by Jayne Blue
“There’s been a development,” he said. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you this all day.”
“All day? We’ve been in holding cells all day.” The minute I said it, I realized it wasn’t true. Bear hadn’t been with us. They’d taken him in separate. I assumed he’d spent the day under the harsh lights of an interrogation room. It wouldn’t be the first time and likely not the last.
“Listen, this shit with this Sebastian Wright fucker, it is what I said it is. Something to keep an eye on, but nothing to fear for now. Marco came through like he always does. But there’s something else.”
“Bear,” I said rising. “You wanna maybe just spit it out? What the fuck is going on?”
“Sit down, son,” he said, his voice firm and dark. I stayed on my feet. It got hard to breathe.
“Son,” he said again. He grabbed E.Z.’s chair and pulled it to the head of the table. Slowly, Bear sat. He gestured to the space in front of him, urging me to settle back down. I did.
Bear dropped his head, resting his forehead on his clenched fist. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him so unsettled. “You know how many times I wanted to put a bullet through your old man’s head?”
The question came out of nowhere. I reared back as if he’d slapped me. “The fuck, Bear?”
“He was a shitheel. But you know that. Fucking Birdman. You know how he got that name? He had a parrot. A big, ugly green-and-yellow parrot. He taught the thing to swear and thought he was a genius. He was never gonna wear this cut. Never. Everything you are, all the best parts of you, they came from Rochelle. I know you, Chase. I know what you think when you look in the mirror. You wonder if there’s any of him in there. I’ve told you a thousand times and today will be a thousand and one, but the answer is no. You’re not him. And I shoulda done more to stop all of it.”
“Bear.” I cleared my throat. “What is this? What the hell does Brian Cutter have to do with today?”
“He tried to patch in off your mama’s back and I could have stopped it.” He spoke through gritted teeth and Bear’s eyes reddened. Whatever was eating him was tearing him up inside.
“I would have never let him touch that woman. Hell, I tried to tell her. But I could have done more. I could have demanded it. I could have threatened to fire her from the club unless she stopped seeing him. I didn’t do any of it because I was a damn coward.”
“What did he have over you?” I asked. It was the only thing that made sense at that moment. “What did my father threaten you with?”
“No.” Bear shook his head. “No, son. It wasn’t that. Fuck. Things weren’t settled between Josie and me back then. We hit a rough patch because ... well ... that part’s our business. She thought things that weren’t true about me and your mama. Well, I guess some of it was true. But I kept my distance to keep the peace in my own backyard. I shouldn’t have. Rochelle needed somebody better than your daddy to look out for her.”
“Bear, I’ve heard all of this before. He got her hooked on pills and dope. He turned her out. Then that motherfucker died.”
“I cut him off,” Bear said. “When I found out what he was doing, I told Birdman he wasn’t welcome on any Dark Saints property. I told him I never wanted to see his fucking face again and that he’d be better off to just leave Port Az. I should have made sure he did. That was probably my biggest mistake. But by then, he’d already hooked Rochelle up with some players. Friends of the club. I didn’t know. I swear to you, I didn’t know the extent of it. I wasn’t looking to take the club in that direction and I’m still not. It’s not what we do.”
“Friends of the club?” I asked. Ice curled up my spine again.
“Shit was a lot more precarious back then, Chase. It’s different now. Today was just a hiccup. You know that. Twenty years ago, we weren’t as secure. I fought ... E.Z. and the boys from my generation, we carved this life out of fucking stone. Blood and stone.”
“Bear,” I said. I reached over and patted his arm. “Man, I know that. We all do. We know what we owe you and what you’ve suffered.”
Bear let out a bitter laugh. “Suffered. You’ve got no fucking clue. And you shouldn’t. It’s the way we wanted it. Fuck. I’m dancing around this. So I’m going to stop. Chase, there’s been a break in your mama’s case. We have a pretty good idea who killed her, son.”
