by Lynn, Davida
Kyle spent almost the entire drive back north on the phone. Some of the calls went down to Bakersfield, others up to Davis. Those in the know with the Rising Sons were aware of who Conrad Blythe was. His drug connections were well known in the outlaw community, which only made me feel even more stupid for having missed them. Maybe I did know somewhere deep down inside, but I chose to ignore it for the greater good. Not anymore.
In a small town an hour outside of Davis, Kyle and I grabbed a late lunch at an old-school drive up. Like nothing was wrong in our lives, the two of us ordered our chili cheese dogs and shakes. With a tray balanced on the driver’s side window, we ate as Kyle gave me the rundown on his ramshackle plan. If we could keep our heads down, in one week’s time, everything would be over.
“Romero is the key to this whole thing. He’s ex-special forces, so he’ll know just what we need.” He sighed, “If the fucker will answer his goddamn phone. The boys aren’t gonna like it, but I think we’re gonna have to go in real quiet. Romero could probably sneak in and slit Blythe’s throat before anyone even knows what’s going on. I wish I could tell you that Conrad was the only one we had to nail, but I don’t think that’s the case. His men are paid well enough to earn him a little bit of loyalty. Once he’s gone, they’re gonna be pissed that their paychecks will come to a screeching halt. You’re just as integral as Romero, you know.”
The coffee was doing nothing to help my shakes. “I can tell you the layout, how many guards, all of that stuff. Whatever you need.”
“Telling ain’t be enough, babe. We’re gonna need you on the inside.” He knew I wasn’t gonna like it. He knew damn well.
I looked up to the roof of the car. I just wanted it to end. I wanted my mind to get a minute’s peace. Going back inside there was the last thing I wanted. ”Kyle, please. I’ll draw a damn blueprint if you want. Just please don’t make me go back in there.”
“I know, I know. I don’t want you to go in there, either. I want you as far away from danger as humanly possible. But there’s no location on earth that is far enough. The only place far enough is in the future when Conrad is gone.” Kyle leaned over and ran a finger down my cheek. He always knew how to deliver bad news. “I think we both know this is the only way.”
All I could do was nod my head in acknowledgment. I didn’t want any more violence, but that meant something had to be done about Conrad. I couldn’t stand to set foot anywhere near that mansion but seeing it torn to the ground would be a gift. I wanted to see everything that Conrad stood for reduced to rubble.
His phone vibrated and Kyle dug at his pockets. A smile crept on his face as he looked at the screen. He turned it to me, and I saw the contact Fuckwad had come up. Despite the gravity of the situation, I had to laugh.
“When did you do that?” I asked.
He gave a casual shrug. “After the first call. I had a feeling it would be the last. He’s dangerous, sure, but he’s also an egomaniac. To him, this is sport, so he’s going to toy with us.” I wondered if Kyle was acting so calm to help me stay calm, or if he really was absolutely comfortable with this. Maybe he had the stone cold attitude to go with the rock hard muscles. He raised a finger to me. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take this.”
I shook my head. He really was keeping me calm and under control. God, I loved him for that. I love him for a hundred things, but Kyle was my tranquility and my peace. I sucked down some more of my milkshake while Kyle toyed with Conrad.
“Hey there, Douchington.” Kyle laid the phone down in his lap. It was on speaker.
The tinny, distorted voice of Conrad filled the car. “Awfully jovial for a dead man. I hope you and that little whore of yours are having a good time, because it’s going to come to an end very soon.” Hearing Conrad call me a whore sucked every bit of good feeling from inside of me. It was replaced with the smell of rot. Kyle was right; he had to go. Conrad didn’t deserve to stay alive.
“I think by now you understand that you can’t run from me.” Conrad sounded too calm, like a big-screen serial killer. Like at any moment, he could explode with rage. “I figure you will try, anyway. The bottom line is this: you’re a dead man walking. Her, too, but I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to play Carmen fucking San Diego, so here’s what’s going to occur.”
His voice was a nightmare. The world seemed to darken and close around me. Conrad wasn’t speaking through the phone. He was in the backseat with his icy hands around my throat. I reached a hand up and almost felt him there. My mind told me to turn around to prove to myself that the backseat was empty, but I couldn’t do it. I was too afraid that I would see him there. Those painful gray eyes and that disingenuous smile would be there waiting for me.
If I could’ve gotten out of the car without making any noise, I would have. Conrad’s voice was breaking me down; cracking my foundation little bit at a time. Maybe Kyle saw the pain that I couldn’t hide, because he reached for the phone as Conrad continued. He knew I didn’t want to hear that voice anymore.
“Since you two insist on playing cat and mouse, I think I’ll be paying a visit with my favorite mother-in-law.”
My hand gripped Kyle’s wrist. My heart froze in my chest. Conrad’s words sent ice rippling through my body. His fingers were back at my throat.
