Page 93 of Money Shot

VINCE

As I satin my driveway mentally preparing my morning, I heard the unmistakable sound of Jackson’s bike coming up the block. The cams he added to the engine gave it a very distinct sound, but the way he rode it was what made the sound of it being ridden stand out as different.

He rode it like he stole it.

Within a matter of seconds, he was sitting in my driveway beside me.

“What’s shaking?” he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Trying to decide what to do. Got to meet a guy at eleven, but that’s not for three hours.”

He hopped off his bike and straightened the bottom of his cut. After going through a ritual of popping his neck, back, and shoulders, he stood and glared at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Can’t be broken, huh?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I’m going to ask you some shit, and I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me, and with yourself,” he said.

“Always honest,” I said.

“We’ll see,” he said with a nod.

“You need to just give up,” I said as I got off my bike and lit a cigarette.

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh as he pointed to my cigarette. “Have you a smoke.”

I took a long drag, nodded my head, and blew a cloud of smoke into the still morning air.

“So, you and your pop were pretty tight?” he asked.

I nodded my head and took another long pull on the cigarette.

“You ever make New Year’s resolutions?” he asked.

“What the fuck?” I asked, coughing out smoke as I did so.

He folded his arms in front of his chest and grinned. “Just asking,” he responded.

“Yeah, make ‘em every year,” I said.

He grinned and nodded his head. “Finish that smoke and fire up another, you might need it.”

“Get on with it, Doctor Phil,” I said.

“You ever go visit your Pop’s grave? You know, go see him or anything, and before you ask, no disrespect here. I’m just saying, I know a lot of fellas whose pop has passed, and a lot of ‘em go to the grave and just sit and talk. You know, some leave notes, and stuff like that. So do you do any of that?” he asked.

I nodded my head. “Sure do.”

“Okay. Now. You said yesterday when we were at that donut place that the only reason you dropped this girl was because she agreed to meet for dinner, and she never showed up. It’s undisputed you don’t carry a phone, but she could have called your mom’s place, because she’s got her number, and she could have called your place, even though you were gone, but she didn’t until the next day. You went by that night, and you thought she was gone, but she left you a voicemail the next day explaining that she got drunk and passed out. You see all of this as a broken promise, and how can you trust her if she breaks promises, right? Sound about right?” he asked.

“Sounds about right,” I said.

He uncrossed his arms and clapped his hands together.

“When did you start smoking again?” he asked.