Blood flowed freely in feeble spurts from the three small arteries which were just visible, peeking from the newest wound. Paul was fascinated by the different shades of red of the blood in the human body, from the vivid scarlet of arterial blood, to the deep crimson of the blood that came from veins to the black blood that signified liver damage. The huge loss of that vital fluid caught up with the hunk of flesh that had once been a person. A final breath rattled out from the disfigured mouth as the heart pumped itself empty. Riding the wake of that last breath was the foul stench of the bowels releasing what little they hadn’t already given up.
Paul helped Maguire to wrap the body in a tarp, along with the excised bits and pieces. It would be hauled into the boot of the stolen car waiting outside and then dumped on the edge of a small town near the border, where it would be found, but not for some hours. The message would be loud and clear, or at least it would be once the body was identified. Having loaded their macabre cargo, Paul and Maguire utilized the cold water that still trickled from a rusty tap in the barn to wash the worst of the blood away. They’d been wearing gloves and none of the cuts that Maguire had made had resulted in any sort of spray. Most of the mess had been spread by the thrashing of the body during the first few slices. Once they’d delivered the body they planned to abandon the car and then find a cheap motel, the kind that dealt in anonymity, where they could rent a room for an hour, just long enough to wash up before calling the club to collect them. All in all, Paul considered it a very satisfactory day’s work, considering it was his twenty-fifth birthday.
2007
Ashleigh didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her from the mirror. The lady in the glass was beautiful. Her reflection was so perfectly put together she looked like a china doll. She looked cool, calm and collected. Ashleigh felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest, or at least it would if it could get past her ribs, which were almost painfully constricted by the tightly laced, fully boned corset of her wedding dress.
The crystal-encrusted bodice caught the light and sparkled fiercely. The layers of tulle that formed the princess-style skirt could have been spun from a fluffy white cloud. Her golden hair had been arranged in a cluster of artful curls at the nape of her neck and studded with tiny silk flowers, with a few carefully placed ringlets left free to frame her face. A silver and crystal tiara was nested in the curls, part of the elaborate construction of accessories which included a chapel-length veil. Makeup had been shaded carefully to appear all but invisible, but it made her topaz blue eyes look larger and even more brilliant than normal. Altogether the effect was fanciful and ethereal, something stolen from a book of fairy tales, something not of this world.
The person staring back at her from the mirror bore almost no relation to the person that stood in front of the glass, or at least Ashleigh didn’t think so. She hadn’t wanted all of this pomp and ceremony. After Matthew had proposed they’d discussed what they would like for their wedding. She’d thought they had agreed on something small and intimate, immediate family and close friends. That was not what was waiting for her. Her mother-in-law and Aunt Dolly had descended with every bridal magazine known to man. They’d inundated her with pictures and suggestions and samples. She’d struggled to keep up with it all but had fought to keep to the ideal that she’d discussed with Matthew. But then it had gathered momentum like a boulder rolling downhill, and Shirley and Dolly had started booking things without consulting Ashleigh. The wedding had been arranged before she’d known it and there was no chance of canceling everything without appearing churlish and ungrateful. Matthew hadn’t understood why she was so upset, as far as he was concerned she should have been grateful for the help, an opinion shared by her mother. In the midst of the whirlwind of preparations for what should have been the happiest day of her life so far, she had felt unreachably alone.
The thought of all those people waiting patiently for her in the First Baptist Church filled her stomach with frantic butterflies. There were so many people, most of whom she hardly knew. Everyone seemed to have been invited, at least on Matthew’s side, down to his cousin’s sister’s aunt. Even her own family hardly seemed real today. They’d unilaterally decided, or had been instructed, not to tarnish the ambience of the event. None of the club members were wearing their kuttes; they were all in pressed trousers or at least dark jeans, polished boots and dress shirts. They looked like neat, clean civilians but with more ink and facial hair. She’d seen several of them during the morning and they’d never looked more uncomfortable, but no one had uttered a word of complaint. It was just one more thing in a whole avalanche of details that she didn’t like. She suspected Aunt Dolly had been behind it, but her father must have backed it up to some extent.
