Afternoon, there! Don't know for you, but it was a beautiful Sunday here. Ok. Well, here goes for the third chapter, as always, Kurt Sutter owns the names and likenesses he created, and I own my own characters. Please, enjoy, and leave a review, it would be much appreciated. In this chapter: HAPPY! And Happy Junior.
It was hard to remain straight-face and motionless as her new neighbor chewed her a new one. The chick obviously did not know who she was, and how much pull she had around here. So what Mittens liked to paw at the carpet she had stapled against the floor of her balcony? Apparently a lot, that cat was the devil, insufferable, crapped all over her plants. As if that was possible.
Finally, she finished her tirade, and her spitting she was doing in Everett's face, the elevator chimed, the old bitch smirked.
-I called the concierge. You'll see.
Oh, lovely. Really! She loved when bitch tenants called the landlord over for quarrels with her. She hoped it would be her dad.
Sure enough, he came out of the elevator waving his keys about, freshly washed, he must have worked this morning, did a quick job for the club. She was glad he was here, too. She needed to talk to him.
-Stars, again?
-Mazel tov, it's a bitch.
-Again? Why are they always bitches?
-Mittens clawing at the carpet.
-Mrs Galipeau, I've moved you around six times in the past year and a half. You're under my daughter who is never home. If that's not good enough for you, well, hit the road. Move to an old folks' home.
-I wanna talk to you, dad.
The old bitch was cross, as Everett pulled her father into her living room and slammed the door shut, some things never changed.
-This about Dan taking your furniture or you burning down his house?
-No. Listen, sit down, cause this is really serious, dad, and I'm not fucking about with it.
She went to the kitchen, brought him his favorite beer, brought it to him at the couch, before sitting across from him. She could have sworn he knew what this was about. Did he speak to his wife about their last conversation, two weeks ago? She's been laying pretty low since she burned her ex's house down to the ground, she only went out once, for groceries.
-What, Everett?
-I want you to sponsor me, dad.
-Where? The AA?
-The club you big dumdum. I wanna be a member.
-That's not gonna happen, baby. You know it's not gonna fly by the guys. It's no place for a woman.
-I've been hanging around the clubhouse for almost ten years! You taught me my way around a tattoo gun and now they all come to me because your elbows are giving! I'm not a fucking wannabe. They all like having me around, they all told me so themselves.
-Like a daughter, Everett.
Happy sighs, puts the beer on the coffee table, he knows his daughter. She's a Lowman, she's just going to argue on and on and never stop.
-I really want this, dad. There's nothing I want more. I tried mom's life, I'm not a fucking pirate. I tried Esther's, she's too fucked up. I tried the normal people life. Driving in a cage and have a shitty ass job. I'd kill for it, dad.
-Would ya?
-I would choke my own mother for it.
-Find Lavallin and bring me his right hand, and I'll see what I can do to sponsor you.
-Lavallin.
-Find the fucker. If you manage that, I'll do all I can to sponsor you, baby. It's gonna be hard, but I'm in your corner, you know that. You bring Laurence Moreau his archenemy's hand, you may get somewhere.
He stood, rubbed the top of her hair and leaned down to kiss it, before quietly leaving her apartment, this was the turning point. She wasn't wondering if she'd have the guts to take that path, she knew she would. She graduated the lycée by an ass, because she had an horrible attendance record, always being expelled for fighting one or another. Twenty-five years old and she already had a thick police file. Arson, assault, disturbing the peace, and all. She liked starting fires, quite skilled at it. She had inherited her father's violent streak, and Sailor's people skills.
Law Moreau knew where Lavallin was, but being in the police's scope, he couldn't get François Lavallin himself. Nor could his guys. Something told her that Happy must have been thinking about using her to take out Lavallin for a while, she was hanging around the club, but she wasn't really connected to it to a higher degree, being a woman she'd technically never be considered as a prospect, so given a lot less attention then a hang-around or a prospect would.
You can't be a prospect of a motorcycle club if you don't even have your own bike. She had a rust bucket, a project she and a friend had, before that friend got shot a few years before. She could probably get two thousand euros for it, if she struck lucky. A jump at the bank, she had only so much in savings, but her parents still put a few dollars in her bank account every week, even if she had long left the nest, so she could take the rust bucket and trade and put most of her savings on a second hand Night Rod Special, it had ten thousand clicks on the counter, but it looked beautiful. Took a few hours to register and licence, but she had all her permits and no outstanding or unpaid tickets.
Lavallin lived in Martigues, just far enough outside of Marseille to safely retreat out of harm's way after he stirred the pot with the Sons. Just a forty minute ride outside of downtown. She had no plan, yet. Just playing it by ear. Best method for making it past sixty, according to her dad. That sucker she was taking care of today ran an extortion scam on the marina, Martigues was a fisherman's paradise and he saw dollar signs. So all she had to do was find a nice café, order herself something to drink and wait until he came around to claim his money to the poor fishermen who were just trying to feed their families.
