Stay Vertical (10 page)

Tobiah guffawed. His big hawk’s nose stuck out from underneath the solid bowl of his haircut. Tobiah had been a nerdy MIT mechanical engineer when Lytton had handpicked him to help run his operation. He still wore a Klingon belt buckle on his white vinyl belt, colorful low-rise pants, and Converse sneakers. “I’m referring to your illustrious half-brother, Ford. It’s a well-known secret that he personally murdered your father. The papers said it was all gang warfare-related, but the scuttlebutt on the street is that Ford was down in that desert near Nogales.” Lytton must have been wearing an aghast expression, for all the humor fell from Tobiah’s face. “You didn’t…hear…?”

“Hear what?” barked Lytton. “That’s lowdown, shitty gossip! Why the fuck would Ford kill his own father? They were business partners! They’d worked closely together for ten, fifteen years!”

Tobiah shrugged. “Who knows what goes on in the brains of mindless thugs?”

Lytton took three long strides toward Tobiah to jab a finger into his bony chest. “Hey! That’s my fucking
father
and
brother
you’re talking, asshat. They’ve seen the dark side of riding.” He almost added “and lived,” but Cropper hadn’t lived, so he stopped himself.

“You want me to take it back? How can I take back the truth?”

“What proof do you have? It’s just malicious rumor unless you’ve got a fucking videotape showing Ford actually icing the old man.” Lytton couldn’t believe it. The newspapers had said that during a routine heist of a truck full of illegal Mexican immigrants, something had gone south. The bodies of Cropper, as well as another Bare Bones guy and a member of some rival Baal’s Minion’s club, these were all discovered close to each other next to the smoldering hulk of the truck. All of the Mexicans, of course, were toast.

Tobiah spread his hands wide. “Of
course
I don’t have evidence, Lyt. It’s just common scuttlebutt.”

Lytton was surprised when June spoke up. Suddenly she was next to him, leaning against him for support. “I heard that too, Lytton. Speed told me the rumor. It’s just a rumor. Don’t pay any attention to it. There’s no evidence Ford was even down in that desert.”

June’s words soothed him, and reminded him that she was sick. For one of the first times ever, Lytton took his focus off himself and placed it on someone else. He put an arm around her. “I’m getting you inside the house, June. Tobiah, this is June Shellmound, Ford’s sister-in-law. She not just some pass-around, not just one of my subs. And she’s sick. What is it you’ve got?”

“Malaria, I think.”

“Malaria.” Lytton started walking her toward the door. “How do you cure malaria?”

“Well, I took the Malarone, but the mosquitoes must’ve been resistant. Maybe I could get ahold of some doxycycline.”

“Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital in Flagstaff.”

“Oh, please don’t. I don’t have any insurance.”

“I’ll pay for it. It happened on my watch.”

Tobiah said as they exited the greenhouse, “That’s one thing you can say for Lytton. He takes responsibility for things. Things might be completely shady, self-centered, and egotistical disasters caused by his own narcissistic revels, but at least he owns up to them.”

“Thanks for the endorsement, Tobiah. Can I take your cage?” Tobiah had a square Toyota Camry that would never get anyone pulled over and handed a Fast Riding Award. June was so ill she might fall off the pussy pad of his ride.

“Sure. And listen, sorry about what I said about your brother. You’re right, it’s all just hearsay. Ford was certainly never charged with any murder. More than likely it was that other goon who took out Cropper.”

“Turk was in that desert too,” June slurred. He had to get her some drugs, stat.

“Who’s Turk?”

“He runs the weed dispensary in P & E.”

“Pure and Easy? A Joint Effort? That guy was there when my father died?”

“Right, Turk. He’s not Turkish, though. Hey, you don’t happen to have any potato chips in your house, do you?”

Tobiah said, “There are some Kettle Chips on the kitchen table.” He giggled. “She must have the munchies just from being inside the greenhouse.”

