by David Carter
Ryan didn’t give in so easily. He said to Sandra, “We will need to prove that it was that particular sample from the sperm bank found at the crime scene before he walks free. You understand me, Luther? Ryan glared at him. “You still have some goddamn sweating to do!”
Luther lifted his wrists. “Just be gentle when you take my cuffs off, detective,” he said smugly.
Ryan called for the young officer to escort Luther back to his holding cell until the test results came back. Then Ryan said to Sandra, I’ll be back in just a tick; I need to use the men’s room.”
As soon as Ryan left her alone, Sandra quickly dialled the number she had been told to call. “I did what you asked,” she said, teary-eyed. “The heat is off Luther. Now stay away from my home and children!”
Archer sat back in his armchair, polishing his glasses as he replied on speakerphone, “Do not worry, my dear, I will make the call as soon as I get what I need from you.”
“You’re a monster!”
“I’m a businessman. And you’re sticking your nose in where it isn’t welcome.”
“Who are you?”
“I’ll ask the questions. Starting with this: can you make sure the report says that the DNA found at the crime scene matches the sample stolen from the sperm bank?”
She exhaled deeply out of her nose.
“Well?”
“But my partner will find out that it was only stolen today; he’ll know I doctored the report,” she whispered.
“Only if either you or I tell him. And I know I’m not going to do that. The sample has been delivered to the morgue addressed to you. Do what you need to do to make this go away. Or one of my men will stay parked outside the front of your house waiting for your girls to arrive home from school. And believe me when I say you don’t want that.”
What choice do I have? “I’ll get it done. Just please don’t hurt my children,” she pleaded.
“My man will leave your home as soon as I receive confirmation of your paperwork and when the media understand that Luther Sutherland was framed.”
“All right. Give me two hours.”
“Excellent.”
She wanted to scream into the phone, but she kept calm. She just wanted her girls to stay out of harm’s way. Any mother would do the same thing, she thought. Then she asked, “How did you get my number? And how do you know where I live?”
Archer chuckled sadistically. “With money comes unlimited power and resources, my dear. And right now, you’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
Sandra’s eyes welled with tears. “Okay,” she sniffled. “And don’t let my partner find out I was involved in this. I’ll lose my career.”
“I’m sure that will not be the case,” he replied. Then said, “But just to be sure, you had better get a move-on; school’s almost out.”
Chapter 20
Blaze rallied the members of the SAS around the clubhouse’s bar at first light. He said, “Brothers, I am aware of the danger I’m putting you all in, so if anyone wants to pull out of this venture, now is the time. There is no shame in wanting to come home riding your wheels instead of a wooden box.”
Nobody uttered a word.
“We are doing this for our newest member of the family, Danny. His wife and daughter were ruthlessly murdered for wanting their freedom. And if it weren’t for Danny, I don’t think I’d have ever made it out of Winterhill, away from that fuckhead-governor we all despise. So, I can’t stress enough how important it is that we taste victory on this mission. This is our shot to make amends for all the pain inflicted upon all of us.”
“To victory!” said Spider.
“To victory!” everyone shouted.
Ace draped his arm over Danny’s shoulders, and said, “I’ve got a surprise for you, Danny boy.”
“I don’t need to see your small pecker again,” Danny replied cheekily.
Ace laughed and walked Danny around the back of the clubhouse to his workshop. “I didn’t want Blaze volunteering me to add a fucking side-cart to my bike, so I made you something...” He lifted the roller door and flicked the light on. Sitting there was a glistening custom-built Harley Davidson Dyna Low Rider.
“Holy shit! She’s beautiful! You seriously built me a bike?” Danny asked him.
“I figured you could use a set of wheels.”
Danny pulled him in, embracing him tight. “Thanks, man; I’ll never forget this!”
“Damn fucking right, you won’t,” Ace laughed. “You’ll remember it every time I bark at you to sweep out my workshop and clean up all my shit.”
“Man, I’ll shine your boots and wipe your dirty fucking ass for this!”
“Then she’s all yours,” he said, and grinned.
Danny started the engine on his new baby and rode it around the front where everyone was waiting. They all wolf-whistled and cheered as he joined them. “What do ya think, Danny boy?” Blaze grinned.
“I’ll be riding the shit out of her till the day she croaks. It’s unreal!”
Blaze slapped him on the back, then said, “Speaking of riding the shit out of things: how are you and Ellie going?”
“Yeah, pretty good.”
“That’s it? Pretty good?”
A devilish grin spread across Danny’s face.
“Now that’s more like it! You’ve been fucking her stupid, haven’t you?”
“Well, that’s one way of putting it.”
“Whoa, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“If by that you mean we are basically in a relationship, then yes.”
Blaze slapped him even harder across the back. “Well fucking good for you, Danny boy. I knew you had it in you to get your dick wet eventually.”
Danny grinned. “So, how’s Zoe? I’m glad she’s back for the trip.”
