by Kara Parker
She eyed me worriedly and pushed back a few brunette strands of hair that had come out of her high ponytail. Lisa bit her lip and fidgeted with the hem of her short apron. “Are you sure, Chels? Isn’t the… Hardell gang coming tonight?”
I hated those words, Hardell gang. Those words had been whispered by every member of the Mountain Grove community for months now, ever since the bikers had come to town. Lisa was right, however; they were coming. Every Tuesday, either a few minutes before or after five-thirty, a dozen-plus motorcycles rumbled to a stop in front of my bar. A minute later old, ruthless, hardened bikers entered my place, took seats, and conducted business. Thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, switched hands in the currency of cocaine, heroin, and other drugs. For three hours, men doled out a week’s supply of drugs to each other to sell to children, teens, and drug addicts.
If I were lucky, the Hardell gang wouldn’t start a fight. If I were really lucky, I wouldn’t have to call an ambulance for some poor soul. If I were really, really lucky, they would leave just as fast as they’d come without harassing me or my customers. I’ve never been lucky in my life.
Four more minutes had passed. “It’s fine, Lisa,” I lied, smoothly, easily. “I was actually going to close up early and head down to Mary’s for dinner.” I wasn’t.
The waitress looked unsure again, but I wanted her gone. Lisa was Latina, beautiful, and young— with a child at home. The Hardell gang had called her derogatory names on more than one occasion, and one of the members had even told the young woman, point blank, that he would rape her one day.
I couldn’t fire Lisa—if only to protect her—because there weren’t enough jobs in the town as it was. So, I did the next best thing and sent her home early or didn’t allow her to work on Tuesdays. However, the dear worried about me and was concerned about my safety. I was already broken. The worst thing the gang could do to me now was hurt the people around me.
She nodded slowly and went to the back of the restaurant to change. At the entrance, she looked back at me and opened her mouth like she was going to say something. I smiled hard, willing the young woman to just turn and walk away with my intense blue eyes. Lisa closed her mouth and disappeared through the door.
I smiled at Charles, refilled his Jack and Coke, with far less Jack, and politely told him that it was getting late, and he should start heading home. When he’d first come in around two, I’d given him a full shot of Jack with his Coke. Three hours and four drinks later, I knew I hadn’t even given him another half a shot. I needed him sober, so he could get himself home before Hardell arrived.
I checked the chip and nut bowls again, inventoried the case of alcohol by sight, and wiped down the counter again. Five more minutes passed, and I knew the Hardell gang would come rumbling down, stop with all the noise of a thunderstorm in front of my bar, and come inside.
“Thanks for the soda, Chels.” Charles slapped down a ten, tipped his hat, and walked out the door. I smiled faintly after him.
There were only two others in the bar with me. They were both men and were hidden in separate corners nursing drinks. I nicked my nail on the bar, scrapped the wood, and looked up at that fucking clock. Five twenty-nine.
I heard thunder, powerful engines, and cruel laughter. My body clenched tight, and the men in the corners made themselves smaller. Over a dozen smelly, leather-clad bikers entered, sat down, and propped their legs up on the tables.
I looked down and let my strawberry-blonde hair shield my face for a second before I looked up with a wide, benign smile on my face. “Welcome, boys. What can I get for y’all?”
When I saw a wad of cash exchanged for a plastic baggie with white powder inside, my smile widened till it hurt. Someone laughed, another growled something crude, and only one man actually ordered a drink. I forced a laugh, poured the drink, and didn’t look at that clock again.
CHAPTER TWO
“Chels.” Charles strode in and plopped down on a bar stool in front of me.
I held up a finger and smiled gently. “Let me guess? Jack and Coke?”
His lips twitched, and I laughed softly as I poured his drink. His almost smile turned into a frown when he saw my wrist. “What happened there?”
I didn’t meet his knowing brown eyes when I passed him a coaster and set his drink on top of it. I tugged my sleeve down and buttoned up so it covered my bruised wrist, as I said, “Nothing to worry about.”
He took a long sip, lowered his eyelids, and looked around the bar at the few patrons. Not many people came to my establishment anymore, even though it was the only bar in a thirty mile radius. I couldn’t blame them either. A part of me wished that even the few patrons I had would just leave. But even if everyone left, and I was alone in my bar, I’d never leave. I’d carved out a place in this town. My blood was in the soil. I had nothing else in the world but my bar, and I wasn’t letting it go for anything.
“Was it Hardell?” Charles kept his voice low, lips on the rim of his glass.
I shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. I heard a car pull up and a door slam, so I looked towards the entrance. A tall man with a shaved head, a tattoo around his bicep, jeans sitting low on his hips, and t-shirt hugging tight around his torso entered. He reached up and took off his sunglasses, and I watched cool hazel eyes survey my bar. My brother used to do the same thing when he’d gotten back from Iraq. Every time he’d walk into a room, he would look around, assess it, and put people in two categories: threatening or non-threatening.
