by Ella Goode
“Sorry you had to come here this late,” she mumbles. Her face is a fiery red.
“It’s no big deal. Club’s a family and we watch after our own. You do your part tonight and we’ll take care of you. I’ll give you guys a few minutes.” Judge walks out.
“A bunch of fools from that club we were just at in the Cities got into some trouble and we need to run up there and take care of business. We should be back tomorrow night.” I pull the key off my chain I have hooked to my belt loop and press it into her hand.
Michigan holds her first, burying his head in her hair and squeezing her so tight I’m worried she can’t breathe. “I can’t kiss you, sweetheart, because if I press my lips against your sweet mouth, I’m not going to stop.”
He gives her another squeeze and then passes her off to me. I do kiss her, tonguing her deep and long until we’re both panting.
“Fuck it.” Michigan pulls her back into his arms and plants a hard kiss on her mouth.
When he releases her, her cherry red lips are smiling.
“You be in our bed, wearing nothing but our cuffs tomorrow night,” Michigan orders.
“All right.” She gives us both two more quick pecks against our cheek and then trips out the door to climb into Pippa’s little red car.
Wrecker and Abel, a prospect, show up about thirty minutes after Judge leaves. Wrecker is Judge’s son and is probably coming along to tell the dumb folks to shut up and stay locked up tight and in three years they’ll be out. Wrecker served three for involuntary manslaughter for defending a local who’d been attacked by a skinhead from a white supremacist biker group from up north. Should’ve been fucking self-defense and no charges but Schmidthead—Chief Schmidt—saw an opportunity to bring pain on the Death Lords MC, Judge specifically, and got the city attorney to bring charges when the county wouldn’t. On advice of counsel, they pled that shit down to involuntary and Wrecker did three years. He came out of it fine and as long as these punks kept their shit locked up tight, they’d be welcome in most any MC around. Loyalty means a lot in the brotherhood. That Abel is being sent with him means that Judge is getting ready to patch him in.
You don’t trust shit like this to a prospect.
From the gleam in this serious former Marine’s eyes, he knows it.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Always,” he says. We both know we’re talking about more than the trip up to the Cities.
“Guess we’ll be having a big party one of these days.”
A new patch is celebrated with liquor and fucking. I nudge Michigan and he gives me a small smile. We are both imagining Annie’s wild-eyed delight at that scene. She’d be hot and wet after the first five minutes. Hell, she’ll probably come from us just telling her about it. Like me, there’s a little part of her that likes to watch. She doesn’t want to show off to any of these assholes, but she doesn’t mind taking it all in. Thirsty and greedy little puss.
“Hope so,” is all Abel says. He’s a good one, all right.
“How’d you ever make it as a Marine, Easy?” Wrecker asks as we strap our packs onto the bike. This time we aren’t carrying around extra clothes, assless chaps, and silky lingerie. We’ve got guns, IDs and cash. “Seems to me that if you smile, you’re kicked out.”
“Don’t judge the entire branch by these two humorless assholes,” I joke. “We’ve got plenty of dumb jokesters like yourself.”
“This humorless asshole kept you alive, fucker,” Michigan taunts.
“True story.” I grin and swing one leg over Amber Whiskey. “I’m done gossiping if you are, ladies.”
“Ride on, brother.” Wrecker knocks his forearm against mine. Michigan climbs onto his bike and we lead the way with Wrecker and Abel following in the truck behind us.
When we arrive in Minneapolis, we park our bikes at a motel in Eagen and climb into the back of the four-door cab that Wrecker had driven up. Riding our lowriders past a suspected motorcycle club gang is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
Might as well hang a sign on the back of our cuts saying “arrest us.” I give Wrecker the instructions to Junior’s crash pad and he takes off.
“Kind of ingenious to have the clubhouse in the middle of a bunch of run-down college rentals,” Wrecker comments.
“No doubt. No one can complain here about noise late at night and coming and going of people at all hours.”