It was all wrong. They were her family; she loved them and saw no reason why they couldn’t be true to themselves, to what they were. Matthew had known almost everything about her background before he’d proposed. The smell of leather and motor oil at her wedding should have been inevitable, not a problem. For better or worse she was a part of them and they were a part of her. All this fuss and nonsense and prettying up of things seemed so pretentious, like she was starting her married life on a lie, and that feeling did not sit well with her. The feeling of brittle illusion cast a black shadow over her day like a bad omen.
The only thing in the image before her that bore any link to the actual figure was the necklace; a simple silver Figaro chain that circled the base of her throat. It had been a present from Jason on her sixteenth birthday. He’d presented her with the black velvet box while they’d been sitting on his bed in the trailer he called home while his father was at the clubhouse continuing the drinking that the adults had all started at her party that night. Her parents had thought she’d been tucked up safely in her own bed. In reality she’d spent the night in Jason’s, scrambling through her bedroom window in the early hours before they realized she’d been missing.
Now, at twenty-three, she was marrying her college sweetheart. She and Matthew were supposed to be embarking on a long and happy life together, if Ashleigh could shake off this feeling of foreboding. Once upon a time she had hoped that she’d be marrying Jason Palmer. But Jason wasn’t the person he used to be anymore, and he’d never be that person again. He’d been out of the hospital a little over a year now. He’d signed up to the Marine Corps straight out of high school, scant months before the attacks on the Twin Towers ensured he would see plenty of active duty. He’d been on tour in Afghanistan when he’d received a head wound from part of a mortar round. He’d been in a coma for months. Even now his speech still slurred when he was anxious or angry and his mood swings were dizzying. He’d almost overcome the weakness in his limbs and the balance problems, so much so that he was back on his Harley, but he wasn’t the young man she’d known and loved, although their friendship still ran deep.
Ashleigh shook herself physically as well as mentally. The limo would be waiting; she’d have to get moving. Today was a day for hope, for aspiration. She should be looking forward, not back. Today was the start of the plans that she and Matthew had made. They had their house, they were doing well in their studies and careers and they intended that children would be part of their near future. Just for today she’d paint a smile on her face, hold her head up high and do her best to enjoy it all. She might even make it through without murdering Shirley and Aunt Dolly. The only reason they weren’t hovering now with their instructions and chivvying guidance was that she’d been getting so flushed she was in danger of ruining her makeup, and the only thing that had calmed her down was emptying her parents’ house almost entirely of people.
She had been still and silent so long that the soft knock at the door made her jump. It opened to reveal her father, but he pulled up short before he’d made it all the way into the room.
“It’s time, sweetheart.... Oh! Oh, baby bird. Oh, you are a sight. You’re so beautiful. I love you, darlin’.”
Ashleigh blushed at the expre
ssion of wonder on his face. “I love you too, Daddy.”
Her daddy coughed, and she realized his eyes were wet. “I’m so proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you. You haven’t always had it easy bein’ my daughter. I know it was hard for you when I was in prison. I know you didn’t have it easy at school. I’m so goddamn proud you’ve come through all that and built a good life for yourself.”
Ashleigh didn’t really want to think about those dark times in her childhood, but now that he’d brought them up she couldn’t shove the emotions that came hand in hand with those memories back down. Everything was too raw today, too near the surface, her hold on it all too tenuous for her not to let it all out. The best she could do was to keep her eyes wide to try and stop the tears from smudging the mascara and eyeliner.
“I was so mad at you sometimes, Daddy...”
Her father looked stricken. “Baby bird...”
