Athena Sisterhood

by Dharma Kelleher

  “You sure we shouldn’t have called SWAT in on this?” asked Winslow from the backseat.

  “My informant said the place wasn’t guarded,” Rios replied, hoping Shea was right.

  “Then how come we’re wearing vests?”

  “In case my informant was wrong.”

  The road widened into a clearing. Rios pulled straight in, illuminating the small wooden structure with her high beams. A heavyset man with a long white beard wearing a Confederate Thunder cut sat on a lawn chair in front of the cabin, a Remington hunting rifle on his lap. She recognized him from his mug shot.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” shouted Monster as he shielded his eyes from the headlights. “This is private property.”

  Rios stepped out of her car with her service weapon drawn. “Cortes County Sheriff! Search warrant! Get on the ground!”

  “Motherfuckin’ commies. You can’t do this. This is America.” He stood up, holding the rifle waist high.

  “Toss the gun and get on the ground, or we will shoot you,” said Johnson as she held up the warrant in one hand, her service weapon in the other.

  Monster spat, then tossed the rifle. “There.”

  “Lay your ass on the ground, hands behind your head, fingers laced, ankles crossed.” Rios picked up the rifle and handed it to Winslow. The man grunted as he complied with the commands.

  “What’s your name?” asked Winslow.

  “Monster.”

  “Otherwise known as Vernon Mueller,” said Rios. “A couple of assault charges back in the day. You still on probation, Monster?”

  “I invoke my Fourth Amendment right to silence.”

  Rios chuckled. “I think you mean the Fifth Amendment, but feel free to keep your mouth shut.” She cuffed him. “I’ll take these off once we’re done here. Unless we find something illegal.”

  “Y’all smell that?” asked Johnson.

  Rios sniffed the air and caught a whiff of fumes. “Gasoline?”

  Johnson followed the scent and stopped over a damp spot on the ground. “Someone must’ve spilled some gasoline.”

  “You getting sloppy gassing up your bikes, Monster?”

  Rios stepped up to the cabin door and found it padlocked. Deputy Peterson, a stocky K9 officer with a crew cut, approached with a Malinois named Misty. Misty stopped and pawed at the front door. Drugs were inside.

  Gotcha, thought Rios. “Where’s the key to that lock?”

  “I’m just guarding the place. Got no key.”

  “Of course you don’t.” She holstered her pistol, walked to the back of her car, and pulled a battering ram out of her trunk. “Not a problem.”

  “Hey you can’t do that,” moaned Monster. “That’s destruction of private property.”

  “You got another way in?” asked Johnson.

  “No.”

  Johnson kicked his boots. “Then shut the hell up.”

  Peterson and Misty moved aside as Rios returned to the door. “Knock, knock.” She swung the battering ram. The door cracked but didn’t open. A second blow smashed the door inward, ripping the lock out of the wood. Rios dropped the ram and pulled the flashlight off her belt to look around. “It’s clear. Peterson, do your thing.”

  “Okay, Misty.” Peterson led the canine into the cabin.

  Rios guided them with her flashlight. Misty started on the left, sniffing boxes, musty furniture, and motorcycle parts. When she reached a pair of red plastic bins, Misty sat and pawed at the bins.

  “We got a hit,” said Peterson. “Good girl, Misty.” He and the dog exited as Winslow entered.

  Rios turned to him. “Help me move these ammo cases. Let’s see what’s in these bins.”

  When the ammo cases were moved off to the side, Rios inspected the top bin, looking for possible booby traps. A year earlier, a detective had lost an arm and his vision after opening a container of coke rigged with explosives. Rios didn’t see anything to suggest a threat.

  “These bins match the ones we found at the Jaguars’ warehouse a few months ago,” said Winslow.

  “Yeah, I thought they looked familiar.” Rios released the locks on the ends of the bin and grabbed a pry bar she found in the corner of the cabin to lift off the cover. No explosion.

