91 - Brute (Tissue Warning)

*Camille, my sweet girl, have a shot of mezcal for me. Keep my memory close, but don’t go with me. Love your G-daddy – final text to Camille from Brute*

Brute was a man who lived up to his name. A former underground fighter. Former one percenter biker clubhouse president. Convicted felon. Murderer. One time drug runner and illegal arms dealer.

However, there was so much more to him.

Father. Uncle. Husband. Grandfather. Friend. Godfather. Confidant. Lover. Partner. Veteran.

Hospital volunteer.

At first, the hospital overlooked his ex-con status because of what happened to hie niece. But over time, it was forgotten because of how often spent giving his free time to the hospital that saved Jasmine’s life.

Before the hospital stopped the volunteer program due to the pandemic, Brute was there almost every day to help where he could. Long hours in the emergency room and trauma wards where he would assist as needed.

It was no surprise that he was one of the first to get the Covid diagnosis.

Years of smoking, a few other illicit drugs from time to time, and three to four beers every day, weakened his once strong body. Within a week, the formerly stout and tough man, withered into half a shell of himself.

The nursing aides, nurses, doctors and staff grieved as they all watched their friend slowly die. But they were the lucky ones. His sons, niece and other family members could only say goodbye through a video chat.

Doc wore the required protective gear which included a disposable gown and head covering, N-95 mask, clear plastic face shield, gloves and booties. He held his phone with the screen facing him as he walked into the ICU room. Modifications had been made to the room to ensure negative air flow. Plastic draping hung over the door offering a little more protection from the tiny droplets of death.

The respirator made a steady whish, hum, whoosh sound along with the high-pitched beeping from the monitors. Brute lay unnaturally still on the bed; the only movement was a slight rising and falling of his chest from the air being forced in and out of his lungs.

“Guys,” Doc said through the masks that he wore. “I can keep the camera on me, or if you want, I can turn the camera. Hearing is the last thing that we lose, he can still hear you.”

“I… I need to see my dad,” Knuckles said, tears and sadness thick in his voice.

“Okay, but remember, he doesn’t look like himself,” Doc warned as he moved closer to the bed.

He turned his phone so that the screen was aimed at Brute. The beard that had been part of him for as long as any of his children could remember, had been shaved off and his long hair trimmed. His once tanned face, with deep worry lines and crow’s feet from the sun, was pale and relaxed. The iconic gold hoop earring and other piercings were gone.

Taz gave a soft cry of sadness and Doc then heard Riffraff whispering comforting words to his wife. On the other end of the line, a throat was cleared and then the sad voice of Knuckles filled the small room, made even smaller by the modifications and extra equipment.

“Dad,” his voice cracked on the single word. “I love you, dad. You always made me proud. I’m so damn proud to have called you my dad.”

A sob that only a man who is losing his father tore through Doc’s heart as it flowed out of his phone. Nessie’s soft, lyrical voice spoke in that magical language that no one understood but always comforted those around her.

“Dad, prez,” Scrapper took a breath that was so rough that had Doc blinking back tears.

“It’s okay, baby,” Zee told him softly.

“Brute…” Taz said with a voice full of a lifetime of loss. “When I lost my dad, you were there. You’ve always been there. I never thought that you wouldn’t be. I … I need you, daddy.”

Doc was pretty sure that it was the first time that she had ever called her uncle ‘Daddy.’ But it was a title that he would have worn with pride. He never had any daughters. Always said that his wife gave him sons. And that life gave him her.

Not once did he ever say that he was her father. That was something that he could not take away from his late brother. But she was always his.

“Brute,” Zee said, “you’ve been a great, no, you’ve been the best grandfather that my kids could ever ask for. You raised a couple of great men. I can only hope that my boys are as good as you. I love you, Brute.”

“I promise, Brute,” Knuckles vowed, “I’ll take care of your girl. Always, prez, always.”

Nessie said something that Doc did not catch, but none of this was being said for him. It was all for the man laying in the hospital bed in front of him. And for his grieving family at the other end of the line.

“Me friend, I’ll see yeh soon. That lovely bride of yers is ready for yeh. Go on, now. We’ll be here when your ready tah come back.”

The phone was moved on the other end of the line and then Scrappers voice came over the line, softer, but stronger, than it had been before.

“Dad, you taught me everything that I needed to know about how to be a man. And there’s nothing in this world that I see that you haven’t touched in one way or another. I love you, dad.”

“Doc?”

“Yeah?” He turned the phone back to face him and saw Scrapper standing alone on the porch of Knuckles and Nessie’s house.

“I need you to call a few other people.”

“Camille?” Doc asked softly.

“Her, too,” the younger man nodded. “You need to call Alana. And you need to call Bear,” Scrapper let out a deep sigh, “he needs to be able to say goodbye also.”

“Oh,” Doc said, understanding and shock filling him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Doc, I appreciate you doing this for us.”

“It’s not a problem,” the man behind the mask and shield admitted. “I love your dad; he filled that role for me after mine died.”

“He did that for a lot of the brothers,” Scrapper agreed just before the phone screen went dark.

Scrolling through his contacts, he found Alana’s number. She picked up on the second ring. “Hey Doc, what’s – oh, no… no…”

“I’m sorry, Alana,” Doc said softly. “Scrapper asked me to call.”

“He said that when it was time, he would let me know so I could say goodbye.”

“Do you want to see him?”

“No!” she said emphatically before the question was fully asked. “Just put the phone near him.”

Doc nodded and did as she asked, stepping away to give her a little privacy. She spoke softly to him, in a way that only long-term lovers can. When she was done, she called out Doc’s name and he moved back to the bed.

“Scrapper, umm… asked me to call Bear also.”

“Bear knows. He may not want to say anything, but he needs to know,” she sighed and shifted her phone. A moment later she shook her head. “He doesn’t want to say goodbye. If he changes his mind, how long does he have?”

“Not long at all. Probably less than an hour.”

“Let me call him,” she said, and Doc nodded as they exchanged quick farewells.

Taking a deep breath, he scrolled down to the bottom of his contacts. The name Worm was accompanied by a cartoon drawing of a green bookworm wearing glasses and reading a big red book. He dreaded calling Brute’s sons and niece, was not thrilled with calling his lover. But he dreaded calling the man’s goddaughter.

After Pops died, it had been Brute that the young girl clung to and proclaimed that he was her godfather. It was because of Brute that she drank mezcal. He was the reason that she liked those nasty worms at the bottom of the bottle. He was why she liked to crunch the worms before swallowing them.

With a final deep breath to brace himself for the next call, he pressed the button to connect to the facetime call. He was about to end the call when Camille’s smiling face filled his screen. Her shoulders were bare, and she was leaning against an equally bare-chested Darkness. Her hair was disheveled and there was a light blush and sheen of sweat on her skin.

Her face fell as she realized why Doc was calling.

“I’m sorry, Worm.”

“Can I say goodbye?”

He sat the phone back down and walked over to the table where Brute’s phone lay. Entering the code, he saw a message for his goddaughter. A tear hit his face shield as he hit send.