Ashleigh cut him off with a shake of her head, feeling the weighty pull of her pinned hair. “No, it doesn’t matter now. I never wanted you to know ‘cause I love you so much and I was so happy when you came home, but I was mad at you for a long time for leavin’ us. It felt like that guy you hurt was worth more to you than us. That you were prepared to leave us all that time just to beat him up. That really hurt me, Daddy. It was so hard sometimes with those girls at school always sayin’ how you were a deadbeat and a criminal and I knew you weren’t an angel but I hated to hear them say that. And they only ever wanted to come round to the house to be nosey and then they’d make fun afterwards.”
She felt the release of finally letting go of the pain of all those years, but doing so cut her like a knife as she knew that her words would bring agony. Ashleigh had to stop to swallow the sobs that were building. Her father, however, was letting his tears run freely down his face as he stepped over to her and folded her in his arms. The effect of the embrace was lost a little by his attempts not to crush this delicate thing they’d dressed her up as and that made Ashleigh’s soul hurt just a little more.
“I never realized how much that hurt you, baby bird.”
“It’s fine, Daddy. I got over it a long time ago. At least once Mama and Aunt Dolly stopped tryin’ to force me to find friends that weren’t somethin’ to do with the club. It’s fine. I’m happier for not havin’ those sorts of friends, Daddy. Tanya dropped out of high school when she got knocked up, and Melody married Thomas and spends her days gettin’ drunk on vodka and orange juice before lunch while everyone pretends they don’t know about it. I’m better off bein’ me, Daddy. I never needed them and I’m better for not ever havin’ had them.
It took her father several attempts to be able to speak. When he was finally able to force the words out, they were little more than a hoarse whisper. “You’re so strong, baby bird. You really do make me so proud. I know I’ve not always done it right, but I’ve always tried to be the best daddy I could for you.”
Ashleigh had to pull away and scramble for a tissue. She was in danger of walking down the aisle looking more like Alice Cooper than a radiant bride. “You always have been, Daddy. I’ve never not loved you.”
She handed her father a tissue as she sniffed and dabbed at her own eyes, trying in vain to save her makeup. Shirley and Aunt Dolly would likely have a fainting fit when they saw her. Her father was going to speak more, but the brash honk of the horn from the waiting limousine split the quiet.
“That’s our call. We better go.” Ashleigh made a few final dabs and tossed the crumbled, stained tissue into the wastebasket under the dresser. Her father, unable to speak, balled up his own tissue but shoved it into the pocket of his dress trousers. He held out his crooked elbow and Ashleigh slipped her hand through it and, lifting her skirts with the other, allowed him to escort her out of the house to the beginning of a new life.
PART TWO
Chapter One: Present Day
As Samuel parked his bike outside The Priest’s clubhouse, he was reminded of the day twenty years ago when he’d returned home from his previous, and so far last, stint in prison. He wasn’t sure what it was that had triggered the memory of that crowd of people waiting outside for him. It might have been the weather. The anniversary, when he thought about it, was more than a month away. Maybe it was the spring freshness to the air beginning to reclaim ground from the humidity of the day as evening closed in. He’d never forgotten the taste of freedom on the air that day.
The clubhouse had changed some since that day. The limestone gravel spread over the drive in front of the clubhouse building that had been relatively new on that day was showing its age now. The window on the gable end that faced the road had been bricked up after an unfortunate incident involving some semi-automatic fire some years previously. It had been Dean’s suggestion to replace the small club sign at the apex with a mural that covered the entire wall as a statement that they were unbowed. The result was a mix of styles something between graffiti and realism in white silver and black. It was very modern by Samuel’s tastes, but it worked, and it certainly made an impression as you pulled up through the avenue of wood and scrub.
The garage building had been extended further. Originally it had been a convenient place for the members to build and repair their own bikes, and then it had attracted some interest from townsfolk which had turned it into a viable business. Now they were surfing the wave of MC hype. In the wake of televisions shows about bikers, both ‘real’ and scripted, they were now taking on a lot more work producing customized motorcycles of all origins rather than concentrating on Harleys.
