My Biker Bodyguard

by Turner, J. R.

  "Don't move." Jack pulled the wallet out, but didn't open it. "Stay here. I mean it. Don't move."

  "No problem." Mitch said. "There's no reason for me to run."

  Jack got her pistol and locked all three weapons in the trunk of his cruiser. Mitch twisted to gaze at her, his expression unfathomable.

  What did he expect her to do? Come to his rescue? Talk Jack out of arresting him? She shook her head, a big mistake. The pounding there intensified. The sun burned, her skin prickled. Her father's strong arm anchored her to reality and kept her from floating into insanity. God, how had all this happened?

  "Okay folks. This is how it's goin' down." Jack returned, the radio on his hip squawking incoherently. "I gotta take him downtown. Jess, you gotta come too. I've got a female officer on the way to transport you."

  Her father's stare turned hard. "She'll do whatever she can to help, Jack."

  Jess's spine tightened. Here it was, the end of her life, and she'd never really started living. In one day she'd faced death, and now she faced prison. A completely different future than she'd imagined for herself this morning, and certainly, its own kind of death.

  "It's not going to be as easy as that, Dan." Jack said.

  Mitch glanced over his shoulder at them. "This isn't necessary."

  He grasped Mitch's elbow. "Turn around."

  Mitch did, silently, his face rigid with anger.

  Does he believe me now? People like us are guilty until proven innocent, even by Jack. She had no doubt she'd be face down on the hood of his cruiser if they hadn't dated. I warned him. Does Mitch really believe any cop will buy his story? She couldn't fully bring herself to believe him.

  Jesus, what if he's played all of us? What if this is all some con job?

  Jack grabbed Mitch's wrist with one hand and pulled the cuffs from his belt with the other. This was it, the moment of truth. Jess held her breath. If Mitch tried to fight, if he ran, then she would know they had been fooled. The men on the street were drug dealers, or wise guys. They'd come after her next, and there would be no future for anyone in her hodgepodge family.

  "You have the right to remain silent." Jack hooked the cuffs over Mitch's wrist, then grabbed the remaining hand. "Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present now and during any future questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you." He finished cuffing Mitch and spun him around. "Do you understand these rights?"

  Mitch nodded, his gaze hard. Those familiar words, and Jack's flat tone, killed any lingering hope Jess had held. No miracle would be granted. They couldn't begin the day over. It was done. Jack opened the cruiser's back door and Mitch slid inside without a fight. Jess exhaled. At least it wasn't a con and maybe she didn't have hope, but she had relief.

  Yet the truth was so crazy.

  All these years she'd pictured her mother living in cheap motels, riding on the back of different Harleys into different sunsets, a biker groupie with tracks running down her needlesore arms. It just didn't jive with the idea of California, of a fortune, or even an entire family that she didn't know about.

  No birds sang, no dogs barked, no traffic rumbled by on the main street. The quiet got under her skin, alerted the hair on the nape of her neck the way a coming storm charges the air with electricity. Sunday, for Pete's sake, it's a Sunday. This stuff doesn't happen on a Sunday.

  "Jess," Jack said, apology in his tone. "You have to come downtown."

  Her father stepped between them, an arm out to hold her back and the other hand palm up to keep Jack away. "No, she ain't goin' down like that. She's my girl, Jack. You know she only did what she had to."

  Jack nodded. "I know, but I have to do my job."

  "No. Just wait, just hold on a minute. You ain't touchin' my baby." His voice rose. "I let you date her, Jack, I ain't goin' to let you take her like this."

  "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

  "Dad," Jess said, pulling on the back of his shirt. His defensive stance said he wanted to belt Jack a good one and tell her to run. She couldn't let him do that. They both couldn't go to jail. Someone had to get her out. Or run the business if I don't come home. "Don't, Dad."

  He turned, his face red with anger and fear. "No, Jess."

  "It'll be all right. Jack will take care of me." That might be a lie, but it was all the comfort she could offer.

  "I told you no good would come from dating a cop." His mouth trembled within the bushy hairs of his beard.

  She wanted to hug his waist and refuse to be taken in. Instead, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "If I hadn't dated him, they would never listen to me. It's all going to work out, you'll see."