“She’s doing okay. Haven’t really had a decent chance to catch up with her, as she only got in at midnight. I told her to stay at her mum’s while we were away, but she was determined to come along and drive the girls down with us.” He motioned towards his Mustang. Ellie was in the back seat; Spider and Charlotte were pashing through the front window. “It’s great seeing the girls getting along; Ellie’s really fitting in. She’ll make a great old lady for you, man. And those long, erotic dancing legs...Jesus fucking Christ! I wouldn’t mind those wrapped around my cock.”
Danny jumped off his bike and playfully nailed Blaze with a combo of decent punches, before he said, “You know something, man? It’s great to finally have a family—even if you all drink more piss than I could ever handle and smell like vomit and urine fifty-percent of the time. I just wanted to say thank you for taking me in.”
Blaze looked around to see if anyone was listening, then said, “Don’t you ever tell anyone I said this: but I fucking love you, man.”
“You’re such a soft cock.” Danny smiled.
Blaze hopped on his Harley, fired the engine, then shouted, “Come on, brothers! Let’s get this fucking show on the road!”
Chapter 21
The SAS rolled into the small town of Worthington. They had been riding all morning, only stopping for coffee and a bite to eat along the way. Blaze pulled off the main road that bored through the centre of town and parked outside a bar and grill. Everyone dismounted their bikes and followed him inside. A cute, blonde barmaid, who didn’t seem at all intimidated by the group of bikers, asked Blaze, “What can I get you guys?”
Papa Bear pulled a roll of cash from his pocket and answered, “A round of beers, and steak and chips for everyone.” He handed over a few hundred-dollar bills.
She smiled, and replied, “Er—you seem to have given me far too much money here.”
“Keep it for yourself, love,” he said with a gentle smile.
They all sat on bar stools around a couple of tables they’d pulled together, except Blaze, who said, “I’ve got something I need to take care of. I’ll be back by the time you’ve all finished stuffing yourselves.”
Zoe f
ollowed him outside to his bike. “Are you okay, babe?” she asked him. “You’ve been awfully quiet since I got back last night.”
“I’m okay. I just got shit on my mind.”
“You can tell me, you know.”
Blaze said nothing.
“So where are you going?”
“There’s something I haven’t told you since I got back.”
She appeared concerned. “Should I be worried?”
“Nope.”
“Then tell me what this is about, dammit!”
Blaze gave in. He sighed, then said, “Do you remember how my mother and I have never really got along? And that my father was basically an abusive, alcoholic prick?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there’s no easy way to say this, but the reason for that is because my mother was raped by some asshole when she attended a teacher’s training course some thirty-one years ago.” He paused, then finished his sentence, “I was the result of that assault made on her.”
“You mean she fell pregnant with you? Raymond isn’t your biological father?”
“Yep. That’s why he hated me so much, yet loved my brother and sister like their shit didn’t stink.”
“What a fucking jerk!”
“You said it.”
“So where did it happen?”
Blaze pointed up to the Welcome to Worthington sign on the side of main street.
Zoe gasped. “No way!”
“Fucking way.”
“So where are you going now?”
“To meet my biological grandparents for the first time. Mum told me where to find them when we sorted out our differences awhile back.”
“Shit, babe, do you want me to come with you?”
“Nah, this is something I need to do on my own.”
“What are you hoping to achieve from this?”
“I want a photo of their son: my biological father.”
“Blaze —”
“And before you ask, yes, I’m going to track him down and make him pay for what he did.”
She paused, then smiled and gave him a kiss. “I think that’s kinda sweet—doing that for your mum.”
He told her to go back inside with the others and rode off into the Worthington suburbs.
A red Holden Commodore sedan pulled out from the kerb of the main road and followed him.
Ding-dong, Blaze waited patiently at the front door of the Bowmans’ modern, one-storey home after pressing the doorbell. An elderly lady nervously opened the door till the security chain was at full stretch. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m wondering if this is the home of Laurie and Marilyn Bowman?”
“For what reason, may I ask?”
Blaze presented his kindest smile. “My name is Bobby Blaise. I believe you know my mother, Elizabeth?”
Her frail hand covered her mouth as she registered who he was. “Laurie!” she called out to her husband. “Come here, quickly.”
Blaze heard hurried footsteps coming down the hallway from the other end of the house as Laurie made his way to the door. He wiped his hands on his trousers; he was preparing food in the kitchen. “Yes, Marilyn; who is it?” he asked.
“It’s Elizabeth’s boy,” she said quietly and motioned towards Blaze.
“Good heavens!” he said loudly. “Well don’t just stand there, woman; let the boy in!”
Blaze was ushered down the hallway to the kitchen dining table. “Can I get you a cup of tea?” Marilyn offered him.
“Coffee, if you have it,” he replied. “I’m a bit of a caffeine addict.” He tried to break the ice.
Blaze sat quietly at the kitchen table. Laurie returned to the kitchen bench, struggling to cut chicken breasts with a meat clever. There was an awkward silence; no one really knew what to say.
“You look like your mother,” Marilyn said at last. “Is she keeping well?”
“Yeah, I guess...”
“Glad to hear it.”
The awkward silence continued to dominate the room.
Blaze said to Laurie, “Can I help you with that?” He noticed he was struggling to cut through the tough slabs of meat.
