by Paula Cox
Knowing Walsh will be heading back my way towards the stairs at any second, I make a beeline straight for one of the other empty offices, pushing past an unlocked door and hiding myself deep in a closet space. Walsh passes me by seconds later, followed by several of the enforcers I always see guarding him when he’s out on business. I hold my breath as I listen to the sound of their footsteps tread heavy on the stairs and down through the doors.
When they’re gone, I spring out of my hiding spot and back out to the accountant’s office where Leo is sitting with his head slumped in his hands in front of the keyboard. He doesn’t even register my presence until I give a little cough. He stammers back to life, practically falling out of the small rolling desk chair.
“These your new fancy digs now you’ve gone corporate?” I walk around the room slowly, unsure of how I am going to ask my burning questions. Picking up a few knickknacks from the last accountant, I examine an old snow globe almost dried up from sitting in the sun. “Don’t look like they really give you much up here. I’d rather go road crazy than be stuck in a dump like this.”
“Don’t remind me, Anton. I’d kill to be back out on the road instead of doing the Walshes’ bidding.”
“Yeah? I mean, it can’t be too bad. You’re just doing club stuff right. You’re just signing checks and going through the books. That sounds like a pretty plushy job to have landed into. Plus, don’t the guys always love the man with the money?”
The accountants in the Desert Knights have always been revered. While no one wants to go ‘corporate,’ the man who gets trusted with the money was someone everyone had to respect. Leo taking on this job was kind of perfect for me to get an insider view. And now that I overheard Walsh egging on Leo to do something he wasn’t kosher with, I had even more reason to pry.
Leo types into an old desktop computer as he mutters, “We’ll see how long I last. I wouldn’t be surprised if I don’t live to see many Fridays.”
“What the fuck do you mean by that?” I ask as I pull up a swivel chair next to him, planting myself feet from his desk.
“I mean that the Desert Knights ain’t all that they seem, and now that I’ve got the key to the vault, I’d rather turn it in than do their dirty deeds.” As soon as he finishes, a look of complete terror washes over his pale face. A small bead of sweat forms at the top of his forehead, and his eyes begin blinking rapidly. Having worked with druggies and dealers almost every day of my life, I can tell that Leo knows he said too much.
I reply passionately, “Leo, if there’s something going down with the Knights, you know you can tell me. I’m no friend of the Walshes, and if they are hurting my brothers, I want to know about it. You know you can trust me.”
“I trust you, Anton. I do. I’d ride into that sunset with you. But I also know the Walshes, and they don’t make idle threats. They are serious, man. This whole operation they got going on is some goddamn serious shit. And I’m not about to be the one dumb fuck that cracks this wide open and starts the war that’s brewing.”
“The war?” I ask, hanging on to his every word for clues I know he must be throwing out.
“Yeah, the war. The one that’s been itching to start, and our ride last week to the Senators’ stash isn’t going to help anyone but the Walsh family.”
“I don’t understand,” I say honestly, in hopes he’ll slow down and clue me in. What did the Black Senators, the Desert Knight Motorcycle Club’s mortal enemy, have to do with the Walshes. I’m done playing games now. I walk back over to the office door and close it tightly, locking it first and then planting my chair underneath the handle. Neither one of us is getting out, and no one is getting in, until the truth comes out to me.
I reach in my back pocket and pull out a gun, slamming it down on the desk before Leo. He stammers backwards seeing it come suddenly flying out on display. I know he’s unarmed. He was never one to carry heat with him when he wasn’t on the road, and I doubt he would take a loaded gun to the office. And by the way he cowers in his own chair, I know I’m right.
“Listen,” I say carefully, “I don’t want to do this, Leo. You’re my boy, my best friend. But Clay Walsh and that fucking piece of shit son of his are destroying the Knights. And you know it. Something’s going down with that family, and I am determined to find out.”
“Why?” Leo asks nervously, his eyes fixed to the gun still placed near me on the desk. “Why do you care so much? I mean, I know you’re pissed about not getting the top road captain job, but this ain’t like you. You fell in line and didn’t ask questions. What happened?”
The words fly out my mouth before I can even stop myself, “A girl. A Walsh girl. I met her at that party, and we’ve been having this back and forth thing ever since. Last night, she told me that he was going to kill her over us being together, and that just doesn’t sound right. So I need to know just why the Walsh boys are guarding her so tight, and what they are so afraid of. And you seem to have answers.”
Leo scratches his head, as a slow smile appears across his face. “So this is about some pussy,” he says, clearly delighted.
“No!” I yell offended, “This isn’t about ‘some pussy.’ This is about protecting this club and that girl from whatever the fuck they are doing. Now I overheard that bastard talk to you about forcing you to do something. What is he making you do? You tell me, and I can protect you. You don’t tell me, and I’ll have to pry it out of you.” My hand shoots over to the gun. Without picking it up, my fingers trace around the trigger and handle teasingly.
Leo lifts his hands up in defense as he whispers, “Fine. Fine. Just sit down, man. I’ll tell you, but you gotta sit down and put that damn thing away.”
