by Lydia Pax
It was regret. She wouldn’t regret exposing her father, but she would regret what it did to her mother. And even though it was her father who was in the wrong, even though he had done all these horrible deals and no one else, her mother would blame June for exposing it all.
Her mother would blame June for destroying the happy peace that the world had agreed upon.
Did June have it in her to do that to her mother, even if it was the right thing?
“What is it, dear?”
“Do you ever…” she winced, trying to force some form of the question out. “Dad’s been scaring me lately. He’s becoming…obsessed.”
“You’ve scared him, dear. You with that…fiancé…of yours. How is he, by the way? Any word?”
The question was curt and polite, not meant to actually probe for information. June’s expected answer was given as her mother’s society dictated.
“I don’t know, Mom. I expect he’s hiding somewhere. One cop already tried to murder him at home.”
“Mm.”
This was the sound her mother made when she didn’t want to start an argument. Fine by June.
“I’m asking about…before that. Has Dad been stressed? Acting strange?”
Sheila shrugged. “This has been a difficult year for him. All this gang activity. He’s doing his best to put it under control, but it’s taking its toll.”
“I don’t know, Mom. He’s a little more exaggerated lately, sure, but he’s always been this way. How long can you put up with stress like that?”
“What are you implying?” said Sheila. “We’re not going to stop supporting each other, young lady.”
“No matter what happens? No matter what he might have done?”
“It’s a marriage, dear. Of course. No matter what.”
That sealed it for June. Her mother was beyond hope.
June wanted to press further—has he had more money? Has he had a raise? How much has been paid for that you thought was unusual? Did you ever think it was strange that a Sheriff, a government employee, could pay for what he does?
He has a boat, Mom. He has a boat and a nice house and lots of land, and he came from no money at all, and you don’t have a job. Did you ever think there was more under the surface? Were you smart enough to notice it, or were you smart enough to notice it and ignore it, to just let it slide?
When June had fights with her mother, there was often no resolution. They would blow up at each other in the car—her mother disparaging June’s driving, for instance, and June disparaging her mother in return. Then, after fifteen minutes of silence, her mother would ask what June wanted for dinner that evening like nothing had happened.
Conflicts were buried with Sheila Colt and never spoken of again, often forgotten if not forgiven, like underground coal fires burning their way to the ocean.
If her mother knew about what her father had been doing, June wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. She headed for the door.
“I have to go to bed, Mom—I’ll talk to you later.”
Chapter 45
It was easy to settle on a time when to broach the subject of corruption with her father. June woke up to a phone call from her father telling her to meet her at the police station.
Not requesting, not asking—but telling.
Such was John Colt.
She made it to the police station at about ten am, surprised to see the buzz of activity around the normally sanguine station. The cops worked in shifts, and on a normal day, about half of them were off-duty. But she saw so many in the parking lot, hallways, and offices that all the city’s cops must have been present—more than four hundred in all swarming across the station like busy ants.
After working through the crowd for close to ten minutes, seeing many cops she knew by face if not by name, she found her father near his office, flanked by four officers on either side. His face lit up slightly at seeing her.
“I was just about to call you, honeybear. Come with me.”
Hoping to speak with him as well, June complied easily. She followed him back into the building, not looking forward to whatever double-team he had planned between himself and her mother. But to her surprise, he led her on the other side of the building toward the armory.
The armory was locked behind a heavy vault door. Inside were all the arrangements of an army base: flak jackets, gas masks, heavy assault rifles with laser scopes and drum magazines, grenades, grenade launchers, riot shields, and camouflage uniforms.
She knew where it all came from, had read the stories like anybody interested in the law. Police departments all over the nation were essentially donated this kind of equipment from the federal government when the weapon companies supplying the military had new upgrades for the military. So, the military got the new weapons, police departments got the military’s old weaponry, and weapons companies got more money than ever. It was why there were three Armored Personnel Carriers in the back lot of the station for a small city the size of Marlowe.
But somehow, she had hoped despite everything that her father was above such things, that he had turned down the requisitions. That maybe he cared more about keeping the image of Marlowe as a quaint, quiet city more than he did about some illusion of safety provided with ever bigger guns for foes that just didn’t exist.
Apparently not.
“What’s all this?” she asked. “Are you going to war?”
He smiled at her, and pointed for his men to go into the room. She noticed for the first time that Kyle was not among them—which meant this truly was serious. Colt was not proud of his son, and did not believe very much in his ability to handle himself in a fight.
Likely, Kyle would be crushed when he found out he was not involved, if he had not discovered it already.
They stepped away from the door, letting the officers through. The air was filled with the shuffling, clacking sounds of the several men slipping on their gear and arming up. She stood with her father in the hallway just outside.
From down the way, Paxton approached. He wore his uniform, his uneven form doing its honest best to make it look attractive, and failing completely in her mind.
“You know Paxton, honey.”
This again? Goddamn.
“Yup.”
