by A. R. Case
“Just hold her if she’ll let you, or if you can.” Indy slapped his back, and let his hand linger a moment.
Holding would be good. That’s what I would want Indy to do if it was me. I wouldn’t care about the pain because I just know it would feel better if his arms were around me. I’d hold him too even if it was a futile effort.
Walt walked into the room like a man arriving at his execution.
I got up and let him have the chair. Mary had fallen asleep after her warning to me. At Indy’s side, I took one last glance into the room to confirm Walt was going to go easy on her.
“Poor man, I hope he knows Mary is a lot stronger than he thinks.”
“I don’t think he does,” Indy answered.
“I said that out loud?”
Both Indy and TomTom nodded.
Crap.
Indy
The camera for the backlot captured a great image of Mary’s car. It also caught the very same numbnuts we’d banned, sneaking back there, and putting something under her tire. One thousand dollars it was the bent nail that had caused the flat. The police officer looking over my shoulder was breathing heavy on my neck. He’d get an easy conviction with this.
“Can you make a copy of that?” He asked.
“Sure.” I nodded to the veteran we contracted with to set up security for the businesses. He was a computer wiz. All legit. “I’ll see if we have credit card receipts to match to a name.”
I hung by the door to eavesdrop on the room I’d just left.
Sure enough, the cop’s muffled voice started up. “Are you certain this hasn’t been altered?”
I walked away, angry as fuck. No, it hadn’t been altered. But you get two types of cops, suspicious as fuck ones who look at tattoos and leather cuts and see a criminal, then look for any crime possible, or you get the ones who are fair, but burning out.
Funny how the suspicious ones are easier to bribe.
“Yo, Steve, you got receipts from that guy we kicked Sunday?”
“Hey Indy, yeah, but better than that, we’ve got his card. He raised holy hell that we kept it. Threatened to sue us.”
“Fuck him. Cops get it now. He’s the one that got Mary.”
The change on Steve’s face was measurable. He dug under the bar with deliberate speed. “Here. Bastard even gave me his address to mail the card to.”
There it was in black and white. One Landon Page, of Frederick. Stupid fucker. Lived on a street that ended with the moniker “Way.” Suburban townhouse with a third-rate security system, I’d bet. Maybe a ranch style with bushes and older windows, but those were getting harder to find in the new developments.
Hopefully it had an attached garage. That would be helpful.
I took the card out of the envelope and secured the ripped paper in an inside zipper pocket in my vest. I put valuable shit in there, but not too valuable. It just seemed like too much work to take off my belt and get to the secret pocket there. I needed to get back to Mr. Suspicious.
“Thanks Steve.”
“Any time, boss.”
His face had a question on it. I didn’t have time to answer it though.
In the office, the computer guy looked mad. So did the cop.
“You get a copy yet?” I asked, then handed the cop the credit card. “He was kicked out on Sunday for touching the girls. He didn’t collect his card. Steve says this is the one. Hope it helps you. We’re certain that is the same guy.”
“I heard you roughed him up on Sunday.”
The urge to glare at the computer guy was strong, but I managed to resist looking at him. “He went after one of the women here. Actually, two.” Then I looked at the other man in the room. “Pull up Sunday, if you have it. You should be able to get a better view of his face.”
“Okay, Indy.”
There was a stretch of silence as he clicked open a few folders. “What time do you want?”
“First incident was around 12:30. Second one, after five. Mary was clocked out.”
“Here’s five.” He scratched forward then froze it with a damn incriminating image of Walt reaching for Mr. Page. He jogged it backwards so you saw the grope going away from Mary’s ass.
He played it forward.
“Slow it down.” I instructed. I wanted to see Mary’s reaction.
“He grabs her ass, then the big guy goes after him. Who is that?”
Silence from the computer guy.
“Walter Tipton. He owns the parts warehouse off 68.” The cop would find out anyways.
“His colors are different than yours.”