I could almost hear the smirk in that fucker’s voice. “It would be a shame if, after all that recovery, Laurel had a relapse of some kind. And we all thought she was so strong…Are you there, Celeste? Are you listening?” The hands tightened. “I hope you are fully aware that I mean when I say. I’m giving you the choice. You or your mother. I am a benevolent man, so I’ll make you a promise. It will be fast and painless for you, but it will be slow torture for her. Hmm, you know, I think Laurel was supposed to join us for dinner this very evening, as a matter of fact. How about that? How about that?”
Click.
Before I could say a word, Kyle fired up the car. As he backed out of the drive-in, he rolled the window down. The tray holding our food tumbled into the parking lot. The rear tires squealed in protest as Kyle pulled the car back onto the road. My hands were frantic, trying to grab the handle and a seatbelt at the same time. Just seconds before we hit a speed bump, I clicked the buckle in place.
Without enough time to go over every detail, we both knew the plans were out the window. The look on Kyle’s face was all business; eyes focused and dead ahead. “Tonight. It goes down tonight, and it ends tonight. Your mom’s gonna be fine, Celeste. I give you my word.”
Kyle tore down the highway with everything he had. We didn’t even have time on our side anymore.
“Plans change. I wasn’t exactly in a place to negotiate, Trask.” As Kyle spoke on the phone, he darted in and out of traffic. At first, it had me worried. The more I rode next to Kyle, the more I knew he was one of the best. “Tonight. It has to be tonight.” After a few seconds, he said, “Shit. When’s he supposed to be back? Fuck me. Yeah, we can still do it without Romero, but it might be a real fuck parade. I’ll be at the bar in twenty minutes. Trask, I need you. Send out a call. We’re gonna need everyone.” Kyle tossed me the phone. “Hope you know your mom’s number by heart.”
I wasn’t a total slave to technology. With a tiny bit of hope in my heart, I dialed her number. If she answered, it might not be the end of the world. Luck wasn’t on our side. After one ring, it went to voicemail. “Fuck.” I growled the word under my breath. “No luck. I think her phone’s off. That’s not usual for her.”
Ever since the accident, my mom never went anywhere without her phone, and she would never let it go below a twenty-five percent charge. If it wasn’t on, it wasn’t on for a reason.
There was a turn coming up, and Kyle made no move towards the brake pedal. Instead of slowing down, he jammed on the gas pedal. I heard the tires squeal behind me, and the back of the car broke free, tire smoke appearing as it did. I gripped the seat as Kyle slid the car around. He was smooth as butter behind the wheel.
His voice was a
nything but smooth. “You fuck with my girl or any of her people, I’ll fucking kill you myself.” Conrad might as well have been in the car. Maybe Kyle was practicing, but it felt more like he was trying to project that rage all the way to the Blythe mansion. He wanted Conrad to know he was coming for him.
True to his word, Kyle pulled the classic car into the gravel lot with one minute to spare. A normal drive would’ve taken an hour, but Kyle cut that down to just forty minutes. Even if time wasn’t on our side, he was doing everything he could. Kyle had the look of a man who would move heaven and earth for me.
The car clanked and sputtered even after Kyle shut it down. He had pushed it to the limits to get to Davis. The sun wasn’t nearly high enough in the sky for my liking. We had hours, not days. The line of Harleys outside the bar was a welcome sight. In a quick jog from the car to the door, I counted upwards of fifteen bikes. On any given night, Conrad had ten guards on staff. That was a normal night, though. Something told me it wouldn’t be a normal night. The more men on our side, the better.
Inside, the place might as well have been knee deep in Saturday night. None of the tattooed outlaws seemed concerned at all. Music blasted out of speakers, and every biker I saw had a beer in their hands. Were these the men who were going to go after Conrad Blythe? Based on what Kyle said, Conrad was ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone in his way.
When the two of us walked in, a few of the biker saw us and arrested into drunken cheers, “Heeeey!” One of them raised his bottle and belched. These men were my salvation. Dear God, help me.
Kyle took me by the hand and led me through the bar. He seems to know everyone. Not a single one of them seemed to have a normal name. He introduced me to one named Alcatraz, a huge guy named Deacon, Lucky, Thunder, and one that went by Stache.
“You know, short for mustache,” Kyle said with a shrug.
Even Kyle had a nickname once we walked into the bar. The man I had wasted a year being away from and had made love to me on the hood of his car that very morning was known as Bandit. Compared to Thunder or Alcatraz, Bandit didn’t seem all that tough.
“Aww, reminds me of a little raccoon or something.” I couldn’t help but poke fun at him. Tensions were high, and anything to ease the migraine helped. Even with a little joke or two, I was holding on tight to my sanity.
Everything felt rushed. Conrad had forced our hand, and I could see it on the faces of the bikers. Kyle had built up my expectations about Romero and his skills, but then Conrad’s threats against my mother derailed any confidence I had. Of course, every time I tried her phone, I got sent straight to voicemail, but I tried every ten minutes or so, anyway. I feared that Conrad already had her.