  Rios took a deep breath, looked inside, and found a jumble of tools, a stereo receiver, and a twisted nest of electrical cords. She pried the lid off the receiver hoping to find drugs hidden inside, but found nothing but electronics. “No drugs. Let’s check the second bin.”

  They moved the first bin to the side and popped the lid off the second one. Again no contraband, just an assortment of biker-themed Christmas decorations and a blanket with a Johnny Reb sewed on it. Rios felt like the grinning skull was mocking her. “Shit.”

  She scanned the rest of the cabin. “My informant also said there was an arsenal of weapons, but I’m not seeing them. Just cases of ammo.”

  “How’d the dog get a hit when there’s no drugs?” asked Winslow.

  “If drugs were stored there at one time,” said Peterson, “there could still be enough residue for Misty to get a hit.”

  Outside the cabin, Monster chuckled. “Need help finding something?”

  Johnson kicked his boot again. “Quiet.”

  “So now what?” asked Winslow.

  “Let’s tear this place apart. There’s got to be something we can arrest these guys on.”

  Rios and her team pulled everything out of the cabin, digging into boxes, tearing apart furniture, and disassembling motorcycle parts. But after two hours, they had found nothing illegal. And Misty didn’t get a hit off of anything but the empty red bins.

  “All right, folks. Let’s pack it up.” Rios’ temper was simmering. Whatever had been here was gone now. She couldn’t be sure the bins had even contained the hex she was looking for.

  “What about our door?” grumbled Monster as Johnson uncuffed him.

  “Be glad we don’t arrest you for threatening a deputy with a deadly weapon.” Johnson cycled the bolt several times, letting five finger-length rounds clink onto the ground, and handed the unloaded rifle back to Monster. “Have a nice day, sir.”

  “Goddamn pigs.”

  Rios, Johnson, and Winslow piled back into her car and drove off, followed by Peterson in the K9 vehicle. Shea had some serious explaining to do.

  Chapter 22

  Shea pulled into her garage and helped Annie off the back of the bike.

  As the two of them pulled off their helmets, Shea said, “Listen, Doodlebug, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Jessica about seeing Labrys, all right?”

  “Why not?”

  Shea fussed with her jacket zipper that refused to release. “Well, I don’t want her to worry.” She jerked the edge of the jacket and the zipper let loose.

  “Why was she all beat up? Did you hit her?”

  Shea felt like she’d been sucker punched for the second time in as many hours. “No, I would never do that.” Though there had been times in the past she had wanted to. “Some guys roughed her up a little, but I made them stop. It’s no big deal.” Close enough to the truth.

  “Looked like someone hit her.”

  Shea hung their helmets from hooks mounted on the wall. “Why don’t we go inside and see what Jessica has for dinner. I think I smell pizza.”

  “Real pizza or one of Jessica’s weird pizzas with weird ingredients like artichokes?” Annie made a face.

  “I dunno. Let’s go find out.”

  She took a final glance outside, still haunted by visions of the Thunder showing up en masse to seek revenge. Her fist pounded the switch on the wall that set the garage door clanking closed.

  Inside the house, a large pizza box lay on the kitchen counter. Shea lifted the lid. “You’re in luck, kiddo. It’s pepperoni and sausage. Now go wash up.”

  “Yay, real pizza!” Annie hustled off to the hallway bathroom.

  “So what happened at school?” asked Jessica from the living room love seat.


  Shea pulled out a dispenser of pumice hand soap, determined to remove any gunshot reside from her arms and hands. “She got suspended for defending herself against that bully.”

  “They suspended her?” Jessica asked between bites.

  “Three days. That same punk was harassing her, so she decked him. I’da done the same thing.” Shea put some pizza slices on a couple of plates and sat down next to Jessica.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I have someone who can watch her for a few days next week while we’re at work.”

  Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  “Orphan. She’s an artist and doesn’t have a day job. She’d be perfect.”

  “From the Sisterhood? Do you even know her real name?”

  “Sarah something.”

  “Sarah something? You want to let someone whose last name you don’t know watch your niece for eight to ten hours a day?”

