Misadventures with a Biker

by Scott Hildreth

  “Holy shit,” I blurted. “I just thought of something.”

  “What?”

  “Devin poked his finger up my ass. Just as I was coming. Like, right at that instant. I thought I was going to freaking die. I came so hard, I went blind for a minute. And deaf. I’m so not kidding. My ears went blank. I couldn’t hear a damned thing, and we were in the loudest movie in the history of movies.”

  “You had sex at the theater?”

  “A few weeks ago. I forgot to tell you.”

  She scrunched her nose. “He poked his finger in your butt?”

  I nodded. “Just as I started to have an orgasm.”

  “In the theater?”

  “It was my sex-on-command request.”

  “I thought you were going to do sex on the beach?”

  “The sand-in-the-twat thing freaked me out. That stuff gets in everything, no matter how many blankets you take. You know how it is.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anyway. Yeah. The finger-in-the-butt-trick was awesome.”

  “Oddly,” she said, “I just read an article about that.”

  “About what?”

  “Inserting a finger into the anus at climax.”

  “In what?” I asked with a laugh. “Penthouse Forum?”

  “Cosmo.”

  “Oh.” I chuckled. “Maybe he reads Cosmo.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “So, what about this hippy?” I asked. “What’s the latest?”

  “He’s looking at houses next week.”

  “Where?”

  “Old Naples.”

  “Oh, wow. The CBD business must be good.”

  “Real estate is considerably less expensive here than it is in San Diego,” she said. “His home in La Jolla sold for seven million.”

  “He already sold it?”

  “On Monday.”

  “I hope everything works out.”

  She smiled. “Me too. You’ll like him. He’s pretty laid-back.”

  “But he doesn’t stink?”

  She slapped the back of my hand. “Don’t be mean.”

  I reached for my sake. “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not as bitchy now that Devin and I are together. I used to constantly be running around, mad at the world, and now I couldn’t care less. I’m happy all the time, no matter what happens at work.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “I love him,” I said.

  “I know,” she said with a smile. “I can see it. In both of you.”

  I reached for her hand. “Thank you.”

  She gave me a confused look. “For what?”

  “Doing everything you did,” I replied. “You set this up. Don’t act like you didn’t.”

  “I wanted you to be happy. You’ve been so sad for so long. I couldn’t stand to see it any longer.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  She squeezed my hand. “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Devin

  Half-soaked from the evening’s sporadic rainstorms, I set my keys on the credenza and peered into the living room. “Be right back. I need to change.”

  Herb looked up.

  His face was long and sorrowful.

  I paused. “What’s wrong, old man?”

  “Change your clothes before you drip on my floor.”

  “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

  “Not a goddamned thing wrong with me, dipshit,” he snapped back. “Change your clothes.”

  The afternoon card game must have been canceled. Maybe Vinnie was sick. Something had the old man aggravated, that much was obvious. Instead of poking the bear, I sauntered to my room, changed clothes, and meandered into the kitchen.

  “What do you want for dinner?” I asked.

  “Already ate,” he muttered.

  I walked to the edge of the living room and gave him a shitty look. “What do you mean?”

  “I stuffed food into my mouth with a fork.”

  I noticed he was staring at the television and that it was off. “Why?”

  “Because I was hungry.”

  “Is the TV broken?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Why are you staring at it?” I asked. “It’s off.”

  He reached for the remote and switched it on. “There. Happy now?”

  “I’d be happier if you told me what was going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on,” he replied. “I’m just sitting here.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Life.”

  I walked to the chair across from him and sat down. “Talk to me, old man. What’s going on?”

  He reached to his side. With an envelope clutched in his hand, he stood and walked to where I sat. His eyes were welled with tears.

  He tossed the envelope into my lap. “Here you go.”

  I looked at the envelope. The return address was the United States District Court for the Middle District of Florida. Excitedly, I flipped it over. Scotch tape secured the envelope’s flap.

  “You opened it already?” I asked.

  “Just read the damned thing.”

  Nervously, I removed the letter and unfolded it.

  Mr. Wallace,

  * * *

  Regarding your request for early termination from supervised release, we offer the following response.

  * * *

  The court is required to act in accordance with the procedures and allowances set forth in 18 U.S.C. § 3583(e). Pursuant to the aforementioned section, we have carefully considered your request. The below ruling will be entered and in effect on the date of this letter’s writing.

  * * *

  You are hereby released from your requirement to report to an officer of the court.

  * * *

  Respectfully,

  * * *

  Jonas Webster, Circuit Judge, Middle District of Florida

  “I’m free.” I looked at Herb. “Holy. Shit.”

  “Yeah. Holy shit is right.” He looked at me with sad eyes. “What now?”

