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And that meant hogging as much of him as I could get.
Because in the time that he was here, we were side by side.
Learning about each other.
Learning things that he taught me.
Also, showing him to be carefree in a way that only a kid can be.
No one talked about his past, and I didn’t ask him about it. It wasn’t my place. I had been taught things belong in the past, and the future is now.
My dad laughed his butt off at most of what went on in building my friendship with Tank.
Only my mom rolled her eyes and made snide comments.
Hearing my dad say, ‘If I didn’t trust him, he wouldn’t be breathing.’
And it had been that statement that also had me trusting Tank.
And you want to know something, it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
He didn’t make me leave when he was talking to others, no he shot me a wink, and then made a way for me to be in the conversation.
I was pretty sure that had anyone grumbled, they would have to take on not only Tank but also my father. And my father wasn’t called Storm for nothing.
One time, I saw why they called my dad, Storm, instead of his given name, Vance. You see, he can be calm, cool, and collected. It’s why he’s the Pres. It’s why I look up to him. But he can also move in within a blink of an eye and rip apart everything you ever thought you knew. And mess crap up as you’ve never seen.
And that day had been because my mother had forgotten to pick me up at school that day. Again.
It had started to drizzle as I sat there on the front porch steps of the school.
Waiting.
The teachers had called her but to no avail. And my father had left the day before to go on a run. He didn’t expect his men to do it for him. His saying was, ‘How could anyone follow a man if they weren’t willing to take the lead’.
My father had taught me to be aware of my surroundings.
So, that was why I had noticed the same dark blue Lincoln Continental, yes, I may have only been eight, but I know my cars drive by the school twice in the past five minutes.
It was also why I noticed that crap was about to go sideways.
Since I didn’t have a cell phone, I couldn’t call for help. And since the staff member that hated bikers had left me there and gone home, I was alone.
So, when the car stopped in front of the steps, I reached into my backpack for something my dad told me to always carry, a roll of pennies.
I grabbed it and then fisted the roll in my tiny hand.
Two doors opened on the passenger side, and two men got out. One of them was a dark-skinned man with a gold tooth. He was dressed in a white wife beater, dark jeans, and black boots with one jeans leg inside of one boot, and the other over his boot. He had his hair done in dreads, sticking this way and that way.
The other man was a white man, dressed in a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black vans. Tattoos that looked like a three old did them, crawled up his right arm. He had blonde hair that looked in need of a good wash.
The dark-skinned man smiled, looked me up and down, and then asked, “Well, hello there. Can we give you a ride home?”
I wasn’t scared. Not in the slightest. People can smell fear. Act like they don’t phase you, and it confuses them. Another lesson my dad had taught me.
Therefore, I sat there, lifted my chin, and said, “No. My daddy is on his way.”
The white man looked around and then said, “Well, I don’t see him. Do you, Jarvis?”
