by Chiah Wilder
“Because you know mine. That doesn’t seem fair, does it? Would you like some water, juice, or a Coke?”
“Coke’s good.”
She swiveled around and opened a mini fridge in the corner behind her. Handing him the can, she smiled and reached for a legal pad.
“Thanks,” he said before popping the top. He took a long drink, then burped. “Name’s Garret.”
“Hi, Garret. What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to ask a few questions, that’s all.” Another long drink. Another burp. “Uh… what’s the punishment for breaking into someone’s house?”
“It depends. Colorado has two degrees of burglary for breaking and entering into a home. If a person breaks in with the intent to commit a crime against another person or property inside, then that’s second-degree. It’s a felony and the max is four years in prison. First-degree has the same elements as second-degree except the one breaking in has to assault or menace a person during the burglary. That felony carries a maximum of twelve years in prison.”
Garret crushed the can with his hands and wiped the corners of his mouth. Nodding, he stood up and paced back and forth for a few seconds, then sat down on the edge of the chair.
“I’d need more details if you want me to answer with more specificity.” Cara’s nerves began to tingle as Garret leaned forward, then slammed back against the chair.
“You don’t need nothing more. Why’re you asking me fer details? I didn’t do nothing.” Bouncing his knee, he bit at his lips.
Noticing he was jumpier than a jackrabbit, Cara pushed back a little from the desk. I may have to make a dash for it. “I didn’t say you did anything. I just wanted to give you a more accurate answer, that’s all.”
“I’m thinking of writing a mystery book. That’s all. Anyway, in the book, the guy goes into people’s home to break things. You know, vernalize.”
“Vandalize?”
He grinned, exposing crooked teeth. “Ya. That’s it.”
“If no one is hurt and—”
“No one’s at home when it happens.”
“It’s second-degree burglary. So that would be four years and a hefty fine.”
“But if he never done nothing before, he could get less, right?”
“Yes. A person may even receive probation and a few months in jail. The punishment isn’t a mandatory sentence.”
Cara jumped when, all of a sudden, he leapt to his feet. He paced back and forth three times, then stopped in front of her desk.
“Thanks. Thanks.” He rushed out of the office.
When she heard the front door close, she slowly got up and went over to Asher, who stared at the door. “That was one of the strangest conversations I’ve had with a potential client in a long time,” she said.
Asher laughed. “Face it, Cara… you’re a magnet for nutty clients.”
She sniggered. “True. I better get some work done. Five o’clock comes fast.”
For the rest of the day, she worked up a few cases, her mind drifting back to Garret and his questions. For a split second she wondered if he might be the Crazed Grinch, but she quickly gave up that thought. He didn’t strike me as someone who could mastermind something so calculated. He seemed very high-strung.
After a few hours, Asher poked his head in. “I’m taking off. You want to walk out together?”
Glancing at the clock, she nodded. “Give me a few seconds to finish this paragraph. Oh… did you get a copy of that weird guy’s ID?” The policy in her office was to take a copy of any potential clients’ IDs, as well as those clients who retained her services. Some bad experiences from her past taught her to make sure she knew up front with whom she was dealing.
“I did. I was pretty surprised he gave it to me. It didn’t have his address or anything, just a picture ID with his name. It was an old one. He told me it used to be his ID at his job before he was laid off. It’s real hard to make out his last name, though. When I asked for his last name, he started to freak, so I backed off.”
“Please make me a copy.”
Fifteen minutes later, she headed in the direction of her parents’ house. After she spent some time talking to her mom, she strapped Isa and Braxton in their car seats and closed the door.
“Cara,” her mother yelled as she ran outside, clutching a sweater around her. “I forgot to ask if you, Hawk, and the kids can come over for the family pre-Christmas dinner. I’m hosting it this year, but your Aunts Teresa, Lucille, Maryann, and Carmella are helping with the cooking.”
“I can’t believe you’re hosting it. How did that happen?” It was a family tradition on her dad’s side to bring the aunts, uncles, and cousins together for a pre-Christmas dinner. It had been part of her upbringing, and Cara looked forward to it each year. Sometimes it was the only time she saw her family who lived out of town. She knew her mother hated having all of her dad’s relatives over for the big dinner and tried to find excuses to back out of doing it every time her turn came up.
