by Hazel Parker
By the time we got on our bikes and headed back to the clubhouse, I knew I had to speak to everyone, but I couldn’t do it in a group setting. Everyone would need to save face in front of their peers, and it only worked to do so one on one.
As soon as we got back, I did just that. The first, and the hardest as I knew, was going to be Krispy. BK was quiet but smart, and Mafia was just a toned down version of Krispy. If I could convert Krispy, then I could get the rest of them on board.
“Hey,” I said, grabbing his arm and gently pulling him aside. “I just want you to know, I get it. I get that this looks like a pussy move up against the Mercs. But we haven’t had any luck doing anything else. I would never do anything if I thought it would hurt the club, and right now, I think this will actually help us. We’ll get more members, members who will be grateful, and—”
“I hope, man,” Krispy said. “But I can’t help but think this is a really fucking bad move. I just have these visions in my head of having all of these former Mercs at a party, then surprising us while we’re drunk and hammered with a round of bullets, killing us and taking over our base.”
“I know,” I said. It was absolutely a realistic scenario we had to keep in mind. “That’s why our vetting process will be strong. Everyone who joins will have to be a prospect for at least two years, not the usual one. Everyone will get checked and screened beforehand so we can make sure they’re not a threat. I’m not saying it’s a perfect plan, but, come on, Krispy, I know you want the fighting to end at some point.”
No one wanted the violence to continue forever. They wanted the brotherhood that formed because of previous violence to continue, but no one really wanted to have to face the prospect of death every few months. That was no way to live, not when we lived in Green Hills, one of the supposedly most peaceful towns in Southern California.
“I do,” he confessed. “Just… fuck. I don’t want us to look weak, you know.”
I knew a thing or two about that.
“That exact reason is why I lied for over a decade about everything with my wife, Olivia,” I said. “And look, I tried to reach out to Courtney after. She may yet take me back; I’m more optimistic on that than I should be.”
Way more, really. I just think she’ll come around to the good times and when she sees what I found out this morning in the case file.
“But weakness is only bad if your life depends on it or if you do nothing to correct and account for it. This is not looking weak. In fact, we’d have to feel mighty confident about ourselves if we’re going to extend that kind of branch to the Mercs who aren’t Zane. Right?”
“I guess,” Krispy said, but he was getting it—he just didn’t want to look weak by admitting otherwise. “Just… fuck, man, fuck, this is risky.”
“It is,” I said. “But the riskier move is thinking we can outlive all of the violence.”
Krispy nodded. He wasn’t able to look me in the eyes, but I knew I’d done what I needed to do. I’d gotten him enough on my side that I felt comfortable enough moving forward.
“Let me know if you have any questions as we figure things out,” I said. “Call me out in hall. I don’t care. I have the idea, but we need to make sure we have the execution down pat.”
I then proceeded to have the same conversation with BK and Mafia, although those conversations went much more smoothly. BK’s wasn’t even a conversation; it was more me reassuring him and him nodding and grunting in approval than it was a back and forth. BK, as the sergeant-in-arms, could be obedient almost to a fault, but it was nice to see that he was at least understanding of me. Mafia was an actual conversation, but it was quick and easy.
I gathered everyone into the hall, taking my seat in the president’s chair for what I hoped would be the last time.
“Alright,” I said. “We agree on the high-level points, right? We’re going to go after Zane and kill him, whatever it takes. We’re going to then invite the other Mercs in, but tell them that it’s going to take them time to get into the club. Are we in agreement on that?”
Everyone nodded.
“Good,” I said. “Now comes the hard part. The execution. This is still something that I’m trying to figure out. Our first objective is to find Zane and kill him. No Merc is going to join us if we leave him out. Zane will make it his mission to hunt everyone down before he comes for us, just to keep his men in line. Any ideas for where we can find him?”
No one said a word. I didn’t find it likely they’d be back at the warehouse. That was an implausible scenario…
Except, the more I thought about it, the more I reconsidered the idea. The safest time to be someplace was often right after disaster struck; either security and alertness would be much higher, or the person who had been attacked would assume there was no way a duplicate strike was coming moments later. Maybe Zane, thinking that we wouldn’t have the balls for a second strike, would be hiding there.
“He’s a zealot for the Mercs, right?” I said. “So it’s probably in one of a few places.”
Sword got it as he snapped his finger.
“The warehouse or the Chinese restaurant they stored their drugs at. Maybe where they took Jane to?”
“I don’t think so. That was just a place they took her to.”
But the more I thought about it, the more it had to be the warehouse. The Chinese shop was nothing more than a hiding spot.
“Is everyone in agreement that we roll into the warehouse area?” I said. “And let’s round up some prospects. I want this to be so overwhelming of a force that no one thinks they stand a fighting chance.”
Everyone said, “Hell yeah.”
“Good,” I said. “Gather the Saints. Gather any Saint you can who is in the area and can fight.”
I cleared my throat.
“We’re going to end this once and for all.”