  The thought of leaving him, maybe for good, kicked her in the chest. What would happen to him without her? Who would keep him out of trouble? Who would protect him from the men Mitch thought were coming for her right now?

  "Jack." Jess stared at her friend, her ex-lover. "We can't leave Dad here." What of the others? Weren't they in just as much danger? "And J.D. and Trash–they can't stay here either."

  Another black-and-white pulled in behind Jack's cruiser. A female officer got out of the driver's seat. Her partner, a handsome Hispanic, emerged from the passenger side.

  There was little time left. "Please, Jack."

  "I don't know what you want me to do, Jess." He sounded cold. "You chose this."

  She bit the inside of her cheek and clenched her hands. You jerk. Just because she had broken up with him, didn't mean she had chosen a life of crime. Slapping him, shouting that she in no way chose this, wouldn't get his cooperation. "I don't care about me, I care about them. I won't go until I know they're going to be all right. Damn it, Jack, don't do this now."

  Her father cleared his throat and placed a hand on her shoulder, restraining her. "Don't worry about us. If this is how it has to be, we won't let you go downtown alone. We're right behind you."

  She squeezed his hand and nodded. Her outrage at Jack had calmed her father in a way that didn't surprise her. Rarely did both of them get angry at the same time. They were yin and yang, both the good and bad of each other. "Just don't take too long."

  "Never." Her father hugged her and then back-stepped to the house. "I'm gettin' the boys now. We'll be right behind you."

  The female officer stepped in front of her. "Ma'am, I have to search you now. You got anything on you I should know about? Any weapons? Needles?"

  Jess closed her eyes and shook her head. Needles? It had already started. They automatically assumed she was just like her mother. An addict, a biker chick ready to sell herself for the next fix. Cold steel captured her wrists. Coffee rose inside her, scalding her throat and she swallowed hard.

  I'm not my mother.

  * * *

  Mitch twisted in the seat and glanced out the back window. The cruiser carrying Jess followed at a safe distance. Behind Jess, Dirty Dan, J.D., and Trash rode their Harleys very close. The rumble of the big engines made it through the shell of the cruiser and he understood what it must be like to be a member of Jess's family. All that loyalty was impressive. He envied her as they wound through unfamiliar streets, like an odd biker funeral procession.

  His shoulders didn't like the uncomfortable position the cuffs forced and he faced forward again. He studied the back of Jack's head. Jess said he was a friend. He couldn't imagine this man hanging around the keg at a cookout. "How do you know the Owens?"

  Jack waited so long to answer, Mitch thought he wouldn't. "I dated Jess last fall."

  Amused, Mitch wondered what Dirty Dan must have thought of that. He didn't take Jess for a fan of law enforcement. Either she'd been seriously pissed at Dirty Dan, or feeling extra rebellious. "How long did you two go out?"

  "What's it to you, pal?" Jack's eyes found Mitch's in the rearview mirror as they stopped at a red light. "Ain't you caused her family enough trouble?"

  "It's not me you want, buddy. Ask those
goons from the diner." Frustrated, Mitch fully remembered his experiences with the NYPD. Jess wasn't fooling when she said the cops wouldn't listen. Funny how a few years on the straight and narrow can make you forget what it's like to be in the back seat of a patrol car. "Didn't Dirty Dan tell you?"

  "He told me, all right." The light switched to green and Jack returned his gaze to the road. "He said you're claiming to be some hotshot bodyguard from California with a wild story about hit men after Jess." Jack's gaze found his briefly in the mirror again. "You should go back to Hollywood. I hear they'll believe anything there."

  "You gotta be joking. Don't you guys talk to each other? I already told you, the LAPD briefed your department." How he loathed red tape. It was the reason he worked freelance, outside of state and federal agencies. "What about those thugs? You at least got them in custody at the hospital? Or the morgue?"

  "I only heard they were taken to St. Mary's. You better pray neither of them dies."

  Mitch didn't think it a good idea to tell Jack he hoped for just the opposite. A few less killers on the planet wouldn't bother him, but before they boarded the hot train hell bound, he needed to find a way to question them. "You got them in custody, though, right? They can't just walk away, if they can walk?"

