Chibs whistled along to Flogging Molly as he let the convertible's hood slam shut. "Prospect! This one's done. Take it out to the lot and pull in the next one!"
Half-Sack propped his push broom against Chibs' tool chest and flopped in the driver's seat. "Chibby, you are too damn cheerful for this early hour."
"You know what I have to say to that?" Chibs asked. Kip rolled his head back against the headrest and shrugged, waiting for Chibs to continue. "You're my prospect. Fucking deal with it." He picked up his empty travel mug and crossed to the clubhouse door. Finding the clubhouse kitchen coffee pot bone-dry, he started filling the water reservoir, still whistling.
"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me. Shut the fuck up," a voice moaned from the bar area. Tig raised his bloodshot eyes just enough to identify the whistling culprit before dropping his head back into the pillow of his arms on the bar. "Keep up that goddamn whistling and I will shove a pool queue up your Scottish ass." Rolling his eyes, Chibs finished setting up the coffee and pressed the start button. Taking a glass off the drying rack, he filled it with tap water. He opened the cabinet above the coffee maker and pulled down a giant bottle of aspirin. He carried the water and pills over and set them on the bar a few inches from Tig's head.
"You just go ahead and try that shit, Tiggy. We both know who wins when we fight. Yours wouldn't be the first hard head I've broken a pool queue over. Won't be the last, either." Tig responded with a one-finger salute. Chibs returned the favor and stepped into the kitchen to fill his coffee mug.
Chibs finished up a brake job and yelled for the prospect again. Stowing his tools into his big rolling cabinet, Chibs opened the lid and admired the photo strip he had taped to the inside that morning. After their dinner, drunk on love and wine, he and Aoife had strolled the boardwalk. They found a photo booth in the arcade and jammed themselves inside. She looked breath-taking with most of her hair up and little loose curls framing her slightly flushed, glowing face, and he even looked halfway-decent in his suit jacket and dress shirt. God, I'm a lucky bastard, Chibs thought as his left hand closed the lid again and his eyes fell on the ring she gave him. Luckiest bastard in the whole damn world. He didn't even realize he'd resumed whistling.
"Well, are you just a fucking ray of sunshine this morning?" Gemma said tartly as she pushed past him towards the office. Chibs glanced back in the direction from which she had come and saw Clay punch the seat of his motorcycle before stomping into the clubhouse.
"Morning, Gem," Chibs greeted her, but she just continued her brisk pace. Chibs followed, concerned. It almost looked like she was crying. At the doorway into the office, he watched as she dropped into the chair and kicked her purse under the desk. Gemma had dark circles under her eyes that her make-up couldn't conceal, and he was surprised to see gray roots showing in her normally perfect hair. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and flicked her lighter. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing. Chibs saw the tremor in her hands as she tried again to light her cigarette, clicking the lighter five or six times in rapid succession.
"Piece of shit!" Gemma cursed, throwing the lighter against the opposite wall. She fumbled in the desk drawers for a lighter or matches.
Chibs closed the distance between them. Placing one hand gently on her shoulder, he pulled his lighter from his breast pocket with the other. "Allow me?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Gemma startled, and then nodded, and he held the flame steady while she leaned forward with her smoke.
After a few drags, Gemma said in a weak voice. "Thanks, Chibs."
"You doing okay, Gem?" he asked, his hand still on her shoulder.
"I'm fine," she insisted, not meeting his eyes.
"You've seemed a little run down lately and not like yourself. You know if you need anything, you just have to say the word. We all love you, Gemma." He squeezed her shoulder and departed from the office without waiting for an answer.
Aoife sat at her desk in the tiny office in the corner of the coffee shop. The room, little more than a glorified broom closet, tended to get stuffy, so she left the door propped open and an oscillating fan on full blast. Aoife was engrossed in a supply order for the shop when she heard someone drumming long, manicured nails on wood. She looked up to find Gemma standing in the doorway, one hand on her hip and the other tapping impatiently on the doorframe. "Gemma! What a surprise! I'm just finishing up our supply order. Would you like to have a seat?" Aoife gestured at the threadbare rolling desk chair that sat on the far side of the desk.
"No. I think I'll stand." Gemma took a step inside the office and crossed her arms. "Did you tell him?"
Aoife blinked, her mind still thinking about bags of flour and pounds of sugar. "Tell who what?" As soon as the words escaped her lips, she realized that Gemma could only be asking if Aoife had told Chibs about Gemma's rape.
Gemma advanced again so that she was now leaning over the desk. She put her hands on either side of Aoife's. "Don't play coy with me. Did you tell Chibs what happened to me?" Aoife protested that she hadn't, but Gemma kept on going. "This morning, just after getting back from a long weekend with you, he shows up in the T-M office and tells me that if I need anything, I can always come to him. So what am I supposed to believe, that's just a random coincidence?"
"Yes." Aoife stood up. "I didn't tell your secret to Filip, Gemma," she hissed, looking over Gemma's shoulder to see if any customers had noticed the scene unfolding in the office. "That's your story to tell. But he and all the rest of the boys have mentioned that you've been acting out of sorts. Hell, I've barely seen you in the last two weeks and I've noticed. I'll swear on whatever you want me to, I didn't tell him."
"Dammit, stop lying to me!" Gemma slammed her fists on the desk, and Aoife saw three or four heads out in the restaurant area swivel around.
Through gritted teeth, Aoife spoke in a low voice. "I'm not lying. And I need to ask you to leave. This is my business, Gemma, and I can't have you storming in here because you've gotten the idea in your head that I somehow betrayed you."
"I'm not going anywhere until you give me answers."
"I've given you an answer. That you choose not to believe it isn't my fucking problem." Aoife pulled her phone out of her apron. "If you don't leave, I'm going to call T-M and ask someone to come pick you up."
Gemma's hands flew up in front of her face as if Aoife had moved to strike her. "That's not necessary. I'll leave." She put her sunglasses back on. "If you did say anything, this isn't finished," she hissed.
"I didn't. Goodbye, Gemma." Aoife replied firmly.