“Yeah, local group. Nice guys.” I lied. Yes, they were local, and no, not all of them were nice guys. I wore Destroyers colors. I was one of two patched members from the national club who lived in the immediate area. Most lived north of here, and rode south to patronize our businesses. Walt ran the Rebel Souls. They were our affiliate and under our protection, but suspicious cops don’t need to know that.
“They patchovers?”
I snorted. “Where’d you get that, TV?” It shut him up. If he was a Fed he’d know. Then again, a Fed wouldn’t ask such a stupid question. They’d ask much better questions. Ones I’d go out of my way not to answer. Hell. I wouldn’t want to be caught dead talking to a Fed. Been there, done that. No fun.
The cop watched the incident twice more. “Where’s the earlier one?”
More scrambled footage in reverse. A couple more files were opened up because of the time difference. “Here.”
There was Edie at the door. She was blinking to get her eyes adjusted to the dark. Her hair was down and tucked behind one ear. She hesitated for only a moment, and said something to Freddie. Then she stopped again to talk to Steve.
This camera didn’t show the same angle I’d seen. But there I was, pushing my way from the back of the room to the side. It was odd, seeing me move like that.
Then, the very same damn move he’d tried on Mary was started.
“Holy shit.” My computer guy whispered.
The cop let out an expletive too. “You work out?”
Fuck him. My heart was racing just watching how close Landon Page’s hand had been to my girl’s ass. If I’d have seen it from this angle, I would have killed him. Then I’d have had to figure out a way to get rid of forty witnesses.
As it was, the tape looked bad.
“He file charges for assault?” The cop asked.
“Not to my knowledge,” I answered. “Rewind. He tried the same move just before I tossed him into the wall.”
Yes, tossed was a good description.
She’d just cleared the edge of the bar, but there was about four and a half feet between her and the wall. Add about two between Landon and the wall, and I’d picked him up and pinned him to a wall six and a half feet away. It was probably a really good thing Edie had intervened.
“Jerk.” The cop commented as he watched the slow motion. “How’d you know?”
“Know what?” I asked.
“That he’d go for her ass? This was before Miss Bayne was groped.”
Good question.
“He’s got a radar for trouble.” The vet chimed in, thinking he was helping.
With cops, you never volunteer information if you can help it. It just breeds more questions.
Damn it.
Edie
He was on the phone again.
My steak was getting cold, and Indy was pacing near the entrance. It would be rude to finish my food before he got to his. My margarita was down to the slightly lime-flavored ice melt off. If I had more water, I’d have to pee. Would the waiter think we had dined and dashed?
Why did I think about peeing? Now I had to. I crossed my legs and tried to amuse myself by looking at the pictures on the walls. If I had a sketchbook, this wouldn’t be a problem. I could go hungry. Most of the time I forgot to eat at regular intervals. That was great until I binged on ice cream or something like that. Because of that, I’d stopped buying the stuff.
>
“Sorry babe. Curve again.”
“Is that the audition for Vega?”
He’d told me he was helping her make the jump. Usually the girls went from a local venue to somewhere outside of Atlantic City, or if they were really good, the casinos themselves. But to jump directly to an audition with a revue in Vegas was huge. I was happy for her. A bit pissed that it consumed so much of Indy’s time, but if one of my best customer slash friends got famous, I was ecstatic.
“No babe. They liked the Gypsy Lee throwback costume you drew.”
“What?”
“I told you I was sending those designs out, remember?”
“Yes, but… really? They liked it?”
He stopped cutting his steak and looked at me hard. “They love it. They love the other designs I sent them, too. I’m negotiating royalties on them for you.”
My knife clattered to the plate. “Royalties?”
He nodded, slowly. A grin spread across his face. “Their costumer asked to request a new commission, too.”
All the blood drained from my limbs. My hands fell to the table beside my plate. “Vegas?”
The smile got bigger. “Vegas, and it will also showcase at their Hollywood club.”