I grab the chair out from under the door and slide it back to where I previously sat. He begins to type on the yellowed computer keyboard as the screen changes. A password prompt comes across the screen, and he quickly types in the entry. It flashes away, revealing a calendar along with a few spreadsheets full of numbers in shades of red, blue, green, and black.
Leo points his finger at the screen, as he says, “You see this entry on the calendar?” I peer at it, noting that it’s a schedule for some of the runners I’ve worked with. “This is Brandon’s work schedule for the runners. The boys in green here like you have the regular times and shifts. But there are some in red here for guys I’ve never heard of. There’s Slash, Tomas, Alex, and Benji, and they’re linked to a route I’ve never seen. It goes all the way down to Grand Canal.”
“Grand Canal? That’s the Senators’ territory. That’s where they get their drugs. What the hell are they trying to do?”
“Okay. Remember that.” Leo flashes the screen over to another calendar. “And here’s Clay Walsh’s schedule. See this meeting also highlighted in red? It’s in Grand Canal and it’s with a guy with the initials J.L. Does that mean anything to you?”
“J.L.?” The initials scan through my memory bank, looking for answers until only one comes up. “Joey Lenare?”
“Bingo. Joey Lenare, the second in command at the Senators. He’s in charge of the drug export down in Grand Canal. No stash gets through the Canal without Lenare’s approval.”
“So why in the hell would Clay be scheduled to meet with him?”
“That’s where the money comes in.” He pulls up a spreadsheet full of numbers. His mouse highlights a long row of empty columns. And as the columns go from white to a blue highlight, numbers appear where there were no numbers before. “You see these? These are amounts deposited in an account named J.L. The old accountant would get a stash in from those runners we never heard of every Tuesday after they did a run to the Grand Canal. The money would be put into the J.L. account. It must be over half a million dollars in the last year alone.”
“But where does that money go?” I ask totally baffled by what was being put out to me.
“It’s split between two paychecks: Brandon and Clay. Only that cash we brought in last week from our Senator theft went anywhere else but
to them. It went back to Joey Lenare. Walsh told me today it was like a pull over. The Senators’ president thinks we made a hit on him, and Joey stays out of the line of fire so that Joey and Clay can continue to do business together without anyone, including us Knights, being any wiser or richer.”
I’m totally speechless. The only words I can muster come after a long, panicked pause where I stammer, “Those fucking double crossing bastards…” Stealing from the club was a massive offense. In my lifetime, I’ve been witness to three trials of men who didn’t give back their haul money to the club. One man was never heard from again. The other two lost fingers along with their club status. An eye for an eye was our motto.
But for upper management to be doing it was a whole other sin entirely. Money in the club is always split up—mostly by position and title. Sure, the big man at the top always brings in bigger dough, but the rest trickles down like any other business. Getting gypped out of half a million was a slap in the face and one I was not about to ignore.
My breathing takes up, as I try to piece everything together. Leo watches me, completely helpless. “I just found out today, man. I wouldn’t have even noticed it if that dumb asshole hadn’t straight out explained it to me.” He waits for my reply before asking, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take Clay and Brandon Walsh down if it’s the last thing I’m going to do.”
With my final words, I storm out of the office and out through the main hall. The shift is already gathering with my new partner Haunch waiting for me by the clock in area. As I pass him by, he grabs me by the arm and asks gruffly, “What are you doing, boy?”
“My bike is out of the shop. I’m not working this shift. You do it.” I don’t bother to wait for him to respond. I just keep walking past the men grinning at me and offering me their arms. I walk past their bikes in the parking lot waiting to be ridden. I walk past the building where I spent nearly fifteen years of my life under the service of the Walshes. And instead, I head out on my own ride, out in the drizzling rain towards home.
I never expected to be released from my shift. Calling off was only done in extreme emergencies, and my lame excuse of picking up a bike wasn’t going to fly when I had my other in good condition. So I sit on my bed, and wait and wait and wait. I’m anticipating the call so much that when I hear the knock on my door just minutes after I settle in, I groan and cry out, “Whomever it is, I’m not working today. Go the fuck away!”
The knock continues, pounding even harder and more urgently. A voice unlike the boys I’m familiar with cries over the sound of the rain hitting the metal balcony. I rush over to the door and fling it open. Outside, soaked to the bone with makeup stains streaming down her face is none other than Tory Walsh.
Chapter 15: On the Fly
You could call me a goody-two-shoes. At least, my friends did. I wasn’t like the other biker daughters, on the rare occasions when I actually got to meet and interact with them. All of them were rough around the edges and completely immersed into club life. But my mother had raised me different. Instead of tank tops and cowboy boots, she put me in silky dresses with ribbons and bows along with white, Mary Jane shoes with the bows on the toe. The other girls hated me.
I really didn’t mind though. I knew that I was better than they were. I was going to go places and be something. I wasn’t going to be the ladies I occasionally saw my dad talking in corners to when I was allowed to go to club events. I was going to be so much more.
