Dirty

by A. C. Bextor

  “She changed,” I put in, trying to help her explain.

  “Yes and no. Dee Dee was always a little daring. A child should’ve forced her to settle, but it didn’t.”

  The last I’d heard from Dee Dee was that she had found a new man and was settling down. She called me late one night, some time ago, to tell me she was thinking about me, about my eyes, how gentle and caring they once were. She went on to talk about their striking color. I thought it was odd she’d not only call out of the blue, but to continue on regarding their color and how she missed seeing them look at her was odd. When I told her I remembered hers as well, she sighed right before hanging up. By looking at Emma, so worried and apprehensive, I no longer believe Dee Dee is okay.

  “Have you heard of Satan’s Creed MC?” Em asks with hesitation.

  Everyone’s heard of Satan’s Creed, more so its president.

  Hoss Lattimore is an aging vile man with a checkered past. His life expectancy has surpassed him three times over, considering the men he chooses to do business with. I like to believe Dee Dee’s daughter isn’t caught up within his club. If she is, I’m not so sure I’m the one Em should be asking for help.

  “Yeah, Em,” I return, exhaling with irritation. “I’ve heard of the place.”

  “She’s there,” she informs me.

  “She’s living there?”

  “Yes. Dee Dee is completely strung-out, Max.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Emma blinks at my question, then looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads. “Well, let’s see,” she smarts off before rattling further. “Her hair had started to fall out. Her eyes were sunken in. Her teeth were rotten . . .”

  Raising my hands in surrender, I aim to call a truce. “Okay, I got it. Is this the only reason you think the girl’s in danger?”

  I’ve known kids to dwell around MC’s. Some have been there since birth; it’s not unheard of for old ladies to raise their kids just as they were brought up. To each their own, or whatever.

  However, being raised in one and being held in one without contact with the outside world isn’t the same thing. Growing up at Creed, she would be subjected to a life that would leave her warped of what a good life would, and should, include.

  “No.”

  “Does Hoss know you’re the girl’s aunt?”

  She nods. “Yes. I’ve seen him around. He dismissed me for the most part, but did ask me once if I wanted to ‘join’ the party. When I refused, he laughed. He thinks I’m a joke.”

  “If you told him you were taking her with you, how do you think he would’ve responded?”

  Emma laughs, but it’s not real. “I imagine it would be a case where I’d end up never leaving. That’s why I need your help.”

  Needing further detail, I prod. “What’s the daughter’s name?”

  “Casey,” she answers on a whisper, as though the name is painful to say out loud. Emma pulls out a beat-up, folded picture from her purse and slides it across the table, stopping only when I extend my hand to grab it.

  It’s a class photo, the kind kids get taken every year for school. I still carry one of Marie’s in my wallet.

  If I had to label her appearance, the little girl in this photo looks sad and broken. Her half-smile is wary. Her long, dark hair looks lifeless and limp. Her eyes are sunken back, unusual for a child of her age.

  “How old is she in this picture?” I ask as I study its heavy wear and tear.

  “I’m not sure. Eight, maybe? I got it from Dee Dee during a visit to Creed. She was high and was having a good day, so she let me have it. She doesn’t look so much different, or she didn’t the last time I saw her, anyway.”

  Feeling the sadness Em is obviously lost in, I ask, “What else do you know about her?”

  A faint smile comes to Emma’s face. “She loved Winnie the Pooh. I gave her a stuffed Piglet one birthday when she was really young, and she carried it around until Dee Dee forced her to give it back when I offered to let Casey stay with me to give Dee Dee time to think. I would’ve taken her forever if she’d have let me, but Dee Dee labeled her as if she were club property and was adamant she had to stay at the club.”

  “Is that what you want now? You want her for good?”

  Without giving herself a moment to think, she answers, “Yes. For good, Max.”

  “That’s a big responsibility, Em.”

  “I know,” she chokes. “But it’s all I’ve thought about. I need your help. When Tommy told me you were back, I felt . . .”

