Authors: JC Emery
Alex
Trust your instinct to the end, though you can render no reason.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I SLEEP WELL for the better part of the night. My mind is groggy, confused. I try to keep myself alert and aware, but can’t get my brain to function. Something’s wrong with me. My limbs are heavy and slow to respond. I can still breathe and function despite the haze, but something definitely feels wrong about all of this.
Light shines in through my window, much to my dismay. It isn’t quite morning yet, but it’s now moved into that place between darkness and light. It’s too early to be so awake, too early to be dealing with—well, anything. I hear my bedroom door crack open and try to move my head, but it’s too much effort. I give up and wait. Gloria comes into view with a nervous smile on her face. She’s carrying a short stack of clothes.
“We need to get you up and ready,” she says. For what, I want to ask. The words stall on my tongue. She sets the clothes down on the night table beside me and peels back my covers.
Gloria helps me with everything from brushing my hair and putting it in a long braid down to tying the shoe laces to my Chucks. She’s dressed me in fitted jeans and a baseball tee—one of my favorite outfits. It’s plain and comfortable and it doesn’t tell the world who I am, unlike most of the clothing my father prefers I wear. “We have an image, Alex” he says. It’s his image, not mine.
“Why am I so tired?” I ask her as I search through my closet for my favorite hoodie. It’s old and worn and so very comfortable.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Gloria says as she stands next to me. “I didn’t want you to flip out so I…” And then I remember something—years ago right after my mother died, I’d been inconsolable. Aside from wearing her dirty nightgown day and night, I’d also been plagued with insomnia. It was awful. After a week or so, I became a zombie. That was when my father took me to the doctor, who had prescribed me some pills that would calm me down. I turn and look at Gloria, eyes bugged out and jaw slack.
“You drugged me,” I accuse. In my head it’s a fierce yell of betrayal and anger. Out loud it sounds more like a child’s bedtime plea. My voice is hoarse, and the words come out slow. No wonder I had trouble moving in the night and have been in a haze since Gloria pulled me out of bed. I’m angry, though in this moment, I can’t feel it. This is why I stopped taking the anti-anxiety medication. I really hate how it makes me feel—compliant and unable to argue.
Gloria finds my hoodie and helps me get it on. The sun isn’t quite up yet, though it isn’t far off, from what I can tell. We walk out of the closet and Gloria hands me the small bag she put together yesterday. A loud rumbling sound comes from the street, growing louder with every moment. It’s so noisy and so overpowering that I can’t help but feel it in my bones. It sounds like a motorcycle engine, but not just one—many. I’ve heard this many motorcycles before—it hadn’t been good. The motorcycle club from Queens made a visit here a few years back, making demands on my father’s business. I don’t know what came of it, but that the club left in a good mood and my father was grouchy for a good week. I haven’t so much as seen or heard more than one stray bike drive past the house since. My stomach sinks.
“Ruby is here to help you, baby,” Gloria says, and she clamps her hands on my shoulders, keeping me in place. I stand there, unable to even think about what’s happening. Ruby, as in my mother’s sister? My head spins.
Suddenly, the noise stops and what sounds like a thousand men on the pavement below race up to the front door. With three loud bangs, they’re inside the house. Did they break down the door? Gloria whispers reassuring things in my ear as though it’s supposed to help. It doesn’t. I’m panicking, but know well enough that I can’t get away. Heavy feet sound, climbing the stairs and walking down the hallway, closer and closer to be my bedroom. I want to scream or cry, or do something. But Gloria said it’s going to be okay, that Ruby is here to help me, and since I don’t have anything else to cling to, I have to hold onto that with the ferocity of a thousand suns.
My bedroom door flies open and there stands a man with black hair that is closely cropped on the sides and longer on top, a hard-set jaw, and sun-tanned skin—and he has a gun pointed at us. I grab for Gloria as tears fill my eyes. For the second time in a short period I’m on the losing end of a gun. But the man doesn’t shoot, and Gloria doesn’t seem fazed.
“They’re in here!” he yells and lowers the gun. He isn’t one of my father’s men or anyone my father has done business with, that’s for sure. He wears black jeans with black boots and a black short-sleeve tee shirt underneath a leather vest that’s been adorned with various patches. Over his heart is a patch that reads FORSAKEN, and below that, one that says FORT BRAGG, CA. On the other side of the vest at the same height are two more patches. The top one reads ROAD CAPTAIN, and the one below it reads ANGEL OF DEATH. I don’t know what the patches mean to him, but I know what they mean to me. He’s a dangerous man. Just then, two more men walk in; one close in age to him, while the other is much older. They’re all tall and wearing similar vests.
