Lieutenant Pasco, who ran STU, approached Rios and Johnson. “The house is clear, Detectives.”
“Okay, thanks. Have your men stand down, but keep an eye out for the owner showing up. Oh, and bring in Peterson with the dog.”
“Roger that.” He signaled to the rest of the team and they filed out of the house.
A moment later, Deputy Peterson walked in with Misty, the Malinois. He led her systematically through each room, opening cabinets, closets, and any other space that might hide drugs. Rios and Johnson followed at a distance, looking for potential contraband or any evidence that might connect the good professor to dealing hex or involvement in the Bootlegger Bob’s fire.
“What the hell is this?” shouted a familiar voice from outside. “Who the hell are you people?”
“And we have company.” Rios closed the kitchen cabinet she’d been checking and strode out to the front porch. “Professor Raymond, welcome home.”
Raymond’s face was flushed and full of anger. Lieutenant Pasco blocked her from the porch. “What the hell are you people doing?”
Rios handed her a copy of the search warrant. “Ma’am, we are conducting a legal search of the house. I’ll need you to stay outside while we do so.”
“On what grounds are you searching my house? You have no probable cause.” Raymond tried to push past the lieutenant, but he held on to her.
“Tell me, Professor,” asked Rios, “what’s with all of the large cash transactions in and out of your bank account?”
“They’re none of your damn business, that’s what they are.” She glared at Rios. “You and your storm troopers best leave my home at once.”
“You best sit tight or you’ll be arrested. You understand me?”
“I’m calling my lawyer and putting a stop to this bullshit.” Raymond pulled out her phone.
Peterson and Misty walked out. When his eyes met Rios’, he shook his head. “No joy. Sorry.”
Rios got a sinking feeling. She couldn’t afford another failure. “Are you sure? Maybe she missed something.”
Peterson shrugged. “It’s possible. There are limits, but I’m reasonably sure that if there were illegal drugs in there, we would have found them.”
“That damn dog better not have pissed in my house,” yelled Raymond.
“What now?” asked Johnson as Peterson and Misty returned to his vehicle.
“We keep looking. Maybe she keeps the drugs elsewhere, but maybe she has some of that cash here. Or rat poison that we can have the lab match to the strychnine in the hex. I’m not giving up so easily.”
Rios walked back into the house. But after a few hours of searching, the most incriminating thing they could find was an out-of-date prescription bottle of hydrocodone, an empty gas can, and a rattrap that used poison, but not strychnine. The search was another bust. “Come on, Johnson. Let’s go home.”
When they walked outside, Raymond was standing with Rebecca Li, the Athena Sisterhood’s attorney.
“Professor Raymond, we’re all done. You can go inside now.” She turned to Pasco. “Thanks, guys! We’re out of here.”
“Wait a minute!” said Li, following the two detectives to Rios’ car. “Who’s going to pay for my client’s door?”
Rios pulled out a pamphlet from her notebook. “She’s free to submit a claim for damage to the County Manager’s Office. Have a nice day, Counselor.” She and Johnson climbed into her car and rode off.
Chapter 39
The back room at Gertie’s buzzed with multiple conversations.
“I thought this meeting was supposed to start at eight,” Shea said to Savage and Indigo. “It’s almost eight thirty.”
Her phone rang with Jessica’s ringtone. Shea silenced it and sent the call to voicemail.
“The wife gotcha on a short leash?” joked Indigo, who had been acting goofy since she arrived.
Shea shook her head. “Just anxious is all.”
“Don’t pay no attention to her,” said Savage. “It’s the pain meds talking.”
“And they’re damn good, too!” Indigo chuckled then winced, grabbing her right side. “ ’Cept when I laugh.”
“Just take it easy on those.” Shea winked at her. “Don’t want to see you get addicted.”
“Oh, don’t even start with that drug talk.” Indigo crossed her arms.
Shea glanced around the room. “Where’s Orphan? I thought all meetings were mandatory for prospects.”
