by Greg Aunapu
It was a bright January day, with a brisk northern breeze that froze your ears and turned the sky a clear shimmering blue. Father Hingston drove a bright red Fiat convertible, a bit racy for a minister, but this was Coconut Grove, after all. He was in his fifties, with gray hair and a very respectable reputation. He kept reassuring Sue about Amy as he accelerated through yellow lights and wove through traffic as if he believed God truly was his copilot. There was no seat belt in this tiny car, either. "The congregation of St. Stephen's has been praying for Amy," he said. "How can God let something bad happen to her?"
Sue thanked him for his support, saying, "I hope you have a more direct line to God than I have, because I've been talking his ears off."
They met Shepard out at the Fina station and continued from there.
Sue had a sharp memory, and despite the trauma of her first ride, easily found what turned out to be the Sunarama trailer park, surrounded by a barbed-wire fence.
Shepard parked inconspicuously out by the main road as Father Hingston edged the Fiat alongside the battered trailer. The motorcycle was parked there, but the Valiant was not in evidence. Instead, there was a blue pop-top van. Sue hastily memorized the license number, as she had with the Valiant. Hingston waited in the car as she walked up the aluminum stairs and knocked nervously on the trailer door.
The mastiff barked so loudly it seemed the walls would explode outward.
"Who's there?" came a suspicious snarl.
"This is Susan Billig, I was here the other day," Sue explained.
The sound of her non-threatening female voice placated the man inside. "Shaddup, already!" he commanded the dog. The blinds inside the door window parted momentarily and a jaundiced eye peered out before the door cracked open. It wasn't the biker she had met before. This guy was wearing a similar black vest over a grimy T-shirt, greasy Levi's, and leather boots. He was much slimmer than the other biker, but still sported the requisite tattoos, including the one percent tattoo that marked him as a gang member. "You're that little chick's mother?" he said. "Who's the guy in the car?”
"Just a minister who drove me out here," Sue explained. "I don't drive. You know who I am?"
"Yeah, my buddy told me about you. He's not here."
"Can I leave him a message?"
"Come in," he said. "Sit!' he told the dog, which was pushing forward to make sure this was no invader.
"He likes chicks, so don't worry," the biker said.
"I met him the other day," Sue said, trying to lead the biker into conversation. Maybe he would spit out his friend's name. "He's the biggest dog I've ever seen."
"Maybe the ugliest, too," the biker said. He spoke to Sue in pleasant tones and promised to relay her message to his roommate. "Darndest thing, him seeing your daughter's picture in the paper like that," the biker said. "He's been looking for her. He was just going through the old papers to see who had been arrested while he was in prison."
Sue wrote down her number again, in case the mysterious biker had lost it. "Please make sure he gets it," she pleaded.
"Don't worry, hon, he'll get it," the man said.
Hingston drove Sue back to the Fina station, where they joined up with Shepard. Sue gave the officer the license plate number of the van she had memorized before she headed home with the daredevil minister. While nothing had really been accomplished, Sue felt strangely expectant and enjoyed the wild ride.
She had just closed the door and put her purse down when the phone rang. It was the gruff voice of the mysterious Pagan.
"Mrs. Billig?"
"Yes, is this… I don't know what to call you…”
"It's all right, you know who I am. I've located your daughter—"
Sue yelped with delight. "I had a feeling you would!"
"She's with another dude out on the West Coast," he said. "Problem is, he really likes her and won't give her back. He doesn't know what the fuck he's dealing with, though. Asshole thinks he can keep her. I didn't sell her to nobody. He thinks he can do whatever he wants, but he can't!"
"So what are we going to do?" Sue said, her elation slightly quenched.
"Me and my buddy are moving out there in February. It'll take a few weeks to close up the trailer, get a van to haul the bikes in—"
"So what happened? How did Amy get out to the West Coast?" she asked.
"She ran with this guy because she thought I was mad at her," the Pagan said. "But it won't be a problem getting her if I show up. He don't have much backup. He's not a popular guy because he's a bit of a snitch."