“Jim,” Gloria says and lets go of my shoulders. She walks over to the older man and smiles at him. He smiles back, and they greet one another with a quick hug.
“Sorry we’re late. Should have been here last night,” Jim says.
“Move over, Jim,” a strong feminine voice says from behind the men. Gloria’s face gets impossibly bright, and she pushes Jim off. The woman comes into view and I know instantly that this has to be Ruby. If Gloria is friendly with these people, then I shouldn’t be too afraid. Ruby embraces Gloria like they’re family. I suppose, in a way, they were at one time. I keep myself in the back and hopefully out of notice, though I gave up thinking they weren’t here for me some time ago. Ruby pulls back and looks over at me. Her face drops and she freezes. I try to give her a smile.
“Alexandra,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat. All three men stand silent behind Ruby. She takes one step forward in her tall leather boots and black jeans. She wears a dark waffle shirt with a leather jacket over. Her jacket has no patches. I guess she isn’t a member of their club. I want to nod my head and acknowledge her, but I can’t stop staring. She looks so much like my mother—so much like me.
“Alexandra,” she says again with such reverence in her voice it takes me aback. Her eyes fill with tears and she nods. “Hi,” she says and takes another step forward. Did she really miss my mother so much that she’s this touched by meeting her niece? I feel guilty for not having the same reaction to meeting her—after all, I’ve only found out she exists last night. Her hand clamps down over her mouth as she holds back a painful scream, and she rushes for me, wrapping me in her arms. I return the hug nervously. I don’t really know what to do.
“Gloria,” Ruby says, “she’s gorgeous.” I look over Ruby’s shoulder to find that the men are all looking away like Ruby’s show of emotion makes them uncomfortable. Gloria steps forward and puts her hand on Ruby’s back.
“You guys better hurry,” Gloria says. Ruby pulls back and gives me a sad smile then looks to Gloria and nods. Gloria reaches over and gives me a tight hug. “I love you, Alex. I’m so sorry that this has to happen, but it’s not safe here for you anymore.” Gloria’s given me every clue that this was happening—that I was being sent away. I was just in shock. I guess I didn’t wanted to believe the truth of it.
I want to rewind the last few days and go back to before. I want to refuse to go for gelato with Leo. I want to stay home and hear about the awful things that happened by listening through my father’s office door. But then where would we be? Tony would be dead—that guy who had the gun on him wasn’t playing. He’d been shot once, and I think the only thing that saved Tony’s life had been my interference. But Michael would have still been shot. And Leo, who Gloria says is in critical condition—I don’t even know what would have happened to him. Maybe he could have diffused the situation safely. And where would I be? I would be on my way down the aisle, marrying a guy who thinks of me as a status symbol rather than a partner. In the back of my head I wonder if perhaps this isn’t the better option.
I clutch my small bag to my chest as Gloria leads me downstairs with Ruby beside her and the men in vests behind me. At the foot of the stairs, Gloria turns and gives me a quick hug then pulls away and holds me at arm’s length.
“The club and Ruby will protect you and keep you safe. You understand why you’re not safe here, don’t you?” Gloria asks. I want to play dumb and say that, no, I don’t understand. I really can’t stand to hear my transgression aloud though. It’s best to just agree with her. Deep in my heart, I know what happens to people who talk. I had just been lying to myself that the
principessa
was somehow exempt from the same code of conduct that led to Sal’s death.
“Yes,” I say and leave it at that. I don’t know what to do or how to act, and I’m still battling the haze thanks to the anti-anxiety mediation.
“Goodbye, Miele,” Gloria says, calling me honey one more time. She smiles. “Do not be afraid, no matter what. Promise me,” she says.
“I promise,” I say as I watch Gloria stand back and walk a few feet away. Ruby follows her. They stand facing one another, both smiling and laughing.
“Avoid my nose, please,” Gloria says, sending Ruby into a fit of laughter.
“Got it done, did ya?” she asks. Gloria nods. Ruby laughs and turns her body around before spinning back and punching Gloria square in the eye. I scream and run for Gloria without thought. A strong arm holds me back. I scream again as Ruby throws three more punches—one more to the eye and two to the mouth. Blood pools in Gloria’s mouth and drips down her chin. Gloria holds her arms in the air, taking the abuse, and Ruby throws a few punches to her gut. I fight against the arm holding me back, but it’s no use. I look over to see it’s the younger man with the wavy black hair who’s holding me back.
