” I say. “Let me think about it.”
She pours the pasta in a colander in the sink. A few minutes later, I’ve got pasta with red sauce in front of me.
“Thanks,” I say. “You aren’t having any?”
“Can’t eat right now,” she says, sniffling.
“Well, you’re eatin’ for two. You should try to get a little somethin’ in ya.”
“I know,” she says. She straightens her back and flips her long hair over her shoulders. Her hands go to her protruding stomach. “So what about you, Axel? You got an old lady? Any designs on a family one day?”
“Well, in Rod’s absence, I think I’ll be takin’ care of you,” I say. “Ain’t got time for nothin’ else.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles a little. “I appreciate the support,” she says. “But your life doesn’t have to stop just because of me.”
“Rod’s my best friend,” I say. “My family. My brother. I made him a promise to look after y’all, so that’s what I plan to do.”
“Fine,” she says. “But you didn’t really answer my question.”
I grit my teeth and look at my plate of pasta. “I fucked things up with my girl,” I say. “I mean, she wasn’t my girl, not really. It’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated about it?” she asks. “She a club girl? Do I know her?”
“Nah,” I say. “That’s part of it. She’s not part of the lifestyle. She’s a good girl, got a real job. She don’t need this bullshit in her life.”
“But you care about her?” Lipstick asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess. I want her, but that ain’t the same.”
“No,” she says. “No, it’s not.”