The Tucson chapter leading the way, bikes thunder behind us, Drum’s out in front, Wraith and Peg behind him, the other officers also up ahead. Slick and I are in the middle of the bunch riding behind. It’s the first time I’ve ridden in formation, and I’m awed at the way all the men handle their machines, turning and leaning as one, the gap between each Harley, the ones to the side and those in front, remaining consistent. Tightening my arms around my man, I realise how comfortable I feel to be part of this group, my fear of bikers retreating into the distance.
We park up on the road outside the cemetery. Like the other old ladies, I dismount first, then the bikes are backed up and stands kicked down, leaving a neat line of fifty bikes, almost exact equal spacing between them. Slick takes my helmet and safety glasses, putting them into his paniers, then he comes and takes my hand.
It’s a quiet group that moves forward, a few muted conversations muttered in hushed tones. None of us forgetting the reason why we’re here today. As we approach a freshly dug hole in the ground, I bite my lip to prevent myself from crying. It doesn’t seem right a woman who found such joy in life is going to have her final resting place there. The world’s too cruel to have taken her so young.
Drum and Wraith walk off together and return with tight faces. Drum points to half a dozen of the brothers who disappear for a while, only to return shouldering their burden, a coffin containing the body of a woman that I didn’t know very well, but enough to count her as a friend.
My eyes become wet, tears run down my cheeks. Swiping them away, I notice the people following behind the wooden box as it’s escorted to the grave. There’s the obligatory priest, and who I assume is Crystal’s mother, the latter making a token gesture, not wearing black exactly, but a dark coloured cardigan over a flowery dress which has seen better days. Her hair is tidy, pulled back into a bun, and her face looks clean. Two men follow her. I don’t know who they are, but the sharp intake of breath from Slick by my side suggests at least one of them is not a welcome addition.
The priest says some words, I don’t take much of it in, unable to pull my eyes away from the cheap coffin in front of me. Is she really inside? It seems so wrong that she is. Sneaking a peek at Sam, holding Amy in her arms, I notice she’s got the little girl’s face turned into her chest. Amy is quiet, picking up on our moods, and I hope she doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Then the coffin is lowered into the ground.
As I watch, Drum hands Crystal’s daughter a flower. Sam puts her down and tells Amy to throw it on the coffin. I don’t know how Sam’s done it, but whatever she’s whispering to her is right, as the child looks up, holding tight to Sam’s hand, and her little high-pitched voice can be heard clearly in the silence around.
“Mommy’s in heaven now.” Amy looks up at the prez’s ol’ lady as if for confirmation.
Sam gets to her knees and with a serious look, agrees, “Yes, she is, sweetheart.”
Her flower thrown as instructed, as quick as she can, Amy turns and launches herself back into Sam’s arms. Picking her up and turning Amy into her body, cradling her head with the back of her hand, Sam nods at Drum. “I’m going to get her out of here.”
I’d been so focused on the child and choked up with emotion, I hadn’t noticed the who I’d assumed to be Crystal’s mom step up, one unknown man in a suit by her side, the other, dressed scruffily, is holding back.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” the older woman says with a sneer. “You need to give my granddaughter to me now.”
The prez places himself in front of Sam, Wraith comes to his side. “Told you before, woman, you’re not touching one fuckin’ hair on her head. Her father left her in our care, and that’s where she’s gonna stay.”
“I’m afraid you’ve got no choice.”
Drum’s whole body stiffens as he addresses the suited man. “The fuck you mean? The child stays with us. I can’t understand why you’re getting involved, Detective Archer. This isn’t a police matter.”
“I warn you, Drummer, I’m on duty right now. I’m here to hand you this in my official capacity. Consider yourself served.” He tries to hand a document over, the prez folds his arms.
“Whatever that,” Drum nods at the envelope Archer is holding, “is, I’m not interested.”
“This is a document from the court giving Ms Clyde, Amy Norman’s grandmother, emergency legal decision-making authority of the child. Put in terms you’ll understand, she’s been given custody.”
