by Nella Tyler
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” she says.
“You’ll both pay for this,” Lester threatens.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Trish tells him.
We walk out of the front door and she surveys his motorcycle.
“I wonder how long it’ll take him to put those pieces back together,” I say with a chuckle.
“Long enough that we’re in no danger of him getting back at us anytime soon.”
“He really was dirty, though,” I say with a sigh of defeat.
“Yeah, well, it just goes to show ya that you can’t always believe what family tells you,” she reminds me.
“I knew my father just spun nothing but bullshit, but this is insane. I’ve known Lester for years and I would’ve never suspected anything like this.”
“Yeah, but we still need proof. We still need information. We need to find Sasha before things go to hell,” she says.
“I just don’t really know if my father told me anything that wasn’t a lie,” I tell her.
“I guess blood isn’t always thicker than water,” she says.
We get on our motorcycles and leave the place quickly. Speeding down the dirt roads, we wind our way back to the pavement, feeling the brisk wind on my skin.
Trish and I ride side-by-side through Hayleysville to Hinton Heights, going full speed ahead. I put my hand up to tell her to stop at our next opportunity. We pull our bikes over to the side of the road a few feet away from the Hinton Township sign. She takes off her helmet and looks to me for direction.
I take my helmet off and say, “I’m going to see if I can push Frick and Frack for more information on Boris and Ken.”
“Then I’m going home to do more research on Lester. He’s dirtier than we know, I can just feel it. I’ll see what I can find, but I got a feeling that we’re on to something here.”
“Alright, let me know if you need me,” I tell her. She puts the kickstand down and hops off of her bike. Walking over to me, she plants a kiss on my lips.
“I can’t wait until this whole thing is behind us,” she says, walking back to her bike and getting on. With a rev of the motor, she’s off to her place. I put my helmet back on and hear a ringing. I grasp hold of my cell phone to look at the caller ID. It reads: “SETH VINTON”.
I teeter between answering it and letting it go directly to voicemail. I weigh the idea of yelling at my father for his lies, but decide against letting him know any of this new information. I sit on my bike waiting to see if there’s a message.
Minutes pass and the voicemail icon appears on my phone. I dial the number to my voicemail and hit the “1” button to hear what he has to say.
“Rod, I need an update. We’re gearing up to move soon and we need to talk. Bring Boris with you when you come. He’s got a van that we need to use.”
Under my breath, I say, “Boris has a van? And wait - he knows him?”
I refuse to acknowledge the call until I can talk to Trish and Ronan. I shove the cell phone back into my pocket and ride to Scott’s place in hopes for more information on Boris and Ken. They’re in this deep and I need to figure out their involvement in the bigger picture.
I park my bike in front of Scott’s place and notice another motorcycle next to Scott’s. I walk up the stairs and hit the number next to his name.
A voice comes over the speaker, saying, “Yeah? Who is it?”
“It’s Rodney,” I say into the speaker.
A loud buzz overtakes all sound in the area as the door unlocks. I walk inside and make my way to Scott’s apartment.
Once there, I knock on the door and say, “Let me in, asshole.”
The door opens and Scott is sitting there with Boris Cardov, drinking beers and watching a game of football on the television.
Boris looks to Scott and says, “Is he cool?”
I think to myself that he is merely trying to play it off for my benefit.
“Yeah, he’s cool,” he says as I shut the door behind myself. Scott walks to the kitchen and retrieves a cold beer from the refrigerator and tosses it to me
I crack open the can of beer and sit down on the chair.
“What’s the score?” I ask anyone who’s listening.
“Seventeen to ten, in favor of the Wildcats,” Boris informs me.
“Fuck yeah!” I yell.
The three of us watch the game intently, but a commercial breaks everything up. Boris stands and says, “I gotta piss.”
He walks out of the room and thoughts of how to get Boris to talk about this van rattle around inside my head.
“Hey,” I whisper to Scott. “I’m gonna talk about moving, but when I ask, say you can’t help.”
He has a question mark on his face, but agrees.
We await Boris’ return to the living room and I say to Scott, “I was thinkin’ about moving soon. I got a sweeter deal on the other side of town, closer to Hinton Heights.”
“When are you moving?” Scott asks.
“I was thinkin’ about next week; can you help? I don’t have a truck or anything yet.”
“Actually, I’m busy all next week,” Scott says as he looks at Boris for any contribution to the conversation.
“I have a van,” he says. “I can drive it over on Wednesday if you wanna use it.”
“Yeah man, that’s cool. Thanks,” I tell him.
“Anything for a fellow brother,” he says with a knowing look.
I wonder to myself if he knows about my knowledge of his drug dealing or that my father knows him. To prevent a premature war, I keep my mouth shut.
We sit there in silence, interrupting it only to yell at the television when our team fumbles the ball.
Chapter Thirteen
Trish Fitzgerald
I ride back home and park my motorcycle out front. From the looks of the surrounding area and the garage, I’m alone. I tap in the code to gain entrance into the garage and walk inside the house. I hit the garage door button to close it and head upstairs to my room.