"Where is she on the West Coast?" Sue asked.
"L.A., San Francisco?"
"No, not there. Let's just say a long way away, it's cold there."
"Do you need any help?" Sue said. "I'll do whatever I can do. I don't have much cash—"
"Keep yer money. I'll call you when I get out there."
"I feel like I can trust you," Sue told him. "You'll do what you say you're going to do. Let me know where you are, and we can come out there. It doesn't matter how far it is, we'll get there."
"Listen, if I get out there, and she wants to come home to you, I'll put her on the next plane out—simple as that. But how can she know what she wants to do, when she doesn't even know who she is?"
"Just let me talk to her," Sue pleaded. "I know her memory will come back if I can see her or talk to her. She can't forget her family."
The biker's gruff voice softened, becoming more human and less like a grizzly.
"You'll talk to her, I'll send you photos. I promise, if she decides she wants to come home, I'll let her."
It wasn't the ringing assurance Sue had hoped for, but it wasn't hopeless. She believed this guy because he wasn't asking for money and hadn't accepted her offer of help, whatever that might be. There was no request for expenses, such as the lawmen who had promised to help yet never left Miami. He had called her on his own initiative, because somewhere under that filthy black vest beat a heart that wasn't completely rotten. Somewhere, all these guys had mothers, she thought.
She called Sid Fast, telling him about the episode, minus, of course, the involvement of Shepard.
Sid's New York—tinged voice choked. "You're talking about a big guy with red hair, got tattoos burned off his arms and lives in a trailer off Quail Roost Drive?" "Right," Sue said.
"Well let me tell you about this nice guy of yours. His name's Paul, from St. Petersburg." A retirement town near Tampa on Florida's west coast. "He's an ex—Hell's Angel, now a Pagan who sometimes rides with Outlaws. He's had to burn off the tattoos with battery acid so he won't get himself killed. His stomach is completely blasted with acid. Right now he's an executioner for the Pagans. The man has killed a bunch of people."
Sue had already been told some of this by the police, but hearing it again, she just about lost her breath. "But he really seemed like he wanted to help."
"The other guy you talked to out there is Pompano Red," Sid said. "He's an ex-Marine and Paul's best friend. Also been booked for aiding Paul on a murder.
Listen, the last time I talked to Paul, he mentioned Arizona. I'll check around and see what I can find out. I'll call you back tomorrow."
Sue knew the Valiant was registered to a Paul Preston Branch. She'd written that down in her notebook.
Her next call was from Ina. "Looks like you found another guy who isn't exactly a choirboy, Sue. The blue van is registered to a Dennis Kenny, aka 'Pompano Red,' from Richmond, Virginia. Six feet, 155 pounds, blue eyes, red hair. He was arrested for murder in 1974, but got off."
Sue told her that Sid had identified the mysterious biker as Paul Branch, the Pagan executioner whose murder record Shepard had already brought to light.
"Some pair living out there," she said. "You be careful with these guys. No matter how nice they seem to you, remember these guys will kill someone for looking at them wrong, let alone if they figure they need the money you got in your pocketbook."
Sue was a mass of conflicting emotions. They'd
been nice to her. Hadn't asked for money! She didn't know what to think anymore. Eventually, she told Ned what she had done, but didn't mention how bad Branch's record was. There was so much she had to keep from Ned these days, otherwise he would worry too much, which might keep Sue from doing everything she had to do.
Branch called a few days later at two A.M. and woke the couple out of a fitful sleep. Ned picked up the phone, but Branch insisted on speaking to Sue. He'd obviously been drinking. His voice was as harsh as a Harley in need of a tune-up. His words were slurred. She hadn't heard him like this before.
"You little bitch," he cursed. "You're slicker than I thought."
"What do you mean?"
"You been checking up on me, I heard about it. Found out my name and who I associate with."
Sid Fast must have slipped up when he had tried to get more information.
"It's all right," she said, "you can't expect me not to be curious."
