Rock Chick 03 Redemption (25 page)

Then Hank walked into the room and I stopped talking.

His eyes settled on us and he didn’t take them away as he walked across the room.

“What’d they get?” Malcolm asked when Hank arrived.

Hank grabbed my hand, pul ed me up, stood close and didn’t drop my hand. Malcolm rose as wel .

“Not much, they’re not talkin’. I cal ed the Chicago PD

yesterday to have them check Roxie’s apartment. Prints from the apartment match these guys and Chicago tel s us these boys are linked with a bigger operation. We’re waitin’

for reports on the prints they lifted in the hotel in Nebraska to check if we can place them there too. We don’t hold to check if we can place them there too. We don’t hold much hope for that. The place was a shithole, filthy, prints everywhere. They didn’t get much except partials from around the sink. It’l be Roxie’s word that puts them in Nebraska.”

After he said that, his mouth got tight at the thought of me and the sink.

I stared at him. I had no idea that anyone had gone back to that hotel in Nebraska and I certainly had no idea the cops checked out my loft in Chicago.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

It was Malcolm that answered. “The minute Vance found you, Hank and Jimmy’ve been runnin’ what’s become a three state investigation.”

Holy cow.

“Wel , Hank hasn’t been runnin’ it, at least not official y,” Malcolm went on as if I was going to hightail it to Internal Affairs and snitch on Hank’s efforts to keep me safe.

Before I could react to what Malcolm said, Hank tugged my hand.

“Let’s go,” Hank said, nodding to his father, obviously done talking.

“Where?” I asked.

He looked down at me. “Home,” he answered.

I pul ed my hand from his and gave Malcolm a kiss on the cheek. When I pul ed away, I saw Malcolm’s eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile that didn’t reach his lips and I figured, somehow, I’d got another “A”.

Then I turned back to Hank. He grabbed my hand again and we left.

and we left.

When we got in the 4Runner and Hank had it on the road, he asked, “How’re you doin’?”

“Not good,” I answered honestly. “You?”

“I’m angry,” he said, just as honest.

“I can tel .”

Then, after a beat I sighed, huge and loud and looked out the side window, trying hard not to cry.

“Roxie,” he said.

“What?” I asked, stil looking out the window.

“I’m not angry with you.”

“I know.”

I believed him, stil , I felt like a total and complete pain in the ass.

“I like your dad,” I offered as a change of subject.

“Good,” he replied and, for the first time that afternoon, I felt some of his anger had slipped away.

* * * * *

He parked in front of his house. There were familiar cars lining the street, including Uncle Tex’s El Camino.

When we walked into the house, we were assaulted by the smel of garlic, the sounds of Led Zeppelin and an overexcited chocolate lab.

If that wasn’t overwhelming enough, the place was fil ed.

Indy, Jet, Al y and Annette were sitting at Hank’s dining room table playing cards. Kitty Sue (Hank’s Mom) and Nancy were in the kitchen cooking. I could hear (just, Led Zeppelin was kind of loud) a bal game playing on the TV in the other room.

“Yo bitch!” Annette greeted when we walked in. “And, um… dude,” Annette went on, looking at Hank.

“Is everything okay?” Kitty Sue asked, her eyes on Hank.

She was holding up a wooden spoon that looked like it was coated with spaghetti sauce.

Nancy moved toward me and gave me a one-armed hug.

“Bet you’re hungry,” she said into my ear.

Hank answered his Mom while I relaxed into Nancy’s hug and nodded to her. She moved away and Uncle Tex was standing behind her.

“For fuck’s sake, girl. We don’t want it borin’ but this ain’t the goddamned
French
fuckin’
Connection
,” he boomed and I could tel he was trying to make a joke but he didn’t think the situation was al that funny.

I grinned at him, but it was weak.

He put his big hand on the top of my head for a second then took it away.

I grinned at him again, this time it was stronger.

“We got al your stuff in, it’s in the extra bedroom,” Al y announced and I turned to her.

