What the hell?
If my father had eliminated this one expense, I would have had money for college. I slam the book closed.
My skin flushes with heat. I storm out before I give in to the feeling of destroying the room and everything in it, then lock the door and stomp up the stairs. In the apartment, I pace back and forth until finally coming to a stop by the living room windows. With my arms folded, I stand and lean against the frame, staring down at the street, my mind a whirl.
Da always swore there was never any money. He hadn’t been able to help me out with a car when I was sixteen. I’d had to buy a dress from the resale shop for prom. But the most devastating of all was when he’d told me he had to use the savings account set aside for my first year’s college tuition. That had been the last straw.
I take a deep breath and study the street below, trying to rid myself of the negative thoughts. It’s over. It’s done. No sense reliving the pain.
Occasionally a car goes by. There’s not much open at night on this block. The pub has always been the main draw. Still, there’s a place a couple doors down called Sammy’s Subs and a diner a couple of blocks further. Other than that, it’s mostly businesses that close up at night like Stanfield Savings and Loan, an insurance office, and the new cupcake shop next store that, judging from the grand opening sign, must have just opened. That spot has been a million different businesses through the years. None of them last long in this little Podunk town, but maybe cupcakes will. I hope so. I like cupcakes. I’d buy some.
Hearing the distant thunder of something barreling up the road, I press my forehead against the glass and see a swarm of headlights coming. The unmistakable roar of a hoard of Harleys gets louder as they approach. They zoom by in a line, two by two, and the window rattles. As they pass, I count … two, four, six, eight … all wearing the patches I recognize.
Kings of Carnage MC.
And then it clicks and my eyes widen. Could KOC mean Kings of Carnage? I frown. But why would Da give them money? Extortion? Some kind of payoff?
Oh, hell no!
If they think they’ll be collecting that sum from me, they’ve got another thing coming. But then I remember the funeral. Is that why I saw that bike at the cemetery?
And suddenly a memory I’d long ago suppressed comes flooding back …
Da is cleaning the bar, and he’s let me come with him. I love to help sweep the floor, even though the broom is so much bigger than I am. Next year, when I start school, he says I can help him even more by counting the pennies. Once I learn to count of course. I’ve been practicing my numbers real good.
It’s Sunday night, the week before Christmas, and I’m so excited. I can’t wait to wear the pretty dress to Mass that Ma made for me. I’ve been extra good this year, and I hope Santa brings me the Sleeping Susan doll that I asked for.
I skip and twirl, not really paying attention to what I’m supposed to be doing.
Suddenly, there’s a loud roaring sound outside. It sounds like thunder, and I’m scared. It’s already dark out, even though it’s just after dinner. I drop the broom.
“Da,” I call, my voice shaky. “What is that noise?”
He runs to me and bends down, taking both my arms in his hands. His face is right in mine. “Michaela, sweetheart, you know that game we play where you hide and I come find you?”
I nod, wondering why he seems upset.
“I want you to go and hide in the storage room and don’t come out until I tell you, okay?”
I nod.
“Don’t come out, no matter what you hear, okay?”
I nod.
“That’s a good lass. Quickly now.”
I run and close the door, but I can’t reach the light string. I’m afraid of the dark so I leave the door open a crack. I peek out. I can see the bar down the hall. I’m scared for my da. I watch him open the front door and then he backs up. Some big men come in. They are scary looking, and I want them to go away.
“You got your payment, old man?” one of them says, and he shoves my da in the shoulder.
“I have most of it. We had a bad week. I can make it up next week. Things always slow down before Christmas, but it’ll pick up again. There’s New Years and I—”
“Fuck New Year’s. That’s next month. You owe for this month and last month. How generous do you think I am?”
“Please, I swear I’ll have it …”
“Oh, you swear, do you? Show him what we think of people who fall behind on payments, Bates.”
“Sure thing, Vic.”
Then he punches my da. I cover my mouth tight with both hands, and my eyes fill with tears. I want to run to my da, but the bad men scare me.
One of them moves to the register and hits a button. A bell rings and the drawer pops open. He takes all the money and stuffs it in his pocket. “Ain’t much in the till, Prez.”
“You got a safe?” the mean man asks my da. But Da looks sick. He’s all bent over funny. He nods his head and the man pulls him up, grabbing his shirt. He yanks my da’s face up to his and yells at him again. “Better be a lot of money in it, ol’ man.”
They walk this way, and I move back until I feel the shelves against my back. I hear their boots on the wooden floor and then they go in the office. I huddle in the dark, trying not to cry. After a long time they leave, smashing glasses on the way out. I hear the front door slam and then something breaks the front window.
I’m crying now and can’t hold back the sobs.
I hear my da call me from far away.
“Michaela, it’s okay to come out now.” His voice sounds funny, like he’s sick.
I peek out, shaking. I’m afraid of the bad men. But my da needs me. I run across the hall to his office and see him lying on the floor.
He reaches out a hand to me. “Baby, it’s okay. Come to Da.”
I run to him, crying, and he holds me.
“I d-didn’t come out. I hid like you told me, D-da.”
“Yes, baby. My good little lass.”
“I w-want to go h-home.”
“Yes, baby girl. We’re going home. Can you reach the phone, my good little lass?”
I haven’t thought of that night since I was a child. I guess I’d half convinced myself I must have misunderstood, that maybe they were just unruly customers or something. Now it’s all clear to me. They were shaking down my father for money. This month, they’d said. They must have come every month. I was just never around when they showed up, except that one Sunday before Christmas when I was four years old.
Well, that seals the deal.
I dig my phone out of my back pocket and walk into the bedroom, then leaning against the headboard and pillows, I curl up with my feet tucked under me.
I dial Bethany and listen to it ring.
“Hey, Michaela. How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better. But that’s not why I’m calling. I want to talk to you about the bar.”
“Mooney’s? What about it?”
“You any good at that real estate stuff?”
Her laughter tinkles over the speaker. “Well, I know I’m new, but I have my license, and I was one of their top sellers last month. Why? You looking to buy a house here?”