by Nella Tyler
“A big score? Anything we can get in on?” I ask inquisitively.
“Naw, he says that it’s a one-off thing, but it’s a fucking boatload of cash.”
“Man, that sucks,” I tell him. “I really need to get some parts for my bike soon.”
“You should see Jack, the Road Manager. That dude’s got a shit ton of extra parts and shit,” he tells me.
I clink beer bottles with Scott and feel like his friend already. Boris is in some deep shit.
Two hours after sitting there shooting the shit, I get up with a yawn and say, “I gotta run. I got shit to do, man, but thanks for the beers.”
“Sure thing, man. Anytime. Lemme know if you want the hookup, if you know what I mean.”
He gestures like he’s taking a puff of a cigarette and his meaning is crystal clear.
I walk outside of the door, closing it behind me. Walking down the stairs, I consider my options here. If I bust Boris for being a pot dealer, then maybe Scott will go down, too, for a one-time thing. Boris is up to no good, though, and I need to figure him out.
I rev up the engine to my motorcycle and head out. Back on the winding roads, I twist and turn until I’m far enough away from Hinton Heights. I pull over at a gas station, check my surroundings and then pull out my cell phone.
Dialing my father’s number, I feel pangs of guilt. I shouldn’t be talking to the Dragons under false pretenses, and it’s only a matter of time before they figure me out.
“Hey,” I say into the phone.
“Hey what?” my father blathers on the other end.
“We need to talk,” I tell him.
“So fucking talk,” he says gruffly.
“In person,” I demand.
“Alright, come to the club. You know the place.”
“On my way.”
“See ya,” he says, disconnecting the call.
My father has always been one tough son of a bitch. He’s tall, thin and wrinkled, but none of that should ever be mistaken for weakness.
I hop back on my bike and head out to Hayleysville. If anyone questions my motives out there, I plan to tell them that it’s all part of the investigation.
A half hour passes and I’m outside of the Deathdealers’ known hideout. The place is huge, wooden and has a skull and crossbones stationed outside to mark it for members. I park my bike in back, taking care to keep it out of sight.
I push the door open and am greeted by Sal. He’s a soft in the middle older guy with greasy black hair and dirty jeans.
“Pat him down,” my father instructs. “He’s been with the Dragons for too long; we can’t take any chances.”
Sal gets off of his stool and walks over to me. “Arms up,” he says, knowing the drill.
I raise my arms and insist, “I didn’t bring a fucking gun to the club, old man.”
“Then you won’t have a problem with the search, so shut the fuck up and let him do his job.”
“Such bullshit,” I protest as he pats me down from shoulder to feet.
“He’s clean,” Sal says turning back to sit back on his stool.
The club is dark and full of some shady looking characters. I gather that there are at least thirty hardened criminals in the place.
“Alright, come with me,” my father tells me as he waves me forward.
“Was that fucking necessary?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I take a breath of disbelief.
“Speaking of those assholes in the Dragons, what’s going on over there?” He asks me.
“They’re still in the middle of searching for the president’s twelve-year-old daughter,” I tell him.
“Twelve, huh?” He licks his lips like a fucking pig.
“Yeah, everyone is busy taking up the cause. Myself included.”
“Have you gone soft, son?”
“No, it’s just that you don’t mess with someone’s fucking kid,” I growl.
“Are you saying that I’ve messed with someone’s kid?” he groans.
He stands up, extends his hand to my throat with a quick motion and grasps hard.
“Are you fucking saying that I had anything to do with kidnapping a fucking twelve-year-old kid?”
His grip tightens and I wonder if my dad has the balls to actually go through with this. He walks me to the wall and slams my body into it by my throat. I blink and feel the blood rushing to my face.
He lets me go and stands there in his oil and dirt stained denim jacket.
“You better watch it around here, we’re not pussies like those assholes in the Dragons,” he tells me as I regain a regular flow of air into my body.
I throw my hands up as if to say, ‘Take it easy,’ but he stares at me in disbelief.
“Are you soft, son? Need an ass kicking to get you back up to par?” He takes a long gulp of his beer and throws the bottle into the fireplace. His buddies are at the bar all egging him on.
“I’m only looking for information. Fucking with family is serious,” I tell him.
“If anyone fucks with my family, they’ll fucking die,” he says to the sound of cheering from his friends.
“Exactly,” I agree.
“So, where do your loyalties lie, son?” he asks with the threat of a beer bottle up against my head.
“With the club,” I lie.
“Damn right!” He says. “With us, there’s only one way out and that’s when ya die.”
“Fuckin’ A,” I yell, trying to fit right in with these clowns.
“That’s right, kid,” he says appearing in the role of the proud father. He pats my shoulder and smiles a crooked grin.
“Fuck yeah,” I shout as I walk to the bar and get a beer. Taking a long swig, I clink my beer bottle with my father’s.
He looks unshaven and his brown hair looks dirty. His whiskers are growing in to be a whitish-grey color and his wrinkles show his age. He looks like a rough and tough version of Willie Nelson, without the long hair.