  Jack nodded. "Yeah, but no more questions. Save it for your statement."

  Mitch held his tongue until the cruiser found a spot in front of the tall white police building. He didn't have a chance to watch Jess be removed from the cruiser behind him, nor see where Dan and his pals went to park their cycles. Jack propelled him fast through the glass doors, pausing only to check them in.

  The booking department looked like they all did; hard plastic chairs, dingy tile, a bar to cuff suspects into the seats. Jack didn't stop there, he led Mitch to an equally typical interrogation room–fitted with the mandatory two-way mirror.

  "Sit," Jack ordered, shoving Mitch into the room and toward a scuffed plastic chair.

  Mitch did as he was told, though he wanted to get the damned cuffs off his wrists. "Listen, your boss should know what's going on. Check it out."

  Jack shook his head. "I don't know what L.A. is like, but around here, we go by the book."

  "You wouldn't need the damn book if you'd called your boss." Mitch stretched his legs out beneath the table, trying to find a position that didn't pull the muscles across his collarbones. Shot once, stabbed twice, and punched more times than he could count, the only pain Mitch couldn't handle was the nagging ache from cuffs. He wondered if they had a name for that. Cuff-a-phobia?

  "Don't get wise." Jack pointed a finger at him, gearing up to unleash something very macho, Mitch was sure, but a knock rapped on the open door. Mitch twisted in his seat to see around the jamb. A uniformed officer slouched against the door frame.

  "What?" Jack asked.

  "Sarge wants to see you." The blue-suit turned to Mitch. His look spoke volumes for the whole department and for the first time, Mitch found himself truly uneasy. This vibe wasn't simple prejudice–but a loathing for those who think they're above, or beyond, the law. To make it worse, he couldn't argue against the misconception. That would be like digging a grave in hopes of resurrecting the dead. Larson better come through for me, or I'll end up in a shower, singin' the blues with a twenty-man chorus.

  * * *

  Martinez, the Hispanic partner, wouldn't let Jess walk beside her dad, though Dirty Dan invaded every inch of his personal space. J.D. behind her, and Trash on her right, huddled just as close. The female cop Martinez had called Lowell, appeared not to mind that her suspect had extremely hairy and tattooed escorts. Grateful, Jess focused on her father's and Martinez's butting shoulders, afraid if she looked ahead and saw what waited, she'd lose all will to keep going.

  Hands cuffed behind her back, sweat freezing in the airconditioned building, shame rolled through her every time they passed someone. Sooner or later, one of Jack's friends would see her, recognize her, and shake his head in that knowing way. Dirty bikers. How had she ended up like this? What in the world did it have to do with her mother?

  Maybe Beth won the lottery.

  Jess latched onto that thought. She could picture her mother, a dim memory of wild blonde hair, smelling of patchouli and cigarettes, buying tickets at the liquor store. Yeah, that fit, and it would be just Jess's luck too–anything to do with her mother was tainted, made ugly in some way or another.

  Here kid, have some dough, but oh yeah, if you take it, you also get this set of lovely murderers, a pair of killers thrown in just for kicks.

  Aside from the fortune and the craziness, Jess struggled under a wave of discomfort. Her mother had to be dead in order for the money to be passed on to her. She didn't know the woman, so it shouldn't have an impact. But for most of Jess' life, she'd always expected to one day see her mother, ask her why she'd left, why she didn't love Jess enough to stay. Now it suddenly mattered a whole lot that she'd never get that chance.

  Martinez stopped and turned to face her father. "This is as far as you and your pals can go, Mr. Owen."

  "No. We go with her." He puffed up his chest.

  Lowell and Martinez exchanged a look, then Lowell took Jess's elbow. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her. There's nothing left for you to do here."

  "She's my daughter. I'm her father. I got rights."

  J.D. cleared his throat. "C'mon Dan, it ain't gonna happen. She's over eighteen. You know how this works."

  Jess turned to him. J.D.'s face held so much warmth and concern, she wanted to bawl. "Don't give them a reason, Jess. You'll be fine."