Everett was two and a half glasses of wine and almost a whole pack of cigarettes in, when the fat prick came over to the marina she sat near of, Money from Pink Floyd was blaring in her ears through her headphones, getting his attention will be easy, all men had a weakness for a well shaped girl. So she removed her motorcycle jacket, folded her t-shirt to expose her midriff and tamed her wild hair a little bit. Her boobs and belly button would do the job for her. She wasn't skinny, nor thick, she was a savant combination of both, she had managed to figure out a workout regiment that gave her her father's arms and her mother's soft belly, and legs almost strong enough to put a kicking horse to shame. She wasn't scared or worried, even if she ended up going to Lavallin's house alone.
He came over after noticing her, once he was finished taking advantage to people that were already struggling thanks to him, and asked her in French what she was up to, alone, pretty thing like her. She gave the most sincere smile she could give to this dirty prick, he was pot-bellied and balding, his teeth were dirty and she could smell his sweaty pits from where she was.
-Just doin' the tourist thing.
-I could buy you a glass of the wine.
-You could, I certainly wouldn't be against it. Garçon! Two glasses of this again. Deux.
The waiter hurries to serve them, Lavallin the rich and powerful, and the tourist. The fatso does small talk, tries to be charming, even if a brick could do a better job, she calls her muses to act as interested as she can, the good thing of having lived the past decade and a half with Madison Steele and Sailor Lowman, possibly the most Oscar-worthy actresses she'd ever been given to meet. Maddie, her little sister, could turn up the drama on a dime.
All the bullshit coming out of his mouth is the most interesting thing this poor, stupid little tourist was ever given to hear. French men are so fucking attractive and interesting. So at the end of the bottle of wine, he invites her home, she knows it's in. She rides bitch on his bike, really hopes no one she knows would see her sitting on this stupid ass Gilera Fuoco, the worst bike she ever was around.
Inside his house, she's barely walked past the lobby that he's already trying to get her jacket off, resisting the urge to kick him in the balls is atrociously painful, "chill, take your time! Where's the bathroom?" she asks in French, she will have to find something in there that will inflict enough pain for her to make her way to a primary weapon, she only has her stun gun on her right now.
After a piss, she considered her options. There were a lot. A lot. She could just sit still and wait until he came to find her. All she needed was to find some gloves, any gloves. Under the sink, some yellow gloves for washing the dishes.
"Chérie, are you okay?"
-Yeah, come in.
The door opened, and Lavallin was welcomed into the bathroom with the porcelain lid of the toilet tank to the face, it was solid, so she could lower it and swing it a second time, blood gushed as he fell backwards, and she could use it a third time to lower straight against his ribs, she heard them cracking, at least two of them. A bar of soap into the mouth to muzzle him, and some toilet cleaner in the eyes, he tried to scream in pain, it was absolutely beautiful. She grabbed the chipped lid from the floor where she had dropped it to grab the drain cleaner and stomped him a few more times until she was out of breath, before catching her breath, he was barely moving. Now she needed something to chop that hand.
She was disappointed that of all the things she could have found, the only thing sharp and strong enough was a meat cleaver. She voiced her disappointment loudly, going up the stairs, Lavallin wasn't in the bathroom anymore, there was a trail of blood going to one of the bedrooms. He was trying to reach for the rotary phone on the nightstand, it made her laugh.
-Peek-a-boo! I see you!
Waiting for her mom to leave for work had been hard, hiding in the lobby, but once she had left, Everett went into her parents' apartment, her father was lifting weights in her old bedroom, catching up with the news, a house that had burned down in Martigues last night, foul play was suspected, he turned to her when she came in, lost his smile.
-That wasn't the deal.
-Oh I know the deal.
He raised his hands to catch the grocery bag she flung his way from behind her back, opened it and pulled the hand out of it by the pinky, it was turning colors, already, he sighed, looked up at his oldest daughter.
-You know I like fires.
It couldn't be anyone else's hand, because Lavallin had very distinctive tattoos. Happy put the hand back in the bag, wrapped it tightly before putting it between his knees.
-This can never go to mom's ears, Everett.
-Come on. We had a deal.
-I'm not going back on it. I'm just saying I like my balls where they are. I'll talk to Laurence. I'll do my best, baby.
She smiled, ran at him to hug him, he laughed and squeezed her, ran his hand in her hair before letting her go, he wanted to finish his workout before his elbows would start to hurt so much. She crossed the hallway, the living room and reached the door, she had almost had it closed when she heard her dad warn her with his raspy voice.
-And stop setting people's shit on fire.