  “Felt what?”

  Sighing, she sits back in her chair and looks me square in the eyes. “Relief. I haven’t felt relief for so long. You know Dee Dee. Maybe, if you could try talking to her, she’d listen.”

  “Who have you already asked to help Casey? Surely you’re not doing all this on your own.”

  Sighing again, she tells me. “I called Child Protective Services first. They said Casey was with her mother and at the time they looked into it, she was in school. Her attendance was poor, but she was still enrolled and going. I think they thought I was a scorned sister.” Taking a breath, she continues. “I’ve made other calls, too. I’ve visited the local PD. There, it was as if no one believed me. So, ultimately, I ended up with nothing.”

  “Where is the last place you saw her?”

  “Creed. They used to let me visit. They’d bring her out from wherever they kept her and let me talk to her. Not long visits, but it was something. I haven’t seen her in almost a year. The last time I went, the man who answered told me there would be no further privileges and if I made trouble, I’d suffer the consequences.”

  I’ve stopped listening since the image of Emma walking into a motorcycle club alone, whether her intentions were good or not, pisses me off. She’s too naïve, far too trusting, and has no fucking idea what she’s talking about. Emma would be considered fresh meat to the animals that dwell in the zoo.

  Slamming my beer down, harder than I intended, I pray for her fucking denial. “You went into Satan’s Creed alone?” She tries to answer. Her mouth opens then closes as soon as her eyes meet mine. “Your sister, I imagine, could work her way through it, but not you, Em. What the fuck were you thinking?”

  “Max, I . . .”

  “Do you know what happens in places like that? You’re not relation, Em. You’re an outsider.” I hear my voice strengthen and notice the lady at the table next to us glances carefully in our direction, so I lower my voice to a harsh whisper to avoid our newly interested audience. “Do you have any fucking idea the men who make up a motorcycle club, let alone a goddamn sadistic one?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about them, Max!” she exclaims, her face reddening with exasperation. “I was thinking of her. God, you don’t understand.”

  “I do,” I reassure her.

  “I care more about what those men would do to Casey than what they could ever do to me.”

  Trying to get her to recognize my concern, I point out, “But if something happens to you, she has no one else to help her.”

  Sitting back in her seat, her shoulders slump in defeat. She gets my point, so I don’t continue scaring her. I could give examples, share with her stories of what goes on within an active MC, but if her niece is truly in the crosshairs of one, then me telling her would only serve to scare her more.

  “If it makes you feel better, I’m aware of what’s goes on in there. They never let me in far, but from what I did see, it was sick.”

  “What’d you see?”

  Her body tenses, recounting her visions. “Women, barely dressed, having sex with men pawing at them. Men, drinking and cursing, accepting sexual favors on the open floor of the room I was allowed to sit and wait in.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it?” she exclaims. “Max, it was enough! Casey wasn’t shielded from any of it. They brought her out to me as if they were prodding her like cattle. She would look away from what was in front of her and focus on me out of fear
.”

  “There’s a lot more shit that goes on in those places, Em,” I tell her with honesty. “A fuck of a lot more.”

  Tears flood her eyes, hearing my warning. “I’m so scared for her. I wouldn’t have asked you here if I thought I had a choice.”

  I need to change the subject to avoid having her fall completely apart. It’s still a topic I’d rather not discuss, but I’d rather have Em pissed than crying.

  “Your sister always was a piece of work.”

  Rolling her eyes in disgust and sitting back in her chair, she fills me in on Dee Dee’s current state. “She’s a waste, Max. When you left, she changed. She started missing work, calling me and asking for money. My husband . . .”

  “You got married?” I ask, surprised to hear this news.

  Emma was a sweet kid growing up. She was smart, funny, and cute. As I look at her now, sitting across from me, I still recognize the girl I left all those years ago, but the woman she’s become is no longer cute. She’s exquisite.

