by Hazel Parker
She’ll be honest with you. She’s a mother figure first, a CMO second. At least, I hope she still is.
“And why would that be, Jane?” she asked.
“Confounding factors,” I said, feeling out the words as I tried to see if the truth could come out to the degree I wanted it to. “I went out last night with one of the Saints. I told him it was strictly to catch up, nothing more. I’ve put too much into my career to waste it on a romantic fling with a biker. But…”
Silence filled the air. I wanted Dr. Burns to take the metaphorical handlebars here and steer the conversation some, but she didn’t seem in any rush to. She seemed more like a therapist at times, which, given how rarely she actually interacted with patients for medical purposes, might have seemed like an actual truth than a presumed one.
“Well, it was an intense night,” I said. “Don’t worry, nothing crazy happened. I guess what I’m getting at is that I want my career to come first, but, well, damnit, I kind of like the guy.”
“You really like the guy.”
“Well… yeah. As much as one can like someone for a first date.”
“A first date, but after two decades of growing up with them.”
Does she know it’s Tracy? Or is it just that obvious? Not like I’d go for Sensei, at least.
“Jane, what I’m about to tell you is something that I always thought I would tell you someday when you were old enough to hear it, but I didn’t think it would happen this soon. Nevertheless, I suppose that now is as good a time as any to explain to you what I mean. I went through something very similar about, oh, thirty-five years ago in your spot.”
I crossed my legs and gulped. There was something ominous about the way she introduced this story, as if I should have an idea of what was coming. She wouldn’t have given such a tone to it if it was a pretty innocent story or a parable of some kind.
“Do you know who my first high school crush was?”
“I’m sorry?” I said, taken aback by the seemingly very gossipy question.
“My first high school crush. He was a boy by the name of Paul Peters.”
Holy shit.
“That’s right. Your father. Let me tell you, you know him as Pops, as well you should. He was a great man. But I knew Paul Peters as the honorable rebel. He hated authority for the sake of authority, but he hated bullies and punks just as much as the authoritarian teachers. He wasn’t afraid to get in trouble to enforce his beliefs, either, which landed him on the blacklist of the administration but on the handsome list of just about every girl in Green Hills High. I was his prom date, actually, his senior year.”
What the…
“Pops never told me any of this…”
It wasn’t so much that I felt betrayed or hurt. I was just so taken aback by the revelation that I wasn’t even sure how to feel.
“We’ll get to that. But in any case, we were together there for about five years. Your father, bless his soul, waited for me to come back from Arizona every year. He never wavered, never cheated, never did anything that would leave me to doubt his commitment. The distance was tough, but he was strong. It was around that time, probably halfway through my sophomore year, that Paul, perhaps rather bored in Green Hills, started the Savage Saints, at first as a club out of his mechanic shop his father had built, but something that soon grew into the institution you know today.
“I didn’t think anything of it. I figured boys needed their bonding time, and as long as Paul didn’t get himself thrown in jail, I was good with it. And then it turned out he did get himself thrown in jail a couple of times, and I was still good with it.”
She chortled as I smiled at the thought of my father having a drink too many, fighting someone at the bar, and going to jail for a night or two. Pops was perfect as a dad, but I knew his reputation with the boys—fiercely loyal, and fiercely protective. Those traits sometimes backfired with a couple of nights in the cell.
“However, right around the time that I decided to go to graduate school, he proposed to me.”
“Damn,” I said breathlessly.
How had I never known this story at all? I had just known Dr. Burns as a caretaker for me, a sort of evening nanny when my father went on runs or other club business. But to realize how close she could have been to actually being my mother…
“In the moment, I said yes, because I loved him. Still do, all these years later. But it dawned on me that if I wanted to go to medical school, I couldn’t do it in Green Hills. There just isn’t a university here that could support me. I asked him if he would leave the Savage Saints, not fully realizing the extent that he had entrenched himself into the club. He said no. I was left with a choice.”
She sighed and shrugged with her hands up as if she had nothing more to say. She had plenty more to say, but she let the words and the implication hang for several moments.
“Do I regret my decision? Knowing the results, no. Your mother was two years behind us in high school, and though I didn’t know her that well, what I knew of her was that she was an amazing woman and an amazing human being. Her death hit all of us in the Green Hills community, it really did. Your father threw himself into taking care of you, but it affected the Saints for quite some time.”
Thinking about my mother produced some weird feelings for me. I loved her, but how could I really love her? I never knew her, never knew her voice, never knew her eyes, never knew her smell. I could look at old photos of her and see the resemblance, but the love felt more like an obligation. No one wanted to befriend someone who didn’t love their mother who had died for them, but then again, it just felt like I had no way of loving my mother like, say, Tracy loved his.
“The result of it all, though was that I got to be like a mother to you. I never was again romantic with your father. I’m pretty sure he never dated anyone else after the death of your mother. But I did get to be your caretaker for many nights and days, and so that fulfilled the part of me that wanted to be like a mother. And yet, it only happened because of the terrible tragedy with your actual mother.”