Savage shrugged. “Dunno. I called her several times and left messages.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” said Indigo, giggling. “She’s got that fine boyfriend of hers looking out for her. If I had a boy like that, I wouldn’t be here either. I’d be home rocking his world.”
Savage rolled her eyes. “Still no word from Raven, Pixie, or Goth either. It’s been more than a week. Something’s going on. Something bad. I can feel it.”
Labrys and Dragon stormed into the room and the conversations quieted down. The women settled into their seats. Savage joined the other officers behind the table at the head of the room. Labrys alone remained standing.
“As I have said previously, we are at war. Over the past couple of weeks, there have been several confrontations between ourselves and the Confederate Thunder. Most recently, they drove two of our Athenas off the road, totaling one of our bikes. We have tried to pursue legal remedies. But Sheriff Buzzkill and his good ol’ boys don’t care about us. On the contrary, they think we’re the problem. Just a few hours ago, Buzzkill’s goons broke down the door to my home and turned the place upside down, claiming to be looking for drugs.” Labrys gave a steely glare at Shea.
Oh shit, thought Shea. She’s definitely going to kick me out now.
“After sending their drug dog all over my house, guess what? They didn’t find anything. Because the Athena Sisterhood does not do drugs. Unlike the Confederate Thunder. Bottom line: the patriarchy takes care of its own. Always has, always will.”
“What about the fire at Bootlegger Bob’s?” asked Savage.
“Not surprisingly, the cops are saying it was arson,” replied Labrys. “But who are you going to believe? According to the county’s own records, that bar has been cited for numerous electrical violations over the years. But now they’re looking to pin the fire on one of us.”
“Have you talked to the national chapter about this?” asked Indigo. “Maybe they’ve dealt with a similar situation before.”
“We don’t need national to rescue us,” said Labrys with a smug look on her face. “We’re smart, strong women. We can weather the storm.”
“Perhaps we can sit down with the Thunder and work it out,” suggested Dragon.
Labrys shook her head. “Those animals can’t be reasoned with. They started this. They want war, we’ll give them a war.”
Shea struggled to keep her mouth shut, but her history growing up with her dad as the head of the Thunder wouldn’t let her leave it alone. She stood up. “Labrys, you can’t win like this.”
“Sit down, Havoc. You’re out of order,” snapped Labrys. “Prospects are not allowed to speak during meetings.”
“Fuck order! Y’all are gonna get yourselves killed.”
Savage frowned. “Havoc, please sit down.”
“Look, all due respect to the rules of order, but I grew up watching the Thunder do their thing. And I saw what they did to the Jaguars. They did the same thing to an MC with ties to the Bloody Brotherhood. Before that it was a Korean street gang.”
All eyes were on Shea, but no one said anything. Labrys looked like she would shit bricks.
“Six Thundermen are dead. Their favorite bar is burnt to the ground. Don’t matter whether we did it or not. They’re gonna blame us. Savage, how many times you try to call Orphan and the others that are missing?”
“All damn day,” said Savage grimly.
“They ever miss a meeting before?”
“No.”
; Shea let the word hang in the air. “Labrys is right about one thing. This is war. And the Thunder don’t take prisoners. How many of y’all been in the military?”
A few hands were raised.
“Any y’all seen combat?”
One hand remained. Savage’s.
“Any of y’all cops?”
No one raised their hand.
“The Thunder won’t cut us any slack just ’cause we’re women. All we are to them is bitches with the gall to call ourselves bikers. And to declare ourselves an MC? Might as well have insulted their mamas, far as they’re concerned. They will brutalize us and rape us and murder us and not think twice.” Shea took a deep breath and let it out. “If we hope to survive, we’ve gotta work out a peace agreement with them.”
“Oh yeah? And who’s gonna do that, prospect? You?” asked Labrys. “You’re not even a patched member.”
“No, but I have contacts there. They may not like me much, but they respect me.”
An uncomfortable silence settled on the group until Indigo said, “I move that Havoc reach out to the Confederate Thunder to set up a meet to negotiate a peace agreement.”
