Page 21 of Praying for Thunder

“Then trust a friend.” He pointed to me. “This is his best chance of growing up not having to constantly look over his shoulder.”

Sounding defeated and tired, she said, “Even if I said yes to this idiotic plan, how exactly would it work?”

“You make tonight’s son-of-a-bitch fall in love with you. Old Ladies are sacred.”

She balked. “Not the ones I know—” She paled, correcting herself. “Knew.” Her eyes met his and were full of memories of all the years…

Stew paled. “They kill Old Ladies?”

Her delicate fingers combed my hair as she stared at nothing. “Nobody was safe.”

With apologies on his face, Stew asked, “Can you make me one promise?”

“I can try.” Anita knew most promises ended up getting broken.

“If… if you follow my advice, these needed answers you won’t give me, will you at least give them to the Royal Bastard?”

She hated to lie to Stew. He was a dear friend, but Anita had every intention of running away as soon as no one was looking. Diablo, somehow, knew too much. She couldn’t take a chance, losing her heart and trusting… the enemy.

⚡⚡⚡

Confident that a bandage on her right shoulder would hinder tips, Ani slowly removed it while at her station chair. Moola was gasping. “Dear lord, that is… gorgeous!”

The tattoo that had rattled Anita so was of clouds and angel wings as requested, but also of extraordinary lightning bolts and the words: Praying for Thunder.

On my bed with sketch board in hand, I sang out, “Deeooooo.”

Moola asked me, “Who’s Dio, baby?”

“No one,” Ani answered for me while applying ointment to her tat. “No one at all.” She stood, coming to me. “Kisses.”

Mwah!

“I love you, Niño.”

“Love you, my Ani.”

As soon as the door shut, Moola came to me, all devious-like. “Okay, who’s Dee-o, baby?”

I flipped my drawing around, saying, “Him!” and smiled proudly.

She gawked. “No wonder she’s keeping him a secret. He’s so fine it hurts Aunt Moo-Moo in my,” she eyed me as if just remembering I was there, listening, “uh, special place.” After a moment of pondering, she got up from my bed. “You know who would love to see your fabulous picture?” I shook my head, very intrigued. “Uncle Stew, that’s who.”

I agreed, “Uncle Stew likes Bastards.”

Picking up the handheld radio that was connected to Stew’s earpiece, she giggled. “We have got to start watching our mouths around you.” Into the radio, she said, “Yo.”

Over loud music, Stew’s voice clicked in, “What’s up, Aunt Moo-Moo?”

She snarled, “First of all, fuck off. Second of all, I have a very interesting sketch for you.”

Stew was so impressed with my drawing, raving about my talent. He was also very interested to learn that I had met the mystery biker. “Dee-a-blah? That’s his name, Little Guy?”

I kept drawing. “Yep. But he said I can call him Dio.”

He studied the drawing again, repeating, “Dee-o—Ah shit. Diablo.”

Moola was intrigued, asking Stew, “How do you know?”