“If we can secure the Hinton Township area for the Deathdealers, you know what that means,” he declares.
The club members go wild with anticipation and I join them. I drink down an entire beer and slam it on the counter. “Another!” I yell at the older, overly made-up barmaid. She slides another beer my way and I snatch it up.
Dad puts his arm around me as he walks me around the place. He says, “It means more fucking money in everyone’s pockets around here. More money means more beer, more bitches, and more fucking bikes. That territory will be ours, with your help.”
As he speaks to me, he pushes his pointer finger into my chest to accentuate the words.
“So, tell me what you know,” he demands.
“What I know?” I ask.
“Yeah, don’t be stupid. Tell me what you know about the Green Dragons. I need names of their patch members and officers. You know, who might switch sides and all that.”
“It’s not like I could taking fucking roll call,” I say in response.
“You don’t know anyone’s names?” he pushes.
“A few guys, but no one of importance,” I tell him.
“Who do you know?” he pushes.
“This guy Scott, and the president’s daughter Trish,” I say.
“You know the president’s daughter? That’s a good way in,” he tells me.
“She’s fucking hot, too,” I offer, hoping to deflect from my knowledge of her.
“Fuck her and make her come to the dark side,” he tells me as if it’s in confidence.
“That’s the plan,” I tell him with a shit-eating grin on my face.
“That’s my fucking boy,” he yells proudly. “So you don’t know any names? Get them.”
“I will do as much as I can without throwing them off,” I say.
“That’s my boy,” he reiterates.
“It’s just harder because of the kidnapping. If that didn’t happen, I’d probably be a full patch member of the Dragons by now. I’d have their full trust and
would know how everything operates.”
My father smiles like that’s the greatest idea.
“Find the fucking girl and get back down to business,” he commands.
“Yeah, the girl getting taken has thrown a monkey wrench into everything.”
“Well, you know what they say. It’s always better to kick them when they’re down.”
He grins and chugs another beer. He discards this one by throwing the bottle into the fire, joining his first beer.
I chug mine and follow suit. I can’t play both ends against the middle, it’s too hard. My father is a straight up criminal and those who fear him still want him stopped.
“Get out there and get us some intel, son,” he says with a push in the direction of the door.
I walk outside of the club, and with a deep breath, I’m back on my bike riding away from the place at high speeds. I don’t need anyone seeing me leave from there, even though I’m pretty sure that the Dragons won’t dare to come out this far.
I stop at a gas station close to Hinton Heights where I refuel my bike. A text message interrupts my thoughts.
“Do ya got a picture of that girl?” my father asks via text message.
“Oh shit,” I say to myself. I don’t need those guys to get involved if they aren’t already.
I text back, “Yeah, lemme send it.”
I scroll through the pictures stored on my cell phone and send the one of Sasha to my father.
Minutes later, another message comes through: “Oh, she’s a pretty little girl.”
I text back, “It’ll help both of our causes if she’s found.”
“K,” he texts back.
I feel a gut-wrenching feeling that my father is has some sort of involvement in Sasha’s disappearance. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s something not out of the realm of possibility where my father and his criminal activities are concerned.
I think back to a younger member of the club offering to sell out his own mother for two lines of cocaine. The red-headed kid was dying for a fix and he told the members that his mother offered to help. My father and Sal were quick to oblige, right in the middle of the club. To anyone watching, he threatened us all with death if we spoke of the incident. That incident plays sharply in my head and I wonder what they would do with Sasha if they’ve got her. I tense up. He’s involved, I just know it.
Chapter Eight
Trish Fitzgerald
I pop open my laptop and examine the leads I’ve got tucked away in the Word document. Little clues that leave breadcrumbs for further investigation excite me and I dig even deeper.
I walk to my bed, snatch up my notebook and an ink pen. Once back in front of my laptop, I begin making notes about what I can look at further.
My eyes scroll through every last detail and a few things stand out to me. Boris Cardov has some shady dealings in the club that I need to check out. Ken Clayton is also shady and I wonder if they are working together.
I scribble down in my notebook: “Perhaps the fight was to throw everyone off?”
Are they that stupid and obvious?
I write down the name Lester Samson and circle it twice. There has to be more to that story than meets the eye. I know that Ken Clayton is dirt poor and Boris Cardov is dealing drugs to the newer members of the club. If dad caught wind of this, he’d likely break their necks.
My eyes hit Rodney’s name and I light up. He’s a beacon of sexy support and guidance through all of this. I catch myself feeling guilty for the time we spend together, but like a moth to a flame, I can’t help myself.
The only thing weird about Rodney is his father. I say to myself, “How could such a good guy come from a low-life snake in the grass – as he calls his father, Seth?”
“Seth Vinton, Seth Vinton,” I repeat as if it’s bound to ring a bell.
I decide to type his name into Google to see if I can jar my memory of why this guy’s name is lingering in my head.
“Notorious Leader of the Deathdealers, Seth Vinton, Jailed for Robbery,” screams one headline.