I saw the moment the man deemed us as non-threatening flash through his eyes. I forced a smile and waved my hand to get his attention. “Hello, mister. Are ya lost?”
Please be lost, I thought. Mountain Grove didn’t need any more surprises.
He walked towards the bar, boots heavy and sure on the worn wood floor. The man swung up, took a seat, and propped his forearms on the counter. “Afternoon, ma’am.”
“Oh, a Southern boy.” I let my accent flow, as I cocked my hip and smiled at him. “And a well-mannered one at that.”
He flashed me a smile, and I caught a dimple in his cheek. “My mama wouldn’t have me any other way.” He extended a hand across the counter. “Garrison.”
I took his warm and callused hand, which enveloped mine completely, squeezed gently with firmly-checked strength, and let go after a second. A handshake said a lot about a man, and I liked Garrison’s handshake.
“Chelsie,” I waved a hand around, “and this here is my bar.”
He nodded. “It’s nice.”
I put the chit-chat aside and stood up straight. “What can I get ya?”
He looked at me hard. His hazel eyes watched me for any reaction, as he said, “Information on Dean Hardell and the Hardell gang.”
I stiffened, and he saw it. Garrison reached into his back pocket, pulled something out, and slapped it on the counter. “I’m Special Agent Garrison Bryant of the FBI. Any information you can give me would be much appreciated, Chelsie.”
I looked at the tattoo on his arm. On closer inspection, it resembled an angel with its wings stretched around like a band. Names were written into each feather, and in the angel’s open hands were four names that I couldn’t quite make out. The tattoo was interesting and allowed me to gather my response before I answered the agent.
“I can’t help you. I’m sorry.” I tried to put as much remorse into the words as possible. Maybe if he’d come in with a squad team, armed to the nines, I would have provided him with something, but I risked more by telling a single agent anything. If Hardell caught wind that I was talking to a cop, then the whole town might be at risk.
“If you’re not going to get anything,” I began coolly, looking at Charles huddled over his drink, “then I think you’d better leave.”
I could feel Garrison’s eyes on me, assessing me again. Was I a threat or wasn’t I? After a long moment, he sighed. “I know what he’s doing to you, and I know how you feel, ma’am.” No, he didn’t.
Ga
rrison got up and slid something across the bar to me. “Please give me a call if anything happens.” Then, he left.
I looked at what he’d left on the counter, a business card. I slipped the paper into my front pocket. I didn’t raise my head again until a laughing voice brought me out of the funk the Special Agent had put me in. “Cheer up, Chels!” Lisa said, as she walked behind the bar and bumped my hip playfully. “It’s almost summer and that means more business.”
I looked up at the effervescent waitress with small bags under her eyes. I knew how hard it was to raise a child—though I hadn’t done it for the same amount of time she had. Still, I knew that kids were a lot of work, especially for struggling, young, single mothers like she was. It always amazed me to see that smile on Lisa’s face. After everything the woman had faced, she could still see silver linings in everything and light in darkness.
I smiled and bumped her hip back. “You’re right. But you know what they say, honey, ‘mo money—”
“—mo problems,” a masculine voice picked up. My blood chilled, and the smile died on my face before another one sprung up in its place. This time it was a forced smile that said everything was alright, and I wasn’t scared.
Dean Hardell strolled up to my bar and leaned against the counter. It wasn’t a Tuesday, it wasn’t five-thirty, and there weren’t any motorcycles outside. It was Wednesday, a little past two in the afternoon, and there was a black SUV parked in my lot with two bikers leaning against its hood.
“Hardell,” I reached for a towel and started to wipe off the bar, “what a pleasant surprise.”
I turned to Lisa and touched her shoulder lightly. “Lisa, would you go and grab another bottle of scotch from the back, I think we’re all out up here.” I turned back to Hardell and winked. “I know how you boys like your scotch.”
He smiled back, but it looked to me more like a cobra rearing for an attack. “Anyone interesting come in today, Chels?”
I furrowed my brows like I was thinking as I cleared away Charles’ still-full glass and watched him get up, head buried in the collar of his shirt, and leave. “Can’t say anyone interesting. It’s been the usual, I think.”
He frowned, but I felt like the look was more for my benefit. I chanced a glance out to his car and saw one biker leaning against the hood of the SUV, not two. The cold dread was back, slipping like ice into my veins.
“Really?” He shifted on his feet. “I heard that a Special Agent by the name of Garrison Bryant stopped by and was asking questions.”
I didn’t deny it, there was no point. I threw the towel I’d been using to wipe the bar over my shoulder, rested my hip on the counter, and crossed my arms. “Lots of people ask questions about you, Hardell. I just ignore them and don’t answer. But I’m sure you know that already.”
There was that cobra smile again. “Which is the only reason you’re still standing behind that pretty bar of yours.” He pushed away from the counter and planted his thumbs in his front jean pockets. “I want you to know that’s why I spared her— because I know you. Consider this a... friendly warning, Chels.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a couple hundred-dollar bills then slapped them on the bar. “I’m a fair man, you understand. Now, have a nice day.”