“Your aunt isn’t fighting back,” he says. “If she needed your help, she wouldn’t be taking the hits.” He makes a good point, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to stop Ruby from throwing her punches. I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of leaving with these people—not that I have another option. A few more blows and Ruby is done. She and Gloria laugh and smile at each other. God, these people are sick.
The next few moments happen so fast. Gloria tells me to go with Ruby, and I do. We run out of the house and into a black van with tinted windows. Outside the house stand ten more men clad in leather vests, standing in front of a sea of motorcycles. I don’t get a good look at any of them. Inside the van, another man sits across from us and closes the door. I peer out through the tinted windows. There’s a loud ruckus coming from inside the house, then screams, and finally—gunshots. I jump from my seat and try to fend off Ruby’s attempts to restrain me. The man across from us pulls out a black gun and points it at me.
“Sit,” he orders. I do.
“Put that fucking thing away,” Ruby yells at him and he complies. “And don’t you ever pull a gun on her again,” she says. I sit; shocked at the way she speaks to him. No woman I’ve ever known is allowed to speak to a man of power the way she has and not be punished for it. He nods and claps his hands together and looks away. “Gloria isn’t hurt, Alex.” I look at Ruby like she must be out of her mind. Then again, looking at the crowd she runs with, I have to say my guess is likely spot on.
“You know what your father is?” Ruby asks. I nod my head. “Then you know that I can’t very well walk into that house and take you with me without making it look like a fight. What do you think your father would do to Gloria if he thought she sent you away?” Oh God. And there it is—the reason for all of this. When Gloria was trying to get me to understand, what she was doing, this is what she was talking about. If my father thinks that Gloria has undermined him, he could have her killed. It doesn’t matter that she’s his underboss’s wife—and his sister. Nothing matters but the family he’s sworn himself into.
“I didn’t enjoy hitting her,” Ruby says. “She was my best friend once. But would you rather I be the one to bang up on her or one of those guys?” she asks, pointing out at the men who are walking out of the house. The older man with the black-gray hair has his hand gripped around Gloria’s neck. She looks frightened and in pain. Ruby assures me that Jim isn’t hurting her; he just has to make it look like he is.
Jim walks with Gloria to the sidewalk near the van and the men—the ones who had been inside the house and the ones waiting outside, form two lines. One line faces the street and the other faces the house with their backs to one another. They draw their guns, and the men facing the house begin firing. They shoot out windows and fire at the wooden siding. I cry as I watch the only home I’ve ever known be turned into Swiss cheese. One by one, when the job is apparently done, men put their guns away and walk to their motorcycles. The van door opens, and in climb two more men. Both the front passenger and driver’s doors open, and a man climbs in each. The van starts up and we pull away, flanked by several men on bikes in front of us and more behind us.
Alex
When we are no longer able to change a situation - we are challenged to change ourselves.
Viktor E. Frankl
I SIT IN the van, unable to move, unable to speak. We drive for what feels like hours before the images of my Aunt Gloria being hit and my home being shot up finally cease. The sun rises fully and brightens the world around the van. Inside, it still feels so dark. I let myself cry when I feel like it, which is most of the trip. I’m run down and unable to think about where we’re going or what will happen next. At one point, I catch a glimpse of the man who sits across from me. He has short blond hair and a baby face with nearly a week’s worth of stubble. He wears patches like the guy with the black hair, but on the right breast of his vest are the patches DEVIL OF DEATH and SECRETARY. What the distinction is between an ANGEL OF DEATH and a DEVIL OF DEATH in this community, I don’t want to know.
When I eventually calm down and the scary guy across from me falls asleep, I take a good look around. Ruby sits beside me, poking through her phone. Outside of the van all I can see are stretches of road and, every few miles or so, a farmhouse far away from the highway. Eventually we pull off of the highway and onto a deserted stretch of road with absolutely nothing visible for miles, save for the small gas station we pull into. The van doors open and the “Angel of Death” smiles at me. Not so much in a welcome way, more mischievous if I had to guess. For a second, I allow myself to consider how attractive I think he is. He’s just a few years older than me, not enough for my attraction to him to be wrong or creepy, but enough that I notice he’s all man. There is not a trace of boy left in him-- not in his body, not in the way he carries his large frame, and definitely not in the way he speaks.
