Page 11 of Iron Heart
Ma always had faith that he’d come back in time for her to see him once more before she died. She told us that God wouldn’t take her before she could say goodbye to her baby boy.
Ma always had way too much faith in miracles.
Antony finally managed to track Dominic down in time for the funeral. He showed up late to the service — hungover, high as shit on something that made his pupils look like pinheads, and in a suit that looked like he’d slept in it. He barely stayed until the end, skipped the burial itself, showed up later at the family gathering at Ma’s house, a half-empty bottle of vodka in his fist.
I almost sent him to an early grave, right beside Ma’s plot. Before Marco and Matteo pulled me off him, that is. And convinced me that Ma would want us all to have each other’s backs now that she was gone.
Since then, Dom only seems to show his face to one of us brothers when he needs something. Last time, he turned up on Matteo’s doorstep, asking for five-thousand dollars and saying it was for some business venture. Turned out, he had lost big on some deal and owed money to some guy in Cleveland whose name he wouldn’t tell us.
And now, here he is, snoring like a fuckin’ train in my spare room. Telling me he’s back in Ironwood to stay.
From the looks of him, he drove all the way the fuck here from God knows where in the middle of the night.
I peer out the window again, at Dom’s expensive-looking SUV. And think about the fact that all the possessions he brought with him to start a new life in Ironwood fit into one beat-up looking duffel bag.
Something tells me there’s more to my brother’s decision to come back home than he’s letting on.
But I’m his brother. I’m a D’Agostino. So it’s my job to fuckin’ help him. For Ma’s sake.
* * *
I thinkI’m gonna be stuck here waiting around for Dom’s lazy ass to wake the hell up all fuckin’ afternoon. But thank Christ, I get a call from a civilian buddy of mine who’s building his own house, asking me to come out to take a look at an electrical problem he’s having.
In addition to being the Enforcer for the Ironwood Lords of Carnage MC, I’ve got myself a business as a licensed electrician. I’m my own boss, no other employees. Been doing it about five years. The work suits me, and so do the hours and the independence. I tell my buddy Bret I’ll be right over to take a look. I figure I’ll head over to the clubhouse after that to grab a beer or two before church.
The site Bret’s building on is out in the country, on a patch of land he inherited from his dad. The ride over there on the bike clears my head a little from thinking about my fucked-up younger brother. Bret’s electrical issue turns out to be a pretty easy solution, and one he’s already pulled the permit for. I talk him through it, offering to come back and help with the installation if he needs it.
“Thanks, man,” he nods. “I appreciate the offer. Hopefully I’ve got it from here, but I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good.”
“Hey,” he says as we walk out of his house. “I’ve got a cooler in the back of the truck with some cold ones in it. It’s about time for me to knock off for the day. You want one?”
“Shit, I wish I could, but I got somewhere to be. Rain check?”
“Sure. Hey, my sis said she saw you downtown the other day, riding by on your Harley.”
“Yeah, I remember that.” Jenny’s a year younger than Bret. Good looking chick. Single mom, one kid.
“She was asking about you.” Bret gives me a look. “You got anything against dating chicks with rug rats?”
“I don’t date civilians, man.” I laugh.
Hell, I don’tdateat all. What I do with women can’t be calleddating, that’s for sure.
Jenny and me hooked up once or twice, back in the day. She’s easy on the eyes, and she’s a nice girl. She works at one of the bars downtown. As I remember, she was a pretty decent lay, back in high school. But that was then.
I meant what I said to Bret. I don’t fuck non-club chicks anymore. On principle.
The girls who hang around the MC — who know the MC life — well, they know the score. They don’t get any big ideas about hearts and flowers and all that shit. Not the ones who have any fuckin’ brains, that is. And the rest of them should know better to get involved with outlaw bikers if they expect marriage and picket fences, so fuck ‘em.
I ain’t got time to deal with hurt feelings and fits of jealousy. No piece of ass is worth that, no matter how hot.
“Why not?” Bret presses me. “I’m sure Jenny could get used to being on the back of a bike.”
“Dude. You do not want your sister involved with a Lord of Carnage.” I give him a look. “Trust me on that.”
He frowns. “I get what you’re saying, Dante. But hell, with her record with guys, you’d be a fuckin’ improvement.”