by Hazel Parker
“Sorry for the mess,” he said. “If I had known this is what you would be walking into… I’m so fucking stupid. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for that.”
“Don’t worry, I would be celebrating too in your shoes,” I said.
I decided not to clarify that my celebrating getting out of jail would likely involve pizza, a low-key evening with the girls, and no more than two glasses of wine. That night was probably their Tuesday… which was funny, since last night was Monday, so maybe they really would have a Tuesday night like that in response to how much they drank.
“Well, I’ll do my best not to swear, although I am mighty hungover,” he said. “You’ll still get the full me, just… maybe we should not discuss here?”
“I’m happy to talk anywhere,” I said, which may have been something of an exaggeration. “Although, if you are feeling like this, maybe we should get you some water and some greasy food? Bagels with cheese and eggs would do wonders.”
“Man, that sounds amazing,” Splitter said. “And after a night like last night… da… ng, Amber. You are a saint of a different kind.”
“What, cat got your tongue, Split?” Mr. Cole said teasingly. “Can’t fucking swear?”
I tried not to showcase my disgust with what Mr. Cole had said.
“It hurts her ears, so as long as I am around the beautiful lady, I will keep my mouth clean.”
It probably said something that hearing Splitter call me a “beautiful lady” stirred butterflies in me, and that something probably was not good for the sake of my job and my duties.
“Hey, you’re a better man than I,” Mr. Cole said. “Amber, I apologize for what you’re seeing. If it makes you feel better, this is pretty much the club at its worst.”
“Don’t; you have your lifestyle, and I have mine,” I said, which I realized after the fact probably sounded a little more condescending than I’d meant it to. “Splitter? Breakfast?”
“Yeah, let me just… get my wallet.”
I wanted to tell him it was on me, a favor to a client from a lawyer, but I did not want to raise the suspicion of Mr. Cole or Ms. Peters. Given that Mr. Cole had hired me and could just as easily fire me, I had to act in the utmost professional manner around him and the rest of the Saints. To do so would…
Well, the last thing I needed right now on top of losing my husband to divorce was to lose my newest client to unethical behavior.
Granted, I’m not sure the Saints would have cared one bit given the type of scene that I had walked into, but one could never really know what one party considered kosher and what one party considered taboo. It was best to just be cautious until told otherwise.
Splitter came out a few seconds later, putting his wallet in his pocket and massaging his forehead with the other hand.
“Are you going to be OK?” I asked, fears of him throwing up in my car coming to mind.
“I will be fine, not gonna vomit,” he said. “Just… well, the boys wanted to party, and I tried not to go too crazy, but who am I to say no?”
I just smiled at that, figuring it was the best response for that moment. Anything else might have risked me coming across as judgmental again.
“Trace, I’ll be back in like… an hour or so,” Splitter said, a reasonably accurate time.
“Do so, she ain’t cheap,” he said.
I just smiled, again feeling a tad uncomfortable and unsure how to respond in an environment like this. The rules of how the Savage Saints operated were definitely different than the rules of how the rest of the world operated, and it was on me to figure them out, not on Splitter to explain them.
I led Splitter out the door, trying to tune out some of the groans that emerged from the clubhouse. I led him to my car in relative silence when Splitter gasped.
“That’s your car?” he said, looking at my 2019 BMW i8.
“Sure is,” I said. “Some clients only are interested in you if you can look the part, unfortunately. So I decided that this was the best thing I could get to impress clients without spending so much money that I would not be able to go to church unashamed with my greed.”
“Wow,” he said. “Wow. This is amazing.”
Then he laughed.
“I hope it’s not weird for you to be taking some hungover car mechanic to breakfast in something like this.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “You are not some ‘hungover car mechanic.’”
I couldn’t help myself.
“Even if you are.”
For me, it felt like a bit of an extreme joke. What if Splitter took offense? What if what I said triggered some undesired feelings—
He just laughed. He coughed after he laughed, but the laugh was genuine.
“I did not think you had that kind of trash talk in you, Amber,” he said, mustering a grin despite his current state. “Well done. OK. I see you.”
I again just smiled, unsure of what more to say.
“In any case,” I eventually said, reverting to being professional. “You are my client. However you show up is up to you, although I will tell you when you have court… you may not want to look like that.”
“So are you saying that if you were to judge me, I would need to look nice?”
“Eh, I like what I see.”
I could scarcely believe the words came out of my mouth. I nearly gasped when I did. Splitter, for his part, showed no reaction, but I knew there was no way he didn’t have anything other than a strong reaction to that.
“I just think you should come as you are during our meetings, Splitter, and be aware that when facing the courts, you need to look more professional.”
I had hoped that such a statement would comfort Splitter and make clear my previous remark had been professional, but somehow, it seemed like everything I said was making things weirder by the second. What is going on with me right now? Lord, if you’re listening, I could use some guidance to set myself straight. This divorce must be hitting me harder than I thought.