I sit on my bed and pull my laptop closer to me. I power it up and check my phone for messages as I await the welcome screen.
No messages. I bring up Google and search for “Lester Samson Deathdealers.”
I am taken aback by the amount of links that show up for the search. One headline reads: ‘Former Deathdealer Member Busted For Kidnapping; Gets Off With Slap On The Wrist’. Another says: ‘Lester Samson: The Unknown Truth,’ by Anonymous. The list goes down the page and I select the first story with a click of the mouse.
I read through the page to find the blog post was written anonymously. In detail, it describes how Lester Samson was one of the original Deathdealers and goes on to talk about the “supposed child endangerment charge” against him.
It says:
Lester Samson, along with Seth Vinton and some other goons, arranged a massive cover-up for Samson’s “supposed child endangerment charge.” Samson, one of the original Deathdealers members, is known for his violent criminal activity and his love of guns.
Samson tried to kidnap his niece when she was younger. He was driving drunk after snatching her up and was trying to leave town with her. He had a busted tail light and was pulled over by the cops. When the officer approached him, he smelled alcohol on Samson, thus leading to his arrest.
When the police notified Samson’s sister to come pick up her kid, the mother then told them that there was an amber alert out on her daughter. The charges were piling up against Samson, with kidnapping, child endangerment, DUI, and others mounting against him.
No one knows the real truth and that’s why I’m putting this out there into the ether today. It’s anonymous, but I can assure you that it is the whole truth. Lester Samson is a monster and the Deathdealers bribed a judge to knock off most of the worst charges. Because Vinton had a judge in their back pocket, Samson was left to do six months in jail as a result of child endangerment charges, but the rest was wiped from the system.
Judge Franklin was t
he presiding judge in the case, but he has refused to comment on the matter. He has since retired. He has never addressed the speculation surrounding the case and declines media attention.
I click the back button on the browser and click the next link to learn more information on Lester. The article written about the truth of Samson pops up on my screen. This article talks more about what Lester has done in his past involvement with the motorcycle club.
As a long-term member of the Deathdealers, Lester Samson is on record as being Seth Vinton’s right hand man. He has murdered in the name of the club, but the lack of bodies present led the police nowhere. He was Vinton’s hit man and collector, all rolled into one. He would break your kneecaps if you didn’t pay protection money on time and is a dangerous individual.
Samson was forced to retire from the notorious motorcycle club when suspicions arose of his dealings with cocaine and other drug running came to the attention of local law enforcement.
I close my browser and ponder the information.
I text Rodney: “I knew Lester was shady. So much to tell you.”
Minutes pass and I receive a text notification from Rodney: “Boris has a van. I made up a story about moving and he said he’d bring it by on Wednesday.”
I sit in awe of the big picture as it comes together in my mind.
“Call me when you can,” I text him.
“Okay,” he texts back. Thoughts swirl about Boris’ van transporting my scared little sister across town and I grab a pen and my notebook.
I draw a circle around Boris’ van and connect it to Lester Samson. Boris has a van and Lester has the hideout. I remember the guys talking about Ken Clayton bragging over the large sum of money that is coming his way.
I open my laptop back up to the investigate information I have in an Excel file. I retrieve Jason Maple’s cell phone number, recalling his admission to being an electronics expert.
“Jason,” I say into the phone. “It’s Trish Fitzgerald.”
“Hey, Trish, what’s up? Is everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, listen. Remember when I asked you if you could check out bank account information on people?”
“Yeah? Who do you want me to check?”
“Can you look into Ken Clayton’s checking account, but keep it on the down-low?” I ask.
“Sure, give me an hour or so,” he says.
“Sounds good, let me know what you find,” I tell him.
“Hey, can I ask exactly what I’m looking for?”
“Yeah, any large deposits of money within the last week.”
“Alright, talk to you soon,” he says.
I disconnect the call and focus on finding out as much information as possible. I type furiously on my laptop seeking out anything and everything I can find with regard to Ken Clayton, the Deathdealers, Seth Vinton, Lester Samson and Boris Cardov.
Digging through archives of Google’s reach, I find an old black and white picture. It appears to be a much younger Boris with a younger guy that looks like Rodney. I gather that the picture must be at least twenty years old, if not older.
I snap the picture with my cell phone so that I can show Rodney when I see him next. If the guy in the picture is his father, we have the connection from Seth Vinton to Boris Cardov.
My cell phone’s ringtone interrupts my thought process.
“Hey, it’s me,” Rodney says.
“Can you talk now?” I ask him.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“I found out a lot about Lester Samson. Apparently he was an older member of the Deathdealers, like your father’s right hand man.”
“Unbelievable,” he says.
“Yeah. And that child endangerment charge actually stemmed from his attempt at kidnapping his niece. I found an article online and it talked about how he was driving drunk with her in the car and was arrested. The article said that your dad had a judge in his back pocket and that’s how Lester’s charges were dropped to the charge of child endangerment. He did six months in jail and was turned loose.”