“Your Aunt Carmella made some smart cracks to your dad, and we’re having it here. I can’t wait for it to be over.”
“Considering you haven’t done it for the past seven years, you got off pretty easy. I’ll bring over some food. I’ll call you and coordinate it. I’m thinking of doing it next year at my house.”
“Unless you’re pregnant.”
Cara rolled her eyes. “You’re just as bad as Hawk. Count us in, and see you soon.”
As she drove home, Braxton pounded on the back window. “Mommy, look how pretty that house is. It has so many lights.”
Cara glanced to her right, then turned the corner and slowed down. The whole street was lit up like a Las Vegas casino. She smiled as Braxton excitedly pointed out reindeer, elves, snowmen, and a slew of other characters. As she drove around the neighborhoods, a few of the houses were over the top, and she wondered if the Crazed Grinch had targeted the homes. As the thought went through her mind, a patrol car slowly drove past the houses.
Taking the next left, she headed home, glad they lived in a guarded and gated community.
Chapter Nine
Rock
Rock stared at the slumped-over body tied around a tree trunk: sitting down, tied at the waist, legs spread. A large amount of blood pooled under the body, staining the snow a dark crimson. If Rock hadn’t recognized the chest tattoo of a busty blonde holding a frothy beer mug, he never would’ve known it was Sketcher, his face beaten that badly.
“Fuck. They did a number on him,” Jax said, kicking the ice with his boot.
“And they cut off his balls.” Rock bent down and tugged the dead man’s pants up. “He didn’t fuckin’ deserve this.”
“I hope he was dead when they did it. I put a call in to Hawk and Banger. We gotta find out who did this.” Jax pounded his fist into the palm of his hand.
“I know he planned on making a buy to find out who was dealing the shit. I told him to call me. When I didn’t hear from him, I figured he either chickened out or it got canceled.” He stood up and stared down at the broken body. The chance that the dirtbags had made Sketcher as an informant had niggled in the back of his mind and was the reason he’d come out to that wooded area of Crenshaw Park; it was known for drug dealing.
“The fuckers left him like this as a warning to other. We gotta beat their asses.” Jax spit on the ground.
“It’s a damn act of aggression toward the club. Last thing Sketcher told me was that he heard some dudes had hooked up with Satan’s Pistons and were vowing revenge on the Insurgents and Night Rebels. We can’t let this pass,” Rock said.
“Sketcher had a mom in town. She should know he’s gone.” Jax stomped his feet on the snow-covered ground.
“Banger will take care of it. That’s the kind of shit a president does.” Rock took out two joints and offered one to Jax. He lit both of them, and the two men stood looking at Sketcher, their heads bent, the smoke billowing above them.
The crunch of tires made Rock
look behind him, Hawk and Banger walking toward them.
“What the fuck happened? Weren’t you monitoring his buy?” Banger asked Rock, his eyes fixed on the beaten man.
“I told him to set it up and call me so I could watch out for him, but I never heard back. That’s why I came looking for him.”
“Fuck!” Banger’s voice echoed between the trees.
It was a gloomy afternoon, and Rock looked around the empty park. It was as quiet as a mausoleum, and the bare trees with just ice and a dusting of snow clinging to their branches looked grotesquely eerie against the backdrop of lethal violence.
“We gonna move him out?” Jax asked.
Hawk pursed his lips, shaking his head.
“The fuckin’ badges will find him. Eventually. I heard his mom was staying with a sick friend,” Rock said.
“More like she was in detox,” Hawk retorted, turning away from Sketcher.
“Probably. I know she’s had a rough time of it. Should be home now. I’ll go by her place tomorrow and tell her about her boy,” Banger replied.
“Unless the fuckin’ badges beat you to it,” Rock said, putting his gloves on.
“Then I’ll offer her the sympathy of the club. We gotta find who the fuck did this, slice off his balls and cock, and feed them to him.”
Rock went down on his haunches and rifled through Sketcher’s pockets, making sure there was nothing in them that was incriminating against the Insurgents. All he found was some spare change and a crinkled photograph of Sketcher with his arm around a young woman. He shoved the picture back in and stood up.