  Annie walked in and sat on the sofa with her plate. “She watched me this afternoon.”

  Shea choked on a piece of pepperoni. What’s she gonna blurt out next? “Jess, don’t freak out. I had some errands to run. Orphan agreed to watch her. It was no big deal.”

  Jessica set aside her plate and leaned toward Annie. “You like hanging out with Orphan?”

  “Yeah, it’s kinda fun. She showed me how to paint. I just didn’t like the scary woman that was there.”

  Sucker punch number three. Could the Thunder have gotten to her that fast? “What scary woman?” Shea asked.

  “I dunno. She was hanging out at her door when we got there. Orphan told her to go away.”

  “What did this scary woman look like?” asked Jessica.

  “Big. She said mean things to Orphan that made her scared.”

  Jessica locked eyes with Shea. “You seriously want Annie staying with Orphan when there are big scary women showing up at her door?”

  Shea wasn’t sure whether to be worried about this scary stranger or to be relieved it wasn’t the Thunder. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious. If Orphan thought she was in trouble, she would have said something to me or to—” Aw shit.

  Jess cocked her head. “Or to whom? Who else was there?”

  “I didn’t want to say anything ’cause I knew you’d overreact.”

  “Oh you did, did you? And would this other person’s name happen to be Deb?”

  “Uh-huh,” said Annie.

  Shea smirked. “Thanks a lot, kid.”

  “And what errands were you and your ex-girlfriend doing all afternoon?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Then please. Enlighten me.”

  “We went to a place where the other motorcycle club keeps their stash of…contraband.” Shea tilted her head in Annie’s direction, not wanting to mention the Thunder in front of her. “I figured if I can get them arrested for selling this contraband, I won’t have to be Rios’ snitch no more.”

  “Really?” Jessica crossed her arms, her face a mask of anger and disbelief. “And did you and your old girlfriend find any contraband at this other club’s place?”

  “See, that’s the good part.” Shea forced a placating smile. “We found the…uh, contraband they stole from the Jaguars. They’re as good as busted.”

  “And Deb got beaten up,” added Annie, followed by a throaty belch. “Can I have some more pizza?”

  “Beaten up?” Jess’ eyes crinkled in concern. “By whom?”

  “We ran into a little trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Some of the guys in the other club. Trust me, they got the worst of it.” A memory of Gator’s bloody chest surfaced in Shea’s mind. She pushed it back down with a bite of pizza. “The important thing is when Rios busts them and sends them all to prison, you and me can live happily ever after.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Jessica lay back and stared at the ceiling. “You still planning to join the Sisterhood?”

  “Yeah. With the Thunder no longer a problem, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Except for your psycho ex-girlfriend.”

  Shea set aside her plate and cradled Jessica’s face. “Deb is ancient history, Jess. I love you. I’m committed to you. My heart overflows with love whenever I’m with you.”

  “I love you, too.” Jess kissed her.

  “Ewww!” Annie carried her plate into the kitchen. “I’m gonna eat in my room.”

  Shea chuckled. “Just don’t spill anything on the carpet.”

  Jessica climbed onto Shea and planted a series of kisses on her face and neck. Shea sighed as the troubles of the day evaporated.

  “Can we go out tomorrow night? Just the two of us?” whispered Jess.

  “You want me to ask Orphan to watch Annie?”

  “I asked Mrs. Collins next door to watch her, hoping you’d say yes.”

  “In that case, yes.” Shea kissed her deeply.

  Rios collapsed into her chair and laid her head on the desk after returning from the fruitless search on the Thunder’s so-called stash house. It was well after nine o’clock. She was tired and hungry, but more than anything she was angry. She had given Shea Stevens the benefit of the doubt, only to end up looking like a fool.

  It was bad enough being known as the department’s IA snitch. The photo someone had taken of her holding Shea’s hand didn’t help. After the search turned up nothing, it would be a miracle if she didn’t get transferred out of the department.