I bit my lip as I tried to take it all in. My boss and my mother figure… my father’s first love? And she could have been my Mom?
It wasn’t exactly a life-altering revelation, mostly because nothing new would change going forward. I had always loved Dr. Burns, and that would remain the same. I could remain professional with her, that much was true, especially with her experience.
But even now, unsure of what would change going forward, I knew it was going to alter some things for me.
“I wouldn’t say that it was luck for me, because it came at the cost of your mother’s life. But there was an element of chance in it, let’s say. If your mother were alive today, how would I feel? Would I feel an empty void at never having raised a child almost as my own? Or would I be just fine, not having ever known what it was like? I can’t say. I can only speak to what I can know.”
“Yeah,” I said, more just reflexively than actually agreeing with what she said—or disagreeing. I needed time to take it all in. “So… what should I do, then?”
Dr. Burns smiled, leaned forward, and smacked her lips.
“I can’t in good conscience tell you what to do, dear,” she said. “I learned long ago that when you give someone advice, it’s up to them to take it however and wherever they want. All I can do is tell you my stories and my experience and see if it can relate to yours. I am sure that you will find plenty of older doctors who never had kids who will tell you they not only don’t regret it, they’re happier without them. But my personal opinion? We all need someone to love. Even if they aren’t our spouses or our biological children. We all need someone.”
This is going to take a long, long time to figure out.
“I will give you one more piece of advice,” Dr. Burns said. “Take it day by day. Thirty months will go by in the blink of an eye, but each day will go by at its own pace. Try and see if you can figure things out that way. Don’t rush it. There’s no need t
o make a decision. I’ve seen lovers fall for each other within four months, and I’ve seen separations take years. Every timetable is different, so don’t think you need to decide tonight.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t,” I said.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to think about it tonight over some serious wine, ice cream, and couch lounging. I had a lot to take into consideration, and this wasn’t even factoring in that I had not told Dr. Burns that this was revolving around Tracy.
One date.
“I’ve seen lovers fall for each other within four months.”
But just one date.
You’ve known him for your entire life, and you’re going to call it a first date?
“Come on, dear, we gotta get you back to the floor,” Dr. Burns said with a gentle wave. “You never know when one of the Saints will come in here because they ‘got cut doing an oil change.’”
“You actually got that line?” I said, relieved for the quick change in conversation.
“Oh, honey, you and I should have some wine some time so we can go over the things I’ve heard these boys say,” she said. “I know why they keep their mouths shut to the truth, but sometimes, you might as well have heard a kid come up to you and say, ‘my dog was trying to do my homework for me, but I got frustrated and ate it.’”
We shared a much-needed laugh as I stood up. Dr. Burns shooed me away in the nicest way possible, stopping me only just before I opened the door.
“Remember, Jane,” she said. “No rushing. Take your time. And don’t be afraid to go down one road to pull away later on. You don’t commit to anything based on day one.”
I smiled, thanked her, and walked out with much more to think about than I had ever bargained for.
Chapter 9: Trace
In the hours that followed my private meeting with Splitter and Sensei, I couldn’t say that I didn’t think about Jane Peters. I couldn’t say that I remained steadfastly focused on the mission ahead. I couldn’t say that I was the perfect leader who rallied the troops with an inspiring speech about how we were embarking on a critical mission to help boost the Savage Saints out of danger forever.
But I could say that as the sun settled to the west, out beyond the Pacific Ocean, out beyond Main Street, and out beyond the hospital where Jane was likely working, my mind settled back on the task at hand. Jane wasn’t going anywhere; that much was evident by how things had been left off. Jane would not have someone to wait on if I failed on this run, and that thought alone was enough to get me going.
That, and when I walked out of the hall and into the main lobby and saw my men before me, all loaded, all wearing the colors, and all looking like they wanted DM blood, I couldn’t help but get inspired myself to rock and roll. There was just something about seeing my men go from mechanics and bikers to warriors that made me see them in a new light.
BK was always intimidating; at over six feet tall and over probably two-fifty in weight, no one was ever going to confuse him for a teddy bear. But when he rolled into battle, he never went in with a shirt, only with the colors, and seeing the barrel-chested, tanned, tatted man roll in was like seeing Death itself ride in, if Death jacked himself up with prison weights, a shitload of steak, and the markings of the Savage Saints. I never stopped taking him for granted and appreciating that he was on our side, not the enemy’s.
Sensei, ever the wise one with his beard, always threw on sunglasses, even when we went into battle at night. I supposed it was his way of distinguishing himself from his normal self. It was also in these moments when the tattoo commemorating his fallen wife was visible, an emotional reminder that resonated with everyone in the club. Most especially after the loss of Paul, Sensei’s old lady had become the mother of the club, providing emotional support and guidance we all needed. Her death at the hands of cancer had shaken all of us and encouraged us to take a more proactive role in Green Hills. Tonight, it would inspire us to maintain our legacy.
