Page 16 of Enforce This
“Did your mom make this blanket and that…?” I nodded to the lace looking doily.
He glanced between the objects after a moment's hesitation and shifted his head in denial, “Made ‘em myself.”
“Liar,” I blurted out with a laugh.
He was a former marine and an outlaw biker, no way did he make something that delicate.
He gave that lopsided smile and made a throaty sound of amusement, “Nah, my Aunt Daisy made them. She’s into all that shit.”
“They’re nice,” I conceded.
He absently nodded and popped his lips before meeting my eyes again, “You know my mother died because of my father’s involvement, too.”
I stilled, and we stared at each other for a long, quiet moment before he swallowed and continued, “The Chef was my old man.”
“He was a chef and a biker?” I wasn’t sure I believed him.
“No. That was his road name. The Chef. He uh… He cooked for the club.”
When I kept staring at him, he must have realized that I wasn’t following.
“My old man manufactured meth. In the streets, when you make meth… That's called ‘cooking.’ You don’t grow dope, you cook it.”
“Right,” I whispered, suddenly feeling very under-educated.
He’d said The Chef was his old man like the name should mean something to me, but of course, it didn’t.
“So… your mother died because of your father’s… involvement with my father?” I guessed.
“No.” He quickly answered with a sigh. “Mark didn’t have anything to do with it. Mark would have never let my old man cook in a trailer park. That’s reckless as hell. Stupid. It’s something only a damned hype would do. He was cooking a personal batch in our home while me and my mother were sleeping. It was the middle of the night. She hated that shit. They’d fight like cats and dogs when he brought some home with him. She had no idea. Went to sleep without a clue. We both did that night…”
His voice had turned haunted, before his words started to trickle and slow and he eventually stopped talking.
I didn’t know the first thing about illegal drugs and I sure as hell didn’t know anything about meth.
“Was it—? I mean—” I felt compelled to ask, even if I didn’t want to poke a bear. “So… The meth like… the chemicals poisoned her and not you? It must have been in the air or something…”
“He was too high to cook, and he fucked up the batch.”
I squinted and he finally spelled it out for me, “It exploded. Took off a third of our trailer and half of the neighbor’s. Killed three people in total. Both of my parents, and the elderly man who lived next door.”
He poured himself another shot, setting the bottle down a little louder than necessary before he slammed the whiskey.
I didn’t know what to say. I guessed his mom and mine did have something in common. Only my mother had left all that behind, and it still caught up with her.
I swallowed and studied the floor unsure of what to say. After a time, I started to feel rude about the silence, but I still didn’t know how to fill it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he quipped, a little too quickly for my comfort.
He cleared his throat and blurted out, “You hungry?”
He didn’t wait for my answer, he just shot off to the kitchenette and started pilfering around in the freezer.
I eyed the pistol he left behind.
My mouth went dry. I’d never even held a gun before, let alone pulled a trigger. And even if I could bring myself to shoot someone…