Page 71 of Remorseless
“CJ—”
Mortician slammed his fist against the table. “Shut the fuck up, Bailey,” he roared, fed up. “We either talking aboutourmarriage or we can leave right now. I’m sick of Harley and I’m sick of CJ and Meggie. They innocent. Harley not. You disagree. We agreeing to not see eye to eye. We working on us. Idon’t want to hear about another motherfucking thing.EspeciallyHarley. She’s lost her motherfucking mind. You happy or unhappy with her behavior?Youwant to handle it, then handle it. What you not doing is throwing innocent people, our family and friends, under the fucking bus. Fuck Harley. Fuck Nardo. He got a limited amount of time left. His daddy too. I’m fucking him up. His cum made that motherfucker. He got to pay.”
Bailey slid out from the booth. “I thought this would be a nice reminder of our family,” she yelled. “I got a card in today’s mail inviting me back and then a prerecorded phone call with new menu items. The minute I saw Symphony I should’ve turned around and walked out. It foretold the rest of the evening.”
Mort stood, exhausted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Symphony walk through the door that led to the kitchen.
“Let me settle the bill, Bailey. I’ll walk you to your car and follow you home.”
He expected pushback, but she merely nodded and turned her head.
The first song from the jukebox that penetrated Mortician’s brain started to play.
Love and Happinessby Al Green.
Interlude – Unholy
Loud banging startled Marion awake and he bolted up in his bed. It took a moment to get his bearings. His benders always interfered with his reflexes and his self-preservation. Two weeks before Christmas and his loneliness unleashed his need for alcohol and sex.
He glanced at the empty spot next to him. Thankfully, the woman he’d hired and snuck in was long gone.
Two rooms over, and the banging rattled the doors. He swallowed, damning himself for forgetting to close the door that served as a dividing line between his personal space and the small church. He was hundreds of miles away from Las Vegas, his hometown, and the Red Rum MC, away from the menhe’d swindled and the husbands whose wives he’d bedded.
How had they tracked him?
The door shook at the force of the blows against the wood. Shaking, Marion reached over and flicked on a lamp, his hand trembling so vigorously he could barely slide his glasses up his nose.
He should’ve found a place with separate quarters from the sanctuary. Somewhere bigger and more spread out. This was a tiny parish in the middle of nowhere.
“Open this fucking door!”
Joe Foy? He hadn’t heard that voice in at least five years. The digital clock on his nightstand read 2:52AM. Joe turning up, especially at this hour, boded ill.
“Marion!”
Eschewing his slippers, Marion crept through the connecting hallway, into the dark sanctuary. He unbolted the door.
Joe stumbled in. “Took you long enough, motherfucker.”
Before answering, Marion slammed the door shut and bolted it tightly, then flicked on the light. Out of the corner of his eyes, the nativity scene on the altar mocked him.
“She don’t want me to see my girl anymore, Marion,” Joe muttered, and covered his face. His condition shocked Marion. “Been trying to convince her all week.”
Joe never revealed names. Marion only knew the girl was thirteen and lived in Seattle.
“I always thought me and her would work it out, but she married another motherfucker on me. Broke my fucking heart. Now, she’s keeping me from my baby girl. She keepsme grounded.”
Marion cleared his throat, searching for a bible verse. He couldn’t keep his hands off other women or out of other people’s bank accounts. God had been his last resort. Others sought him to save their souls, when his had long ago ripped away.
Joe stood. Stumbling back, Marion flinched at the sight of his cut and the tattoos on his massive arms. Bikers frightened him, but they also infuriated him. He was lawless but he drew the line at murder, rape, and drugs.
Blinking, Joe tipped sideways. Marion thought he’d fall on his ass, but he saved himself at the last minute, swaying on his feet. His pupils dilated.
“Are you high?”
Even in his condition, Joe’s smile lit up his face and his eyes sparkled. “Better than being low.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them wide, Joe shook his unkempt blond mane and dug inside his cut. He held out a sheet of paper, fluttering it in front of Marion’s face. “Sign this. It’s my new will. That cunt wants to take my baby away from me, then fuck her!” he spat. “My girl gets everything! Fuck ‘em all. Fuck ‘em!”