“How’re we playing this?” Wrecker asks. Abel’s silent and won’t likely say a word tonight. This is his last test and he’s determined to pass it.
“Junior’s in charge. I’m not sure if the two guys that got picked up acted under his orders or whether they’re wild cards trying to gain control after his old man’s death. We got to figure out if Junior’s worth the investment. If he is, then we clean out his stashes and hold them for him, minus a little protection fee.”
“I never met Junior. How old is he?”
“About twenty-five.”
Wrecker shakes his head. “Twenty-five and he’s still Junior?”
“Once you get a road name, that’s all you’re ever going to be called. Remember that asshole Taco from the Bedlam Butchers?”
“Yeah, ‘Taco’ sucks. So you guys are seeing Annie Bloom, huh?”
“Yup. What do you know about her? Didn’t you go to school with her?”
“She was a year ahead. I don’t know much about her. She didn’t run with my crowd. She was quiet, kept to herself. She’s okay-looking, I guess.”
“Right, because women who have supermodel bodies are always just okay,” Abel interjects.
“Why, Abel, are you crushing on our girl?” I say.
“No, but saying Annie Bloom is okay is like saying a three-week aged steak is ‘good’.”
“I don’t know,” Wrecker complains. “She’s always wearing shit clothes. How can you even tell what kind of body she has under those big skirts and sweaters?”
“You keep thinking that, Wrecker,” Michigan scowls. “And just because you’re about to be patched in, Abel, doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t kick the shit out of you if I catch you thinking about Annie without any clothes on.”
Abel gives a nod of acknowledgment while Wrecker rolls his eyes.
“You ever heard of Pastor Bloom being weird to her?”
“Like what?”
“Hurting her or anything?”
“No, why?” He swivels around. Abel grabs the wheel as the truck lurches toward the ditch.
“Glad that a girl getting beat by her old man riles you up but don’t kill us in the process,” Michigan warns.
“Fuck, sorry.” He straightens out. “I’ve never heard a word about Annie being beaten or something. She lives with her old man so he must not be all bad.”
Something about him just doesn’t sit right with me, but I’ve got nothing but my gut. There isn’t warning smoke or innuendo or rumor so I’ve just got to settle down.
“I can’t see a pastor’s kid at one of our mashes,” Wrecker admits.
“This is where your youth and inexperience shows,” I say wryly. “It is always the quiet ones.”
Abel and Michigan start laughing which is good because by the time we get to the clubhouse, we’re enjoying ourselves and so when we pass the unmarked cop car four houses down, we look like ordinary guys out for a drive instead of four bikers checking out the scene.
The house is shut down and there is no activity inside. I call Junior. “We’re here. Let’s meet up.”
“Thank fuck,” he breathes. He gives me the name of a strip club in Inver Grove Heights, south of the Cities.
Wrecker turns the cage around. We’re tired and ornery by the time we reach the Diamond Lounge. Wrecker wants to be home with his girl and we want to be back for Annie. Don’t know who Abel’s fucking; don’t really care.
Everything about the Diamond Lounge but its name is cheap and worn out, from the rotted wooden floors to the old woman dancing on the stage to the sad asses in the chairs in front of the
sagging stage.
“Shit, I got to take a picture of this,” Wrecker exclaims. “Chelsea isn’t going to believe that a place this bad even exists.”
I spot Junior in the corner and the four of us join him and his friend and get down to business.
Chapter Eighteen
Annie
“Thanks for driving me home,” I tell Pippa as she pulls up to the parish house.
“It’s no problem,” she says cheerfully. “I’m happy to do it.”
“Really?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s nearly midnight. Wouldn’t you rather be in bed with Judge?”
“Really, Annie.” She smiles. “I’m happy that you’re getting out. Do you need help tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t have much, but thank you.”
“Will you have a problem with your dad?”