“Hey June,” said Paxton, leaning against the opposite wall, clearly looking a little embarrassed. “Nice to see you. You look great today.”
Could he actually say anything else? June had to wonder.
“Thanks,” she said, not meaning it, and looking entirely at her father. “Why is he here?”
Colt took a moment before answering, looking at Paxton and then June, smiling broadly, as if he had arranged the perfect match.
“I’ve been thinking,” said the sheriff, “your attachment to this motorcycle club. It’s wrong-headed thinking. It is my own mistake, I will admit. I must have somehow turned you off the righteous path at some point in your time at my house. But that is all right. You see, what is trained can be untrained. And I will untrain you. I will teach you the right way to act.”
Her father was acting eerily calm. This scared her more than any of his bluster, any of his anger.
“You’ll teach me?” June was tired of this already. “I’ve already learned enough from you, thanks.”
“No, not quite yet. You see, what’s going to happen is that my men are going to start arresting every member of the Wrecking Crew that we can find. We know where they live. We know where they hang out. We know where a majority of them are right now. We’ll expect they’ll be indignant when we find them and tell them we’re taking them in. We expect resistance. And even if they don’t resist, they will have resisted, and we’ll have to defend ourselves. We’ll have to put them down for the sake of us and the town. You starting to understand, honeybear?”
Murder. He was talking about murder—murdering every one of the Wrecking Crew.
“You can’t do that,” she said in disbelief. “There’s…witnesses. The news. There’ll be
investigations.”
“Investigations run by the District Attorney’s office, yes. And they owe me quite a few favors. He needs my help every time he wants to stay in office. Don’t you know how this works by now? I thought you went to college.”
The corruption ran deep.
“I’ll expose you,” she said. It was the only weapon she had.
She had to be careful how she said it. The tapes were on her person now. She would have to be very careful about how she said this so as not to be searched—not to ruin her one chance of making a difference.
“Expose me?” He laughed. “I’ll expose you. You won’t be nothing to anybody but some slut trying to protect her loser criminal boyfriend. Unless, of course, you do what I say. Then you’ll be a respectable woman again.”
“What do you mean?”
As he spoke, his voice was soft, like he was chiding a five year-old for stealing a toy car from a store.
“I mean this here,” he pointed inside the door where the men were arming themselves. “This is just preparation. We’ve still got about a day before we can act in full. But, if you go to the courthouse with me this afternoon and get your marriage annulled and, let’s say, marry Paxton, we’ll pass over all of this. I’ll call it all off. You’ll have the husband you should have. I know,” he said, holding up a hand, “that you’ll need time to adjust. That you’re getting married straight without the courtship stage. But it’s what would have happened anyway, honey. I know best. We’re just speeding it along a bit.”
She couldn’t tell if he was mad, like insane mad, or just so buried in spite and resentments that nothing made sense to him anymore unless it was calculated to do the most damage possible.
“Uh, Sheriff?” said Paxton, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know anything about…you’re saying married? I mean I like June and all, but I mean, I can’t just marry her—”
“You want me on your side or do you want to live the rest of your life with an unbroken arm, you miserable pussy?” Colt snapped.
Paxton opened his mouth, finger pointing up into the air like he was going to try and object. And then slowly, he put his hands back in his pockets and stared at the floor. June felt a wave of disgust and pity fill her for the idiot boy in man’s clothing.
“That’s what I thought,” said Colt.
This wouldn’t do. None of this would do.
“I know about you,” she said, keeping her voice low, low enough so that not even Paxton could hear her across the hall. No reason to publicly out him—not yet. Going public was where her leverage was. “I know your dealings with the Black Flags. I know what you’ve put together. I know your hands are dirty. You need to back off.”
His lips curled up. It was a strange thing, watching his rage be swallowed. One eye twitched heavily. The gentleness left his voice quickly.
“Let’s pretend that’s true,” he said. Taking her under one arm, like a dragon unfolding its wings, he led her back out into the hallway and found a quiet spot down towards the bathrooms. “Let’s pretend you have caught wind of such a thing from your dickhead boyfriend and his gang. Are they, the news or the media whoever, gonna believe you or me? The sheriff or his slut daughter? And, let’s say they do believe you. You’ll ruin me. You’ll break the heart of your mother. Your brother won’t have a job, and god knows he’s too dumb to do anything except be babysat by me on the force. You’d really do that to your family, June? You’ll throw all them out just because of some outlaw biker? Is that what you’d want?”
“I’d do it because it’s right.”
“There’s all kinds of right in the world, June. All kinds. You’ll come around. Less’n you want a massacre, you’ll come around.”
Chapter 46
Cops were posted all around Ram’s house, but none of them were actually inside of it. He’d been sneaking around cops his whole life, and so it wasn’t too hard, even in the middle of the afternoon, to sneak in and grab what he wanted. He parked his bike far away in a small alley behind a dumpster. It wouldn’t be safe there forever, but it was good enough for the hour or so he needed in his house.