“Don’t you worry, I’ve got a few button-downs that I can work with,” he said.
I remembered then that he didn’t have a suit. Hopefully, if he actually did have to go to court and we couldn’t figure something out, I could rent him a suit or, worst case, buy him one. I knew that probably wasn’t the best move, but given that I was about to buy him breakfast, what was a suit?
When we got to the shop, Brothers Bagels, I asked him if he wanted anything specific. He asked for three sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches. I asked him if he also wanted to buy the store, which just got a weak laugh. I took my cue and headed inside.
I’m not sure which part of the whole ordeal was the most bizarre, but the fact that I kept looking back at him to make sure he was OK was… weird. I told myself it was to see if he was going to throw up in my car, but I had seen plenty of people who had imbibed too much alcohol. Splitter might have gotten a decent volume in last night, but he was not in a position where he might defile my car.
Still, I knew that I needed help with how I was acting around Splitter. I was not just blurring the lines of personal and professional; I was acting like I was into him. Which was stupid; we were from two separate worlds; I had just gotten divorced; he was facing a murder rap charge; I was religious, pious, and a goody-two-shoes; he was… not…
And yet, and yet… and yet! For all of the thoughts that came to mind about why it wouldn’t make any sense… they all faded whenever I looked at him.
You need to be very cautious, Amber. If you feel that way about him and cannot control it, fine, but you need to control when you see him and how often.
“Ma’am?”
I had to shake myself from my stupor when I realized I had just left the bagel maker out to dry. I apologized profusely, ordered four sandwiches—I sincerely could not remember how many he had requested, which never happened; I didn’t let my emotions make me forget details like that—and paid with my credit card. I took the sandwiches out to him, and it was like he was sober instantly.
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“My God, you got four?” he said.
“I actually forgot how many you wanted,” I said. “I got in my head about… well, about some other cases, and I just figured I’d order a lot. You can always refrigerate a couple.”
I suppose if you called my divorce a case and that my divorce was affecting the things that I was thinking in the store, what I said was the truth.
It was an awfully big stretch of the truth, however.
“Yeah, thank you so much,” he said. “And, Amber, seriously, thank you.”
I just laughed to deflect the feelings bubbling within me.
“I just am doing my job,” I said. “I wanted to feed you so you’d feel better so we can have our meeting.”
“No, I mean, thank you for being you,” Splitter said. “So many people judge us before they even get to know us. I suppose if you’re not used to the indulgent, hedonistic lifestyle, you look at us and think we’re a bunch of arrogant assholes and shitheads—sorry—and that we’re just animals. Very, very, very few people actually take the time to get to know us without making judgments. The fact that you are, I’ve said it before and I will say it again, damnit. You’re a saint, and the good kind!”
Splitter getting emotional when he said that was making me feel warm and with even more butterflies inside. I smiled as much as I ever had around a client. It was beginning to feel uncomfortably comfortable being around him.
“Well, if I ever judged my clients for what their lifestyle is like, I don’t know that I’d be a very good lawyer!” I said with a laugh, partially meant to again deflect what I was feeling inside. “I do not think I would ever party as you guys do, but I try and understand it.”
“And what do you understand about it?” he said with a sly smile.
Damnit, Splitter.
Oh my goodness… going to have to confess to that one Sunday.
“I… I will do my best,” I said. “I think that you guys like to have fun. I think that from what I know, you can take on some stressful and intense work outside of the shop. And I think that it’s only appropriate to let off some steam after the fact.”
Splitter took a bite, pondered what I had said, and shrugged.
“It’s more a philosophy, really,” he said. “The founder, Jane’s father—”
That surprised me. She seemed so… well, out of place there as well. She was wearing normal, white-collar clothes. Maybe her father wanted her out and picked someone else to take over when he retired.
“He always said that we had a duty to the world. That we could live the life we wanted, not the life others wanted us to live, but in return, we had to protect the right of others to live their lives. That meant when others popped up who wanted to run drugs or guns, who used unethical means to get what they wanted but were smart enough to get around the law… we had to step up.”
Although the words showed me Splitter had intelligence to him that I think he undersold, especially around the club, it did center me back to why we were here.
“Well, speaking of getting around the law,” I said. “Remember what I told you about our first rule, Splitter. You have to tell me everything that happened. And so, in that regard, I need to know what happened at the warehouse that blew up that night. I am trusting you to tell me the whole truth. If you weren’t there, I’ll believe you. But if you did commit murder and blew up that building, I need to know.”
Splitter finished his bite of his sandwich, swallowed, and sighed.
“I suppose you’re about to be in the MC world now in full,” he said. “Alright. Here’s how it went down from my perspective.”
I reminded myself that no matter what Splitter said, he was a good man who just fought for what he believed in. It was almost like listening to a soldier who had killed enemy combatants; from one perspective, it was murder, but from another, it was just a day in the line of duty.
