Page 23 of Rigid

Smokey

It had been a week since I’d seen Sandy last, and Cholo and I were a foreclosure property that he’d purchased to flip for a profit. I’d expressed my disappointment in knowing I would never see her again, and Cholo seemed shocked by the decision.

While I took the last of my measurements, he loomed over me with his hands on his hips.

“You’re a fucking weirdo,” he said.

I extended the end of the tape measure to the wall, made note of the dimension, and wrote it down.

“Says who?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Says me.”

“If I valued your opinion, I might give a shit about that remark. But I don’t, so I don’t.”

“You ever think that having a woman around your daughter might help matters?”

Cholo wasn’t the Filthy Fuckers Sergeant-at-Arms, but he was the club’s enforcer. A bald-headed former boxer who was built like a body builder, he wasn’t a man to get sideways with.

Regardless, his comment hit a nerve, and I was ready to fight him, if need be.

I stood, clipped the tape measure to my pocket, and shot him a laser sharp glare. “And what in the absolute fuck makes you think matters around my house need help?”

“I’m just saying--”

“And, I’m just saying that you better back the fuck up, or you and I are gonna tussle, motherfucker. Don’t fuck with my daughter. She ain’t the club’s business, and friend or not, she sure as fuck ain’t any of yours.”

He tugged against the bill of his cap and shot me a look. “God damn, Smoke. You said you liked that Sandy chick, but that you weren’t going to see her any more. Lex says she’s a damned good chick. I was just trying to say…” He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Fuck it. I said what I had to say. No disrespect intended.”

I gave a nod. “None taken. I’m short tempered right now. Sorry.”

“Something you want to talk about?”

I knelt, took another measurement, and then wrote it down. “Daughter turns seventeen in three weeks.”

“Is that a big deal?”

“Around my house, it is.”

“Why’s that?”

“She starts dating when she’s seventeen.”

“Kind of a late start, huh?”

I looked at him, cocked my eyebrow, and gave him one of Eddie’s famous stink eyes.

He raised his hands in the air and turned his palms toward me. “Sounds like the perfect age to start dating to me.”

I glanced at the sheet of paper, did the math, and looked up. “Fifteen grand even. Don’t fuck with me about it, Cholo. That tile that’s got to come up in the back bathroom is asbestos, and there ain’t another flooring contractor that’ll do this job for a penny under eighteen. Make a counter offer, and you can find another tile man.”

“Fifteen’s fine,” he said with a nod.

I stood, picked up my notepad, and wiped the dust from my jeans. “Sixteen is too fucking young, if you ask me. And, making her wait until she’s eighteen’s is cruel. So, at my house, seventeen’s the age for dating. She told me the other night I was a sadist.”

“Your daughter did?”

I nodded. “Yep. Said preventing her from going on dates was whittling away at the fiber of her being, and the end result was that I’d pummeled her confidence into a pile of mush. She compared what was left of it to a bowl of grits.”