Blink.
I had to swallow and clear my throat. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Not sure, sweetheart. What are you thinking?”
I didn’t know. This sounded huge. “It sounds big.”
His laugh was quick. “Not that huge. But it’s probably about 15k.”
“Fifteen, thousand … dollars?”
“Breathe, Edie.”
“How many designs and costumes?”
“That’s my girl, getting the fine print. Good.”
“I’ve got orders to finish for my online business, and there’s the dresses for the festival season. I’m not certain I can do it, Indy.”
“One revue costume set? How long does that take?”
One set for fifteen thousand? “How many dancers?”
He paused. “Six I think.”
Six costumes. “How am I doing the fittings?”
“Fittings?”
“For the dancers. How am I doing the fittings so when I sew them, they’ll fit properly.”
“Edie, just drawings. Their costumer will sew them.”
My fork almost joined the knife. “For just drawings?”
“Babe.” He sounded pissed.
“Indy, no one has bought my drawings.” Let alone for fifteen thousand.
“The concept, sweetheart. It becomes theirs once you sell it. Your name stays on it, but they own the rights to promote and use it in their shows and all the imagery.”
Fifteen thousand for a concept. My brain tried to wrap around the idea.
“Artwork sells, babe. Still trying to get my guy in Amsterdam to reply about setting up your shoe line.”
“I think this is moving too fast.” He had a guy in Amsterdam? Indy? For a second, I had a difficult time imagining the same guy who lived in one of the crappiest apartment complexes I’d ever seen outside of a major city with the man across the table from me. His rings glinted in the light.
A few things started to fall into place.
“You make commission on this, right?” I asked.
“Three percent okay with you?”
Three? “Fifteen.” I said.
“Nope. Sleeping with you. Can’t do that. Besides, it’s capped at ten for union, so I never go over that on principle.”
“What?”
He set his fork and knife down carefully. “If I didn’t charge a fee, you’d throw a fit, right?”
Thinking about it, I would. “What do you charge Vega?”
“Eight.”
Okay. “Four.”
He grimaced. “Babe.”
“Five then.”
“Four.” He conceded.
I smiled, and lifted my water glass in celebration of my victory.
“How do you feel about spanking during sex?”
I choked mid-sip.
Chapter 6: Frost
Indy
Walt was ballistic.
“Mother fucker made bail.” He singled me out of the small group who had gathered. “He’s walking free. Goddammit, Indy you said you had this shit handled.”
His five foot ten got in my face. I stood straight, and his eyes were under mine. “It’s handled.” A bit louder I said, “Raise Hell with the cops. Get in their face about letting that fucker go.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want me in their face.”
“Front and center. Make them watch the fuck out of you.”
The barest raising of an eyebrow indicated I’d gotten through. His eyes slid over to the east coast enforcer, Ice, who’d just returned from Hawaii. The man was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching, but radiating that calm focus he always had. Unless, of course, his new wife was in the room. Then the watchfulness went up to a full alert. He only seemed fully calm when she was under his arm—the non-dominant one.
Ice shook his head once, saying without words to Walt that this one was my job. If an enforcer handled it, Landon would disappear, and no one would ever know what became of him. That would put heat on the club. My job was to figure out a way to handle it which would not point back at the club. That meant everyone needed alibis that would hold up no matter who looked at it. Which also meant nearly everyone was in the dark about the plan—even, or especially Walt.
TomTom and Snake, the Vice President of the club, were the only others in the room. Snake didn’t know my plan, TomTom only knew his part, and Walt knew nothing. That was the real reason he was angry. He needed to do something. Point him at a problem, Walt solved it. Not only solved it, but had the magical ability to delegate and motivate just the right people to solve it. Ice and Snake were quiet problem solvers. Both were highly competent at working alone. Snake had enough smarts to know when he was in over his head, and would pick good people when needed. TomTom had asked for this, but he was a soldier. Like Ice, give him a task, it was done.