Sword reminded us all that beneath the brains that kept track of all of our money was a man who knew how to use any sort of sharp weapon, from actual swords to knives to daggers to even the sai, the tri-tipped looking daggers. While Sword certainly knew the ways of a shotgun and a rifle, it made him brutally effective at eliciting information from enemies when we needed a special session to get them to talk. Tonight, he had access to about five different weapons that would undoubtedly produce some unexpected cuts to the enemy.
Mafia always liked to chew gum just before rolling out and during the course of a run. He also always carried with him a shotgun and two pistols which he rarely used. He was the one who spoke the least on these missions.
Krispy almost always had a cigarette in his mouth, which he also liked to use when interrogating enemies. He often half-joked, half-seriously told us that he wanted a flamethrower so he could live up more fully to his name. He also had a tradition of having seven mini-donuts before our runs, one for each of us. It was a tradition we never stopped giving him shit for.
And finally, there was Splitter, a man who made up for his lack of multiple weapons with his sheer brutality. While BK had a larger size, Splitter was more shameless in hand to hand combat, and the numerous scars on his hands and arms suggested a man willing to take a cut.
By day, these were my brothers at the shop, men who cared about protecting the community, men who valued the women in their lives, and, in a couple of cases, loving and doting fathers.
By night, these were the meanest motherfuckers across all of California, more than willing to take any and all measures necessary to defeat the enemy or get whatever information they needed.
And then, somehow fitting into this group, was me, the closest thing we had to a “clean cut” man in the group. Somehow, they never questioned me.
Well, as long as you don’t let this shit with Jane get in the way. I don’t think it needs to be said any clearer than that.
“Don’t suppose I need to tell you any come to Jesus words, huh,” I said as I lit a cigarette, matching Krispy puff for puff. “You guys know what we need to do. Kill anyone that gets in our way. Stay quiet unless you have to fire. And let’s steal some weapons and some DM hearts.”
“Hell yeah!” came the general cry from the group as we marched out of the clubhouse, taking with us a few members for backup. There was the thought to leave at least one officer behind in case disaster struck, but I knew no one was going to volunteer for such a position. No one wanted to miss out on the thrill of battle, the primal rage that came from conquering the enemy, or the adrenaline rush at having survived a firefight.
We kicked our bikes into gear, everyone waiting for me to lead the charge. Maybe someone else would have taken a moment to think about Jane, to do something in her honor, or to think about how they’d be coming home for her.
But by now, those distracted thoughts were out of mind. Anything to do with anyone outside of the seven of us and our run vanished as soon as I left the hall about two minutes prior, having seen my Saints, ready to bring “salvation” to the Mercs.
I revved my engine, pulled out of the shop, and led us down the highway, a caravan of seven club members ready to inflict a special kind of hell on the Devil’s Mercenaries.
One particularly tricky part about this mission was going to entail the distance we had to go. Whereas the ride to the Chinese store for their coke had taken under thirty minutes, this was a much longer drive, about an hour’s worth. There would be the risk of getting chased down and into a highway-based firefight, but if we did our job and properly destroyed the warehouse, there would be no chase after.
At this moment, though, with everyone of value coming along, I had no fear about any of that. Even if they chased us, it was their death they would be driving into.
We moved past the various slow-moving vehicles and cop cars, speeding up when we were out of sight and slowing down when they came by. We had Green Hills’s officers on our good side, but that same courtesy didn’t extend beyond town
borders. We moved as one, like a twenty-wheeler split into ten two-wheeled parts for the sake of mobility at a future time.
From the highway, we went down a few largely unpopulated industrial roads before stopping our bikes about a tenth of a mile from the warehouse, taking the rest of the mission by foot. The rest of the Savage Saints lined up their bikes by mine, and we all dismounted, armed to the teeth.
“All right, Mafia,” I said, calling him over. “You clear this place out of any civilians?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, going mum as he typically did in this spot.
“Good. And the DMs?”
“Four, maybe five.”
“More nearby, though,” BK growled. “They ain’t gonna leave something like this unprotected. They ain’t that stupid.”
“So we’ll have to move especially quick when we get in and out,” I said, pulling my gun from behind me. “Let’s go.”
The men quickly pulled their guns out and their masks over their head, moving through the shadows and away from the lights as best as they could. The advantage we had was that the warehouse was pretty easily in view, situated on a flat part of Los Angeles that made recon easy for us.
Of course, it went both ways—they’d be able to see us coming from afar. It was times like these when I wished a sniper from the Marines would join our club—talk about a way to move past the prospect phase quickly.
We reached our first obstacle—a chain link fence that, while not particularly stable, did make a lot of noise when rattled. We also had the issue of one DM who stood watch outside, a pistol by his side. He wasn’t even trying to hide it in case a cop happened to come by.
“Sword,” I said.
“Always,” he said, wearing a grin on his face.
We waited in the shadows, crouched low, when from a distance of about twenty feet, Sword chucked and landed the knife perfectly on the DM’s neck. The enemy dropped down as Sword hurried over, finishing the job quickly and leaving the man to die without making a sound.
“Let’s go,” I said.
