Chicago

Jesse:

Lyla was eighteen and five months, all graduated, all legal, all good to go when we got back to Indy.

Instant our asses were in our room, Preacher goes right to the phone and calls her.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says. “I’m in town. Tell her.”

He then slams down the phone and I was glad Tommy didn’t see that because he was not big on laying out cash to pay for damages and I knew that because Dave could get [does air quotes] clumsy.

“Her dad?” I asked him.

“Her fuckin’ grandfather,” he says.

Then his jeans are gone, on goes the Rangers cap and his ratty-ass cutoff sweats, and it’s time not to talk to Preacher for two hours because he’s about to cause a traffic jam, hanging from some sign by the street, lifting his knees to his chest alternating doing pull ups.

I didn’t hear it.

You know.

The call.

I was off with a chick who was one of the chicks I thought could be the chick.

So, I was hanging with her and didn’t get to the guys until breakfast at the diner.

Preach wasn’t there.

When he didn’t show, they voted me to go get him, which partly had to do with me and Preach being tight but mostly was about me having the key.

I hit our room.

The curtains are pulled, lights out, but music is happening because Preach is on his bed in the dark with his acoustic guitar, strummin’ nonsense that from his fingers sounds like a symphony.

“What the fuck, brother?” I ask.

“I was wrong,” he says, still strumming.

“About what?” I ask.

“About Lyla,” he says.

I mean, man…

Shit.

“What happened?” I ask.

“She listens to Janet Jackson.”

I knew what he was saying.

It wasn’t that she listened to Janet, which she did.

It was that he wasn’t gonna talk about it.

And he didn’t.

Now, it was one thing, following the lead of a bulldozer like Tommy Mancosa.

It was something else, when Preacher goes all in.

You heard it.

You know it.

Everyone says it.

They say for the Roadmasters, it was a rocket rise.

Now you know that’s bullshit.

Hours in my garage. Miles on the road. Havin’ beer bottles thrown at us. Fat lips and shiners and asshole bar managers who didn’t wanna pay.

But after Lyla did what she did, if that could conceivably be our destination, Preacher was not gonna fuck around with making it straight to the top.

And he didn’t.

And he dragged us right along with him.

We eventually get the call from LA, Preacher does not give that first shit they didn’t even pay for our asses to get out there.