Page 7 of Vandal Unbound

Elsie needs me to ride fast, but I’m like a fucking racoon on this thing. I wobble.

Fucking wobble.

Like a kid who has never ridden on a bike before.

My hands shake. My whole body sweats.

I’m too drunk and too unstable in every use of the word. I swerve a little, and the action sends waves of revulsion and terror swirling through me. Coming off my bike would be the absolute worst thing that could happen to me.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my cut, but I’m too terrified to release the handles of the bike to answer it.

The turn towardmyhouse approaches, and for a moment, I think about abandoning Elsie and turning into it, but then…

Are you coming?

Yeah, Elsie. I’m on my way.

So, I keep heading straight until I reach the building Elsie described. It’s sort of motel style. External concrete corridors leading to rooms. And when I kill the engine, the pulsing beat of some hip-hop song and the sound of raised voices aren’t enough to stop me from bending over and throwing up.

Who knows if it’s the alcohol or the rattle of pills in my gut or PTSD, but on the bright side, it’ll help me sober up. I grab a couple of mint Life Savers from a roll in my pocket and pray they stave off more puking.

On the second-floor corridor, I can see a tall man hammering on an apartment door.

“Come on, Daisy. It’s Chris. Stop playing hard to get. I just want to talk.”

Daisy.

Elsie told me her mom was called Daisy.

There’s a nasally whine to his voice and that alone is enough to make me want to punch him in the face. I see what I think are two people sticking their heads around the door to an apartment a little farther down the open walkway. It’s blurry, but their idiotic laughter sounds masculine.

I look for the stairs up to the second level, and of course, they’re across the lot. I jog flush to the ground floor apartments that open out onto the parking lot, making the most of the darkness. I don’t want this guy to get away, because he strikes me as the persistent type.

The concrete stairs are cracked in places, revealing the rebar beneath. And there’s a distinct stench of piss in the stairwell.

I disregard both for now as I run up the stairs, but it does strike me as a shit place to raise a kid.

My boots slap the concrete, each step vibrating through my sore bones. The doctors said it was important to watch my blood pressure while dealing with the issues with my eye, and now I’m torn. I shouldn’t do this. I should have brought Havoc.

It’s a mental battle that I can’t stop. A little girl and her mom are dealing with a guy I intellectually know I can take in a fight because I’m a mean motherfucker.

But what if…?

What if he gets one over on me?

What if he has a Taser?

What if the other men get involved?

Even though I have my gun, I almost stop at the very top of the staircase.

Then I hear a demanding little voice cry out, “Leave us alone.”

And all the things I’m worried about fade, replaced with fury.

“Get the fuck away from that door.”

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