"Well, fuck you!" he shouted through the phone. "Now you figure out how to find your kid!" Then an abrupt dial tone.
"Oh, Ned," Sue said, "we messed up. He's mad I asked Sid to check him out."
The phone rang; she snatched it up. Just the dial tone again.
Ned hugged her close. "Tell me what happened." Again the phone. Again the dial tone.
"He's checking up on you," Ned said. "Seeing if you're dialing out to someone."
The phone didn't ring again, but Sue didn't sleep, either. All she could think of was that this fragile thread they had found had snapped so easily. If she closed her eyes she saw Amy with this brutal man, and knew she couldn't let him get hold of her again, no matter how nice he seemed.
Sue called Sid the next morning. The biker sounded pretty hung over.
"Why did you let Paul know I knew who he was! How could you!"
Sid groaned. "We were drinking together, and it just slipped out."
"He's furious, called me names and said he wasn't going to help us out. Now what are we going to do? He's our best hope."
"Don't worry. I'm gonna fix it with him," Sid said. "I promise. He was probably just really drunk and hopped up, paranoid, when he called you. He'll be all right."
"I expect you to fix this, Sid," Susan said. "He's the only one who sounds like he's got a legitimate line on Amy. You've got to convince him he can trust me."
"I will," Sid said. But there was a tone to his voice that left Sue feeling that he was trying to brush her off. She didn't trust him to fix it.
She sat down at the dining room table and wrote a letter to Paul in compact, legible script.
Dear Paul,
I feel I must write to you immediately so that no bad feelings remain between us. I realized from your phone call last night that you are annoyed with me, but please understand my feelings. We are talking about someone we believe to be my daughter whom I love very much. When I went to the trailer I memorized the license plate on the white car and then asked an elderly man I know who used to work for "records" to check the ownership for me. I did the same on the blue van when I went back the second time. It was the natural thing for me to do. After all, I don 't know you & am trying with all my heart to find Amy.
Remember this, I did go with you alone, & was not followed or wired. I swear to you, you can check out my behavior in the past. I have never gone to the police with anyone 's name, and I have spoken with some pretty "heavy" people. I have done all the investigating myself, and through friends I could trust. One of these is Sid Fast, who came to me through a bail bondsman, who is a friend of mine, Joe Klein. He has bonded out bikers for a long time & been a very fair person. I never even mentioned your whole name to Sid, because I realized I didn't know it. Now be fair, tell me—if the situation were reversed and you were looking for your child, wouldn't you check out the license # if you could?
Again, if there is any way I can help you get to her, I will. If you need money, I will get it to you. But, I must know first that it is Amy. She can call me collect any time of day or night. I will go & get her alone, anywhere. Also, from what you have previously told me, she probably does not know who she is & is not too well, so it has to be handled carefully.
I can be trusted. Please check us out & contact me again.
Sincerely,
Susan Billig
The ink letters were spattered with a few tears. She walked directly to the Coconut Grove post office, kissed the envelope, and posted it with her prayers.
Her line to God's ear had apparently gotten a bit clearer. After a nervous and completely useless week, at three A.M. on January 18, a phone call woke her out of a fitful sleep. Sue had never felt so good as she did upon hearing the gruff voice, one that was much calmer than the last time she had heard it.
"I read your letter," Paul volunteered. "You should never have involved Sid or anybody else in this. Everyone's been to jail, everyone's got their own agenda."
"I'm sorry," Sue said. "I really am. But I already knew who you were. It wasn't him."
"This is what I get for trying to be a nice guy the first time in my life. Something like this always comes to bite you in the ass," Branch complained. "Man, I am such a dumb shit. Who the fuck you think you are, Sherlock Holmes?" he said.
"Nothing's happened," she said trying to placate him. "So I know your name? It's no big deal. Listen, I said I would help you. I can get you some expense money—"
"I absolutely don't want your money," he said. "Believe me, Sid wants your money. You'll hear from him, and he's gonna want something. From here on in, you let me do things my way and I'll reconsider our relationship and call you again."