Drum’s face has gone red. “And what lies did you tell to get that?”
Archer shrugs. “Some of the men in your club have rap sheets a mile long. With the evidence I produced, it wasn’t difficult to convince the judge that the child’s at risk if she remains with you, or to agree a biker club is no place for such a young girl. He determined that to let her stay with you would seriously endanger her physical, mental, moral, and emotional health.” He sounds like he is quoting from a textbook.
“And a twitching drug addict is better?” Drum sneers and addresses himself to Crystal’s mom. “You’re already jonesing for a fix, ain’t you? You’re fuckin’ shaking.”
“Just give me the kid.” She tries to get around Drummer, but she hasn’t a chance.
Leather-clad men move to stand between her and Sam, who’s still clutching Amy as though her life depends on it. Slick leaves my side and joins his brothers, making a solid line. Their stance is identical, legs slightly apart, arms held to their sides, hands hovering over their guns.
Archer looks smug. “You can’t refuse the order. I’ll charge you with kidnapping if you take the child. You’ll be breaking the law.”
Now it’s Drum’s turn to shrug. “Won’t be the first time. We’re takin’ her home with us. The club lawyer will be in touch. We’ll be contesting that order, and hopefully will do so in front of a fuckin’ judge that you haven’t got in your pocket.”
In a swift move, Archer draws his weapon and points it at the prez. Drum’s eyebrows rise at the same time as fifty brothers at his back take out their guns. “Really?”
Crystal’s mother grabs the detective’s free arm. “Just get the kid, alright.” Her eyes look wild, her hair starts unravelling from her bun, and all signs of her attempt at civility disappear. “I want the fuckin’ kid.” Her voice is shrill. Her eyes flick round to find the other man who’d come with her, but he’s taken a step back, nervously watching the bikers.
Archer shakes her off, his look of distaste revealing exactly what he thinks of this woman he’s supposed to be representing as a suitable custodian for a three-year-old. He takes a step forward, his gun now pointing straight at Drum’s forehead. “Give me the child,” he snarls out.
As I hold my breath, Drum looks unperturbed, though a vein pulsing on his forehead betrays his rage.
“I’m not giving you shit,” Drum replies, looking steadily at the detective. “She is going nowhere with this fuckin’ sorry excuse for a woman.”
“I’m warning you, Drummer.”
Drum doesn’t flinch. “Shoot me, and you’ll be dead within seconds.”
“You’re fucking threatening me now? I’m a police officer.”
“Don’t give a fuck who you are. Don’t doubt I know exactly why you’re here, Archer, and the reason why you’re so hot to give Amy to her grandmother. Neither of you give a fuck about the child. She’s just a commodity to you.” He pauses. When he speaks next, I can see the whites of his eyes. “Your game’s up, Archer. Don’t think for one second we’re not on to you.”
“Get the kid!” The woman, sounding like a stuck record, is unravelling in front of our eyes.
Archer seems to think for a moment, then steps back and lowers his gun.
“I’ll fuckin’ shoot him myself!” she screams as she starts to fight him for the weapon. Archer throws her to the ground. She gets up and starts kicking and punching.
Drum makes a sign, and while the detective is trying to evade Crystal’s mom’s at
tempts to get his gun, we fade away and get onto the bikes, and Sam briskly gets Amy set up in her seat in the back of the crash truck.
As I get up behind Slick, I see the envelope lying on the ground, being trampled into the mud as the detective tries to restrain the woman who’s clawing at him, with her shabby companion standing back, hands in his pocket as though trying to stay out of trouble.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Slick…
“I’ve been in touch with the club lawyer. Got fifty witnesses to say the order wasn’t properly served,” Drum informs us, looking around the table.
Yeah, it’s another day, another meeting. Fuck knows when this will all die down and I’ll be able to get back to doing a full day’s work at the shop. Getting so I miss that darn place. Give me a car with a problem to solve any day rather than dealing with all this shit.