I look at the parish house. Every room seems dark but the front room where a lamp beside Father’s reading chair is lit. He’s likely sitting in it, waiting for me. “Yes, but maybe we can work something out. I love him and he loves me, in his own way.”
“Call me if you need anything.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand.
I step out of the car and wipe my palms against my skirt. When the entry light turns on and Father appears in the doorway, Pippa waves at me and backs out.
I run up the stairs of the front porch and turn the knob but the door doesn’t open. Father stares at me through the sidelight.
“The door is stuck,” I say and jiggle the knob. He doesn’t break his stare not even when he turns the lights off. I still see the shape of him behind the light.
“Father!” I’m bewildered. He’s standing there. I can see him. He must know the door is locked or jammed. “The door’s stuck. I can’t open it.”
I dig in my purse and pull out my keys but the key doesn’t fit anymore. I jam the key in but it skids across the shiny metal surface. The very shiny, very new metal surface. I’m frantic and disbelieving so I try key after key until I stick the last one in and it sticks but I can’t turn it. I raise my eyes to the shadowed figure. “Did you change the locks?” I cry. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. I knew he’d be mad, but lock me out of the house?
The figure is silent, condemning. Long minutes pass as we stare at each other in the dark, through the glass sidelight.
He finally speaks and despite the barrier I can hear him clearly. He’s always been good at projecting his voice. “You’re behavior suggests you no longer wish to be part of my household; therefore you are no longer allowed access.”
“But…where will I go tonight?”
“Why don’t you pray about that and perhaps we can discuss this in the morning.”
“I need my stuff.” Hurt is giving way to anger. I can’t believe he’d do this—lock me out of my only home.
“Nothing in this house belongs to you.”
“That’s not true. I have clothes in there. And other stuff.” I have a few pieces of jewelry that my mother wore, some pictures, books. I want that. I jiggle the doorknob and bang on the wooden door. He allows the curtain for the sidelight to fall and then his figure moves away, ignoring my pleas.
My eyes fall to the key stuck in the lock. Crap. That is Easy’s key. The key to his house. I tug on it, but it won’t budge. Tears of frustration, hurt, unhappiness start flowing. I brush the back of my hand against my eyes and pull out the phone. I’ll call someone—Easy, Michigan, Pippa. Someone.
But the phone doesn’t work. I don’t even get a dial tone. In the dark I see that the service is disconnected. Did he cancel my cell phone plan too?
Taking a deep breath, I dry my eyes and think about my options. I can’t call anyone—not Michigan and Easy, not Pippa. The granary that serves as the motorcycle clubhouse is five miles west of town. Fortune is a safe town but it’s not Mayberry. It’d be dangerous to walk the five miles in the pitch dark. On those country roads there aren’t any streetlights and a car could easily hit me. Maybe Michigan and Easy haven’t left yet. It takes me twenty minutes to walk to the other side of town where they live.
My feet are sore because the flats I’d worn to the house aren’t meant for walking. Their house is completely silent and dark. I tap on a few windows but no one shows up. They are gone. A peek inside the garage shows only the truck and no bikes.
There are a couple of lawn chairs on the back porch. I pull those together and lie down. At least it’s summer. I can survive out here for one night in the summer. If it were winter though I wouldn’t make it.
I barely sleep a minute.
Between the mosquitoes and the late summer night air, there was no rest for me so I’m up at dawn and at the bank’s ATM. I insert my card and punch in my key code. The machine beeps at me and then swallows my card!
I make my way to the gas station, buy a coffee and a donut and sit on a bench at the park for the next three hours waiting for the bank to open. At nine o’clock sharp I’m outside the bank waiting for the doors to open.
Sara Ellerby, a high school classmate of mine, waves to me as she unlocks the door.
“Morning, Annie.” She holds open the door and I march in.
“Morning, Sara. I need to make a withdrawal and check my balance.”
“Sure thing. You have your debit card?” She hustles around to the back of the counter and holds out her hand for my card.