  She sat up and thumbed through the case files. What little evidence she had pointed to someone in the Athena Sisterhood being the source of the hex. She needed Shea working the Sisterhood from the inside.

  Rios was about to call Shea when her cellphone rang. “Detective Rios.”

  “Hey, it’s Morris.” There were conversations and music in the background.

  “What’s up, Detective?”

  “You were concerned the rivalry between the Confederate Thunder and the Athena Sisterhood was going to get bloody?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It just did. We got a dead Thunderman. Looks like a shotgun wound to the chest. Thought maybe you could offer some insights.”

  Rios sighed. The last thing she wanted was to spend the next several hours at another crime scene. “Where are you?”

  “Bootlegger Bob’s.”

  “Someone killed a Thunderman at their favorite watering hole?”

  “We’re thinking it’s a body dump. Victim was most likely killed somewhere else. My gut says the Athena Sisterhood’s responsible.”

  Rios found it hard to believe, but clearly her instincts had been off lately. “Your victim got a name?”

  “Patch on his cut reads GATOR. Driver’s license IDs him as Edward Applewhite. You know him?”

  “I’ve heard the name. Skinny, kind of a Jay Leno chin.”

  “That’s him.”

  “Served time for a couple of B&Es, as I recall. You want me to come down there?” Please say no.

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Bello won’t think I’m trying to steal your case?”

  “We both want this solved before more bodies start piling up. Any help you can give is appreciated.”

  “All right. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Thanks, Detective. See ya then.”

  Rios grabbed her purse and her leather-bound notebook and headed out. As she drove, her mind sorted through the evidence she had so far. None of the members of the Sisterhood she’d identified had a criminal record, outside of a few protest-related trespassing charges. No assaults. Murder seemed like a big step.

  Then again, she had a witness claiming one or more of them was dealing drugs. Murder and narcotics often went hand in hand. And there were the rumors that the Sisterhood was linked to the firebombings. The recent clashes with the Thunder certainly gave them motive.

  For all she knew, Shea Stevens could have killed Gator. She had mentioned she was at the stash house with members of the Thunder. Odd con
sidering her concerns for her family’s safety. Maybe Shea wasn’t giving her the whole story.

  The bright lights of Bootlegger Bob’s parking lot appeared in the darkness. The entrance was blocked off with two CCSO barricades. Rios showed her detective’s shield to the deputy standing guard, who moved one of the barricades and let her through.

  She parked next to a marked patrol car. Most of the vehicles in the lot were motorcycles, many with the words CONFEDERATE THUNDER or the Johnny Reb painted on the tanks.

  As she gathered her notebook and purse, a stain on her passenger floor mat caught her eye. Upon closer examination, she saw it was a dark reddish partial shoe print. “What the hell?”

  Rios pulled out her phone and dialed.

  “Detective Johnson speaking.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At home. Eating dinner. Why?”

  “Check the bottom of your shoes.”

  “My shoes? Why?”

  “I think you stepped in something tonight.”

  “Ugh. Please tell me it wasn’t manure. Hold on. Let me check.”

  As she waited, one of the field techs assigned to the scene walked past. “Hey, Hank!”

  He turned around. “Evening, Detective.”

  “You have a presumptive blood test kit handy?”

  “Sure, I’ll be right back with one.”

  He returned a moment later with a small kit. “You found something here in the lot?”

  Rios grimaced. “Sort of.” She pulled out the floor mat. “My team executed a search warrant on one of the Thunder’s properties earlier. I think one of the detectives may have stepped in blood and transferred it to my floor mat.”

  “Well, let’s take a look.” With a cotton swab wet with ethyl alcohol, he swiped the dark stain on the mat. A drop each of reagent and hydrogen peroxide confirmed her suspicion as the cotton swab turned hot pink. Blood. “Positive. We’d have to take it to the lab to confirm. You want me to bag it?”

  “No, that’s all right. I’ll do it. Thanks for your help.”

  “Anytime.” Hank walked away to return to his duties.