  My mind was going a hundred miles an hour. “I don’t know,” I stammered.

  “You going to Miami to be with those fuck bubbles you used to run with?”

  I had no idea what I was going to do. Being free of the court’s restrictions, I felt I needed to run in a dozen different directions.

  I hated seeing Herb in the condition he was in, but there was nothing I could do or say that would satisfy him. I needed to think, and there was only one way for me to clear my mind to do so.

  “You’ve eaten?” I asked.

  “I have.”

  “I’m going for a ride.”

  “To Miami?”

  “Not sure, old man. I’ll see where the road takes me.”

  “I’ve got one thing to say before you go,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “One person got you to this juncture in your life. You need to remember to dance with the one who brought you, son.” He turned away. “That’s the only advice I’ve got.”

  At eighty miles an hour, each raindrop felt like a dagger piercing my skin. The torrential downpour had been going on for thirty minutes. Gripping the handlebars like my life depended on it, I held the motorcycle between the white lines, praying the rain would stop before a passing motorist inadvertently forced me into the swamps of the Everglades.

  To pass the time—and to take my mind from the pain of riding through a tropical storm—I thought of my future with Teddi’s firm. In a million years, I would have never chosen a career in real estate.

  I couldn’t decide if I enjoyed it because it was all I had or if it was because it was where I belonged.

  I considered the MC and the brotherhood the club offered me. Having no family was a difficult pill to swallow. The club resolved the issue as completely as possible. There was no loneliness in an MC, that was for sur
e.

  As much as I enjoyed Herb’s company, allowing myself to get closer to him would only hurt me in the future. He wasn’t going to live forever. If I stayed where I was for much longer, losing him would crush me.

  The rain stopped. Drenched to the bone, I held the handlebars with one hand while removing my glasses with the other.

  I wiped them against my jacket, which only made matters worse. An illuminated sign on the horizon marked the distance to my destination.

  As I sped past it, I grinned.

  Miami 12

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Teddi

  Harry Morgan sat across from me with his legs crossed. His neatly trimmed gray hair was held into place with product, giving it a sculpted look of sophistication that went well with his custom-tailored suit.

  “Let’s list it for what I paid for it,” he said. “It should sell promptly at that price.”

  “With all due respect,” I said, “I think you could get five million on top of that, if not more. You bought it right after the market collapsed. It’s recovered considerably since then.”

  “I’ll go with your recommendation,” he said with a nod. “Now, what about a new home? We’d like something close to the beach but not beachfront. Maybe right off Pine Ridge, along Crayton Road.”

  “Devin’s father built several homes along Crayton, believe it or not.”

  “That’s what he said,” Harry replied. “He sent me a few listings in that area last week. There’s one I’d like to see, for sure. Where is Devin today?”

  “He’s sick,” I said. “It must be pretty bad. He hasn’t missed a day since he started. Always the first one in and the last to leave.”

  “He’s a fine example of the old adage, ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover.’ I knew after a few seconds of talking to him that he was a damned good man. Character can’t be disguised as being anything but what it is. His tattoos are a facade.”

  “He’s one of a kind,” I agreed. “That’s for sure.”

  “Are you aware of the listings he sent me?” he asked.

  I wasn’t aware that Devin was communicating with Harry. It didn’t surprise me, though. Devin wasn’t one to brag or make small talk about upcoming events, listings, or potential clients. He simply did his job and allowed his work to speak for itself.

  “Not fully,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “Of the listings Devin sent, there is one on Crayton and one on Turtle Hatch that appeal to us. Both of them appear to suit our needs. Pricing is commensurate with their location and recent listings in the area, according to the spreadsheet he prepared. I’d like to set up a time to see them.”

  “Can you forward the addresses to me?”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll make the inquiries. We should be able to before the end of the day. Tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Any word on when Devin will be back?” he asked. “I’d like his opinion on the standard of construction used for each of them.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Let’s make sure he’s scheduled to go with us,” he said. “I’ve waited this long. Another day or two won’t hurt me.”

  “I’ll make contact with the owners and with Devin, and I’ll be in touch. How’s that?”

  He stood. “Perfect.” He gave a nod. “As always, Teddi, it was a pleasure.”

  “Likewise,” I said.

  I escorted him to the door and wished him well. As his Rolls Royce pulled away, I peered into the parking spot that Devin had taken ownership of upon arrival. It seemed strange to see it vacant.

  I went to my office, got my phone, and sent him a text.

  Hope everything’s okay. Let me

  know if you need anything. :)

  I placed the phone on the corner of my desk and began my queries into the homes Harry referenced. I then began searching for similar homes in the area. Phone calls to prospective sellers followed, hoping they’d reached a point that they were ready to sell. In what seemed like no time, the day had escaped me.

