by Vivian Gray
He’s caught me off guard. I know based on all of his past actions and how quickly he’s become one of us Devil’s Crucifix members through and through that questioning his loyalty or his intentions would be out of line. But there is something about the way his eyes continue to float back towards the stack of paperwork on my desk and how he doesn’t seem to face me head on when talking.
Still, I don’t have time to deal with him right now. I push him off to the side and head back towards my desk, careful to put away the folder of info Duane gave to me earlier this week on Spark. The news wasn’t exactly good. As I had suspected, signs of Spark surviving the fall are everywhere. Police at the scene spotted still wet footprints leading towards a small home. The owners reported their car stolen hours later. And there was even the report of a man at the local hospital found soaking wet, suffering from several broken bones, without ID. He managed to sneak through the hospital’s loading dock before they could get any more information.
What the file on my desk doesn’t tell me is where he is now. While I have a pretty clear picture of how he managed to survive; there was nothing that came next. No fill-ins for the last five years or so. No opened credit cards, no names on a lease, no request for any life insurance money by his family. Everyone who had known him thought he was gone, another motorcycle club member taken by another club or died riding recklessly. There are a ton of possible explanations, but only the Devil’s Crucifix members at the time know what really happened and we keep tight lips.
Remmy wasn’t a member back then, so I’m not sure why I get the feeling that I need to keep a closed door on this with him. But there’s just nothing in me that wants to let him in on something so sensitive as this, even if he is the arson expert in the group.
I swivel around in my chair to face him as he adjusts his shirt and takes a seat on my couch. He coughs nervously a few times before saying, “I want to talk to you about a few things, boss. First, I want to know about a promotion or at least a raise. I’ve been with you guys long enough, and I think I showed my worth to you.”
Remmy’s question is so totally out of the blue that I’m not even sure how to begin answering him. No one in club history has asked me directly for a promotion of positions, and they certainly haven’t had the balls to ask for more money. And while Remmy has done a ton of work for us lately with investigating the fires and running lead on some of our drop points, I’m not sure if I’m prepared to give him a few more dollars a week for that. Any other member would have done it without questions.
He senses my unease as he again coughs nervously and backtracks, “You know what, just forget about it. It’s not a big deal. I get that I gotta wait my turn and pay my dues. I just thought I would throw it out there anyway.”
“Fucking hell you have to pay your dues!” I can’t hold back that anger again. He’s managed to get me heated twice now in under five minutes. If he thought he was crossing a line before, he has really overstepped his territory. “Every guy here would kill for me to elevate him to a confidant. Even those in leadership roles don’t get as much ear time with me as you do. But the difference is that they actually put in the time and work before they ask something as big as a fucking raise!”
“I get it. I get it, man. Blame it on me being a civilian all these years. I’m used to paychecks and performance reviews. White collar living has made me soft…I won’t ask again. You’re the head around here, and what you say goes -- no matter the consequences.”
How he says the last sentence raises the hairs on the back of my neck. It’s almost feels like a threat, though he smiles right through it.
Remmy stands before I can get any more information out of him. He heads straight towards the door, his hand hesitating at the silver handle, before turning back to face me. “You know. I do have something else to tell you. And it’s not going to be about your business or club business. I promise you that, boss.”
“What the fuck is it now?” I ask incredulously. My hands reach for the temple of my forehead as I try to soothe out the mounting tension forming between my eyes.
“It’s that…Well, I…” His stammering gets me alert again. He isn’t one to exactly fumble his words. The one thing I will give to him is that he’s an excellent speaker, someone who can talk himself out of a paper bag if need be.
Again I feel my haunches raise as if he is about to drop a bomb on me at any minute. “Spit it out, Remmy. I’m already pissed and having a shitty day. Whatever you’ve got to say isn’t going to make it any worse.”
“Fine. I was talking to some of the guys before their morning shift yesterday. And they mentioned some guy I hadn’t heard about before. I think his name was Sparky? Lighter? Something like that. Do you know who I’m talking about?” He peers at me through half closed eyes as if he is trying to break me down as much as possible.
The room gets at least ten degrees colder, or at least it feels that way. My lip slightly trembles as I realize I am creeping up on some strange territory. Remmy is trying to throw me a bone here, a piece of information I need, but I can tell he knows he isn’t supposed to have it either.
“Yeah, I know him. His real name was Henry, but we called him Spark. He was a member right when the club formed.” I choose my words very carefully as I slowly say, “He’s not with us anymore.”
“That’s the thing, Ash. The guys were talking about seeing him -- seeing Spark. They way they talked about him, it was like they had seen a ghost or something. I asked around and someone told me you took him out. But if he died, what’s he doing hanging around town?” Remmy scratches the back of his head as he looks down towards his shoes.
“Where?”
“What did you say?” he looks over his shoulder through the door.
