Page 22 of Paco
“Hey, how’ve you been?” she said, stopping in the doorway.
“Good. Skull said the shop’s slow.”
“It is, but it can get busy at midnight when drunk people want to do something crazy.” She laughed.
“The business can always count on that. See ya.” He went over to his Harley, made a U-turn, and rode toward the club.
The aroma of green chili, slow-cooked pork, and cilantro wafted around him when he came into the main room. A growling stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since that morning, and he walked into the kitchen. Lena stood over a large pot, stirring as steam rose above it.
“Smells good in here.”
She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “With the cold weather, I thought a big pot of pork green chili would hit the spot. That’s what my mother always made in the winter or whenever one of us needed cheering up. It’s my comfort food.”
“Do you need cheering up?” Paco went over and looked down into the pot.
“No, but I’m freezing my ass off.” She picked up a bowl and ladled some chili into it. “Here. Get a couple of tortillas in the warmer. I also made chile rellenos. I know you like them.”
“My mom made them every Sunday when I was growing up. Yours rival hers.” Paco went over to the cupboard, took down a plate, and piled three crispy rellenos, a spoonful of rice, and two flour tortillas on it. Taking two beers from the fridge, he shoved them in the pockets of his leather jacket.
“I can help you bring something out,” Lena said as she watched him.
“I’m going to my room. Thanks for the chow.” He walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs.
As he ate, thoughts of Misty popped into his head. He still felt shitty that he’d missed her, and he wondered if her fucking pimp had moved her to another truck stop.
The phone ringing broke in on his musings and he picked it up. “Unknown” flashed on the screen before he brought it to his ear.
“This is a call from Canon City. The caller is Jason. Push seven to block this call or push five to accept.”
Paco pressed five, and a second later a deep voice came over the phone. “How the hell are you?”
“Doing good, Scorpio. Eating a plate of Lena’s chile rellenos. They’re fucking awesome.”
“When I get outta this shithole, I’m gonna eat Mexican every day. How’re the brothers?”
“Good.” Paco and Scorpio knew the score when speaking on the phone. They never revealed anything incriminating. Their conversations were general, bordering on insipid, but Paco knew that just connecting with a brother on the outside made the time inside more bearable.
“You getting some good pussy? Fuck, I miss that.” Scorpio chuckled deeply.
Paco laughed. “You know it. Your cock still doing okay? I thought it would’ve shriveled up without any pussy.”
Another chuckle. “You asshole.” A brief pause. “Some dude transferred here from La Vista prison.”
Paco’s insides tightened. “Yeah. So.”
“Says he’s your dad. He latched on to me when he found out I was a Night Rebel. His name’s Frank Rollins.”
Bile rose in Paco’s throat. “The sonofabitch is my dad. He’s a lifer. I don’t know how he found out I was a patch-holder.”
“Said somethin’ ’bout seeing your picture in the paper a while back.”
That’s right. The fucking reporters put my picture in theDurango Daily. It had been about the shootout the Night Rebels and the Insurgents had with the Deadly Demons in Durango at a bike rally seven years before. A damn reporter had taken some picture of him and other members, and it landed on the front page of the paper. Since no one had talked, and no witnesses had the courage to tell the damn badges what had happened, there weren’t any arrests.
Paco cleared his throat. “I don’t wanna hear about my old man again. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead. Do you ever see Diesel?” Diesel was a member of the Insurgents MC doing a stint in state prison.
“Yeah, we’re in the same cell block. We should be getting outta this fuckin’ place around the same time. I gotta go. I wanted to make sure the old man wasn’t BSing me about being your dad because if he was, I’d have to kick his ass.”
Paco clenched his jaw. “Kick his ass anyway. For me. Later, dude.”