We’d see if TomTom had the ability to think outside the problem if shit went off plan. I wasn’t one hundred percent certain on that. Which is why I kept his portion limited. It put more work on me. More work meant more risk, more error. It ate at my gut. Maybe I was getting too old for this crap.
“And you tell Mary the national chapter thinks the cops need to handle this.”
Walt’s face turned red. “The Hell I will.”
“You will.”
“I don’t lie to Mary.”
“It’s not a lie.” I dropped the bombshell onto the room. They wanted nothing to do with this. Fuck them, my plans were my plans.
TomTom sat up straight. Ice’s arms came uncrossed. Only Snake stayed still. He didn’t have a dog in this hunt.
The vein in Walt’s forehead got bigger. “You mean to tell me we’re flying solo on this?”
“Mary isn’t your old lady.”
My back hit the wall, and it hurt like a mother. Walt’s hand was fisted in my shirt, and at my throat, but not choking me, yet. “Explain.”
“If you’d been together a year, or if she was living with you, they might have said different. Move her to your house, make it permanent, and it’s sanctioned.”
He dropped his hand. While the vein still bulged, his face was white. He shook his head. “No.” His chest rose and fell with a deep breath in and out. He shook his head again, walking a few steps away. “She won’t.”
Then he spun to look at me. “You saying that to set me up?”
No. I wasn’t. As much as I wanted Mary and Walt to be together, because they really did work well, it wasn’t going to work. They were both stubborn, and had specific goals. Mary had confessed her plan with me many times in the middle of the night. It didn’t include Walt. I wouldn’t force her or Walt into something they both didn’t want. I also knew why the national Veep was dragging his feet. It had nothing to do with old ladies
, or club loyalty. The real reason was weakness. There was no guarantee that retaliation against Landon Page would be the incident which turned simple FBI monitoring into full investigation. Therefore, they wanted to be as far away from things as possible. Even if it drove a wedge between them and their affiliate.
Every single one of the one-percent clubs were watched. Infiltrated, monitored, actively investigated. Money was traced. Taxes were reviewed twice. Since the ‘80s, each club had to either go legit, or become extremely adept at burying their excrement.
Going legit took the bite out of some clubs. They faded into the history of the “good old days” of motorcycle lore. Others became more violent and heavily populated the prison system. If you’re off the street, it defeats the whole purpose to be in a motorcycle club. Members might as well join a common street gang.
The rare few went international. It was complex, delicate, and was on a level equal to some governments. You could argue that the international criminal community was a government of its own.
In some respects, it was. In others, that statement would be absolutely inaccurate. No one could work together long enough to get that kind of power. That’s where things got real interesting. It’s also where I knew I wanted no part in leading. You couldn’t get enough competent people from the gene pool of one percenters to properly wield that kind of power. Someone would always be too stupid. Connections were vital, political, and delicate. Common thugs couldn’t pull that off.
“If I said yes, would you drop it?”
He looked at me from boots to head twice. His teeth bared. “Fuck you. Fuck those bastards in Chicago, and fuck this shit.”
The room was very quiet. Each man in the room was trying to be still while Walt worked this shit out. No one knew if he was serious about turning his back on the Destroyers. If he did, every Rebel Soul would be targeted.
He was breathing heavily. “We don’t have a choice, do we?”
“You don’t.”
His eyes raised to mine. “You don’t take orders well, do you?”
I smiled. “Never have.”
He nodded, very slightly. “Thank you.” And that, was Walt being Walt. It was the main reason I’d stayed in this backwater chapter of affiliates. He was smart. And, he led. I didn’t want to lead, and I didn’t want to be led by an idiot. Walt was so smart, he knew that a man like me never would give unconditional loyalty, so he never asked for it. He knew I needed a light leash, or no leash at all. Anything heavier, and I’d burn everything I built down to the ground and start over somewhere else. I’d done it before, could do it again.