“She drove me.”
He huffs, but continues eating the chips. He finishes the bag and starts on the second.
“She’s out of money, Growler.” I call him that, because the word “dad” sticks in my throat. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by the lack of endearment.
“What does she want me to do about it? Tell her to get a job.”
“You know she has issues with anxiety.”
He huffs again, as if to remind me that yes, he does know. “Nothin’ I can do for her now.”
“Surely you have some money stashed somewhere.”
His eyes flash to mine, then move off as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. But he does.
“Where’s the key to the safe deposit box?”
“Think I’d tell you. I’ll need that money for when I get out. Like I’m gonna let her piss it all away on booze and dope.”
“That’s forty years from now.”
His eyes narrow on me. His hand tightens into a fist before relaxing, and he blows out a slow breath. He glances over at the guard, then back at me. “Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m appealing my conviction. I didn’t get a fair trial.”
This is news to me. “How so?”
“Never you mind.” He runs a hand over his mouth and cocks his head to the side, studying me and I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. That’s not good. That’s never good. Whatever scheme he’s cooking up I want no part of it.
“You want the key,” he says, “you do something for me first.”
“What do you want me to do?”
He strokes his chin again, thinking.
A chill runs down my spine. “If you think I’m helping you escape or smuggling you in something, forget it. I’m not going to jail for you or anybody.”
“Calm down.” He glances over his shoulder at the guards. “You want them to come over here.”
“Just tell me where the damn key is.”
“You been to the clubhouse?”
I frown. “The MC? Why the hell would I go there?”
“I need you to get some information for me. Give it to some of my old brothers.”
“What do you mean, old brothers?”
“It’s club business, okay. You don’t need to know.”
I actually huff out a laugh. I hold all the cards right now. “If you want my help, you’ll tell me.”
“You want that key, you’ll do what I say, no questions.”
I shrug and start to stand.
“Sit down,” he hisses.
I do. I’ve made my point. I can walk out the door, and he won’t see me again.
“Okay, look, I want to know what my club’s been up to. Is that so much to ask?”
“So, call them.”
“It ain’t that easy.”
“What do you care what they’re up to? What difference does it make?”
“Like I said, don’t plan to be in here long. My attorney says I got a good shot at getting this conviction overturned.”
“Really?” That’s not good news. Although he is my father, the world is a better place with assholes like him off the streets. He’s never done anybody any good.
He nods.
“And how am I supposed to get information on the club for you? They don’t know me. None of them have laid eyes on me since I was a child.”
“You’re my daughter.”
“Don’t think that carries much weight anymore, considering your current circumstances. Mom says they’ve got a new president, a new VP, and everything’s different now.”
“That’s why I need you to get me information. All the old trusted members are gone, run off, or dead.”
I sigh. If I know one thing about this man, it’s that he’s more stubborn than my mother. “Again, how do I do that?”
“You’re a pretty girl. I’m sure it shouldn’t be too hard to spin your web around one of them.”
Ew. Gross. “If you think I’m sleeping with one of those dirty bikers, forget it.”
“Nobody said you had to fuck ‘em. Have your mother contact one of them and ask for a favor. Get him to drive you down to visit me. Make up a story why. That’ll give you hours to wheedle the information out of him.”
“What information?”
“I want to know everything about their plans for the Sturgis trip comin’ up in a few months. The day they’re leavin’, who’s stayin’ behind, where they’re stoppin’ over. Everything you can find out.”
“But isn’t that club business? Why would they talk to me about it?”
“Come on, I’m sure you can figure out a way to get that information for me. You do, I’ll tell you where the key is.”
“She needs that money, Dad.” I break down and use the word, reminding him he has some responsibility.
“Then do this for me, and it’s yours.”
I shake my head. He’s such a dick, but what choice do I have?
“Come back next weekend.”
Fucking hell.
There’s a loud beeping noise, and all the inmates stand.
“Ten o’clock count,” he tells me and moves off to stand with the other men.
They line up against the wall. The guards tell us there’s no moving from our seats and no talking until the count is finished.
Finally, when Growler returns, he doesn’t look so smug anymore, and I think I know why. He’s just been reminded of who holds all the power in here, and it’s not him. It must be awful in this place, day after day, being told when to eat, when to sleep, where to stand, where to sit, especially for a man who’s fallen so far, all the way from the head of the table of the most badass MC in the state, where he held the gavel and ran things, to being reduced to nothing more than cattle in the eyes of the Georgia Bureau of Prisons.
He sits and chugs down the rest of the Coke, then takes the second one and pops the top.
“How’s the food in here?” I can’t help twisting the knife.
“How do you think? It’s not fit for a dog, what there is of it.” He holds the bag of chips up, shaking the crumbs into his mouth. “Got any more money for the vending machines?”
I shake my head. “I used all the singles I had.”
He crumples up the second bag. “Next time get the beef jerky and Mountain Dew.” With that he stands.
I look up at him. I guess the visit is over.
“See ya next week, Tess.”
He turns and walks to the guards and tells them he wants to return to his cell. I guess that’s preferable to spending time with his daughter. But then again, I have no more vending machine snacks to offer him or money to buy more, so I guess my usefulness is over for today. Asshole.
I walk through security and make it out into the sunshine, never so happy to be under the baking sun as I am in this moment. That depressing building sucked the very life out of me. I don’t want to ever go back. I feel for people like Nessa and the other family members who come here week after week to see their loved ones. It’s like they’re sentenced, too. I couldn’t do it. But maybe if I had someone I actually loved inside I could find the strength. As it is, it looks like I’ll have to muster the backbone to come back again at least once, maybe more than once, depending on what games my father is playing. I hate that I have to play along in order to get that damn key. I’d like nothing more than to tell him to go fuck himself.