Chapter 18: Courtney
Jerry had told me to wait until I got out of the hospital to look for rehab centers, but I wasn’t willing to wait that long.
I knew I had come too perilously close to having my world end on me. Forget crashing down and hitting rock bottom—in my spot, the bottom probably should have given out. I was lucky even to have a bottom to hit.
And so, despite the massive hangover and concussion symptoms not ending and showing no signs of healing, I pulled my phone up after Vance’s last visit and began compiling a list of potential rehab centers and therapists I could use. It was honestly kind of empowering to have this experience—AA had always taught me that I had to surrender and give myself up to a higher power, but I think I had always misinterpreted that meaning.
I had taken it to mean I was weak and should just assume that prayer or community could make me stronger. Given I wasn’t particularly religious, I made my “higher power” AA and let them take over. But that had just made me weak, and I had removed my empowerment.
Instead, by deciding to take control of my life once again and make things happen, I finally understood what it meant. It didn’t mean assume I was completely helpless and that I was beyond redemption. It just meant that while I could do much on my own, I couldn’t do it all. I was fallible, but if I did enough to help myself, my peers would be in a position to help me get over the hump from there.
I honestly began to feel optimistic within just a couple of hours. I didn’t feel great, as the physical pain ensured that wouldn’t be happening for a little bit, but mentally, I was feeling great.
I didn’t have to go to the grave and follow Nathaniel. I could take care of myself. I could live the life worth living. I could enjoy myself without a bottle of booze.
I would come back as a better teacher. I would stay sober, truly sober, and I would teach without hangovers. I would continue to conduct theater productions at the highest level, even if it might result in some awkwardness with Alyssa there.
That was an interesting topic in its own right. As I scrolled through the rehab centers, I found myself wondering about what would happen with
her and her father. He had surely told her what had happened by now. Would she feel comfortable working with me still? Would her father still want me to work with her?
And was her father really that bad, anyway?
Vance had withheld the truth from me about his affiliation with the Saints, but… he was a good guy. He had made a mistake, but who hadn’t? If anything, we were even.
A few hours passed, with my activities alternating between naps and preparing to go to rehab. I had a list of about half a dozen places around four in the afternoon when the nurse buzzed me in.
“Miss Ross,” Taylor said. “You have a visitor. Can a Vance Newhouse come and see you?”
Again?
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said.
At least my voice is feeling a little bit better. At least I sound like a functioning human being right now.
It didn’t take but a few moments for Vance to walk into the room. He had on his cut that signified he was with the Savage Saints. I had to admit, seeing him felt… comforting.
“You’re wearing the club jacket,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, his hands in his pocket. “I wanted you to see all of me. No more lies. No more hiding things. This… this is me. If you don’t want to talk about it or you don’t want to see it, then I will remove it, and you’ll never see it again.”
I thought about it for a second. The Saints as a whole did bother me, and that was something I wasn’t sure I’d ever to let go of. But for Vance himself?
“It’s fine,” I said. “I know who you are, Vance. Even if I haven’t always known who you were with.”
He smirked, gave a knowing shrug, and came forward a couple of steps.
“I… I wanted to give something to you,” he said. “This was something that I asked Sheriff Wiggins to pull up.”
Wait… wait a second…
“I thought about telling you what’s inside, but I think you already know. The sheriff came by earlier today, I know that.”
“He said I needed to do something for him and he would help me…” I said, trying to connect the dots.
Vance smiled and sat next to me. He put a very gentle hand on my shoulder in an almost slow-motion manner, as if making sure it was OK to touch me. I didn’t mind at all—it felt pretty good, as a matter of fact.
He was, after all, the only one who wasn’t with the authorities or my work to have come and visited me so far. In some ways…
Wow. He might have been my only friend.
“The sheriff, let’s just say, is a good friend of ours,” he said. “I know we’ve done some bad things in the past. Things that we will have to live with forever, things I’m not very proud of. But the sheriff wouldn’t be friends with us if we weren’t good for the community, Courtney. Those stories you saw on the TV, those weren’t bribed.”
Suddenly, I remembered why I had first recognized Vance when I first met him. He was one of the Saints on the television. How did I never realize this?
Or did I know it on a subconscious level but I just ignored it?
“For now, I’m in charge of the club,” he said. “And part of being in charge means I have to go and take care of some things that aren’t fun to talk about. Things that you probably don’t want to know. But the Saints believe in justice above all else, Courtney. We don’t hurt the innocent if we can help it. We don’t hold innocent people hostage. We fight for what’s right, and sometimes, yeah, that takes us above the law. But instead of it being restrictive, it’s empowering. That’s why we are literally savage saints—we are savage in that we do whatever it takes, but we’re saints in that we believe we’re fighting for the ultimate goal.”
He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a beige envelope. It had no address or markings on it, but I could tell that it was stuffed.
“All I ask of you,” he said, “is for you to look through this and give it an honest read. After that, if you never want to see me again, I promise you won’t. I’ll still come to Alyssa’s plays and performances, but I won’t bug you.”