“I second it,” added Dragon.
Labrys seethed. “All in favor?” she grumbled.
“Aye,” said a majority of the women, hands raised.
“Opposed?” Labrys raised her hand, as did a few others. She banged her gavel. “The ayes have it. Motion passes. Havoc will reach out to one of her contacts at the Thunder and arrange a meeting to discuss a peace agreement.”
After the meeting, Shea stepped out of the room and switched her phone off vibrate. She was about to call Monster when Labrys slammed her against the wall. “What the hell did you think you were doing in there?”
Shea glowered at her. “Saving your ass. This isn’t some protest you’re planning. This is gang warfare and you don’t know the rules.”
“Hell I don’t.” Labrys gave Shea a knowing look. “You think I don’t know how to play rough? Trust me, I do.”
Shea’s jaw dropped. “Jesus Christ, you did burn down the Thunder’s bar.”
“Me? Never! Even if those people had it coming.”
The bitch was lying. Shea could tell. Her hand curled into a fist. It took all of her restraint to keep from decking Labrys. “You’re gonna get more of us killed if you keep this up.”
“Don’t tell me how to run my club, prospect. You’re lucky they asked you to reach out to the Thunder. I was ready to boot your ass for good. And once this is over, I just might.”
“When all this is over, you won’t need to. I don’t want to be in your goddamn club. You got no clue what you’re doing. Only reason I’m reaching out to the Thunder is to protect the other women of this club from your fucking stupidity.”
Shea pushed away from her, marched down the hall, and stepped out Gertie’s back door. “Jesus fucking Christ!” She kicked a loose rock across the alley that ran behind the row of shops, then pulled out her phone. It rang twice before Monster answered.
“Shea-Shea, you got some balls calling me after what your club done. Killed four patched members and two old ladies.”
“Don’t start with me, Monster. You were gonna get the Thunder to leave us alone.”
“Look, I tried. But I can’t help what a few of our guys do after they’ve had a few.”
“Oh, is that your excuse? Boys will be boys? Cut the bullshit. We gotta stop this nonsense before anyone else gets killed on either side.”
Shea heard Monster sigh into the phone. “Yeah, I s’pose you’re right. Let’s talk, but not over the phone.”
“Where then?”
“Can I convince you to come over to my place?”
“So you can ambush me? I don’t think so.”
“No ambush. Word of honor. You’re family. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Shea thought about it. He had raised Wendy, her sister. “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. But if anything happens to me, that photo of you and your Latin lover goes viral.”
Chapter 40
A flood of childhood memories filled Shea’s mind as she pulled up to the home shared by Monster and Julia Mueller. The night she stayed there when her sister, Wendy, was born. Countless summer parties eating watermelon and homemade ice cream while her father and the rest of the club drank, argued, and had midnight lawn tractor races down the street.
But the most vivid memories were the long nights she cried herself to sleep wrapped in Julia’s arms after Ralph, her father, murdered her mama.
Shea parked Sweet Betsy on the street, let herself through the gate in the white picket fence, and strolled up the weed-riddled walk to the house. Ratty beige lawn chairs sat on either side of the door.
Shea knocked. A moment later Monster opened the door, his Beretta in a holster on his hip. His face was puffy and wet with tears. He reeked of smoke and BO. Shea’d seen him drunk several times, but not like this.
He let her inside without a word and led her to the kitchen table where a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s stood beside a tall glass decorated with flowers. His cellphone lay next to it.
The interior of the house was like a time capsule, circa 1950. The kitchen appliances had rounded corners and matched the peach-colored cabinets and the faded linoleum. Monster grabbed a tumbler from the drying rack next to the sink, set it in front of Shea, and filled it half full of Jack.
“Whole world’s gone to shit,” mumbled Monster.
Shea took a sip of her whiskey, reminding herself not to drink the whole thing. Too much on the line to get shitfaced. “Where’s Julia?”
“At her sister’s in Lake Havasu.” His lids were heavy. Sweat glistened off his forehead, despite the coolness of the room.