The world spun. The overhead lights seemed to burn brighter and I squinted against them. Each breath I took felt like acid filling my lungs. Only Bear’s firm grip on my arm kept me tethered.
“How?” I said, but it didn’t sound like my voice.
Bear let out a sigh. “Your girl. She didn’t tell you?”
“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
Bear dropped his head. “I got word from one of my contacts in the PAPD. Ariel brought some shit she found in the floorboards or something over at the Hutchins Street house. I gotta be honest, I figured you were in on that. There was a statue or something. It had blood on it. They scraped it for DNA and came up with a match. Rochelle’s blood and someone else’s were mixed. Nothing came up on the criminal databases they have. But Jenny ... she had ’em run it against all their databases. I guess a DOJ runs their people as part of a background check.”
I couldn’t hear it all. Bear’s words came to me as if they were underwater and I was upside down. He squeezed my arm again and I snapped my eyes open.
Friend of the club. DOJ. Background check. Pieces slammed into place. Bear had been so angry when somebody asked him about Rivas at Church.
“Say it,” I said.
Bear kept his vice grip on my arm. “Marco,” he said, dropping his voice to a dark whisper. “Marco Rivas was one of your mom’s regulars. I don’t fucking know what happened.”
I did. In an instant, I was eight years old again. Shouting. Swearing. The sound of breaking glass. She told him she was leaving. She had two bus tickets to Carson City. She had an aunt there who would let us stay with her until she could get back on her feet.
You’re not leaving until I’m done with you, Rochelle. You’re mine.
I blinked. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. In a heartbeat I knew why. If her little boy heard her, he’d come running to help her. She was trying to protect me. He didn’t know I was there.
I locked eyes with Bear. “You’re sure,” I said.
Bear closed his eyes and nodded. “It’s a match. Who the fuck leaves a murder weapon at the scene?”
It was such an odd question to ask. How could it possibly matter now? I let out another breath and another memory came.
There’d been a knock at the door. Penny Williams. She lived next door. She’d taken me to school that morning and I’d left my bookbag in her car. Penny must have startled him. He didn’t have time to plan. I remember the sliding door in my mother’s bedroom slam shut. He’d gone out on the deck and ran.
“Bear,” I said. “You made me a promise.”
Bear sighed. He rose from his chair. “I know what I promised.”
I started to breathe again. This was wrong. I looked around the room. “Where’s Axle?” I asked. “He should be here.” As club enforcer, settling club debts like this one would have fallen on his shoulders. Unless …
“Bear,” I said, slowly rising to my feet.
“Just calm down,” he said.
It had never happened before, but in that instant, I wanted nothing more than to punch Bear Bullock in the face. He saw it. His own expression hardened and he squared his shoulders.
“I’ve sworn my life to this club,” I said. “My soul. And you made me a promise that when the day came, you would help me deliver vengeance for my mother. If you couldn’t do right by Rochelle then, you owe it to her now.”
“I know what I owe,” Bear said, his anger rising. “It isn’t for you to tell me that. Don’t forget your place, son.”
“Don’t call me son. If you keep me from this, you’ve lost that right.”
Bear slammed his
fist into the table. “And this shit isn’t as clear-cut as you think it is. Oh, Rivas will pay. That I promise. But as long as he remains useful and we have the cloud of this ATF bullshit hanging over our heads, we still need him. I could have kept this from you. That sure as hell would have been easier. But I did make you a promise. I couldn’t hold this and not let you in.”
The rage bubbled over. I didn’t think. I just acted. Before I knew what was happening, my fist made contact with Bear’s jaw and he staggered back. When he rose, blood poured from his lip where I’d split it. He raised one finger, quaking.
“One,” he said. “For Rochelle, you get one. You ever raise your hand to me again, I’ll put you in the fucking ground.”
“Then you better bring two shovels.” She’d been so quiet, neither of us had heard the door open. Mama Bear stood against the wall, her eyes shooting fire. She took a slow step toward us, her gaze locked on Bear.