  Janine stepped into my office and cleared her throat. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “Devin?” I asked.

  She cocked her hip and gave me a look. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

  “He is.”

  “Where the fuck is he?”

  “Sick. Why?”

  “He was doing something for me. I wanted to know if it was done.”

  “What was it?”

  “What’s it matter?” she asked, her voice taking on a tone of irritation.

  Her New Jersey attitude was often more than I could stomach, but she was a great worker. The East Coast clients loved her. I was surprised that Devin could work with her; then again, he seemed to get along with all walks of life.

  “I guess it doesn’t,” I said. “I was just wondering.”

  “He’s good with compiling data,” she said. “He’s making me a spreadsheet of homes and the clients’ names for certain dates and price ranges so I could call them to see if they were ready to upgrade.” Her brows raised. “Satisfied?”

  I laughed. “Sure.”

  “When’s he coming back?”

  “Tomorrow, I suppose.”

  “He better,” she said. “I need that spreadsheet.”

  She stomped off in a huff. I reached for my phone and checked my text messages, only to find that Devin hadn’t responded.

  If he was too sick to respond, he was too sick to visit. The best thing for him was to allow him to get his rest. I hadn’t spent a night alone in months and wondered what I should do with my time.

  I lifted the receiver of my desk phone and buzzed Kate’s office.

  “Kate Winslow,” she said.

  “This is Teddi, dork.”

  “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

  “Want to go out after work?”

  “I can’t. Forrest is in town.”

  “Crap.”

  “Sucks, doesn’t it?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “When they’re gone.”

  “Yeah,” I said, releasing a sigh. “It sure does.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Devin

  “Where the fuck you been?” Herb asked, nodding toward my backpack. “And where the fuck are you going?”

  I’d hoped I could get out of the house before he got home from playing cards but didn’t have such luck. “It’s best you don’t know.”

  “You’re living under my roof,” he snarled. “I have a right to know.”

  “It’s best you don’t, old man. Believe me.”

  He gestured toward the backpack. “What’s in the rucksack?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  He gave me a cross look. “You back to your old bullshit?”

  “I’ve got some business to take care of.”

  “At nighttime? You’re back to busting skulls for that ragtag bunch of fuck nuggets in Miami, aren’t you?”

  “Like I said, I’ve got some business to take care of. It’s best that you know nothing about it.”

  “Since when do we keep secrets from each other?” he asked.

  “Since telling you what I’m doing would make you aware of the commission of a crime.”

  There were a dozen different ways to resolve the issue I was faced with. None of them were wrong. They were all potentially effective, but one stood out as having a far greater rate of success. As with most criminal operations, it had risks associated with it that the other options didn’t.

  The risk wasn’t my concern. Success was.

  Thirty minutes of surveillance informed me that he was home alone. My previous visit to the unattended home confirmed there was no alarm system, Nest doorbell, or security systems in place.

  Based on that belief, I planted the heel of my boot against the back door, just beside the knob. The doorframe splintered into shreds, and the door flew open, hitting the adjoining wall with a thwack!

  I took long stri
des through the kitchen and into the living room.

  He jumped up from the couch with eyes as wide as saucers. “What—”

  I struck him on the cheek with the butt of the pistol. He fell to the floor between the coffee table and the couch.

  “Who the hell—”

  I grabbed a fistful of his hair and lifted him to his feet. “I talk, you listen. Understood?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  I hit him again, splitting a gash open on his cheek. “I talk. You listen. If I want you to speak, I’ll let you know.”

  Wincing in pain, he wiped the blood from his cheek.

  “Are you alone?”

  I’d seen no one else in my surveillance, but I needed to know for sure.

  He nodded.

  “You have something I need,” I explained. “If you provide it, I will leave, and you’ll likely never see me again. If you do not provide it, I will kill you. This is not negotiable. Provide it or die. Those are the only options. Understood?”

  He nodded frantically.

  “Through the course of our discussions, if you lie to me about anything, I will shoot you in your left thigh. This is also nonnegotiable. Lie to me, get shot. Understood?”

  He blubbered as he nodded his response.

  “Lastly, if this matter is resolved to my liking but you decide at any time to go to the police, you will be killed. Don’t think that if I’m arrested, this step will not be taken or that you can save yourself from this fate. There are thirty-two men just like me who will line up to wipe your existence from this earth. Understood?”

  He began to cry.

  “I need you to acknowledge what I’ve said,” I warned. “Talk to the cops, you die. Understood?”

  He nodded.

  “Where’s your phone?” I asked. “You may speak.”

  “It’s…the end table,” he stammered. “Over there.”