“You don’t have to be like that,” I said.
I even let myself smile.
“The point is, I still like you, Courtney,” he said, and I felt my chest warm despite the pain in my head. “But part of liking someone means neither of you have any truths hidden from each other. And my truth to you is that I don’t want to ignore that my circumstances, how I spend my time, it may bother you. And if it does, as much as I like you, I’ll disappear.”
I nodded, grabbed the envelope from his hand, and smiled.
“I promise I’ll look through this in full,” I said. “That’s all I can give you for now.”
He smiled, squeezed my shoulder, and then stood up.
“By the way,” I asked. “Do you really own the car shop? Or was that just cover to be a Savage Saint?”
He chuckled as if he realized that could have looked bad.
“I have a small ownership stake in Peters Auto Repair,” he said. “That is technically true. I just also run with the Savage Saints. Most of us do work at the shop.”
So you did tell the truth otherwise. You didn’t really lie to me. You just didn’t tell me everything.
Vance gave me a smile and a nod before leaving without another word. I watched him go the entire way, finding myself feeling just a little warm to him.
Yeah, the Saints thing was really bad. Really, really bad. But just like not all teachers were alcoholics, not all Saints were bad. He could be a part of the group and still be a good guy.
Good enough to date?
That was too heavy a question right now. I needed to recover, I needed to get to rehab, and I needed to get my life in order.
But it was at least a question that no longer had a definitive answer—which, coming from a time when I would have been disgusted by his presence, was a massive improvement.
I looked at the envelope and eyed it nervously. I didn’t think Vance had given me an order or a demand. That seemed very unlike him. But, then, what could it have been?
Something with the school? Something with Alyssa? But then how would the sheriff have been involved?
I tried to stop asking myself questions as I lifted the flap on the back, no tearing necessary. A thick stack of papers had been folded into threes inside, and I unwrapped the first one. On the very front was a page that left me very nervous.
“Official LAPD Report on Shooting Between Savage Saints and Devil’s Mercenaries.”
The paper was dated to five years prior, or right around the time that Nathaniel died. I flipped the first page and read the description—sure enough, it was the one that Nathaniel had perished in.
My immediate reaction was to drop the papers. Was this some kind of sick joke? Was this Vance’s way at getting back at me for slapping him?
C’mon, Courtney. The sheriff wouldn’t also be in on this if this was just one giant sick joke. He’s too professional for that. And so is Vance—you know he’s better than that.
He wouldn’t have given it to you if he hadn’t had a reason.
It was extraordinarily painful to have to pick those papers back up. In some ways, it was harder than looking for rehab centers; at least I knew I had to go to rehab if I wanted to keep my career on track. But I didn’t have to look at these papers, which would discuss my husband’s death in detail, for any reason other than to fulfill a request by Vance. I didn’t even technically know if this also came from the sheriff, though I had a pretty good idea.
Nevertheless, it wasn’t a book. It was about five pages. And if I read it once, I’d see what he wanted me to see. I could then move on and never have to worry about this ever again. I’d know everything that happened and be able to… well, progress forward, if not move on entirely.
The papers, thankfully, were devoid of graphic photos, though the description of the victims was not really edited for public consumption. The description of a man shot in the throat was something I could have done without, even if I knew that
Nathaniel wasn’t the man in question who had fallen from such an attack.
Instead, most of it revolved around exactly what had happened, giving a timeline of events, the build-up to what had happened, and what could have been done to prevent it from happening. Most of it was pretty dry, almost written for the consumption of politicians, not lay civilians like me.
But then I came to the second to last section, the one that described who was ultimately at fault and who the police recommended for prosecution. I read two paragraphs and dropped the papers again.
“Oh my God…”
Chapter 19: Sensei
From our force of five when we had first tried to kill Zane, our numbers had swelled quite a bit.
Thanks to rounding up all of the prospects, members, and even a few older members who had taken my route and taken a step back, we had about forty bikers who would descend upon the Devil’s Mercenaries and end this war once and for all. And if everything worked out perfectly, we would do so with just one bullet—the one that would kill Zane and end the reign of sociopaths in that club once and for all.
“Hell of a crew,” Sword said as we stood by the door in the clubhouse, watching everyone gather weapons in preparation for the ride out.
“Biggest one I can remember in recent memory,” I said with a smirk. “Trace is going to be so jealous when he hears about the forces we took.”
“You can say that again,” he said. “Don’t you think we should leave behind some at the clubhouse, though? In case we get attacked?”
“Already have,” I said. “I went to about ten others and asked them to stay behind. They’ll come once we leave. Otherwise, we won’t have space to sneeze in here, let alone gear up.”
“True,” Sword said. “Makes you wonder how we ever throw parties with this little space.”
I smirked at that as the men milled around and made conversation amongst themselves. It was a relatively quick process, especially since BK and Krispy were handing out weapons and bulletproof jackets in assembly-line fashion, but it was still amazing to see. If we had to, we would be ready to kill the Mercs with violence.