Afterward, Sue hugged the pillow as Ned brought her some herbal tea. "What do you think?" he asked. "Is he back on our side?"
Sue sighed. "I got the feeling things were better between us. You know he feels macho helping us. He's got us in his power. I just kept telling him I was wrong and he was right. He liked that. I don't think he would even have called if he wasn't planning to help. He said he didn't want our money."
Ned gave her a hug. "That's good," he said. "Because we don't have any."
-7-
L aying all of their hopes for the well-being of their daughter and their family on the shoulders of a brawling, drunken biker-gang "executioner" who was a step away from jail at any moment, was a very impotent feeling. People often turn to God, alcohol, food, or chocolate—not necessarily in that order—in such stressful times. But Sue worried that in the time it was taking Branch to close shop in South Florida Amy could easily be spirited somewhere else. After all, it seemed she was always on the move. Just as the Billigs got close in Orlando, for instance, Amy had been snatched from their yearning fingers.
In February, after Ina Shepard's inquiries on Branch and Dennis "Pompano Red" Kenny, she called Sue to say Virginia authorities wanted to question Red about a case involving three counts of murder, robbery, and maiming.
"I can't believe it," Sue scoffed. "Branch is a big guy, but Red doesn't look like he could hurt a fly."
"Size doesn't matter," Shepard said. "Meanness matters. He knows how to handle himself—he's an ex-Marine. The trailer is located in unincorporated Dade, so I'll have to get the Metro-Dade police to pick him up, but I'll try to get him transferred to Miami so I can question him before he gets sent to Virginia."
"But I told him I wouldn't bring the police down on them," Sue said. "They'll never tell me where Amy is! They're packing up to go out and get her."
"We can't leave a guy like this out on the street," Ina said. "It's not Branch, just Pompano Red."
"Promise me to be very circumspect when you talk to him. Don't mention my name or that I had anything to do with this."
Ina clucked her tongue and thought a second. "It's a difficult situation, but maybe Virginia will work with us—they owe you a big favor, since you led us right to him. Maybe if he can give us information on Amy, they'll let him plea down on some charge. This is the best way, Sue, we're bargaining from a position of power. I'll
be very careful when I question him."
"Good luck," Sue replied.
After the call, she went into the kitchen, mouthing a silent prayer as she poured herself a glass of wine. She knew this would be another night when she wouldn't be able to eat. She dialed her private detective, Frank Rubino, and filled him in on the situation. He would also try to question the Pagan when he was under arrest.
The phone rang again later in the evening. The Billigs had been pouring from a bottle of wine that became progressively emptier but did not take the edge off the nervous adrenaline pumping through their bodies. This waiting, always waiting, for phone calls— somewhere in Dante's Hell, Sue thought, this must be one of the levels of Purgatory.
Ina called back later in the evening.
"Oh, thank God," Sue said. "I couldn't bear it much longer."
"We brought Kenny in," Ina said. "They were pretty stoned and didn't offer much fuss. We got lucky, too. Branch actually came in voluntarily to help his buddy out. I showed them pictures of Amy and said I was the detective on the case and that I was asking all bikers I came in contact with if they knew her."
"And?" Sue prompted.
"Red said, 'Oh, yeah, that's the Billig girl. Her mother came to see me at the trailer.' But he was just too strung out to get more information from. I then questioned Branch separately. I acted surprised to find out you had been to the trailer, and I think he bought it. He told me he had brought you out there, but changed his story a bit. Said he was only 'pretty sure' the girl he had known was Amy, and he didn't 'want to get your hopes up too much,' even though he could use the reward money."
Sue sputtered in disbelief. "That's exactly the opposite of what he told me," she fumed. "And exactly opposite to what I have on tape! He told us he could absolutely identify Amy from the pictures, and he even described her appendix scar. That information has never been published. He's just trying to distance himself from this, because he can't admit that he's part of a possible kidnapping. That's his out. Can we put more pressure on him somehow?"