“Anyone who has to piss, come with me,” he says and turns around. I fly out of the van and rush up to him. I haven’t thought of my bladder in hours, but once he mentions possible relief, the need is overwhelming. Ruby and the scary guy climb out of the van and walk behind us.
“Hey, Trigger,” a rough, masculine voice calls from behind us. The dark-haired “Angel of Death” comes to a stop and turns around. I follow his lead and assume by his response that he is called Trigger. What a curious name.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Where are you going with the kid?” the man asks. He’s tall and lanky with shaggy light brown hair and a scar that runs from his left eyebrow down to the tip of his ear. His face is set in a hard line, and annoyance radiates off of him. It takes me a moment to realize when he says “the kid” he means me. He doesn’t look like he can be so much older than me. Jerk.
“Around back,” Trigger smirks, but his buddy sees no humor in his comment. I flush in embarrassment. My father and his men made crude remarks often, but never in the presence of me or my aunt. I’ve haven’t been in a situation like this since high school, when the neighborhood boys had half a mind to hit on me.
“You’re not funny,” the guy says. Ruby scoffs and pushes Trigger then wheels around and shoots a look at the shaggy brunette.
“You,” she says to the man whose name I still don’t know, “fill up the tank.” Then she turns back to Trigger and slaps his arm. “I ought to rip your ear off for that comment, Ryan,” she says. So Trigger’s real name is Ryan. He’s still a mystery, but at least I have one other person’s name. I’m not about to call him a stupid name like Trigger if I can help it. Ruby sidles up to me as we reach the bathroom.
“Ignore them.” She smiles and ushers me in. “You’ll get used to the club, I promise.” I nod, but my curiosity piques.
“Who is that guy?” I ask. Ruby’s brow crinkles.
“Which one? We’re surrounded by a lot of guys, baby,” she says looking around at the men who have formed small groups, talking amongst themselves while they fill up more gas cans than I can count.
“The guy with the light brown hair.”
“That young punk is my kid,” she says and looks around again, her eyes landing on Ryan. She beckons him over. “His name is Ian. And this punk is Ryan, my step-son.” Ryan smiles at her and kisses her cheek.
“Don’t let her tell you nothing,” Ryan says, giving me a half smile. “She lies.” My mouth pops open and Ruby laughs loudly.
“See? A punk,” she says and jerks her thumb at him. “No respect.” I laugh at their easy relationship and shake my head. These people have a real bond. It doesn’t feel forced or manipulative like it sometimes does in the Mancuso household. And, for the first time since all of this began, I feel like maybe I’ll be okay—as long as I get to the bathroom, stat.
I rush into the bathroom, avoiding touching as much as possible. I’m not a germaophobe, but the filth level in here is off the charts. After I’ve emptied my bladder, I wash my hands. There is no soap, but I make do with what I have available to me. I can’t help but look at my face as I slosh the water over my hands. The image looking back at me is one step short of awful.
Normally, I consider myself a pretty enough young woman. I take pride in my appearance and put work into maintaining it. Gloria may be all about pushing the rules as far as she can, but still, both she and my mother always pushed me to look my best. “Men respond to pretty things,” my mother would say. “You want a good husband; you have to show you can be a good wife. And that includes putting your face on every day,” was another of my mother’s sayings. I can’t remember ever seeing her without makeup. Even when she was sick, she had Gloria apply her makeup for her every morning. Even on her deathbed she didn’t want to disappoint my father.
But right now I can’t bring myself to really care what I look like. My face is void of makeup, which isn’t so awful. But I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer, and that makes the not looking good twice as bad. No wonder I look like a kid to Ian. I’m half his size, covered in a baggy hoodie, and without makeup.
I leave the bathroom and walk toward Ruby, who is curled into the older blond-haired man’s side. Jim, I think his name is. If I have it straight, Jim is Ruby’s husband and Ryan’s father. Ian is Ruby’s son, and that makes him my cousin. So then Ryan is my step-cousin. I stop where I am and watch as a big guy with a few extra pounds and a jovial smile on his face elbows Ryan in the middle of his back. Ryan moves forward a foot before turning around quickly, his fist flying through the air at the man who’s elbowed him. Ryan’s fist connects with his jaw and an all-out fight begins. I take a few more steps back. In my father’s world these kinds of fights are rare. Men don’t engage in physical contact unless they’re going to make a point. Violence is never fun, my father says. It is sometimes necessary, but never fun.