“And Crystal’s mom, Ms Clyde, wouldn’t be counted as a reliable witness in his opinion.”
“Are we certain we’d get rejected if we petition for temporary custody?” Wraith seems to wonder aloud.
“Unlikely we’d have any success now that Archer’s stepped up and put our members’ rap sheets in front of the court. It’s obvious to anyone that woman’s not capable of looking after herself, let alone a kid. But it’s only our word that Heart and Crystal entrusted her to us.” Drum taps the table. “Have to remind you, boys, Sam and I wouldn’t be seen as model parent material. If we prove Susie Clyde isn’t suitable, the likelihood is she’ll be taken into foster care. My thinking is, we need to keep this far, far away from any fuckin’ judge.”
“We kill the woman,” Beef says, clenching his jaw, offering a permanent solution. “And that strange fucker who’s hanging around with her.”
“Yeah, but we’ll be the first in the line of fuckin’ suspects,” Dart counters.
“Drug overdose? Get her some bad shit?” From what I’ve seen of her, she could even do that herself, a woman as desperate for her next fix as she is.
“At this point, I’m not ready to leave anything off the fuckin’ table. But we’ll see how things develop before I sanction that.” Drum’s looking serious.
“What we need is for Heart to fuckin’ wake up.” Joker voices the thought that’s foremost in all our minds.
Drum jerks his chin in agreement and asks, “Bullet, you and Rock were at the hospital last night. Anything suspicious?”
“No, Prez. But as I told Tongue and Viper when they took over, we should be prepared for anything. Makes their case stronger if the father ain’t around.”
I voice the unthinkable, but as time goes on, I think we all must be considering it. “What happens if he doesn’t make it?”
“Amy stays with Sam and me. We’ll adopt her. Don’t know if we can do it legally, but that’s what’s going to happen. Ain’t no question about that.”
Unlike other times when the subject’s been raised, today there are no protestations that Heart’s going to wake up. It’s been too long, and it seems I’m not the only one whose hope is slowly slipping away. Instead, there’s just a period of silence in which we mourn the absence of our missing brother. Heart’s chair sits empty, even the visiting officers preferring to stand rather than purloining his rightful space.
Feeling awkward that I was the one to pose the question, I pull my smokes out and offer them around. Blade’s first to waggle his fingers and I roll him one across. Fuck, I’d forgotten how many visitors we have. When the pack’s returned I look at it ruefully, noticing I’ve only one left. Dart winks at me, obviously relieved he hadn’t gotten his out. I flick my lighter and inhale.
Drum narrows his eyes at me as smoke from numerous cigarettes drifts his way. I shrug.
“Now you’re all lit up,” he starts, and I remember he’s probably missing smoking himself. He gave up, what, it must be a couple of years ago? He’s got some willpower to be able to resist amongst all the temptation. “Let’s move on. I got a call from Herrera earlier today. He wants a meet.”
“When, where, and who?” Peg gets straight to the point.
“Me and Slick, as he’s met us before, and under the circumstances, you, Peg.”
“What circumstances?” The sergeant-at-arms growls suspiciously.
The prez heaves a sigh. “We’re meeting him and what I assume are his lieutenants.”
“Fuck! Prez. We walking into a trap?” Wraith slams his hand onto the table.
“That’s why you’re not gonna be there, Wraith. As VP, you stay clear.”
“I’m not letting you go in alone.”
Wraith’s words are echoed around the table. Fuck, I’m going to literally be putting my head in the lion’s den. It’s quite possible none of us will be getting out alive.
Drum shrugs. “He’s given me assurances.” He glances at me. “Slick, I wouldn’t be takin’ you with me if I wasn’t confident he just wants to talk.”
“Where?” Peg’s not looking happy.
The prez names an abandoned industrial estate, the exact location of an old abandoned warehouse.
“I don’t fuckin’ like it, Prez.”
“You don’t need to like it, Peg. Just have my back.”