I watched him walk outside and noticed the other biker was back. I followed them closely with my eyes as they backed up and sped off down the road. I ignored the money and rushed into the back because Lisa hadn’t come back yet, and something Hardell said scared me.
“Lisa!” I called out desperately.
I heard a low moan. I tried to turn on the light, but found it busted. Glass crunched beneath my tennis shoes, as I hurried towards the groaning sounds. I reached for my phone and pressed the flashlight button, angry that I hadn’t thought to do that in the first place. Lisa sat, huddled in the corner. Her shirt was torn, and there was blood on her thighs and legs. Her ponytail had come undone with her hair covering half her face.
“Lisa?” I crouched close to her and moved the brown strands away from her face. I bit down hard on my lip and tasted blood and salt, as tears streamed down my face. Her eyes were red and swollen shut. Her lip was cut open and oozing. There were also the beginnings of dark smudges around her throat.
I didn’t touch her again or move her. I turned the light away from her and dialed 9-1-1.
CHAPTER THREE
I could hear every clock ticking in the hospital. Those clocks were louder than the TV soap operas, the nurses’ chatter, the doctors issuing orders, and the other families waiting with me in the E.R. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Even though the digital clock above the nurse's station didn’t make a ticking sound, I still heard it. Each second whizzing by had a sound, and each minute that passed had a tick. I was obsessed with it.
“Excuse me?” I saw black leather shoes, the kind that nurses wore, and I looked up. An African-American woman dressed in purple scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck was in front of me with a clipboard in her hand and a sympathetic smile on her face. “Is there someone you want to call?”
I’d already called Lisa’s son and a babysitter to watch him until she was discharged. I’d closed the bar for the night and driven behind the ambulance to the hospital. That had been hours ago. I didn’t need to call anyone. There was no one waiting at home for me, no husband or child or pet.
I plastered on a smile, shook my head, and the nurse left with an understanding nod. I shifted on the cold, plastic chair of the waiting room and something poked me in the side. I reached into my front pocket.
My hand shook as I pulled out the business card Special Agent Garrison had left me, the one I’d completely forgotten about. Anger, like acid, burned in my gut as the memory of Lisa being loaded into the ambulance came back to me.
When I’d been with my ex-husband, Yanik, I’d allowed him to hurt me. He hadn’t been that way when we’d first met. No, he’d been smooth and cultured. He was an exotic European who wanted a plain, southern bell. I played right into his hands. After a while, I stopped noticing the beatings, they didn’t hurt me anymore. Sure there was physical pain, but mentally, I was removed.
My Janie helped even more. That little girl had been my world. Yanik had known that and had wanted to hurt me by hurting her. Once— just one time— he’d hit her. Janie had been three, standing on the staircase. Yanik had slapped her for one thing or another, and I’d watched as her head turned, bagged against the banister, and then her body slid down.
The minute he’d pulled his hand down, I knew it was over. Before he struck my baby, I knew I was going to leave him. I’d been stealing little amounts of money from our accounts. Saying I was buying this or that, but hiding it away for when I made my escape. That escape never happened because, right in my arms, my child hemorrhaged and died.
It was the worst thing I’d ever experienced in my life, and I’d vowed that I would never let another person get hurt if I could stop it. But, Lisa had been hurt. Mentally, I knew it wasn’t my fault. I knew I wasn’t accountable for my husband’s actions or the actions of the man who’d hurt Lisa, but I’d still played a part. Saying and doing nothing was the same as condoning it.
I gripped the business card tighter. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
I reached for my cellphone and dialed the number on the card. He picked up after two rings. “Hello?”
“It’s Chelsie, the owner of the—”
“I know who you are.” He paused, seemed to think about his next response. “How can I help you, ma’am?”
It was only then that I realized I didn’t hear the tick of the clock. I wasn’t mentally counting time and obsessing over the numbers. I’d stopped counting down to some horrible event. “It’s more like how I can help you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“This is really good pie,” Special Agent Garrison Bryant mouthed around a bite of vanilla-peach pie.
I stared at him like he was insane, a few cards short of a deck. “W
hat do you mean you don’t have back up? That you’re alone?”
He shrugged a shoulder and forked another bite. “I mean what I said, Chelsie.”
I rolled my eyes and glanced around Sylvie's Diner. It was Friday, and we were three towns away from Mountain Grove. Lisa was still in the hospital, and I was no closer to helping her out than when I’d first called Garrison. I was starting to think a good old-fashioned bullet to the head for Hardell would be better than the waiting game Garrison had going on.
“I know what you are thinking,” he said, hazel eyes meeting mine and a ghost of a smile touching his lips, “but these gangs are like hydras. Cut off one head and another grows back. You have to kill it at the root.”
“Hardell is not the root?”
Garrison finished his pie and leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his broad chest. “He’s one.”