I was lost in thought when Kyle bumped into my shoulder. “You doin’ okay, kiddo?”
I let out a long breath. There was no need to tell him how I was feeling. “What’s up?
Turning back toward the crowd, Kyle said, “Trask wants to speak with you one on one. He’s a thorough prez.” When I looked into the crowd, the president of the Rising Sons Davis Chapter found me. He indicated to the back of the bar, and I gave an acknowledgement. I didn’t like the look in his eyes.
Kyle must not have, either. “Just answer his questions. The Sons don’t work for free.”
“What does that mean?”
Kyle shrugged, “It means what it means. We aren’t a charity.”
As I headed toward the back of the bar to speak with Trask, I figured that my $1,300 wasn’t going to cut it.
Trask leaned against the backdoor of the bar for a while. A bottle of Rolling Rock dangled from his hand. A small puddle of condensation spread on the floor beneath the bottle. If he was deep in thought, I wasn’t going to interrupt him.
When he looked up, Trask looked tired; almost sick. He had large bags under deeply bloodshot eyes. “If Bandit says you’re worth it, you’re worth it.” Another long pause. “I’m sure he told you that we don’t work pro bono, especially on something like this. We know Blythe. We know what he does for a living, and we know that this won’t be easy or quiet. We aren’t the A-Team, but we can definitely handle ourselves pretty damn well in a fight.” Looking over Trask, I could easily see that. He filled out his t-shirt with plenty of muscle, and his Devil-may-care attitude was clear.
“Whatever you need? You’ve got it.” My poor mother was at the front of my mind. “I’ll go back to the house with you, if you need. I’ll draw you floorplans, and give you all the codes to the house.”
“I get that, I get that. We’ll talk about the plan later on. Right now, I want to talk about payment. Bandit makes it sound like you don’t have much green, so we’re going to make it look like a motorcycle club raided the place. We’re taking any weapons, cash, and valuables we find there.”
I lowered an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. You don’t want to cover your tracks?”
“Not cover them, just a little misdirection. There’s another club in town that could use some attention from the law. The right evidence in the right place, and we kill a few birds with one stone.” A smile replaced some of the weariness. “Here’s some free advice. Always try to make the most of a bad situation.”
“Take whatever you want. I don’t want a dime from Conrad. Burn the place to the ground for all I care. You just tell me what you want me to do. Conrad means nothing to me anymore. I want him gone.”
Trask’s smile grew. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Tonight isn’t going to be easy. It’s going to be hell, actually. If what you say is true, we’re going to be going up against some trained men. I’m not worried, but I’d be stupid if I wasn’t a little scared.”
“Like I said, I’ll give you whatever info will help take Conrad down.”
Trask studied my face for a while. His eyes were hard, but it wasn't the kind of look I had gotten used to from Conrad. Trask was looking for strength, not weakness.
I followed him back into the party, my confidence all over the place. There was a redness to Trask’s cheeks that I didn’t like. The bottle that dangled from his hand swayed, too, and he seemed to be the one keeping it together the best. Some of the other bikers were downright skunked.
I hated to do it, but I pulled Kyle aside. Speaking in a voice only he could hear, I asked, “Are they drunk?”
Kyle looked around. “Most of them, yeah.”
“Please tell me they're not going to be drunk tonight. I hate to sound bitchy, but my life is in their hands and their hands can barely hold up their beers.” My confidence in the Rising Sons and the plan wavered, to say the least.
Kyle had a slight smile. “They will be stone sober tonight.”
“Then why are they drunk now?”
“They're celebrating life.”
There was a lot about the biker culture that I didn't understand. I never tried to stop Kyle from living that life, but I did have to let a lot of it go. I didn't get this at all, though. “Why are they celebrating life?”
“Because,” the smile disappeared from Kyle’s face, replaced with the hardest look I'd ever seen, “Because there's a good chance some of these men won't be around to celebrate tomorrow.”
As Bandit—the name was starting to grow on me—had promised, the boys were stone sober at sundown. Many had gone home before the evening began. When they returned, it was like a different group of men. They were dressed in black, some with black bandanas adorned with skulls. I knew bikers loved their skull imagery, but it felt like a bad omen to me.
They came packing heat, too. Kyle’s father ran a gun shop, so I expected weapons on him, but some of the others had some serious firepower, too. Every second that passed, I grew more nervous. I kept my hands in my pockets because I wanted to Rising Sons to feel confident in me, since I was inexplicably leading the charge.
Bandit dropped into a stool beside me. Reaching over the bar, he grabbed a glass and a shot of Four Roses. As he poured, he leaned in, “Something for the nerves.” He knew bourbon was my drink of choice, and he
also knew I’d never pour one for myself.