  When I showed up tonight and got an unobstructed view of her sitting alone at this table, my chest constricted due to her gentle presence. Thinking of the way I had been thinking of her for years didn’t do her justice. This woman sitting across from me has grown in more ways than I’d thought possible. Looking back, I realize I was more attracted to her than I had once thought.

  Her big, brown eyes lie as she tries to sell me on the happily-ever-after she’s been blessed with.

  “I did. My married name is Carsen,” she answers on a half-smile. “His name is Greg.”

  Greg Carsen. The name doesn’t sound familiar. “Do I know him?”

  Shaking her head, her finger traces the top of her glass. The wedding ring I hadn’t noticed her wearing shines brightly under the light above us. If the size of the diamond is a fair measure to her husband’s success, by all accounts Emma is being taken care of.

  But apparently, he doesn’t watch his wife’s careless movements closely. If he were any kind of man who loved his woman the way he should, his first priority would be to protect her from herself. If she was mine, she sure as fuck would never have set foot on Satan’s Creed property, and sure as fuck not alone.

  Jesus Christ.

  Moving her dark hair from her shoulders, she situates it behind her ear. “No, you wouldn’t know him. He’s not from here. He’s a lawyer and smaller towns aren’t his thing, so he commutes to the city.”

  They all commute to the city.

  For years, my parents did the same. To this day, they still live in their modest home on the outskirts of Las Vegas with their two dogs, a cat, and an empty bedroom where my sister will never sleep safely again. Other than a routine phone call every now and then, I haven’t genuinely talked to either of them since I woke up one day suffering from an overpowering grief and left to find whatever I thought I was looking for. I’ve kept in touch with a few people from here, including my best friend, Tommy. He’s told me my father still putters around his garage on the weekends and my mother still bakes for the monthly church picnics and various events. They’ve both been left filling their days with menial tasks in order to keep them busy. I fear they’re wasting away while waiting for their dead daughter to return home or at the very least, bring her killer to face the justice he deserves.

  “Are you happy, Em?” I ask, wondering if anyone from my past remembers a life less saddened by loss.

  Her eyebrow rises with her question. “What’s happy, Max?”

  “I guess I’d be the last to answer that.”

  After giving me a soft look, Em focuses back on the matter at hand. “Will you help?”

  “Will you stay out of this?”

  “As much as I can.”

  I shake my head. “Not good enough. I won’t help you if you continue on a one-woman power crusade against these people, Em. I mean it. You’re out, or I’m not in.”

  “Fine,” she mumbles, looking away.

  She’d always been bull-headed and challenging. I had forgotten this part of her personality. It’s good to see, but difficult to manage.

  “Good,” I answer. “I can’t promise I can do anything, but if I can’t, I may know some people who could help.”

  “Thank you,” she sits back and whispers with gratitude.

  “Now, tell me everything you’ve seen and don’t skip any detail, whether you think it’s important or not.”

  Chapter Two

  After Emma recounted, in vivid detail, what she’d seen taking place during her last visit to the Satan’s Creed MC, I took it upon myself to verify her accounts.

  And I’m finding, based on Tommy’s insight—even as little as he knows—she may be right.

  “Dee Dee had kind of a mental break when you left,” Tommy advises, sitting on the stool next to mine at the bar.

  Tommy Monahan is an old friend of mine from high school. He knows both Em and Dee Dee. It’s hard not to know about everyone, considering we live in a town populated by only thirty-five hundred people, give or take a few. We used to run the streets together until life forced us to grow up as we moved on with age.

  Tommy and his wife, Natalie, have a daughter. I haven’t seen her in the few months since my return, but if pictures are anything to go by, she’s physically taken after her father. Denver’s long, thick, red hair and freckles will draw any man’s attention, and the girl is only sixteen.

  O’Malley’s is an Irish pub we used to hang around in when we were just over the drinking age. The customers all look the same. Older men and their wives would set up tables and play cards while the younger generation concentrated their efforts in pool and darts. No one bothers anyone around here. The only fights I remember taking place were always verbal and had to do with the plays the refs called during a game of football on Monday nights.