“Josie,” he said. “Go back outside.”
She shook her head. “No. Not this time.” Her eyes flicked to me. Hers filled with pain. When she reached for me, I jerked away.
“If Marco Rivas still draws breath by tomorrow night,” she said, her voice shaking, “I will kill him myself.”
With that, she turned, left the room, and slammed the door behind her.
Chapter 25
Ariel
“Hello, Ariel Gatling. Please look around and let me know if you have any questions,” I said. My knuckles ached from shaking hands. It was a good problem to have. We’d had a steady stream of interested buyers and lookie-loos through the Hutchins Street house all day. I had thirty more minutes before I could lock the doors and sink into numb exhaustion. Again, a good problem to have. It kept my mind off Chase.
He’d given me an ultimatum whether he meant to or not. If I wanted a life with him, it would have to be all that came with it. Three days ago, my answer would have flown out of me. Certain. Primal. Yes. God, yes. In some ways, I felt like my heart hadn’t truly started beating until he came into my life. I loved him. I wasn’t afraid to tell him. But he’d answered my toughest question with his silence.
If I chose a life with Chase, there might come a day when I’d lose him. Whether it was to gunfire or handcuffs, he walked a knife’s edge as a member of the Dark Saints. There could be no separation of the two.
I thought of Josie. She was tough, smart, centered. She’d been with Bear for thirty years or more and survived the turbulence. Could I?
“I just can’t get over this place, Ariel!” A high-pitched voice drew me out of my head. It belonged to Leslie Marion, one of the true sharks of the Gulf Coast real estate market. She had hard lines running from the corners of her eyes and wore thick pancake make-up, applying lipstick with no regard to the natural contour of her lips. Leslie had a pile of Lucille Ball-type red hair pulled up in a bouffant, the texture of cotton candy. But she was the best there was at what she did. If Hutchins Street impressed her, I could almost guarantee an offer on it within the next twenty-four hours.
The last of the lookers exited the front door with smiling waves, leaving Leslie and me alone. I could relax a little and let out a sigh. “Thanks,” I said. “This has been a challenge unlike no other.”
“I’ll bet. I gotta be honest, when I heard you bought it, I thought maybe you’d lost your mind. I couldn’t see what you saw and you know that’s a rarity for me.”
I stood in the kitchen and leaned across the quartz-topped island. I slid a cinnamon roll to Leslie and sank my teeth into another.. She picked hers up and touched it to mine in a toast.
“Good. Now go out there and bring me a killer offer. I love this place, but I can’t wait to get it out of my life and move on to the next one.”
“That’s my girl,” Leslie said, eating her cinnamon roll in one bite. How she managed that feat without messing up her lipstick made me marvel. She slapped her palm against the countertop and pushed off it. “Okay. I’ll let you lock up and get the heck out of here. We should go out and celebrate. I’ve got a good feeling, honey. I sent pictures to three of my clients already. I think we’re both going to make some bank on this one. Feel like meeting me at The Watering Hole in an hour? First round’s on me.”
“That is a fantastic plan. You’re on.” In truth, the last thing I wanted was a night out. But even though the open house was over, I was still on the clock if Leslie was buying. Staying in her good graces was a must for anybody in the house flipping game. I’d learned so much from her already.
“See you in a bit,” she said, waving behind her and heading for the front door. She let out a laugh as it swung open. “I’ll get a table. You’ve got one more live one,” she said, sidestepping as she let one more potential buyer into the house. He was tall, middle-aged with silvery hair and a dark complexion.
I plastered on my best smile again, straightening. Extending my hand, I came out of the kitchen. “Ariel Gatling,” I said. As I got closer, my radar tripped. This guy had money. He wore an expensive-looking tailored black suit. The ring on his right hand flashed, gold with a big ruby at the center and diamonds all around. Another real estate agent, maybe. But Leslie didn’t seem to know him. No wonder she shot me a grimace as she walked out the door. He wasn’t her client either. If this guy were interested in the house, only one of us would be making money on it. I wondered if that would make her withdraw her offer to buy the first round at The Watering Hole.