“Where did the guys see him…or think they saw him?” My heart races as I grab hold of the desk and pull myself out. I stand to my feet and walk straight for Remmy.
Remmy holds up his hands again, just as he did the first time I pummeled him into the doorway. “Uh…over by the old bridge, at this house along the Thunder Cliff. Do you know what I’m talking about? They said they saw his bike and maybe even him as they were doing some routes. They didn’t know who to talk to about it. They were worried you’d get spooked or freaked out. So I said I would handle it.”
“You don’t know shit about the situation, Remmy. Why is it your job? I want to see those guys up here within the next ten minutes or I will give them something to be afraid of.” I point my finger directly to his chest as I try to change the tides. He has spent this entire time talking to me like I had no idea how to run my own club. And with this Spark situation, I plan on showing him exactly who is boss here.
He looks down at my finger and then, with a slight smile, adds, “That’s the problem, Ash. I don’t think those guys would talk or at least tell the truth. They’re not the kind of guys who want to get a name for themselves, you know? You bring them in here and put them under a lamp and they’ll freeze up so fast you won’t have any credible information.”
I groan loudly as I realize he has a point. It’s a weak one, but I know how some guys are. They may be motorcycle men, but they still have that soft, yellow-bellied sides in them that keep them from owning up to anything. I can train them, I can beat them, but I can’t force them to live up to this code.
“So, what do you expect me to do, Remmy? What’s your big suggestion since you’re full of opinions today?”
“I say you go over there. If we’ve got an AWOL, vengeful guy out on the loose and starting fires, it’s better to investigate now and then get the facts later. Check out the house. If there’s signs he’s there or you catch up to him, I’ll give you the guy’s names and you can run their story.”
He’s not even finished before I’ve thrown my jacket over my shoulders and have headed out the door past him, not even considering locking the door. If Spark is out there, there isn’t any time to lose. Remmy is right. If this is a lead, a real lead that could stop all this
madness and get life back to where it was before the first fire started, I will risk just about anything to find it.
Before I head out, I check my phone one last time for any sign of Dani. I’m not expecting anything, but a lump in my throat does drop a bit when I see that her name isn’t anywhere in my missed call log or message inbox. She said it was over, and I’ve got to respect that. Still, I am wrestling with just sending her a quick text to tell her where I am going and why.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me anymore. This isn’t about us. I got a tip that the arsonist is in the area again and is hiding out near the old bridge by Thunder Cliff. I’m heading over there now, and I’ll give you an update if I catch him. Stay safe, Dani.”
I don’t hit send. I figure if I give her the location, she might tattle to the chief or another detective. And then where will I be -- dealing with a guy who can tell an investigator I tried to kill him and without any way to ensure I get my justice and revenge on the guy who has made my life a living hell the last few months? No. While Dani may be the firefighter, I am the leader of the Devil’s Crucifix. And I will get my chance at him first.
I stick the phone back in my pocket and head out towards the bridge. I haven’t been in this neck of the woods since the incident. One of my old leaders used to advise me to never backtrack where you left a body. It leaves too many clues and the police half expect you to be that dumb. So I’ve avoided this area like the plague. I don’t run routes out here. I don’t even arrange transactions here in case it would have my name on it. It was like I wound around yellow police tags around this mile radius for my own protection that even the other boys weren’t allowed to cross.
Even though I haven’t made this trip in years, everything still looks just about the same as the day I was last here. The house overlooking the cliff hasn’t aged at all. The white windowpanes are still weather-worn and beaten up. The screen door slams in the breeze as I had remembered it. I can almost picture Spark’s footprints leading police detectives to that home while the senior citizen couple inside fret about losing their car to a battered up thief.
I park my bike right at the entrance to the bridge. I don’t want to give myself away too soon if Spark was there. As I walk over the bridge and towards the home, I pull out my Glock 19 and unlock the safety. With a quick look down towards the rocks where I last spotted Spark’s body, I try to ease my breath and focus my mind. I’m not going to be without my guard as I near the exterior. But the eerie quiet mixed with the smoky colored air only makes it seem more and more like I am walking towards my death.
With my free hand, I reach into my pocket and press send on that text message. I listen for the little woosh sound for confirmation before continuing on around the side of the one-story building. My feet tread carefully on the overgrown weeds and the flowerbed that’s overrun with dead earth. The former owners must have abandoned their work years ago, and by the look of the house, I have a feeling this place hasn’t seen a person in years.
However, Remmy’s sources were right. There are signs of someone living in this place, or at least using it as a shelter. There are fresh candy wrappers on the ground next to cigarette butts and ashes. I can see muddy, smeared boot prints along the driveway and the windows actually feel warm to the touch as if there has been heat in the building.
