Page 119 of Petty's Crime

“And now I’d like to present the finale for tonight,” Bart shouts to be heard over the din. “Petty and RoseLyn.”

We take our cue. Still holding his hand, I wait for the right note then begin to sing. When his turn nears, Petty’s throat works, betraying his nerves, but his gravelly voice is firm as he takes over for his part. Together we sing “Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong.”

Oh, it was in rehearsals when I’d heard Petty quietly singing along that I discovered he could carry a tune. It was Bart’s suggestion that we try a duet. Petty had doubts, but for me he was prepared to give it a try.

The audience is stunned. When the song ends, there’s a moment of silence before all hell breaks out.

The cries of encore go unheeded, as we’d only practiced one song. But I’ve a sneaking suspicion from the stunned pleasure on Petty’s face, as his brothers surround him, congratulating us, and asking him why he kept that ability under wraps, that one day soon, we’ll be singing together again.

And hopefully it’s a sure sign that for the rest of our lives, we’ll be in harmony.

EPILOGUE

I’d enjoyed singing with RoseLyn, though wouldn’t want to make it a career. My nerves when I waited for my cue had been worse than when facing insurgents. But for her, I’d pulled up my big-man pants, and hadn’t fucked up, or not too bad. I’d gone off key once, but hoped no one noticed.

As it was, that night ended with all outcomes as planned. RoseLyn had an engagement ring on her finger, and my cut on her back. She was mine, or will be, in every way I want her.

Britney, to no one’s surprise, was sent back to serve the rest of her ten years with another good few added on. She had only herself to blame, possessive to a fault. While she didn’t want me, she couldn’t stand the thought of me being happy in another woman’s arms, or perhaps being happy at all. Her predictable attack had proved how well I knew her.

After spending six weeks with us, Rufus and Martina had returned home to Texas, but not before seeing RoseLyn agree to become Mrs Petty, in one of the chapels in Vegas. RoseLyn had said she was too used to adulation on stage to want a big audience for her wedding day and was more than content to get married with just her parents and the club in attendance.

Since the night of my proposal, I’ve suffered the teasing of my brothers who were surprised to find out I could sing. I’d actually being quite shocked myself, not realising I had it in me. But while Bart tried to persuade me to sing more duets with the woman of my dreams, I told him in no uncertain terms, I was more than happy to stay on the sidelines and let the expert do that work. That’s not to say we never sing together. If, often, when we’re preparing a meal, I pick up on a song mywifeis singing and join in for a few notes, who’s to know but us?

My ribs are fully healed, and all the physical signs Britney had left have disappeared. Mentally though, I still wake from the odd nightmare, reliving that night when she took consent from me. But RoseLyn holds me close, reminding me that my second is nothing like my first wife. Likewise, I comfort her during her nightmares when those fuckers Saul or Thorne, or both, get into her head.

“Well that’s me out.” Roller throws down his cards with a look of disgust on his face.

Alternatively, I grin, pulling my winnings toward me. As RoseLyn leans over from behind and presses a kiss to my cheek, I realise she’s more of a prize than any of the dollars in my hand.

Not for the first time, I wonder how I got so lucky.

“Ready?” Cher, Red’s woman, walks up.

RoseLyn turns to her with a grin, saying, “Sure am. What about you, Zeke?”

As Zeke nods, I turn and give them a fist bump, then watch as the three of them go out the door. I don’t believe in any deity, so it must just have been fate who delivered me someone like her. I still question how I deserve it, but she’s more than made up for my experience with my first wife.

She’s fitted in with the club as though she was born to be here. She’s gained the respect of all my brothers and women. Today’s a shopping trip for clothes which I’m more than happy to help her get out of.

Rope comes over and takes Roller’s recently vacated chair. Titch picks up the cards and expertly shuffles them, dealing me in.

The old man stares at me as I’m keeping a strict poker face, examining the hand I’ve been dealt. It’s a bummer but maybe enough to fool them. When I see I remain the target of his intense gaze, I shift awkwardly in my seat.

“What’s up?” I brush my hand over my mouth in case I left some food there.

“I never particularly liked you, Petty.”

I shrug, it’s no news to me. But then it’s part of being in the club. You’re prepared to give your life for your brothers, for the greater good, doesn’t mean you need to be bosom pals with them all. But still I raise an eyebrow wondering where he’s going with this.

He winks at me. “But hell, I like you now. Wondered whether you were going to revert to your former self, but RoseLyn is keeping you on the straight and narrow.”

“This is me, Brother,” I tell him, no umbrage taken at all. “And a lot’s down to RoseLyn, but it’s down to you too. I dropped the act I thought I had to put on. No man likes to admit he’s been abused.”

“Not all abuse is bad.” Rope winks at me.

I snort. “Don’t want to know about Cuff whipping you.”

“Ain’t Cuff,” he refutes, but doesn’t seem particularly bothered by any connotations we may make. But then, Rope and Cuff are a strange pair. Fuck knows we tend to avoid them when they head down to the basement with their latest victim or two.

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