From the neat line of bikes resting on their kickstands outside the building, and the Dodge Ram parked at an odd angle on the opposite side of the open end of the driveway, Samuel guessed that he was the last to arrive for Friday Church. His wife was going to be the death of him. He wasn’t quite late, not yet, but Moira grabbing him on his way out of the door had seriously tested his time-keeping ability. Her reasoning was that he’d get drunk later and end up sleeping at the clubhouse so she was getting hers while she could.
His later than usual entrance raised a few eyebrows in the main room. Samuel was mildly irritated that he didn’t have time for a drink beforehand, but he intended to make up for it later, so he walked straight through the room without stopping until he reached the double doors at the end that led to the Chapel, their private meeting room. He paused to drop both his personal mobile phone and the unregistered club phone into the wooden box that had been hung on the wall next to the doors solely for such a purpose, before proceeding through the doors and taking his seat at the head of the table.
The plain slab of golden pine shone with polish despite the scars of hundreds of cigarette burns and bottle rings. Gouges from be-ringed fists emphasizing opinions and scratches from many, many other actions throughout the decades mingled with the grain and knots of the wood. There was a lot of history in this table, fifty years worth. Samuel felt the reassuring weight of that history every time he ran his hands over the smooth wood. Even as President, at thirty-five Samuel had been considered among the club’s new blood. With Kong and Fletch still remaining from the original band of his father’s friends that had formed the club, he wasn’t an old-timer yet by any stretch of the imagination, but he certainly wasn’t a young blood anymore.
He could see a small portion of the main room beyond the open double doors. They had refurbished the clubhouse after the incident that had resulted in the bricking up of the gable window. Now the club room at least didn’t look like a throwback to a ‘70s dive bar, which ironically enough was when it had last been decorated in any shape or form before it had been torn up by bullets. The bar had been refitted; the original wooden flooring had been re-sanded and re-varnished. New tables, chairs and couches had been bought in.
It was nothing fancy. Given the good-natured fights, and sometimes ill-natured ones, that broke out occasionally and all the physical activities that took place here as well as the heavy drinking and smoking, it wouldn’t do to have sur
faces or fabrics that were high maintenance or that anyone was fussy about cleaning. Samuel had become so used to the smell of the place that he barely even noticed it anymore, but Moira regularly assured him that even starting from fresh plaster hadn’t eradicated the ingrained aroma of years of alcohol, smoke, men and sex. Two stripper poles rising from a small stage had been installed in one corner of the room. There was a pool table to one side that Samuel could not see but he noticed the snick of pool balls ceased as the game was abandoned. One of the garage bays had been given over as a gym when that part of the building had been expanded and now contained an array of weight lifting equipment in addition to a boxing ring.
Samuel observed his brothers as they filed in. Yes, the deal with the Rojas was profitable, but it had not been without its expenses. They’d lost ten brothers in the last twenty years. Double that number had spent long stints in the ICU at St Raphael’s Hospital. Gerry Palmer was serving a serious sentence in the state penitentiary for manslaughter. It was testament to Samuel’s planning, bribery and cautiousness that so few of the club members had served any time at all considering the drugs, guns and people they were muling across state lines.
Terry Adams took his seat first. He’d been the Vice President since Samuel had been voted as keeper of the gavel when his father had died prematurely from cancer at the age of forty one. Louis ‘Snaps’ Pinet had been his father’s original Vice President. Samuel didn’t have anything against the man and he knew he’d served his father well, but he’d been keen to make his own appointment in such a supportive role. Snaps had died in the shootout that had torn up the clubhouse. Terry had been a natural choice for Samuel; his shrewd green eyes missed nothing. His brain never seemed to stop working, evaluating angles and options, but his demeanor was deceptively calm. Most people didn’t notice him noticing them until it was too late.
Blood in the Water (Kairos) Page 6