Vic Vaughn is Vicious by J.A. Huss

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - VIC

After a two-day shitshow whereby I am treated like a second-class citizen, insulted by the family court judge, and threatened with a long list of felonies if I get within a hundred feet of either Daisy or Vivian, I am released on bail and told to come back in two weeks for the hearing.

OK. I get the reason they’re saying I can’t see Vivi. It’s a fucking lie. But in the context of that lie, it makes sense. But why is there a restraining order against me for Daisy?

I never did anything to Daisy. She never complained about me being around. Shouldn’t she be allowed to see me if Vivi isn’t with her?

Yes. The answer is yes. So the fact that the court says no is a problem.

“We’re gonna get it taken care of,” Ronnie says, turning around to look at me from the passenger seat of her Suburban. “It’s going to be fine. Ford’s lawyer is on it.”

She and Spencer picked me up. They also posted my bail, which was no joke. The prosecutor tacked on the felony kidnapping charge just to be a dick. Because we all know there’s no way I kidnapped Vivi. Alec Steele says they’re just using that charge to introduce evidence to make me look insane.

How does an uncle mistake a random little girl for one of his nieces?

I mean… I look over to my right and find Cinderella shooting me a gummy smile in her car seat and Snow White on the other side of her with a sympathetic look on her face. Behind me, in the third row, are examples three, four, and five.

Ronnie carted them all down to the hearing this morning to put them on display as exhibits A through E. But the prosecutor objected and the judge called it theatrics, so. They just had to sit there and behave for four hours while my shit got sorted.

I don’t know if it’s going to be fine. I mean… the prosecutor has a point.

How did I not notice that Vivi wasn’t one of Ronnie’s kids? How did I spend an entire day with her—with so many now glaringly obvious tells—and not figure it out until I produced her to my sister?

Bobby was right. I’m the king of assholiness.

“Stop it,” Ronnie says. “We’re thinking positive.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear your thoughts, Vic. You’re having doubts.”

Of course I am having doubts. I’m not Spencer Shrike. I’m not Ford Aston. I don’t have that kind of money or those connections. I mean, maybe last week, before I bought a bunch of land that Daisy and Vivi won’t ever see again, I might have considered myself rich because I had all that cash stashed away.

But now I’m broke again. I have that five grand the Morans paid me and that’s about it.

“Vic.” Ronnie is trying to make me look at her. But I’m looking out my window, counting the seconds until we arrive at the mansion. “Vic!”

“Ronnie,” Spencer says. “Leave him alone. He’s thinking.”

“I don’t want him thinking,” Ronnie protests. “It’s all going to work out.”

Spencer pulls the Suburban into the cracked and crumbling driveway and honks the horn so Gramps can bring Oliver out.

“Vic.” Ronnie makes one last attempt.

But I just get out, tell Spencer thank you, and start walking towards the house.

Everything about this charge feels personal.

It’s like… there are people in this town who sincerely want us to be unhappy. And I know that we’ve always had a reputation as the white trash who live on Mountain. But this is somehow worse.

They are trying to take Daisy and Vivian away from me. That’s what this feels like.

I’ve been in court enough times to understand how it works. It’s not about guilt or innocence, it’s about deals.

The prosecution needs a win. So they throw all the charges at you to make you plead out. Admit your guilt for a lesser charge or risk the big one—the one that will land you in prison for a decade—and take it to trial.

That’s what this kidnapping charge is.

Leverage.

Oliver runs past me down the porch steps and then Gramps is waiting for me inside. Everyone else is at work. Pops had to take my clients at the shop or we probably wouldn’t make rent this month.

This suddenly reminds me of Lucille. How she sneered at me last weekend. How she wondered aloud how we got the owner of the building to rent to us all these years.

And the truth is, my gramps made that deal decades ago. So everyone knows it was dirty.

The rent isn’t cheap though. It’s kept pace with the property values in downtown and they are through the roof. So we pay nearly ten thousand dollars a month for our little shop on College Avenue.

Gramps pats me on the shoulder as I pass him by and hit the stairs. But he doesn’t say anything. Just lets me go.

He knows what it’s like to be the bad guy.

And he’s not a bad guy. He was never a bad guy.

He was just poor. And talented. And street-smart. And lucky.

This town has never forgiven him for that luck.

When I get up in my bedroom I plug in my phone. Battery was dead when they gave it back because those assholes in booking didn’t turn it off the way they’re supposed to.

Then I go into my bathroom, start the shower, and take off my clothes. I didn’t even have a shirt or boots when they arrested me on Monday. Spencer had to bring these things to me so I didn’t have to walk out of jail half naked.

I want to believe Veronica. I really do. I want Ford’s lawyer to work his magic and make everything cool.

But deep down I know.

I am just another trashy Vaughn boy.

And I don’t deserve Daisy and Vivi.

That’s the lesson this town is trying to teach me.

I don’t deserve the happy ending.

I stay in that shower for almost half an hour. Tankless water heater upgrade two years ago is suddenly the best idea ever. And when I get out and check my phone, there’s a message from Bobby.

I press play and listen as I pull on some fresh clothes.

“I heard about the arrest. It’s total bullshit. It’s all gonna work out. In the meantime, we’ve got a job to take your mind off things. Meet me at the campsite at six. And bring the guns.”

I sit down on the bed and run my fingers through my wet hair. Then, for the first time today, I actually smile.

We’ve got another job.

Maybe things will be OK?

This little side business Bobby and I do up in the mountains, it’s not reliable money. But when the money comes, it’s a windfall.

I go outside to the garage and open up the back of a van I keep just for this occasion. Then I open the room-sized gun safe and start loading up.

Fuck this town.

I’m not the bad guy.

But if they want me to be the bad guy, I can certainly play the part.