“Nancy and I packed your things at Tex’s and brought them over,” Kitty Sue added and I looked to her, in total shock. I opened my mouth to say something, something like, “Are you fucking insane?” but then Tex caught my look and started booming.

“No lip, Roxie. Hank wants you with him, you’re stayin’

with him.”

Good God.

They’d moved me in with Hank.

They’d moved me in with Hank.

Uncle Tex was right. It’d been a week, and there I was, al moved in with Hank.

Shit.

I stared at Jet and she was giving me a look that was half smile, half grimace. She knew my pain, she’d had to move in with Eddie during her troubles and even though her problems were through, she stil hadn’t moved out. I could tel she wasn’t going to do a thing about my current situation though, likely because she agreed with everyone else.

I made a strangled sound and looked back at Tex. I was beginning to get angry.

“Do I not have a say in this?” I asked Uncle Tex.

“Nope,” He responded.

My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me but I think I do.”

“You can have your say when people aren’t shootin’ at you,” Tex returned.

Jason, Lee and Eddie walked in from the TV room to catch what was likely to be a more spectacular show as I squared off with Uncle Tex.

“That’s just it, they were shooting at me but Daisy was with me. They could have shot her. They did shoot her car!” I snapped. “Seems to me everyone would be a heck of a lot safer if I was far away from here.”

“You ain’t thinkin’ straight,” Tex said agreeably. “That’s understandable.”

I stomped my foot. I was no longer beginning to get angry, I was out and out angry.

“I
am
thinking straight. If something happens to someone because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Hank said from beside me, cutting into the conversation.

I turned to him. “Yeah? You sure about that?” I asked.

His eyes got hard. “Yeah,” he said slowly, staring at me.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ sure.”

Holy cow.

The way he said it, the way he looked, made me believe him.

Almost.

“Hank, that mouth,” Kitty Sue said in a mother’s tone.

Even with the tension flowing between Hank and me, I had to admire Kitty Sue tel ing off her grown-up, super-macho, badass cop son for dropping the f-bomb.

Then she announced, “Spaghetti’s ready, let’s eat.” The conversation was over and so was the show.

Even though I didn’t want it to be, I real y had no choice.

* * * * *

We ate. We did the dishes. We played Scattergories.

Uncle Tex took Nancy home. We had sundaes smothered in hot fudge sauce and topped with whipped cream and a cherry. We did the new dishes. Kitty Sue went home, Hank and Lee both walking her to her car.

This I found so sweet I felt my breath constrict in my chest and caught Indy’s eye. Her eyes were bright and warm and something flowed from her to me, like an invitation to a sisterhood that only we two could share. I wanted to accept, more than anything I’d ever wanted in my whole life; even Corporate Diva-dom, closets stuffed with clothes and a front row seat at the Chanel Winter Runway Show in Paris.

Hank and Lee came back and the moment was lost, but the promise remained and I felt so moved by it, I barely said another word the rest of the night.

We played more Scattergories. We listened to Indy and Al y tel ing stories of Haunted Houses past and I began to get more and more freaked out at this Haunted House business. It didn’t sound fun, it sounded frightening, it sounded crazy, it sounded total y out of control.

Hank noticed me getting tense and pointedly put away the Scattergories game.

Everyone took the hint, hugs were exchanged then they al left.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Hank commented after he’d closed and locked the door.

“I was shot at today,” I answered, thinking I had a good point even though I was lying.

He walked up to me. “That’s not it.”

He was right, that wasn’t it. How he knew that, don’t ask me but it was like he had a cord and he’d plugged it into me the minute he first laid eyes on me. It had been that way since the start. This freaked me out and made me feel centered and safe al at the same time. Don’t ask me how it did this, I couldn’t tel you that either.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “I need to cal Daisy.” Surprisingly, he let it go, saying he had his own cal s to make.

I cal ed Daisy and she told me she was fine and not to worry about her.

“They fucked with the wrong girl when they fucked with me. Mark my words,” she threatened.