“Bloody old age,” he cursed. “Can barely make a goddamn sandwich these days.”
Blaze politely took the cleaver from him and finished prepping the chicken breasts.
As Blaze diced away, he squinted as the sun pierced his eyes while staring out of the kitchen window. There was farmland as far as the eye could see behind their home. It was located on a cul-de-sac, right on the edge of town.
Laurie boldly said, “Look, if you’re coming here looking for answers about why we didn’t want contact with you, then I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”
Blaze put the cleaver down and gulped a mouthful of coffee. “I haven’t come here looking for answers,” he replied. “I completely respect your decision.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for your son.”
Laurie sighed. “Look, I’m sorry to tell you this, but no one has seen him in a long time. He’s either dead, or the police think he’s changed his identity. And personally, I pray it’s the former of the two.”
“That’s okay. I just need a copy of the most recent picture you have of him.”
Marilyn looked at Laurie with a worried expression. “I’m sorry, we can’t help you,” Laurie said.
“Can’t or won’t?” Blaze shot back at him.
Marilyn could feel the tension brewing between them, and intervened. “Bobby, we were so disgusted by our son’s actions that we removed all memories of his existence from our lives: photos, school certificates, Christmas cards; everything. He’s practically dead to us.”
Blaze heavily exhaled. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Laurie got up from the table and retrieved something from a bookshelf in the living room. “You can take this with you,” he said. “It’s a photo of you as a baby that your mother sent us. My son actually stole it from our home along with a letter explaining your existence and birth-date in case we ever wanted contact. And your mother, being the thoughtful lady I’m sure she is, sent us another copy. But to be honest, I’d rather you took it with you. It’s too hard being reminded of my wretched boy, Samuel, every time I stumble across it.”
Blaze nodded. “I understand. Look, I’m sorry I came by...I’ll get out of your hair.”
Marilyn took his cup and saucer and placed it in the kitchen sink. She said, “I’m sure you are a lovely man, but Samuel made our lives a living hell. And it just didn’t seem right to treat you as a grandson after what he did to your poor mother. For that I can only offer my sincerest apologies. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive us...”
“I can on one condition.” He gave her a piece of paper with his phone number written down on it.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Call me if you should ever come across Samuel. That’s all I ask.”
“No,” Laurie interjected. “We’ve been through enough. Please leave, and take your vendetta with you.”
“Or else, what?” The demon in Blaze awoke.
“Or I’ll call the police,” he replied bravely.
Blaze scoffed. “Screw the both of you. I’ll find him without your fucking help.” He angrily balled up the piece of paper and tossed it in the garden by the steps.
Laurie shook his head. “You truly are Samuel’s son; you’re a goddamn hot-head with no respect for anyone.”
Blaze saw red. “Watch your tongue, old man. You don’t know fucking anything about me!”
“That’s enough!” Marilyn snapped, then faced Blaze. “I think it’s time you left.”
When Blaze rode off back to the others at the bar and grill, he sped right past the red Holden Commodore that was innocently parked on the side of the street; the occupant of the vehicle was nowhere to be seen.
Blaze’s phone rang as he got off his Harley back at the bar and grill. It was Ryan.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“Are you okay?” he asked, detecting Blaze’s less-than-friendly tone. “I think I know what happened to Fish.”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Just tell me what you found out.”
Ryan told him about the faded markings on Fish’s hand, which forensics had conclusively proved to be black permanent marker pen. Then he explained the ethnicity of the girls that had been buried with him, and how Luther Sutherland’s DNA had been found in one of them, but how he’d somehow managed to walk free.
“Are you telling me someone is trafficking teenage girls into the country and selling them into the sex-slave industry?”
“And Fish saw the deal going down,” Ryan added.
“Fucking animals,” Blaze seethed. “Have you figured out who’s behind it yet?”
“All I know is they most likely came into the country via Smuggler’s Point, and that the delivery time was one a.m.” Ryan hesitated before he continued.
“Something on your mind, man?”
“Blaze, I have to ask: are you transporting these girls for Mr Lombardi and Seth Archer?”
“Are you fucking kidding me!” Blaze yelled into the phone. “I should rip your fucking tongue out for saying that!”
“I’m sorry. I just had to be sure,” he said defensively.
“And if I recall, Blaze continued, “Fish was murdered before I started working for Archer and Mr Lombardi. Which means if they are the sickos behind this, they’ve contracted someone else to do their dirty work.”
“But what about that anonymous delivery you made to Archer’s nightclub? Is it a possibility that it could have been a load of girls fresh off the boat? I remember you said you didn’t actually see what you were delivering when we had breakfast together.”
Blaze had to admit Ryan had a point. “I’ll look into it,” he replied curtly.
“Thank you,” said Ryan gratefully. “Say, can I ask you one more thing?”
“Fine.”
“Do the letters C L in conjunction with Smuggler’s Point mean anything to you?”
Blaze thought for a moment. “Nothing comes to mind.”
Ryan sighed. Then he boldly asked, “When do you think would be the best time for a snoop around Smuggler’s Point?”