  Trash patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "We ain't goin' far. We'll get you home. Just watch."

  "Thanks." She blinked to clear her vision.

  "All right," Lowell said decisively. "Let's go."

  "Wait." Her father wrapped Jess in his arms before anyone could argue.

  At that moment, she hated the handcuffs. They kept her from hugging him. Her face pressed into the buttons again, but she didn't move, just drank up his strength.

  "Don't worry," she mumbled against his chest, proud she sounded confident. "It's not like I'm walking the plank."

  He chuckled sadly, and with one knuckle, rubbed her skull. "That's my girl."

  She winced at the noogie and straightened. Lowell pulled her away, obviously at the end of her patience. As Jess stumbled sideways down an endless corridor, she offered the forlorn looking trio her best smile. "I'm all right guys. Thanks for coming."

  Thanks for coming? Christ, this wasn't a party.

  "I'll get started on the paperwork." Martinez went left when they went right and Jess was alone with Lowell.

  "You okay kid?" Lowell opened the door to a small room.

  Surprised at the new kindness in the officer's voice, Jess nodded. "I'd be better if these cuffs could come off."

  "They were comin' off anyway." Lowell produced the key and removed them. "Gotta wait for the detectives to talk to you. It might be a little while. They're in with your friend now."

  "Thanks." Jess rubbed her neck and rolled her head to relieve the tight muscles across her shoulders.

  "No problem." She left then. Jess hoped whoever walked through the door next would be just as reasonable.

  Stewing in the refuse of her upside down world, she couldn't sit still. She stood and began to pace. Her reflection in the large mirror looked stricken, like another person. Mascara smudged the corners of her eyes, giving her a haunted appearance she didn't much care for. Her wild hair and a brown coffee splotch on her shoulder made her look all the more unkempt. It occurred to her that this person looking back in the mirror resembled her memory of her mother. She abruptly turned her back on the reflection.

  Jess refused to accept the idea that she had anything in common with a woman who chose drugs over her own kid, who'd run off and left a seven-year-old child alone. Foster care had taught her to despise anyone who ditched their kids. The city was full of parents like that. Being a member of the leftb
ehind group was the only comfort she could claim–and it was icy at best.

  The door opened. Jess gripped the back of her chair, heart thumping. Here it comes. A bigger test than Mitch's cooperation. Her freedom rested in the hands of this cleanly shaven man with short hair who walked through the door, a thin file in his hand. She didn't speak, afraid to say something wrong before she was even asked one question.

  "I'm detective Steve Richard," he pronounced it re-shard, as if he was French. "I've got some questions to ask you, if you don't mind."

  "I thought that was why I was arrested?" Jess didn't know what he expected her to say as she slumped in her chair.

  "Technically, you're not under arrest." He sat across from her and opened the file.

  Could've fooled her. Suddenly angry she asked, "What's the deal then?"

  "If you'd been arrested, we would've fingerprinted and photographed you. Fortunately, your friend," he opened the file and searched the page, "Mitch Conner, informed our department about his intended activities here. Right now, I only need to get your statement and ask you a few questions. Would you care for anything? Water? Coffee?"

  Definitely not coffee, and she didn't want to delay this by asking for water so she shook her head. "I'm fine. Let's just get this over with."

  He looked into the mirror, twirled a finger as if to indicate someone beyond the glass should roll tape, and then turned to back to her. "I must inform you that this room is video monitored and wired for sound. You'll need to speak clearly for the record. Your name is Jessica Hendrix Owen, is that correct?"

  Jess blushed. Not many times did her middle name come up. Already unnerved, she nodded.

  "Speak for the record please."

  Duh. Her face got hotter and she pressed her cool palms to her cheeks. "Yes, that's me."

  He read her address and clarified that she co-owned and operated Tattoos and Tails. She agreed to all.

  "Okay. Here we go." He closed the file, set it aside and leaned back in his chair. "Tell me what happened this morning."

  Jess spoke, trying to keep to the facts. She described the window exploding, remembered the terrified screams in the air. She told him about Mitch going outside, and recalled the sound of glass crunching beneath his feet and the urge to retch with fear. Then she got to the hard part and stopped, unable to find the words.