  “I can’t feel bad about leaving her behind, Tommy,” I tell my friend, taking a pull from my beer. “We weren’t serious, and she knew that before I left.”

  Tommy’s blondish-red eyebrows rise with his sarcasm. “You were never serious about anyone, Max. She wasn’t the only heart you broke by leaving back then. How’s Emma, anyway?”

  “She’s been doin’ good, from what I could see. I didn’t know she got married. Seems you didn’t fill me in on everything while I was gone.”

  Tommy shakes his head and moves the hair that’s fallen from his low-hanging ponytail. We’re both forty-three, but I feel ages older. His soft, trusting, green eyes and composed demeanor have kept him looking young. He has an old soul, though. Tommy’s always been the one to worry about us all getting into trouble and not making our way out of it.

  “Emma married that lawyer about a year ago, I guess. It was rumored she was waiting for you to come back.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I only talked to you about every fuckin’ week. You had time to mention it in passing.”

  “You had other shit goin’ on,” he explains.

  He’s right. I did. I was in the midst of becoming a member of a wild, offensive, and dangerous MC.

  “She still talked about you after you left. Always askin’ me or Natalie how you were doing.” Lifting the bottle to his mouth, he asks before taking a drink, “Do you think, had you not hooked up with Dee Dee, that maybe you and Em . . .”

  “Not possible,” I answer to stop him from finishing what I’ve thought about and regretted for years. “I wasn’t her type, and she wasn’t mine.”

  I’m lying. I just couldn’t have made her happy the way she deserved to be. I was wild back then, with a temper to match. Dee Dee was built to withstand a life like mine; Em wasn’t. They’re two sisters who couldn’t be any more different.

  His eyebrows rise again. “Dee Dee was your type, though. Dee Dee was easy.”

  “That she was, brother.” I smile. “Em was always above this shit here. I thought for sure she’d have packed her bags after college and never looked back.”

  “She didn’t. Instead, she came back and never left. Now, she’s
just like the rest of us, trying to make a life here. I’ve only met that husband of hers a couple of times. He’s okay, I guess.”

  No longer wanting to discuss my lost possibilities with Emma, I move the subject to the reason as to why I’m here. “Tell me what you know about Satan’s Creed. Are they still in the business of fillin’ our town full of guns and drugs?”

  Tommy hesitates, sitting back in his stool and looking forward to avoid my eyes.

  “Worse, Max. Shit’s gotten a lot fuckin’ worse. It’s not like it was back then. The MC has a brigade of muscle now. Not just the members, but bigger. The cops around here are lookin’ the other way.”

  This explains what Em had said in having no luck with the local police department. The bastards are turning a blind eye. I need to make a few calls of my own and see if I can turn up something she couldn’t. It’s possible they’ll talk to me, man-to-man, versus dealing with a hysterical woman trying to save a lost child.

  “Define ‘bigger’,” I demand.

  “I only know what I’ve heard, and I don’t know how much of that is true. You know me, I try to stay out of the way. When Emma went back to see Dee Dee and tried to help, Greg was her fiancé at the time and he made some calls. He’s some fancy-schmancy lawyer, ya know, so by occupation, he seems to have all the fuckin’ answers,” he mocks.

  “Go on.”

  “Rumor is they’re running guns, drugs, and women.”

  He can’t be serious, so I ask, “Women?”

  “Sellin’ them, Max. Some big, hoity-toity player comes into town about once a month. He buys, sells, trades, whatever the fuck he does, then goes away.”

  “And the cops do nothing,” I state for clarity.

  “Nope. Not a fuckin’ thing.”

  “How the fuck did Dee Dee wind her ass up in this?”

  Tommy frowns. He and Dee Dee were fairly good friends. “Happened quickly, I think. She used to come in here for a few months after you left. She’d do her thing. Pick a guy and move on. I didn’t notice when she stopped comin’ in, and I didn’t ask around about her.”