“The warehouse that we tackled was a stronghold of our rivals, the Devil’s Mercenaries.”
“Quite a name,” I said, but then I told myself to stay quiet so he could lay it all out.
“For sure. In any case, when we first got there, we took out some of their members. We killed them, although it was not me who killed them at first.”
I decided I didn’t need to know who, exactly, had killed said enemies.
“Well… OK, I did not kill the first guy, but I did kill two Mercs who were guarding the actual warehouse, not the chain link fence. It’s just…”
He struggled for a justification to explain what he did. I just told him to keep going. I still could not believe I was seeing this less through an objective lens and more through the lens of him being a soldier, but here we were.
“I did grab some explosives from our trucks and helped put them in position all over the warehouse while my teammates provided cover against the incoming enemy. I did not shoot anyone while I placed the bombs. But then, yeah, we escaped. I got hit, but I was fine. I’ll show you the wound sometime if you want.”
“Maybe some other time,” I said, realizing that that left the door open… again. “And then what?”
“We had their AK-47s and some other ammo back at our warehouse, and that was that. I remember Trace saying something about how the whole thing felt really easy, but… it got done. Maybe my arrest had something to do with it, you know? Like how we pulled it off so easily. Maybe they were hoping the police would get involved. But yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
Pretty much it. The man killed two people, stole weapons, and blew up an entire warehouse… and that’s pretty much it.
It really is a different world we live in.
“I have to be honest right now, though, Amber; what I just told you was supposed to remain between club members. I know you said you promised you would not reveal anything, and I believe you… but it’s serious. We can’t be fooling around.”
“I know,” I said. “I have too many secrets to be fooling around as well. I just need to process everything and think about it.”
I sat in silence. The Devil’s Mercenaries that he mentioned… I did not want to even think of how true the name was. If it led to Splitter acting like this…
“Well, let me ask you this, Amber,” he said.
“Yeah?”
He cleared his throat, placed his hands on his lap, and sighed, looking at the roof of the car.
“Do you honestly believe there is any scenario in which I don’t go to prison?”
Chapter 5: Splitter
I had felt quite confident with Amber Reynolds by my side before we’d left for the bagel shop. Hungover, oh, hell yes. But confident about the case? Also hell yes.
But hearing myself confess that I had murdered two people, that I had helped plant those charges, that I had helped steal guns and ammo… well, shit, things were beginning to look a lot less confident.
And then I’d have to go to prison, and there was no way that even someone as good as Amber would be able to get me anything less than two life sentences. Which meant I would never be free again, which meant that I would never be a vice president of the Saints again, which meant that I would have failed Trace…
Fuck!
“OK, so you’ve told me a lot, but I appreciate it,” Amber said. “I appreciate that you’ve told me the truth, even if it will be a secret to everyone else who was not on that mission. I recognize that what you told me was very tough, and it does help me to know what we’re facing.”
“But…”
“No buts yet,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Look, the evidence we have right now is pretty circumstantial. You had mentioned earlier, I think, that you suspect the DA is trying to make an example of you to all the other club members. I think, based on what they have, there is truth to that. However, the state also does not bring charges if they don’t think they can win the case. So they have something that they think can make them win.”
“I kept the gun I used,” I said. “And there wouldn’t be any fingerprints. We all wore mask
s at night… what could they have?”
My mind was racing as the worst case scenario began to play out. Amber was doing her best to keep me calm, but the combination of the hangover, the confession, and everything else was conspiring to make me even more emotional than usual. No Saint so far had ever gone to prison for more than a few months for what they had done; I hated the idea that I would be the one to fall, the one to let down everyone in the club.
What the fuck would that make me? A goddamn loser.
“Most likely, they don’t have any hard evidence per se,” Amber said. “If they did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’d be telling you why you need to take a plea deal if you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life in jail. Instead, I think what they’re going to do is try to break you and try to get Trace in cross-examination.”
That, actually, made me feel relief. We’d practically made a living out of lying through our teeth on the stand, and all of us would have our shit and our stories together before we ever said a word.
“Splitter, you cannot underestimate what this might mean. We have to be absolutely, one hundred percent on top of our game. Because if not, they will make you crack.”
“I’m not going to fucking crack!”
I actually began to feel my eyes well. Whatever good feelings had come had vanished when Amber questioned my ability not to crack. If she was questioning it, surely, there must have been a reason that she did so. Maybe she saw something that I was just blind to. Maybe, in comparison to clients who had cracked on the witness stand before, I was weak.
Fuck!
And then I felt her hand gently squeeze my arm.
“Splitter, it’s OK,” she said.
I looked into her eyes, and I swore… for just a split second, I swore I thought we were going to kiss. She was leaning forward, our eyes were locked, and I felt for just that brief window that she was moving forward as well.
The butterflies in my stomach were kicked up to mach fifty, and all of my fucking worries were vanishing at the thought that I might actually kiss the most attractive woman I had ever seen in my life.