“Good to meet you,” he said. I waited for a beat, expecting him to introduce himself, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked around me to explore the house.
“Have a look around,” I said. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re finished if you have any questions.”
My new guest was already halfway down the hall though, headed for the master suite. I don’t know what pricked my senses. It was always better to give potential buyers space during a walk-through. If they felt crowded or pressured, they’d soon be out the door. Still, I found myself edging down the hall.
He stood in the center of the bedroom. We’d staged it with a king-sized brass bed with white linen. A rare cool breeze blew in from the north and I left the French doors open. I hung back for a moment. The man looked toward the now attached bathroom. His posture was odd to me, almost too straight. He tilted his head to the side and his eyes were closed. A slight smile curved the corner of his mouth.
He was handsome, Latino, with smooth, dark skin and a glorious head of hair. It had been black once, but now mostly silver and combed back in thick waves.
“It’s a great room,” I said, clearing my throat. His eyes snapped open and he regarded me. The smile on his face unsettled me. It didn’t seem quite genuine. “We opened up this wall and turned this into a suite. I think the view from the balcony is one of my favorite things about the house.”
He didn’t answer me at first. Instead, he walked to the entrance to the bathroom. Barely poking his head in, he ran his hand along the wall.
“It’s like a different house,” he finally said. “Or maybe I just don’t remember very well. It’s been a long time.”
“Oh, are you from the neighborhood then?” It would make sense. I put him in his early fifties. If he lived on the north side twenty or thirty years ago, this had to seem like stepping off to another planet. I got a lot of curiosity seekers and old-timers every time I held an open in this neighborhood. I grew impatient. If that’s all he was, this was becoming a waste of time. Still, he clearly looked like money. If he wasn’t looking for himself, maybe he’d take my card and spread the word.
“Me?” he said, turning to me. “Do I look like north side trash to you?”
I blanched. “Excuse me?”
He set his jaw to the side and went over to the French doors. His perfectly coiffed hair blew back. “Trust me, honey, anytime I came down this street, I was slumming.”
“Well, you’re here now. You can see this just isn’t the same neighborhood it used to be. And wherever you came from, you look like you’ve d
one well for yourself. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
I extended my hand again; this time, I held my business card between two fingers. The dude was an asshole, but until I knew if he was a connected asshole, there was no point in being rude back.
He took it, running a finger over the raised green lettering. “Gatling. I didn’t recognize the name when you said it the first time. I’m afraid I still don’t.” His tone was dismissive. As if his lack of recognition was a deficiency on my part.
“Ariel Gatling,” I said again. “My father would have been close to your age if you frequented the neighborhood. His name was Thomas.”
He pursed his lips and tapped the card. “Doesn’t ring a bell. What are you selling these houses for?”
I blew a strand of hair from my face. Now we were moving into a territory that felt more comfortable. “High two hundreds, low two hundreds. Depending on what you’re looking for. Single-family with a yard like this, the comps are better. You can get your hands on a fixer-upper for a lot less. But why do all that work when you can just move right in? Right?”
“Right,” he said.
“What was your name then?” It was the third time I’d asked.
He paused, turning to look back down the hallway. Then he made his way around the bed. He did something odd then. He took short, pacing steps back and forth in the corner. It was where I’d knocked out the closet. He tested the floorboards, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Original floors,” I said. “That was really a no-brainer. Solid oak. You don’t find them like this much in these houses. Everything was intact. All it needed was some sanding and a coat of finish. Aren’t they beautiful?”
He reached down and ran his hand along the planks. Cocking his head to the side he closed his eyes again. My spine turned cold. He tapped one of the boards as if he were looking for a weak spot. No, I thought. It was just a coincidence. When he found no defects, he opened his eyes and straightened.