Walking Disaster
“Abby! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” America said, bursting through the door. She held up her cell phone. “I just got off the phone with my dad. Mick called them last night.”
Abby’s nose wrinkled. “Mick? Why would he call them?”
America raised her eyebrows. “Your mother kept hanging up on him.”
“What did he want?”
America pressed her lips together. “To know where you were.”
“They didn’t tell him, did they?”
America’s face fell. “He’s your father, Abby. Dad felt he had a right to know.”
“He’s going to come here,” Abby said, her voice swelling with panic. “He’s going to come here, Mare!”
“I know! I’m sorry!” America said, trying to comfort her friend. Abby pulled away from her and covered her face with her hands.
I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but I touched Abby’s shoulders. “He won’t hurt you, Pigeon,” I said. “I won’t let him.”
“He’ll find a way,” America said, watching Abby with heavy eyes. “He always does.”
“I have to get out of here.” Abby pulled her coat tight, and then pulled at the handles of the French doors. She was too upset to slow down long enough to first push down the handles before pulling the doors. As tears fell down her cheeks, I covered her hands with mine. After helping her open the doors, Abby looked at me. I wasn’t sure if her cheeks were flush with embarrassment or from the cold, but all I wanted was to make it go away.
I took Abby under my arm, and together we went through the house, down the stairs and through the crowd to the front door. Abby moved quickly, desperate to get to the safety of the apartment. I had only heard about Mick Abernathy’s accolades as a poker player from my father. Watching Abby run like a frightened little girl made me hate any time my family wasted being in awe of him.
Midstep, America’s hand shot out and grabbed Abby’s coat. “Abby!” she whispered, pointing to a small group of people.
They were crowded around an older, slovenly man, unshaven and dirty to the point where he looked like he smelled. He was pointing to the house, holding a small picture. The couples were nodding, discussing the photo among themselves.
Abby stormed over to the man and pulled the photo from his hands. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
I looked down at the picture in her hand. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, scrawny, with mousy hair and sunken eyes. She must have been miserable. No wonder she wanted to get away.
The three couples around him backed away. I glanced back at their stunned faces, and then waited for the man to answer. It was Mick f**king Abernathy. I recognized him by the unmistakable sharp eyes nestled in that dirty face.
Shepley and America stood on each side of Abby. I cupped her shoulders from behind.
Mick looked at Abby’s dress and clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Well, well, Cookie. You can take the girl out of Vegas—”
“Shut up. Shut up, Mick. Just turn around,” she pointed behind him, “and go back to wherever you came from. I don’t want you here.”
“I can’t, Cookie. I need your help.”
“What else is new?” America sneered.
Mick narrowed his eyes at America, and then returned his attention to his daughter. “You look awful pretty. You’ve grown up. I wouldn’t’ve recognized you on the street.”
Abby sighed. “What do you want?”
He held up his hands and shrugged. “I seemed to have gotten myself in a pickle, kiddo. Old Dad needs some money.”
Abby’s entire body tensed. “How much?”
“I was doing good, I really was. I just had to borrow a bit to get ahead and . . . you know.”
“I know,” she snapped. “How much do you need?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Well, shit, Mick, twenty-five hundred? If you’ll get the hell outta here . . . I’ll give that to you now,” I said, pulling out my wallet.
“He means twenty-five thousand,” Abby said, her voice cold.
Mick’s eyes rolled over me, from my face to my shoes. “Who’s this clown?”
My eyebrows shot up from my wallet, and instinctively, I leaned in toward my prey. The only thing stopping me was feeling Abby’s small frame between us, and knowing that this skeevy little man was her father. “I can see, now, why a smart guy like yourself has been reduced to asking your teenage daughter for an allowance.”
Before Mick could speak, Abby pulled out her cell phone. “Who do you owe this time, Mick?”
Mick scratched his greasy, graying hair. “Well, it’s a funny story, Cookie—”
“Who?” Abby shouted.
“Benny.”
Abby leaned into me. “Benny? You owe Benny? What in the hell were you . . .” She paused. “I don’t have that kind of money, Mick.”
He smiled. “Something tells me you do.”
“Well, I don’t! You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? I knew you wouldn’t stop until you got yourself killed!”
He shifted; the smug grin on his face had vanished. “How much ya got?”
“Eleven thousand. I was saving for a car.”
America’s eyes darted in Abby’s direction. “Where did you get eleven thousand dollars, Abby?”
“Travis’s fights.”
I tugged on her shoulders until she looked at me. “You made eleven thousand off my fights? When were you betting?”
“Adam and I had an understanding,” she said casually.
Mick’s eyes were suddenly animated. “You can double that in a weekend, Cookie. You could get me the twenty-five by Sunday, and Benny won’t send his thugs for me.”
“It’ll clean me out, Mick. I have to pay for school,” Abby said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
“Oh, you can make it back in no time,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.
“When is your deadline?” Abby asked.
“Monday mornin’. Midnight,” he said, unapologetically.
“You don’t have to give him a f**king dime, Pigeon,” I said.
Mick grabbed Abby’s wrist. “It’s the least you could do! I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!”
America slapped his hand away and then shoved him. “Don’t you dare start that shit again, Mick! She didn’t make you borrow money from Benny!”
Mick glared at Abby. The light of hatred in his eyes made any connection with her as his daughter disappear. “If it weren’t for her, I woulda had my own money. You took everything from me, Abby. I have nothin’!”
Abby choked back a cry. “I’ll get your money to Benny by Sunday. But when I do, I want you to leave me the hell alone. I won’t do this again, Mick. From now on, you’re on your own, do you hear me? Stay. Away.”
He pressed his lips together and then nodded. “Have it your way, Cookie.”
Abby turned around and headed for the car.
America sighed. “Pack your bags, boys. We’re going to Vegas.” She walked toward the Charger, and Shepley and I stood, frozen.
“Wait. What?” He looked to me. “Like Las Vegas, Vegas? As in Nevada?”
“Looks that way,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.