“No, the bank ATM ate it this morning.”
“God, I’m sorry. I’ll just need your driver’s license and bank account then. I can order you a new card too.”
“Thanks,” I sigh. So I had a few bad hours. I’ll withdraw some money, enough that I can stay in a motel tonight if I have to and a prepaid phone. As I make plans, Sara taps away at her keyboard. It seems like it’s taking her a long time. A little divot appears on her pretty face as she stares at the screen.
“Something wrong?”
“Um, no. I don’t think so.” She taps out a few more keys. “Do you have another account, Annie?”
“No. Just this one.”
She turns back to me, hands clasped and her lips pressed tight together. “Honey, that account is closed. It was closed this morning by your father. He was a cosignatory on the account.”
“He can do that?” I ask in shock. “Close it without me?”
She nods and misery is all over her face. “He transferred all the money over to a different account and I can’t tell you which one.”
“But, but—” My mouth is flapping like underwear on a clothing line. “The bank just opened,” I sputtered.
“I know.” She grimaces. “It was done right as the bank was opening. I’m so sorry. Do you need a loan? I’ve got a little money set aside.”
“No,” I say dazed but furious. I can’t believe Father would do that to me.
“I heard you were seeing a couple of the Death Lords. They take care of their own. If you needed something, I’m sure they would help you out.”
“Is that already being talked about?” I said with dismay.
“Unfortunately. It’s Fortune. What else have we got to do?”
“Thanks,” I say faintly. “For everything.”
I march over to the church. I’m hungry and I haven’t slept well which means I’m really irritated. The church is open all hours. There are no locks on the sanctuary door. Give me your tired and needy and poor is the unofficial motto.
Well, I’m all three.
The doors bang open and echo inside the empty worship hall. For once I don’t feel that sense of reverence. I’m too angry. I stomp down the center aisle and through the side door to the back where the parish office is.
I don’t even knock. My, I’m rebellious today.
“What is it?” Father asks impatiently.
“You took my money,” I accuse.
He steeples his fingers. “No, that money came from the church. You were just merely the custodian of the funds which could be taken from you at any time should you not be in alignment with the
principles of the church.”
I gasp. “I earned that money. I worked here for years for that money.”
“Is money all that you can think about?” he says with disapproval.
“No, but I don’t understand why you’ve taken it from me. I earned it.” Tears start falling but they’re tears of anger and frustration. I’m upset about so many things. His betrayal being number one. “You locked me out last. I had to sleep outside on lawn chairs. This morning I went to draw some money out of my account and it was gone. All of it. What is this all about?”
“Anne Bloom, do not play dumb with me. You know what this is about.”
“Is it because I want to see Easy?”
He erupts. He jumps from his chair and strides around his desk. “Easy?” he spits out. “You call him by that ridiculous gang name. You’ve spread your legs not only for him but for his friend. You’re nothing but a whore.”
I gasp at the insult. He looms over me. It shocks me that I’ve forgotten how big he is. I got my height from him but he stands at least six inches taller than me. And he’s big. Big boned. I never gave his size much thought. Other than that one time, the one time we don’t speak about, he’s never given me cause to worry about it.
“Yes, that’s right,” he continues. “I had an edifying conversation with Chief Schmidt last night. He shared with me the perversions that go on in that club. It is a den of iniquity and now that you are part of it, you do not belong here in this sanctuary, contaminating the good people of the community.”
“There’s nothing in the Bible that says I can’t love more than one man,” I say defiantly.
He grabs my wrists in his one big paw and leans over and spits in my face! I draw back in utter shock. My mouth drops open but I can’t even wipe the spittle away because his big hand is holding me captive. “You are an abomination.”
He raises my wrists higher with one hand and reaches behind him with another. He shoves two brown pieces of leather in my face, mashing my face against the metal clasps so hard I feel my lips bite into my teeth.
“And these? What are these?” he thunders, shaking my wrists.