A question formed on Shea’s lips, but she hesitated to ask. With another long swallow of Jack, she found her courage. “You tell her about the Bear’s Den?”
“Hell no! Think I’m stupid? She went with some of the other old ladies for an extended girls’ getaway weekend in Vegas.”
“How come you ain’t been returning my calls?”
“Been busy.”
“Busy? You’re fucking retired, old man. People in our clubs are getting hurt. What the hell’s keeping you so busy you can’t return a call?”
“Doctors’ appointments.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I’m dying, Shea-Shea.”
“Aw shit!” Shea felt like she’d been sucker punched. “Not AIDS, is it?” She knew it was a stupid stereotype, but couldn’t keep the words from coming out.
“Fuck no! Doc says I got ass cancer. Stage 4.”
“That’s bad I take it.” Shea poured herself another drink.
“Well, there ain’t no Stage 5.”
“Sorry, man.”
“Sorry don’t do shit for me. We’re all sorry—sorry sacks o’ shit. Don’t mean nothing when karma comes and bites you in the ass. Literally.”
“They can cure that now, can’t they? Radiation, chemo?”
“Even with all that crap, doc says I got two chances: slim and none. Told me to start putting my affairs in order. Affairs!” Monster laughed bitterly. “What affairs I gotta put in order?”
Shea took a deep pull on the Jack. She was here for a reason and it wasn’t to play nursemaid to Monster, even if he was dying. “Look, man, I’m sorry you got cancer. That’s fucked up, but like you said, ain’t shit anybody can do about it. But there is something we can do. We need a truce between our clubs.”
“Who the fuck cares about the goddamn clubs?”
Monster finished his glass and started pouring himself another. Shea grabbed the bottle from his hand and slammed it on the table.
“Listen, you selfish son of a bitch. This keeps up I will see to it that Buzzkill locks up every Thunderman in Cortes County.”
Monster burst out laughing. “Not fucking likely, Shea-Shea.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that? He’s always hated the club.”
“Who you think bankrolled his
reelection campaign?”
Shea bit her bottom lip in anger. No wonder the sheriff’s office hadn’t locked up any Thundermen. “Maybe you don’t care about the clubs, but what about Annie? Care about her? ’Cause sooner or later, she’s gonna get hurt, unless you and I stop this senseless gang war.”
He gazed dully at her for a moment. “Fine. You want a peace agreement? Here are the terms: either the Athena Sisterhood takes off their cuts and stops calling themselves an MC or they declare themselves to be a Confederate Thunder support club subject to our supervision.”
“Bullshit! Ain’t no way either one of those’re ever gonna happen.”
“Also, you turn over whoever’s responsible for burning down Bootlegger Bob’s.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Shea looked away, frustrated at the impossibility of forging a peace. As much as she hated Labrys for burning down the bar, giving her up only put the club at more risk. “For the record, I don’t know who burned down your bar, but it wasn’t us.”
“And one more thing, Julia gets to see Annie whenever she wants. Unsupervised.”
“Oh, that’s part of the Thunder’s demands?”
“No, that’s my demand. Or a dying wish, whatever you wanna call it.”
Shea emptied her glass and resisted the urge to pour herself some more. “Look, I can see about you and Julia spending some time with Annie. She’s been begging to see y’all, too. But there is no way in hell the Sisterhood is going to give up being an MC, nor are they going to be a support club to a sexist, racist outlaw club like the Thunder.”
“Those dykes on bikes got no business calling themselves an MC. They got no understanding of MC culture or history.”
“No, but I do.”
“Just ’cause your father was president don’t mean you know what goes on inside the club. And dressing up in outlaw-style patches don’t make you an outlaw.”
“I know enough. Besides, the Sisterhood may not be outlaw, but they are bikers and hardcore feminists to boot. You push us, we push back harder. And don’t forget, I still have that picture of you and your boy toy. Don’t risk what precious time you have left.”
Athena Sisterhood Page 23