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Authors: Meg Jackson
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and nail salon.”
The unspoken idea that “local talent” might also include
women for the gentleman’s club passed between them.
“I never really thought of…well, you’re very
industrious,” she said, quickly trying to save herself from saying something
terribly presumptuous. But it was true; the typical person’s idea of a gypsy probably
didn’t peg them as being particularly upstanding citizens of the business
community.
“And rich as shit,” Kennick said, catching onto her
near-miss and smiling to let her know it wasn’t going to be taken personally.
“My people have become Americans, same as Asians or Hispanics or anything else.
We offer some very particular services, and some general services, we’re smart
with our money – most of the time. We live in trailers so we can move
around…and afford parties. Nothing like a Rom party. Bet we can spend a month
of your rent on a one-night kegger.”
Kim shifted in her seat. She wanted to ask the real
question that had been plaguing her since she’d realized the connection that
the Volanis family already had to Kingdom. Her fingers plucked at her nails, an
old habit that was dying a slow hard, death. When Kennick looked down at her
busy fingers, she forced them to stop.
“Kennick,” she said, looking down now. “I think…well,
you just have no idea how much Kingdom needs this all. We’re really…we’re not
doing so well. I’ve been worried what would happen to the town if something
didn’t change. I think that all these new businesses will be just fantastic.
But I have to ask…”
“Why did we come back?” Kennick asked, anticipating
her question. Her eyes rose to meet his, shyly. She nodded. His smile waned and
he seemed to be looking for something in her face. Perhaps some sign that she
could be trusted, that she wasn’t like the man she worked for. Perhaps
something else.
He sighed.
“My father, Pieter Volanis, died, a little less than a
month ago,” he said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said softly. He waved
his hand in front of his face again.
“He was too young, but that was just his luck,” he
said, the smile returning to his face again, though sadder this time. “The
Volanis have never been known for their great luck. My father was a good man.
He was a good father, a good gypsy.”
Kim flinched at the word gypsy. She wasn’t sure if it
was a slur or not, but the way some people said it made it sound like a slur
for sure.
“Gypsy’s not a bad word,” Kennick said, picking up on
her discomfort. “Unless it’s preceded by dirty, fucking, worthless, no
good….you get the picture.”
Kim nodded. She couldn’t overlook the way her body had
warmed up a degree when he’d said the word fucking. Like a pre-teen testing out curse words in a secret hiding place, watching
his mouth form the word, hearing it come out in his low, honeyed voice, was
exciting. He rose slowly, going to the fridge and pulling out two beers,
handing her one before taking his seat. She sipped when he did.
“My father was a good gypsy,” he continued on his
earlier track. “One of the best. And the only thing that ever tarnished him,
ever, was what happened here in Kingdom. He loved Rhonda Teek more than he’d
ever loved any woman before. Maybe more than he loved any woman that came
after, including my mother. He never killed her. But he was run out of town by
a damn lynch mob. I’m here to clear his name.”
Chapter Nine
Kim studied him across the table. He was here to clear
his father's name. Alright. End of conversation. But her mouth had different
ideas.
“But he was already, you know, exonerated or
whatever,” Kim said, reading the steely look in his eyes. She hadn’t been that
surprised by his statement; she’d assumed something of the sort, and in the
little bit of research she’d done on the thirty-year-old case, she knew that
there had been no
The unspoken idea that “local talent” might also include
women for the gentleman’s club passed between them.
“I never really thought of…well, you’re very
industrious,” she said, quickly trying to save herself from saying something
terribly presumptuous. But it was true; the typical person’s idea of a gypsy probably
didn’t peg them as being particularly upstanding citizens of the business
community.
“And rich as shit,” Kennick said, catching onto her
near-miss and smiling to let her know it wasn’t going to be taken personally.
“My people have become Americans, same as Asians or Hispanics or anything else.
We offer some very particular services, and some general services, we’re smart
with our money – most of the time. We live in trailers so we can move
around…and afford parties. Nothing like a Rom party. Bet we can spend a month
of your rent on a one-night kegger.”
Kim shifted in her seat. She wanted to ask the real
question that had been plaguing her since she’d realized the connection that
the Volanis family already had to Kingdom. Her fingers plucked at her nails, an
old habit that was dying a slow hard, death. When Kennick looked down at her
busy fingers, she forced them to stop.
“Kennick,” she said, looking down now. “I think…well,
you just have no idea how much Kingdom needs this all. We’re really…we’re not
doing so well. I’ve been worried what would happen to the town if something
didn’t change. I think that all these new businesses will be just fantastic.
But I have to ask…”
“Why did we come back?” Kennick asked, anticipating
her question. Her eyes rose to meet his, shyly. She nodded. His smile waned and
he seemed to be looking for something in her face. Perhaps some sign that she
could be trusted, that she wasn’t like the man she worked for. Perhaps
something else.
He sighed.
“My father, Pieter Volanis, died, a little less than a
month ago,” he said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said softly. He waved
his hand in front of his face again.
“He was too young, but that was just his luck,” he
said, the smile returning to his face again, though sadder this time. “The
Volanis have never been known for their great luck. My father was a good man.
He was a good father, a good gypsy.”
Kim flinched at the word gypsy. She wasn’t sure if it
was a slur or not, but the way some people said it made it sound like a slur
for sure.
“Gypsy’s not a bad word,” Kennick said, picking up on
her discomfort. “Unless it’s preceded by dirty, fucking, worthless, no
good….you get the picture.”
Kim nodded. She couldn’t overlook the way her body had
warmed up a degree when he’d said the word fucking. Like a pre-teen testing out curse words in a secret hiding place, watching
his mouth form the word, hearing it come out in his low, honeyed voice, was
exciting. He rose slowly, going to the fridge and pulling out two beers,
handing her one before taking his seat. She sipped when he did.
“My father was a good gypsy,” he continued on his
earlier track. “One of the best. And the only thing that ever tarnished him,
ever, was what happened here in Kingdom. He loved Rhonda Teek more than he’d
ever loved any woman before. Maybe more than he loved any woman that came
after, including my mother. He never killed her. But he was run out of town by
a damn lynch mob. I’m here to clear his name.”
Chapter Nine
Kim studied him across the table. He was here to clear
his father's name. Alright. End of conversation. But her mouth had different
ideas.
“But he was already, you know, exonerated or
whatever,” Kim said, reading the steely look in his eyes. She hadn’t been that
surprised by his statement; she’d assumed something of the sort, and in the
little bit of research she’d done on the thirty-year-old case, she knew that
there had been no
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