Page 76 of Slashes in the Snow
“Oh, my God, look at Gerard. What is up with that mustache?” She holds up another picture.
“It was the eighties. Who knows?” I sit down on the edge of the bed as Kira pulls apart the box.
“Who is that?” She shows me a picture of a young blonde woman with a crown of flowers on her head.
“My mom.”
“She’s beautiful. You look like her.”
“Yeah.” I take the picture from her. “Too bad she’s a head case.”
“That’s not nice to say about your mother.”
“It’s the truth. Her mind is stuck in the clouds. She is definitely not in touch with reality.”
“She’s a free spirit.”
“That’s putting it nicely.”
“Look at you on Gerard’s bike.” Kira becomes excited again.“How old were you there, three?” She hands me yet another photo.
“About that? Yeah.” The image makes me smile. “My dad had me on a Harley with a deck of cards in my hands before I could walk.”
“Sounds like Gerard. The first week I met him, he had me on the back of his chopper explaining strategies of poker.” She laughs. “He was such a badass.” She inspects yet another photograph. “Is that a gun in his waistband?”
“Probably.” I take the picture to look. The image is just how I remember him as a kid. Dressed in a leather cut, blue bandana, and ripped-up jeans. He was nobody to fuck with back then. Hell, he’s still nobody to fuck with, but during those days, the club was like a band of wild outlaws. My grandfather, Alfred, was a crazy motherfucker, which makes me wonder if that’s why my mom is a little off her rocker. Growing up with a hard-ass like him had to have some kind of effect. Losing her mom at a young age I’m sure didn’t help either.
“Huh.” Kira scrutinizes one picture a little more closely.
“What is it?” I rub my hand across my hair to dry it.
“Who is that?” She flips the picture over and points.
I curl my lip. “Deacon. Old member of the club.”
“Deacon? Is he dead?”
“Not that I know of. He was doing some real shady shit back in the day, so my dad blackballed him. Kicked him out of the club in front of everyone.”
“Ky, I know him.” Kira is convinced.
“From where?” It’s preposterous. No one has heard from Deacon in over ten years.
“He’s the alarm tech who came to the house. The one who was supposed to fix it before I came to you for help.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “Kira, are you absolutely sure?”
“I’m positive. We had a whole conversation. I made him coffee. I remember his face.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I spring off the bed. “This was never about you.” I scramble to find my phone when the doorbell rings. Kira and I both freeze like ice sculptures. Who the fuck could that be?
“Stay here.” I walk out of my room and downstairs, tightening the towel around my waist. I spy out the side window of the front door to find a man I don’t know, but he’s holding a small box I recognize well.
Not this shit again.
I open the door and stand guard. “Whatever it is, I don't want it. You can tell Deacon to go fuck himself. His secret is out, and I’m comin’ for him.”
The scrawny man on my front stoop looks like he is about to shit. He’s swaying back and forth on his skinny legs looking over at the courtyard. I take my eyes off him for one stupid second, and it’s my biggest mistake, because when I looked back at him, his crazy expression spells out doom. Fast as a cat, he removes the top and hits me in the face with a dusty substance. As soon as it makes contact with my eyes, it burns and steals my breath as I inhale it. Whatever was in that little fucking box was lethal.