Those dreams required planning. I filled notebooks with ideas and timelines. I was going to be a college graduate at twenty-one, married at twenty-three, house and kids at twenty-five, a graduate degree at twenty-nine, and an awesome career woman at thirty. And when that didn’t add up, I would plan alternative routes and paths for me to take. One by one, those notebooks filled with schedules, reminders, and inspirational quotes I had found.
But what those notebooks didn’t prepare me for was the day I ran away from it all. I mean, how could I anticipate that my dad would go psycho caretaker on me, or that the abuse I saw almost daily would finally crack me wide open? How could I know that Brandon would be just as bad of a human being, bent out to destroy any bit of happiness I could find?
All I knew was that today I had to get away, and I had to do it as quickly as possible. My original thought was to go to April’s place until I had the guts to get out of town, but when I realized that I only had about ten hours to do so, I knew April’s place wasn’t safe. It would be the first stop they’d go on the hunt for me.
So then I drove. I drove like a madwoman towards the freeway. My poor junker of a car nearly sputtered and stopped, as I pushed it over the speed limit, but I didn’t care. I just had to get out as fast as I could with the money I stole from my dad tucked away in my purse. Every now and then I’d glance down at that stack just to feel my stomach leap up into my throat.
Still, it wasn’t the money that made me come back to Garland. It was him—Anton. About two hours into my freedom ride, I started to see bikers. At first, their presence freaked me out. I had sworn that my father was on to me and was sending out the goons to cut me off while I was still in their California territory. But they all sped past me like madmen with a mission.
And that’s when the visions of him started popping back. Each rider was Anton. Anton with a mustache. Anton with a sleek helmet reflecting the sun into my eyes. Anton giving me a nod of his head, as he checked me out at a construction zone. Anton. Anton. Anton. I couldn’t not see or feel his presence out in the California desert.
After my tenth Anton encounter, I knew that I couldn’t go a mile further. I had to go back for him. And if he wouldn’t come with me, I had to at least explain to him what I had heard and why I had acted as I had the night before.
The problem was that the night I went to Anton’s place, I wasn’t exactly at my best. While I knew which complex he lived in, the rows and rows of brown doors with gold numbers wasn’t going to exactly help me. As I walked out of my car into the pouring rain and stared up at the vast apartment building, I knew I was way over my head.
One by one, floor by floor, I knocked on each door. Most didn’t answer. I figured with it being a weekday and mid-afternoon I would be safe from a lot of awkward run-ins. But the few people that did answer just stared off at me as if I was a complete nut job. It probably didn’t help that I currently look like a drowned rat with my clothes practically sticking to my body.
Finally, from across the hall, I saw him. The sound of his bike got to me first. It’s funny how little things like the noise an engine makes can be so ingrained in your head, especially when you need that sensation back. Little tingles crept up my spine and back causing me to turn away from the graying old man who was yelling at me from the top of his tired lungs that he didn’t take solicitors.
I tried to call out his name, but the sound of the rain pounding on the tin roof above us roared. Luckily, I made it to the third floor banister, just in time to see the top of his dark auburn hair, as he struggled angrily with his door’s lock. My feet couldn’t run fast enough, as I slipped and slid over the sloppy cement floors down to the second floor.
When I got to his door, I paused, my arm raised up just ready to knock. In that moment, I closed my eyes tightly and thought about what this knock was. Already I had made the decision to abandon my family for good, but knocking on Anton’s door meant getting him involved to the point he or I could be killed. I couldn’t take this lightly.
But suddenly, I didn’t feel any more fear. The image of my father wasn’t there, hunting me down to the ends of the earth. All that was left was Anton sneaking into my window, holding me in an embrace upon my bed. It was watching him from his bed as he went about his morning routine. It was just us…together.
I knocked. I knocked so loudly I thought my hand would instantly crack open from the weight and force. When he didn’t immediately come to the door, I began kicking at it, hoping that he would stop cursing at me and
just give me a chance.
His eyes greeted me first. Those clear blue eyes sparkled like diamonds as they recognized me. We both stood completely still, him holding on to the door handle while I looked up at him unblinking until he spoke. “Tory?” Anton has repeated my name at least three or four times, and I still can’t seem to answer him. “Tory, why are you here? I thought earlier, when you said—”
“Can I come in?” My first words to him are more like a plea.
His hands swing the door the open wider for me to slowly tiptoe into his apartment. It’s just as my hazy recollection recalls…with the plain walls and the bed in the back corner of the room. I stand there taking it all in, as my arms wrap around my chest to keep me from shivering.
Anton notices immediately as he quickly commands me, “Get out of those clothes.”
“What?”
“You’re soaking wet. You can’t just stay in those things. Change out of them, and I’ll go grab you a pair of my pajamas while they are in the dryer.” He walks over to a dresser near the bed and pulls out a pair of black flannel drawstring pants and a black t-shirt. He places them on the table next to me and then turns his back to the wall, giving me the privacy he knows I need.