He was a Harley guy with a gray beard, long gray hair and a rough voice that somehow felt smooth on your soul whenever he used it (even if he was tearing you a new one while using it; I know it sounds crazy but it’s true, trust me). He wore Harley tees (always), leather vests (occasionally) and rolled bandanas around his forehead (without fail).
And he was wise. Very much so.
Therefore, when the Rock Chicks came to the point in their drama where it was clear everyone needed to quit f**king around because they needed their shit sorted—tough love or gentle and sweet (as the case may be)—Duke stepped in.
So it was Duke who stepped in with Sadie and sorted her shit.
Duke could do that.
But not me.
I closed my eyes, shook my head to get my mind off that path, and opened my eyes, pointing my thoughts in a new direction.
I stared into the dark at the shadowy shapes in my apartment and commenced trying to figure out what the f**k was up with me.
And not why Sadie’s outburst that night so deeply affected me.
I sensed I wasn’t ready to face that.
No, I thought about where my life was leading me.
I gazed at the shadows.
I liked my apartment. That said, it wasn’t much to write home about, but since I wasn’t there often, it didn’t need to be.
The building was two-story and built in the fifties. The rooms were not spacious and there was no personality. Though, the last couple of years, the landlord had pulled out all the dull, uninspired bathrooms and kitchens and put in new dull, uninspired bathrooms and kitchens.
Not much, but it was something.
He’d also jacked up the rent.
Annoying but not surprising.
Recently, though, my unit had been getting a facelift that came all from me.
I had new cushiony, awesome furniture that invited you to sink in and stay forever (major discount from a person who used my services who knew a person who owned a furniture store). I had a new flat screen TV (ditto on the discount, as you know). Due to gift certificates from other “clients”, I had new kitchen implements (not that I cooked much, seeing as I was never home; still, gadgets were gadgets, and everyone needed as many gadgets as they could get), new bathroom towels and sheets (total lush—I should so totally have gone the way of expensive towels and sheets ages ago; alas, a bartender/barista couldn’t usually afford luxury).
Also due to my activities, I had more shoes and clothes in my closet and a collection of gift cards of a variety of denominations to restaurants, bars and movie theaters.
All payments for my services.
All making life that little bit sweeter.
I’d done the defensive/evasive driving course and kicked its ass. I was all over defensive/evasive maneuvers in a vehicle and could not wait to do the chase program. And with more practice at Zip’s and wisdom from Darius, I’d also cleared the house in C. Springs without killing one innocent.
This shit was it for me.
I loved doing it and I was good at it.
And it made life better in a variety of ways.
So I didn’t understand what was holding me back from going whole hog, getting licensed and putting out a shingle.
And maybe more importantly, with all that going so well, why did I think I was missing something?
That you could have someone good and clean and right.
Sadie’s words haunted me, yanking me back to the path I was avoiding, and I closed my eyes.