I marked them, she sounded serious. Daisy might be sweet-as-pie and cute-as-a-button but I got the definite sense she could open one major can of whoop ass.

* * * * *

Hank’s house had three bedrooms. The master, at the side of the house next to the kitchen with a smal , three quarter bathroom attached, and there were two bedrooms at the back, off the living room, separated by a ful bath.

One of these rooms was what appeared to be a weight room-slash-junk room, made more so by my boxes and suitcases.

Annette and Jason had brought my stashed clothing and also packed up most of my clothes, shoes, my jewelry case, my high school yearbooks, photo albums and some picture frames fil ed with photos of family, and friends and carted it al out to Denver.

Apparently, they thought I was going to stay for a while.

The other bedroom was Hank’s office. It had an old comfy looking couch, a table with TV, a desk, his computer and a bag fil ed with bats that was lumpy at the bottom (with what appeared to be softbal s) sitting in the corner. I figured that room was his lair. He’d disappeared there when I cal ed Daisy and I didn’t disturb him.

After I cal ed Daisy, I got undressed and ready for bed, found Hank’s CDs in the TV room, picked “Born to Run” (because I was in Hank’s house and that demanded Springsteen) and Shamus and I settled in with my lilac, embossed stationery.

I had set aside my stationery, was amusing myself (not) by thinking how my life was certifiably fucked and “
She’s
the One
” had just started playing when Hank arrived.

He stopped at the side of the bed and stared down at me. He did this for a while; so long, it made me uncomfortable.

“What?” I asked.

“Been waitin’ a long time to meet the girl in this song.” I felt my body stil at the importance of what he just said.

So did Shamus, his head came up and he looked over at Hank too.

The lyrics to this song weren’t cryptic, even so somehow to me they col ided with the thundering, unbelievably cool music that told what I considered the real story; starting expectantly and then exploding and then drawing out to a beautiful, vibrating climax.

Every girl would secretly want to be “the one” even though she might lie to herself that she did not. It was a man’s view of the woman he desired, and even loved: bitter, sweet, defiant, admiring and fucking sexy as hel .

Regardless of al that, the chorus was a repeat of “she’s the one”, present tense, which said it al .

“Whisky,” I said quietly because I didn’t know what else to say.

He tugged off his t-shirt, dropped it on the floor and turned out the lamp. I heard rustling in the dark while he took off the rest of his clothes and then the bed moved as he got on it.

He lay down beside me but didn’t touch me and we both stayed stil in the dark.

I waited for him to touch me, turn into me, something, but he didn’t and Shamus settled his head on my bel y again.

To cover my confusion (and disappointment, if I was honest) I asked, “What’s the deal with Daisy’s husband, Marcus?”

Hank answered, “He’s bad news. Runs guns, has a stable of girls and deals drugs as a hobby.” I got up on my elbow and turned, looking down at his shadow in the dark, wondering if I should laugh. “You’re joking,” I said and I real y hoped he was.

“Nope,” he replied and my hope died.

Holy cow.

I didn’t want Daisy to be married to a bad guy. I real y liked Daisy. I wanted Daisy to be married to someone like Hank.

I asked, “Wel , how does that work, with Daisy being one of the clan?”

“Daisy’s a new addition, she’s only been around the last few weeks.”

I gasped at this piece of news. It was almost as unbelievable as knowing her husband was a crime lord.

“But, I thought you’d al known her for ages.”

“She took to watchin’ out for Jet when she had her problems and she stuck. Marcus isn’t a part of it and somehow it works.”

Boy, these people were nuts.

“What’s the deal with Marcus and Eddie?” I asked.

“Eddie wants Marcus in prison and has been workin’ to make that happen for a long time. Marcus doesn’t want to go to prison. They hate each other.”

That did not sound good.

“I don’t see this working for long,” I said. “What happens when Eddie puts Marcus in jail?”

“Daisy knows the score, so does Marcus. It’s not your problem and it isn’t mine. When that happens, we’l al deal.”

For Hank, it was simple as that. There was something very cool about that.