It is enough to make a wild guess, but it isn’t enough. With the home all checked out, I put the gun back in my coat pocket and walk slowly towards the road. I’m about twenty feet from the house when something dawns on me. I never told Remmy about Spark being the suspect for the fires. And why were his sources out here to begin with? I had banned any of my runners and dealers from making transactions in this part of the woods in order to avoid suspicion.
Why does Remmy seem to be five steps ahead of me? Did I just walk myself into a trap set up by my own right hand man? What am I missing here?
I turn to look back at the home one last time when something much bigger and more powerful than my lingering questions and doubts hits me square on. First comes this blast of energy from behind me, the direction of the house, as I feel as if someone has actually took a shovel to my head and back and beaten me with it repeatedly. It’s so strong that I am knocked forward, and I feel my one of my boots fly off as if the wind itself has untied them and thrown them apart from me.
Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong. I tell myself to run, to get the hell out of there and away from this house of death, but I’m stuck again almost milliseconds later. Another, equally as rough sensation attacks my front this time, and as I thought I was about to fly forward, this new wave tosses me back. It knocks me down straight to the ground with my head landing hard on the surface. I can practically hear the bones crack from the jolt.
Then comes the heat. Searing, relentless heat like I’ve never felt before. It singes my hair and causes my skin to peel from the bone. It’s about a thousand times worse than the fire at Dani’s place where carrying her in my arms exposed me to some open flames against the protection of my leather jacket. Those minor burns don’t compare to the feeling of your body blistering and drying.
Every inch of me cries out as I struggle to reach for the phone in my pocket, but the blast from the house has made everything go from the green and blue of a rainy Washington day to pitch black nothingness. All of my strength is focused on moving my arm just an inch, but I can’t do it. I can’t seem to make myself move any part of my body. Nothing in me feels like it will ever be right again.
My head slumps into the ground of the old couple’s former flowerbeds. Everything fades, and I’m left calling out Dani’s name. The sound of fire trucks wailing in the background break up the otherworldly noises from the crackling of the burning home, the sharp and unceasing ringing in my ear, and the sound of the waves slapping up against the rocks just below the bridge.
Chapter 19
Man. I look like crap. I can’t help but notice the smeared black mascara that’s running down the side of my face, the lipstick that is only partially sticking to my lips, and the swollen cheeks streaked from crying. I quickly run over to my tiny makeup bag a pick out the makeup remover wipes. I haven’t used these in months. I can’t even remember the last time I really got dressed up.
Just hours ago, I was thrilled to be feeling like a woman again. I had this gorgeous hunter green dress given to me by a man who knew how to take a woman to bed. I am still wearing the lacy bra and panty set Ash had picked out for me, even though the circumstances have changed. He won’t be seeing them on me tonight. Or any night.
I had cried bitter tears in the back seat of that cab as it drove away from Ash and the empty restaurant. As it pulled closer to home, I promised myself these would be the last tears I shed over him. It is over. His lack of respect for me forced it to be done. I want no part of someone who can’t even give me the respect to tell me who tried to kill me.
And what about that whole ‘come live with me’ thing? What was that all about? If he really thinks I am in any danger, he is dead wrong. I am fine here in my hotel room. I am fine out there in the field fighting fires. I am totally and completely fine. I don’t need him or his boys or even Jamie fighting my battles for me. I know how to take care of myself.
Yet I find myself looking over my shoulder when I hear footsteps outside on the terrace. It’s probably just a guest walking to his car. But it’s followed by the crisp, banging sound of a door slamming shut and my hands jump in the air as if I’m being shot at. My heart thumps into overdrive, going a million miles a minute, as I will myself to get up and go take a look past the large velvet window drapes and outdoors.
Of course, it’s just as I thought -- completely clear, without so much as a tumbleweed in sight. I don’t even see a trace of Marco, even though I’m pretty sure he’s still supposed to be on shift watching after me. His familiar red and silver bike isn’t sitting outside my door as he watches some show on his cellphone. There aren’t even traces of his cigarettes smoldering in a m
assive pile -- a horrible habit I’ve been giving him crap about since day one.
Maybe calling off the guard is Ash’s not so subtle way of telling me he was letting go. Maybe I got through to him with the whole “we’re over” screams. I have to admit that I half expected for him to chase me down, especially after how hard he pursued me the first time I told him to stay away. But today’s fiasco was totally different. What had happened between us was a slap in the face and a punch to the gut. I cut him off at the head with no way for him to get back into my good graces.
On the side table next to me, my small handbag begins to vibrate wildly. I walk reluctantly over to it, my stomach falling into a pit as I try to think of what to say if the person’s face on the screen is Ash. But to my complete surprise, I don’t have to tell anyone off or go through another crying session. It’s Jamie.
“Hello?” I ask cautiously, choking back the knot in my throat. The last time I spoke to Jamie, it wasn’t particularly great either. I had essentially drawn a line in the sand that told him, too, that nothing between us would ever come to be. What he is doing calling me when I am off-duty is anyone’s guess.