“So fucking crazy,” Rodney tells me. “I guess my father is in deeper than I thought.”
“Yeah, it sucks. What did you find out about Boris’ van?” I ask him.
“Just that he has one and he’s going to let me use it on Wednesday. He thinks I’m moving.”
“I’m guessing that if we can find the van before then, we might be able to find my sister,” I say matter-of-factly.
“We can try,” he says in response.
“Hey, I found an older picture. It looks like Boris in it, but the other guy looks a lot like you. The only thing is, is that the picture looks like it’s at least twenty years old.”
“Can you text it to me?”
“Yeah, I’m sending it now, hang on,” I tell him as I navigate to the photo and text it to him.
A minute passes as I sit in silence and he confirms my suspicions. “That’s my father.”
“There’s the connection. He knows Boris,” I tell him.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. When we left Lester’s house, I got a voicemail from my father.”
“Yeah, what did he say?” I question him.
“He said that I need to get to their club immediately and that I should bring Boris with me.”
“Why would he need you to bring Boris with you?” I ask.
“He said that they need to move soon on their plans and that Boris has a van that they can use. That’s how I knew to bring up the subject of moving, to see if he’d volunteer the van.”
“He used that van to take my sister to wherever they’re hiding her,” I say.
“I’m sure that is how it all went down. Now we just need proof and then we can get your sister safely back home where she belongs,” he tells me.
“Exactly. I guess we’re just going to have to discreetly pay Mr. Cardov a visit and see if we can locate that van.”
“If we can find it, then it might have a clue as to where they’re keeping her.”
“It’s worth a shot,” I say with a glimmer of hope in my eyes. Secretly, I’m hiding a serious fear that something bad has happened to Sasha, but vocalizing it might make it worse.
“Alright, I’m going to see if I can borrow someone’s car; a car that he won’t recognize. Then, I’ll follow him around discretely and see what’s what.”
“Sounds good, let me know what you find,” I tell him. “I’m working on something with finding out about that money that Ken was bragging about.”
“Keep me posted, too,” he urges me.
“You got it, babe. I’ll talk to you later, I’ve got another call coming in.”
“Bye babe,” he says as I click ‘end’ on the phone to disconnect the call.
The caller ID tells me that it’s Jason Maple on the other end. Maybe he has some news. I hit ‘answer’ and say, “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Jason. I’ve got something on Ken’s banking activity. It looks like he came into a decent pile of cash two days ago.”
“Wow, that’s pretty recent,” I say in response. “Does it say where the money came from?”
“No, but I can look into that.”
“How much money was deposited two days ago?” I press.
“Roughly twenty grand,” he says.
“Holy crap. Alright, call or text me when you trace the origin of the money,” I instruct him.
“Yes ma’am,” he says before hanging up.
I pull Rodney’s phone number up and text him, “Ken just got twenty grand in his checking account two days ago.”
“Did you check Boris’ or Lester’s?” He asks via text message.
“No, but I can get on that now,” I say back with furious fingers texting back.
“I have a feeling that the person with the biggest dollar amount in their account is the one who’s holding Sasha. Keep me posted.”
“I will,” I text back.
I dial up Jason Maple once again and wait patiently for him to answer his phon
e.
“Hello?” he says.
“Hey Jason, it’s Trish again. Listen, in addition to Ken Clayton’s info and the trace, can you also run Boris Cardov and Lester Samson’s information through the system?”
“Am I looking for the same type of deposit?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think they’re all somehow involved.”
“Samson’s gonna be the hard one, but I’ll get it all squared away and let you know what I find.”
“Great, thanks Jason,” I tell him.
“No problem, Trish,” he says, disconnecting the call.
Rodney texts me, “I bet that money traces all the way back to my father. It was all part of this long-running plan to take over the Dragons, I just know it.”
I text back, “There’s no way you could’ve known that.”
“Yeah, but I just feel like a rat,” he texts me.
“I’m just glad that you’re on our side,” I text back.
He texts me back a smiley and I decide to wait for Jason’s phone call before telling my father everything.
Hours pass before I hear from him, but he confirms our suspicions.
“Trish, I have that information for you,” he says.
“Yeah, let me get a pen and paper,” I instruct him. I grasp my pen and open up my notebook. “Okay, shoot.”
“Boris Cardov got a thirty thousand dollar deposit yesterday and Lester Samson got fifty just today.”
“Fifty grand today? Interesting. And where does the money lead?”
“That’s the interesting part. It all leads back to Seth Vinton.”
“I kind of figured it would. Thanks Jason, I appreciate all of your help,” I tell him.
“Hey, maybe when this is all said and done, we can go out for a drink?” he asks.
“Maybe, but you should know that I’m dating Rodney,” I tell him. I don’t want any misunderstandings and although Jason has helped tremendously, I figure there is certainly other ways to reward his help.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” he says, sounding somewhat embarrassed.
“It’s okay. I’m sure there’s some way we can repay you when this is all over with.”
“I don’t need repayment, Trish, that’s not why I do what I do for the club,” he says.