She got scooped up for vagrancy. Let out after twenty-four in the tank.
She was pissed, as is expected.
"Some fat fucking lesbian hooker tried to make me her bitch!" she said, aiming a kick for my shins. I avoided it, easily. Fuu could handle herself all right, but she'd never be able to handle me.
"You couldn't take care of yourself, not even for one night?" Jon asked. He looked, what's that word, flabbergasted.
"Shut it," she replied. "What matters is, I heard something through the grapevine."
"Oh yeah?" I rubbed my eyes. Fucking hung over.
"This old chick with half the goddamn hardware store stuck through her face was talking about her friend's boyfriend's estranged brother two towns over. A biker, like them, but with tattoos of yellow flowers all over his arms. And," she smiled. "He's from the West Coast."
We were on the road in less than three minutes. Not that there was much to pack or get or anything like that. It was weird, but finding this guy seemed important. Never done or cared for anything really in my whole damn life but suddenly…whatever.
Jon's driving. Fuu's sleeping sprawled like the little sex kitten she is in the backseat. And I'm thinking, something else I didn't really do much before this. Of course I thought about stuff, like where I was going out at night, who I'd take home, whether I'd go to work in the morning, but never anything with any amount of sentiment or significance.
Makes life easy to walk through, shrugging and laughing.
Now, I was thinking maybe it was important to protect people like Fuu, too young and naïve to know how easy it was to kill someone. And I was thinking maybe it was so hard to leave 'cause maybe, maybe. Shit, I could barely even think the words. Maybe I was feeling something.
Maybe something like love.
Soon, we were pulled over, tailgate picnicking in a vacant lot. It was fast, necessary eating, like fueling up the car. Back on the road, me driving. Not much time for thinking.
"Hey," Jon said. He was quiet, since Fuu'd dozed off again.
"Mm?"
"I'm sorry I allowed myself to become so distracted."
"Huh? What're you talking about?" I asked, eyeballing him. I really was confused.
"The whore. I'm sorry I lost sight of our obligation and took off with that whore," he said. His voice was like a switchblade, plunging into the stillness of the car. I fumbled the radio on, knowing crackling country music would dull his tone. Better to hear anything else than the stabbing emptiness.
His eyes were much the same, I surmised with a few glances. Empty.
"Well, I accept. Your apology, I mean. It's fine."
"No. It's not fine. But it is over," he exhaled, thawing a little. Silence fell, the sun set, and crunchy gravel rubbed our bald tires. We were there.
It was strange how easily it had all worked out. Maybe Jon felt the same, since I caught him touching his gun, reassuring himself.
Fearless fucking Fuu. She walked straight into what was one of the roughest biker joints from what we'd heard. Sky high heels, denim booty shorts, primped hair and fresh make up. She didn't even carry a gun.
That recklessness was special. You lost it once you realized death was a reoccurring character in your life.
Jon and I followed, long legs catching up quickly. He opened the door for her. I get the feeling that was him apologizing to her. She gave him a smile, seemed to say, 'I understand. I accept your apology.' Or maybe I'm just bullshitting.
It was pretty dead in there. Wednesday, little after happy hour. A big guy, not doughy or soft but just plain big, sat at the bar, away from the door. His black leather jacket was on the floor by his feet and his arms were rippled with scars and sunflowers.
It was him. It had to be. Just like I'd pictured him.
"Dad," Fuu said. It was so quiet, he couldn't have heard. She was crying, barely got the word out.
But he turned around anyhow. Sad smile on his face. Sunflower-stained arms opening up to hold Fuu, so tiny next to that massive man and sobbing. I was feeling awkward and out of place, like I always do when families are happy together. Jon said with his eyes that we should go.
Fuu's story, for me, ended in a sleazy biker bar filled with pure happiness. Jon and me, our story didn't really ever begin or end. It simply was.