Mouse is looking at his laptop. Glancing over I can see he’s calling up Google Maps. “It’s quite exposed, Drum. You want us to stake it out?”
“I want Tongue there.” That’s our sniper. Heart was another, but obviously he’s out of action. “I’ll tell him when he gets back.”
“We’re still down a sniper.” Bullet echoes my thoughts.
“I can do it.” A man, Hooper, puts up his hand. He hails from San Diego. Their sergeant-at-arms if I remember right. “Have you got spotters?”
Dollar and Rock put up their hands.
Blade spins the knife in front of him. “I want in on this too, Drum.”
“No. He’s expecting three men. I want you and Wraith to be waiting close by in case of an ambush, but I promised him we wouldn’t go in heavy.”
“What would be the point of taking us out?”
“Slick, for fuck’s sake. We killed two of his grandsons.”
Yeah, okay. We might not have come straight out and admitted it, but a man like Herrera doesn’t keep his position if he can’t add a couple of twos together and make five. Maybe that was stupid of me.
Drum brushes back his hair. “Look, I don’t know how it’s gonna go down. Slick, Peg, I can’t guarantee what we’re walking into, but I don’t get the feeling they want a war. With that show of force the other day, they know we can call on the numbers. If they pull any tricks, they know what they’ll start. Somehow we need to make contact, start getting to know what’s going on. He made the approach, we take precautions, but for now I’ll take it that it was made in good faith.”
When I met Herrera, I didn’t take to him much, but he was definitely old school. Which leads me to lean toward the thought he’d be straight. Honour among thieves and all that.
Peg pinches the bridge of his nose then looks at Drum. “When?”
“Tonight. Ten pm.”
We toss around the logistics, who’s going and who’ll be staying in case it’s a ruse to get us out of the compound. No one’s forgetting that tenuous link between Amy and the Herreras. After an hour, everyone knows what they’re doing and where they need to be to do it. Then we adjourn, and I spend the rest of the day with my girls.
When evening comes, Tongue and Hooper leave early with Dollar and Rock. The rest of us are going to get ready at eight. We ride into Tucson and directly to the now vacant industrial area, Drum pausing to brief Wraith once more before he, Peg, and I continue on to the warehouse. We’re the first to arrive and have plenty of time to scope things out.
At ten precisely, we hear the sound of engines. Drum’s eyes narrow as he looks at me and Peg. We give serious nods back. Game on.
Two men walk in and, as expected, they pat us down for weapons. We’re not carrying, having left everything with our bikes. Once they give the okay, Leonardo He
rrera enters, another five men following him inside. They stand across from us, their stance unfortunately reminiscent of a firing squad. I notice the first pair have disappeared out the door. Foot soldiers apparently, not privy to the inner circle.
Drum jerks his chin. Peg steps forward and they obligingly stretch out their arms. After taking his time, and nodding at the prez, Peg confirms they’re unarmed. Don’t mean their men outside aren’t carrying, but then, ours are too.
The patriarch steps forward. “Thank you for coming.” He’s polite but doesn’t offer to shake Drum’s hand.
Drum jerks his chin in acknowledgement, refraining from replying.
With no time for niceties, Herrera gets straight down to business. “We,” he points to himself and then nods over his shoulder at the men standing just behind him, “are the heads of our family.” I notice he doesn’t introduce them by name, but their similar Hispanic features suggest they are all related in some way, even if he hadn’t introduced them. Three are obviously in his age group, and two from a younger generation.
Leaning on his stick, Herrera clears his throat. “We have an arrangement with Los Zetas. We do not step on their toes, nor they on ours.”
The three of us stare back impassively. The information he’s given us that they have links with the Mexican cartel was something we already knew. Hell, everyone in Tucson probably does.
He continues, “The skin trade is something in which we do not intervene. And…” he pauses, “the grooming of young children for the enjoyment of men with that particular taste is abhorrent to us.”
He sounds sincere. I’m still wondering where he is going with this.
“We wish to have both a clean house and clean hands.”
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