“Holy shit,” I say to myself at the revelation. It can’t be.
I click the link under the headline to learn more about Seth Vinton. The article informs me that Seth was jailed back in 2002 for ten years after robbing an elderly lady in her own home. His mugshot graces the page and I swallow hard. He and Rodney have the same shape eyes; it can’t be a coincidence.
I think to myself how my father really needs to get his shit together when allowing new members into the club. These guys need to go through a vetting process before they even get any consideration, I tell myself.
Thinking back to Rodney’s questioning, I remember him saying that his father is basically a piece of shit. I guess it wouldn’t make sense for him to tell me that his father is actually the leader of a rival club. I’m the president’s daughter and he probably thinks that I’ll run and tell my father the first thing.
A text message breaks my concentration. I take a deep breath when I see the name Rodney Vinton on my phone.
The message reads: “Boris deals drugs out of the club; don’t say anything yet.”
“Ok,” I text back. I don’t want to let him on to the fact that I know his little secret. Now is not the time to make waves. He could have some inside information on whether or not the Deathdealers have any involvement in Sasha’s disappearance.
I close the door on that thought for now and Google the name “Lester Samson.” A few articles pop up about the older guy. One search prompts me to look deeper, so I type “Lester Samson child endangerment” into Google.
Several links pop up, one talking about the “trumped up charges” against Lester and how he was a victim of circumstance. I put his name into the inmate search for the county and find that he did six months in prison over the charge.
“What is the connection?” I say to myself. With Rodney’s father being the leader of the rival gang and Ken nearing bankruptcy and bragging about coming into money. I feel overwhelmed as if I’m missing something that is staring me blatantly in the face.
I grab my phone and text Rodney, “I need to see you.”
He quickly shoots back, “When and where?”
“Your place and ASAP,” I text him.
“C U there,” he texts back
I close my laptop and sit my notebook on top of it. I walk down the stairs hopeful to not let my face betray my findings. I don’t want to tell my father anything about Rodney in case there is something I misunderstand about his relationship with his father.
I hop on my pink Harley and rev it up. I wind down the dirt roads and to the pavement for ten minutes before I park the bike next to two bikes already outside of Justin’s place.
I knock on the door and Justin greets me.
“Hey Trish, what’s up?” he asks smoothly.
“Nothing. I’m here to see Rodney,” I tell him.
He opens the door to let me inside and tells me, “He’s upstairs; just a sec.”
He walks to the bottom of the stairs and yells, “Hey, Rod, you got a visitor!”
The door opens and Rodney emerges, walking down the stairs.
“Hey there beautiful,” he says with a smooth smile on his face.
“Hey, listen, we’ve got to talk,” I tell him.
“Club stuff?” He asks.
“No, this is more personal in nature,” I say.
“Wanna come upstairs?” he says with a sly grin.
“That’ll work, just so we’re not bothered.”
He leads the way up stairs and to the room where he’s staying. I hear the door slam outside and I look to Rodney for an explanation.
“He probably thinks we need some privacy,” Rodney says. “He’s cool like that. So what’s on your mind, doll?”
He sits down on the bed and I join him.
“Something came up and I thought we needed to talk about it,” I say.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” he asks somewhat seductively. He’s
cute, but I don’t let that interfere.
“Remember when I asked you about your father?” I say slowly and quietly, in case we’re not alone.
“Yeah, I told you, my father is a snake in the grass – a criminal.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. I looked up your father on Google and it says that he’s the leader of the Deathdealers. I like you, Rodney, so I wanted to hear your side before I take any of my findings to my father.”
“I know I should’ve told you sooner. I was afraid that you would run to your father and he’d break my legs. Here’s the whole truth, just as long as you promise you won’t hate me for it.”
His eyes appear sincere. I take his hand in mine and say, “You can tell me anything.”
“Alright. My father being the low-life asshole that he is, tells me to infiltrate the Dragons for a possible takeover. He wants the territory and blah blah blah. He tells me to find out whatever I can about the club and see if it’s worth it.”
“So you get inside and then what?” I press for more information.
“I get in and find out information on the club; at least that’s what he wanted me to do.”“You didn’t tell your father anything about us?” I ask.
“Only a couple of first names; I had to get him off of my back. All in all, though, I can’t betray your trust,” he says.
“You would go against your father’s wishes to help us?”
“You have no idea what membership is like in the Deathdealers. Let me paint a picture for you. The whole club is made up of criminals and their ilk, with the exception of myself and the prospects. These guys are a bunch of thugs who will do anything for a dollar or some coke. And when I say anything, that is not an exaggeration of any kind.”
“If my father catches wind of the Deathdealers looking for a takeover, he will go apeshit.”
“I can’t say that I’d blame him there,” he says in response.
I clench his hand in mind and relish how good it feels. His warmth reverberates through me and I feel the need to be closer to him.
“If your father finds me out, then I’m dead meat,” he declares.
“He doesn’t have to find out, Rodney. I just need to know for sure that you are one hundred percent with us.”