There was only so much Ram could take with him, but what he hated the most to leave were all his tools and parts. Those were the lifeblood of any good bike. All he could really manage to take was a small standard toolkit, the sort that fit inside the duffel bag he would attach to the sissy bar. Two saddlebags swung over the back wheels, filled with some other clothes and supplies, but that was about as much as the old girl could carry without losing too much in gas mileage.
He left the tools and spare parts in his house with a note:
Ace,
Take these, use them however you want.
Sorry for how it all went down. If I can make it up to you, I will.
No one asked, but I think you’d make a pretty righteous Prez one day.
Your brother,
Ram
That was about as close to intimacy as the two could get.
Already he’d made a call to Beretta, outlining the general beats of his plan. Beretta would communicate it to Acero, who would communicate it to Colt—and there would be a meeting and a reckoning.
Was it a good plan? He had no idea. But it was the one he was gonna follow through with, no matter what.
There was nothing left but to say his goodbyes, and there was only one that really counted to him.
The Texas heat sweltered as he rode over to Shovelhead’s to speak with his father. Sweat layered heavy on his forehead, his neck and arms.
Ram found Howitzer in the back lot, standing over his bike with a heavy wrench and a can of oil. The old man knew how to work a bike, that was for certain. He had taught Ram most everything he knew in that regard.
He had taught Ram other things to. How to hold a grudge. How to clobber a man so he would stay down. How to make a hit for the sake of your brothers.
Howitzer looked up as Ram approached, clearly not impressed.
“I thought you were leaving town,” he said. “Now you’re gonna bring the cops down around us?”
“I staked the place out for a while,” said Ram. “There was nobody waiting.”
Howitzer didn’t seem to believe him, but he said, “If they were gonna swoop in and get you, I guess they would have done it by now. But you still oughta be leaving town.” His face scrunched up for a moment. “Funeral’s in a couple of days. You can’t come, of course. I’m sorry about that.”
He was talking about Mikhail. Ram nodded.
His brother’s death still worked raw against his heart. He didn’t know how to approach it yet. There was too much going on. Some day he would grieve, and grieve as hard as he could, like he did everything else he gave a shit about. But now wasn’t the time.
“Say some words for me, will you?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“I am leaving,” said Ram. “I know I have to. I don’t want to put the club out more than I already have. But, I wanted to say goodbye to you.”
“Well, now you’ve said it.” Howitzer let out a deep breath, hands slapping on his thighs for a minute to dust them off. He held out his hand. “Goodbye, kid. Take care of yourself. Prove me wrong and smarten up, huh?”
Ram shook his hand and nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”
For a moment, Ram stood there awkwardly, hoping for something more. That was as much as he’d ever gotten from his father in the past several years by way of affection. He was a tough man, a hardened man, but not an unfair one. Maybe Ram would have done better to realize that sooner.
“I love that girl, Dad. I really do.”
“You must,” he said, attaching a new socket to his ratchet. “She’s causing you enough trouble to make me run like hell if I was you. Hell, I’m not you and I wanna run like hell. Cops are getting more jacked up every day.”
“I think she’d kill me if I ran from her.”
“Then you know you got a keeper.” Howitzer let out a small grunt of effort as he knelt down in front of his
bike. “Let me know where you end up. I’ll help her on her way there, huh?”
“Thanks, Dad,” Ram said again, for a second time. That was more than he’d said it in years—a lot of firsts came with goodbyes.
“Look,” said Ram, “there’s something you oughta know. The Black Flags, they’re in league with the Sheriff’s department.”
Howitzer stood back up again—quicker this time, with an agility that went well beyond his silvered age. “No shit? How do you know?”
“There’s these tapes in the Sheriff’s office,” said Ram. “June has them. There’s tons of them. He’s probably been working with them ever since they started pushing in on our territory.”
“That son of a bitch…” Howitzer said, stroking his beard. “Those sons of bitches. Bribing cops. That’s fucking low. God knows we’re criminals, but ain’t none of us are supposed to be just handing money over to those government sons of bitches. That’s fucking low. That must be…all that evidence on the Crew they put away. I knew it was planted. I’ll make a few calls,” he said. “Put our lawyer on it, maybe, and—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Take care of it? You?” Howitzer shook his head. “No way. This is enough to start a war with the cops, right here. We can’t have those two colluding. If you think—”
“What I think is that I’m going to take care of it, Howitzer. So, you back off.”
His voice took a hardness that it never had with his father. It was the type of voice he used to use with Ace, calming him down in a bar, or with Mikhail, keeping him from stealing stupid shit in a grocery store or a park. It was a hardness that said he was in charge, not the man being spoken to. Surprising Ram—perhaps even surprising Howitzer—the old man did quiet down.
“I’ve got a plan,” said Ram. “A real plan.”
“You have a plan.”
It wasn’t a question, not quite, but it was nearly one.
“Yeah,” said Ram. “I do. And I’m going to work it all out. The Wrecking Crew doesn’t have to lift a finger. I started this whole mess and I’m going to end it.”