Ruby eyes me and carefully sidesteps the brawl. Nobody has moved to break it up yet, and now both men are in the dirt, the man laughing while he has Ryan in a headlock. “It’s okay, Alex. They do this shit all the time,” Ruby says. I nod in understanding, but I don’t really understand, so it’s a lie.
“But why?” I say. In the background I can hear Jim telling them to knock it off. We have to get back on the road.
“They’re men,” she says with a shrug. She walks past me, giving my shoulder a pat, and then steps into the restroom. The firm thud of the closing door and the click of the lock sets me on edge. I slowly turn around and eye the scene before me.
The men, at least twenty in number, stand around in a loose circle. Jim is speaking. His shoulder-length hair is tucked behind his ears. In the early morning light it looks grayer than I previously thought. His face shows his age, lined with years of sun exposure from long rides, I’m willing to guess. He has his arms crossed over his chest.
“Straight through to Nevada, boys,” he says. I glance around the crowd. They’re all watching Jim intently. Some of the men look pissed off, like they’ve heard this before. Others, though smoking or chewing, have their eyes on him. Everyone is looking at Jim—with one exception.
Ryan’s eyes are on me.
I flinch under the intensity of his gaze. His hands are on his hips, head tilted slightly to the side, feet shoulder-width apart, his face carefully blank. But his eyes bore into mine. I search his face for a sign of—well, anything. But nothing comes to me. I can’t figure out what he’s doing. Then I realize that he’s sizing me up. This whole thing is for me. Aunt Ruby promised Aunt Gloria that she’d keep me safe, and this is her keeping me safe. I can feel my eyes grow wide as I consider the twenty or so men before me. Leather-clad, dirty, and tired...
They’ve been riding for days, I think. California is an awfully long way from New York. They didn’t fly, which would take but a few hours. No. They
rode
on their bikes and some even in the van. For days, I’d venture to guess. I suddenly feel compelled to express my appreciation. No matter how awful this is for me, that’s the thing—
this is for me
. Ryan doesn’t need to be here, saving my big mouth. Jim doesn’t need to be here. Maybe Ruby does by way of some familial obligation, but the rest of them don’t. But they’re here.
Before I can think better of it, I mouth, “Thank you,” to Ryan. He blinks, but keeps the mask on his face. No polite “you’re welcome” and no acknowledgement, blinking aside, that I’ve extended this olive branch. Why I want to extend it to him of all people, I’m not entirely sure. I just know that I’m going to try to make this work. And he just keeps watching me.
Hearing shuffling behind me, I turn as Ruby’s elbow lands softly on my shoulder, letting me feel her weight. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
I feel the heat on my cheeks, and I break eye contact with Ryan. I can feel his eyes for only a moment more before he turns his attention elsewhere. The ground beneath my feet is nothing but dirt interspersed with bits of mud here and there. I try to imagine drowning in the small pool of mud.
“I know you were watching him, Alexandra,” she says. I spin and look her, going for my best innocent look. It’s the one even my father falls for. She rights herself, hands on her hips.
“Who?” I say. She chuckles lightly and shakes her head, then her face grows serious.
“These
men
are off limits to you. You’re a pretty, young woman—don’t think they haven’t noticed. And I love those men. They’re family. But you’re far too young. You got that?” I nod, unable to do anything else. The crowd breaks up, and only two of the men don’t move. Ryan’s eyes are once again on me, but behind him, Ian’s eyes are on Ryan and he looks none too pleased.
The men climb back onto their bikes with the exception of the ones who are riding in the van with us. They stand around kicking the dirt beneath their feet. As Ruby takes off toward the van, I dutifully follow her. Climbing into the van, my nose is assaulted with the smell of gas. I try to cover my cough with the sleeve of my hoodie, but it’s no use. Even Ruby puts her hand over her mouth as she climbs into her seat. The Devil of Death climbs into his seat opposite me and gags on the odor that’s permeating our surroundings. In the front seats, the men roll their windows down, and crank up the A/C. The forceful winds that slap at my face as we take off back toward the highway is too much and I turn toward the back of the van, where I see the culprit of the smell. Peeking out beneath a cover of old, torn carpet is a collection of gas cans. It appears the entire back of the van is full.
Very quietly I ask, “What’s with the gas cans?”
The man in front of me smiles predatorily and says, “How far do you think a Harley can go without gas?” Ruby chuckles lightly, but shoots him a warning glance despite her amusement. All I can offer in response is a faint, “Oh.” My question just goes to show exactly how much knowledge I have of motorcycles.