Lytton found himself surprisingly not resenting having to take his newfound squeeze to the hospital in town. He knew it would have irritated him no end having to take any of his other women, his slaves. This one, he couldn’t even classify as a slave. He didn’t want to.

Already, June Shellmound was so much more to Lytton. What was eerie was, it didn’t feel that alien to him. He was already starting to accept it.

JUNE

I
easily found The Hip Quiver, P & E’s downtown archery range that did double duty as law offices for The Bare Bones’ consigliore, Slushy McGill. I had to walk past about fifteen shooting lanes where Boy Scouts and other earnest fans of archery movies shot their arrows into the overhead light banks, the column in the middle of the room, and the
Hunger Games
and
Brave
posters.

The Hip Quiver had only been set up to launder money for the club. Turk used to manage it back in the day, but since he’d moved on to the weed dispensary, some unknown Prospect named Kneecap ran it. I passed through the showroom area where compound bows, quivers, and shafts were for sale in order to find Slushy’s office. I assumed The Bare Bones were his only client, so he didn’t need to advertise his services outside of the club.

The DNA test had come back. I knew by the ceremonious pomp they were making of it what the result was. Madison had texted me earlier that morning to come down to Slushy’s office for a family meeting. I was still at Lytton’s recovering from the bout of malaria, so he scooted me down to P & E on the back of his Softail. After three days languishing in Lytton’s bed, I was strong enough now to ride one up to Pure and Easy.

It sounds a lot more fun than it really was, “three days in Lytton’s bed.” He had adhered to strict sick-person guidelines and was actually quite caring and loving with me. After his initial rough dominance of me in the greenhouse, once he realized how sick I was, he did a one-eighty. We got the drugs I needed, and I sank into a deep slumber for the first two days, tossing and turning when the fever spiked. I recall Lytton sitting next to me on the bed, laying a cold washcloth on my forehead, over my eyeballs. That felt like heaven.

When I started to improve, I’d sit up in bed, noticing things around me. I was wearing one of his button-down plaid shirts. He must have put that on me. The room was light and airy and surprisingly tidy for a man. I thought at first maybe it was Tobiah’s room, until I saw a copy of
Men’s Health
magazine on the floor. Coming back from a trip to the can, I even took a peek at a bookshelf. The predictable chemistry things like
Uncle Tungsten
and
Periodic Tales: The Curious Lives of the Elements
were there alongside dry and thick chemistry manuals. I was amused to see
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
. I knew Ford was highly literate. I wondered if he’d be happy to know his brother was also.

But when I got the text from Maddy, I had to return to P & E.

“Keep my shirt,” Lytton had insisted. “You sweated through your shirt when your fever was high.”

There was no more attempt at even a kiss, and I began to despair that I’d just had another one night stand. That would be even more embarrassing and intolerable if and when Lytton proved to be Ford’s real brother and I was forced into social contact with him. The whole way back to P & E with my tits once again pressed to his strong, warm back, I felt like sobbing. The fever had wracked my brain and I felt like I’d been through the wringer on the tail end of one very long-ass, bad hallucinogenic dream.

No one had yet invited Lytton to the meeting, and I tried not to meet his eyes when I dismounted from his bike. “Well, thanks for everything,” I said listlessly, swinging my purse, looking at the sidewalk.

But Lytton dismounted too, coming around to my side. He lifted my chin in his fingers, forcing me to look at him. “I want you to know, June. I’m not normally this big of an asshole. Well, yes, maybe I am, normally. But with you I feel different. No matter what happens in there, I want you to know I had a good time with you. I’m glad we met.”

What the fuck was
that
supposed to mean? It sounded like the brush-off of some fucking shallow lothario, some user. He did kiss me then, tenderly and chastely. No lusty tongue action for that chemist. I was in a confused fog when I walked into Slushy’s office. What were Lytton’s intentions? Was he basing his choice on the DNA test results? Suddenly my whole future hung in the balance of that fucking spit in a cup.

Ford, Madison, and Turk were hunched over in chairs with their hands clasped between their knees, listening to Slushy lecture them as he waved a pen. Slushy looked like the sort of bad comb-over guy who would still wear a three-piece suit to a job behind an archery range even if no one else was going to see him all day long. His dress shirt was chartreuse green, a matching handkerchief in his jacket pocket, and his tie a psychedelic mash-up.

He was saying, “You can listen to me or not. People like to ignore good advice. But I’m saying that in the eyes of the law, half-brothers have the same legal rights as full brothers.” He smacked a palm on his desk. “I’m telling you, Ford, two words.
Nail salon
. Was I right about the zombies? I was right about the zombies.”

“You were right about the zombies.” Ford spoke above his tented fingers. “
Too
right. Faux Pas is raking it in hand over fist on that video game. So my existing will covers me, then? Everything goes to Maddy, Fidelia, and Turk.”

Slushy said, “Right, because those are your express wishes as set down in your living trust. How-so-ever, it would attest to your upstanding character in the community were you to allow your brother a slice of the pie. Give him, say, an interest in your tuxedo rental business. Guys gotta go to prom, right?”

Ford shook his head. “I don’t know, Slushy. I start handing him tuxedo rental, he’s going to want part of the gas station.”

Turk turned to his best friend. “You have a gas station? Listen, my main worry is that he barged on in here and straightaway started demanding the dispensary.”

I decided to butt on in, since no one had acknowledged me, taking a chair next to my sister. “To his credit, Lytton only said
run
the dispensary, not
own
it. I don’t think he has any interest in
owning
anything of yours, Ford.”

Ford glared sideways at me. “Says the bleeding heart who took off with my brother. Before we even knew he
was
my brother.”

“Now, now,” said Slushy, spreading out calming hands. “Those of the half-blood have the same rights as those of the whole blood. Theoretically he
could
come after you for a slice of your empire, ill-gotten as it may be. I think it would behoove you to play things close to the vest, make a show of goodwill, as it were. Now, you must be June Shellmound. I see Ford’s taste in women is the same as his taste in lawyers. Excellent, with a tendency to be sneaky.”

I shook the lawyer’s hand over his desk. “I’m not normally sneaky like that. I have to apologize, Ford. I don’t know what came over me. Actually, I
do
know. Malaria. Lytton wound up taking me to the hospital—the same one you used to work at, Maddy—and getting me antimalarial drugs.”

Ford just smoldered angrily, and it was Turk who said, “Yeah, but you blatantly took off with him, June. Right on front of the entire club, you just climbed on his pussy pad and peeled out.”

Slushy rolled his eyes. “Pussy pad, begorra. God, do I miss the nineties.”

I had to face the music. I couldn’t blame fever for having leaped so eagerly onto Lytton’s bike. Leaving my rental car in the Citadel’s lot and riding up the mountain with a relative stranger, even if he
did
look a lot like Ford, was inexcusable. “I’m sorry, you guys. I got carried away. I’ve had a lot on my mind what with our mother’s illness and all. I guess I just needed to cut loose.”

Maddy spoke up. Luckily she was smiling. “And what better way to do it than with a Ford lookalike? I completely feel you, sister. I wouldn’t have been able to resist, either.” She quickly glanced at Ford. “I mean, if I wasn’t married to Ford, of course.”

Slushy said, “Listen, I agree he’s a completely loose cannon, an unknown quantity. We have no idea if he’s going to lawyer up and sue you for half of the trucking biz, for instance.”

Madison cried, “Don’t even
say
it, Slushy! Ford worked his ass off for over a decade to form that company, when he wasn’t busy shooting terrorists in Afghanistan. Some asshole can’t just waltz in and take half his hard-earned spoils.”

Slushy continued. “You need to show him some goodwill. Invite him to prospect for the club.”

Ford said, “He’d be at the same ranking as Kneecap and August. Farther below, actually, because those guys were hang-arounds for a long time before they started prospecting.”