“Nothing. We’ll find out who did this, and I’m gonna enjoy killin’ his ass.” Rock clenched his jaw, rammed his hands into his pockets, and followed Hawk, Jax, and Banger to their cars. He glanced one last time at the lifeless body, then drove away.
When they entered the clubhouse, anger and sadness crackled in the air; the brothers had a soft spot for the likable twenty-six-year-old.
“Who the fuck snuffed the kid?” Bear asked as he shuffled behind Rock to the meeting room.
“Not sure yet, but I’m gonna find out,” Rock answered.
Banger had called an emergency church regarding Sketcher and the encroaching threat of hard-core drugs in Pinewood Springs. The Insurgents knew meth was the drug of choice for some of the residents in town, but dealing coke, acid, and H in the county just didn’t sit well with the brothers. There was no way in hell they were going to allow that shit to come through; they didn’t want to blow their tacit agreement with law enforcement that they’d keep that shit out of Pinewood Springs in exchange for the badges looking the other way at some of the club’s indiscretions.
As the brothers let their rage over what happened to their informant spill out, Skinless came in and went over to Banger. The president looked at the group. “The prospect says the fuckin’ badges are in the great room.”
“I’m surprised they found Sketcher so fast. They usually can’t find their ass with both hands,” Chas said, and several members chortled and grunted.
“Tell them we’re in church and they need to wait,” Banger told Skinless. The young man nodded and left the room.
“Hold up. I’ll go out and stall the fucks,” Rock said.
When he entered the great room, he saw two assholes in uniform and one in a suit. He went over to the bar and leaned against it, his foot propped up on a chair. The one in the suit came over.
“I’m Detective McCue, and I have a few questions about Tommy Horace.”
Rock jutted his jaw out, smoothed down his cut, and snapped his fingers at Skinless, who promptly placed a shot of whiskey in front of him. Curling his fingers around the shot glass, he threw back the dark amber liquid, then crossed his arms. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talkin’ about.” He motioned to Skinless for another.
“His street name is Sketcher. Know him now?” McCue shifted from one foot to the other.
Rock shrugged.
Putting his pad back inside his suit jacket, McCue stared at Rock. “The word is he was an informant for the Insurgents. He was found murdered in Crenshaw Park.”
Rock stared deadpan at him and didn’t say a word.
“We can do things the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is that you and your fellow club members cooperate and tell me what you all know about the killing. And the hard way is that I tear your clubhouse apart.”
“I’ve never done easy in my whole fuckin’ life. And good luck in getting a search warrant, ’cause that’s the only damn way you’re gonna get past where you’re standing right now.”
“Did Sketcher piss you guys off, betray you?”
Rock just stared at the detective until he heard Banger’s and Hawk’s voices behind him.
“Banger. Hawk,” McCue acknowledged them. “Your informant Sketcher was found murdered in Crenshaw Park, and I need to clear up some things.”
“Don’t know him, McCue.” Banger turned to Hawk. “Do you know someone named Sketcher?”
“Nope,” Hawk said.
Soon all thirty-five members filled the room, each one asking the other if they knew the person the detective was yapping about.
“Fucking unbelievable! Are you that cold-hearted that you don’t give a shit what happened to Sketcher?”
“Let me tell you something, McCue,” Hawk said, leaning against the bar next to Rock, a shot of whiskey in his hand. “If we did know this Sketcher dude, we’d take care of things on our own.” He threw back his shot.
“And we’re not sayin’ shit ’cause we don’t know shit. You’re wasting your time and ours,” Banger said as he posted himself next to Hawk and Rock. Skinless set a shot of whiskey in front of him.
McCue shook his head. “There were tire tracks and a shitload of footprints at the scene of the crime. I’m going to guess they belong to some of your members.” Dead silence descended on the room. Staring each of them in the eyes, McCue said, “I’ll be back.” He turned around and walked out, the two badges following him.
“If that one keeps getting in our business, we’ll have to talk to the police chief,” Hawk said.
“Agreed. I gotta get going home. I just wanted to let you know that next Saturday there’s gonna be a big party.” Cheers drowned Banger out.
Rock put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. The din died down. “The president hasn’t finished talkin’. Shut the fuck up!”
“As I was sayin’, we have all the charter clubs coming, and many of the affiliate ones will be here. All the officers have to be here. No damn excuses.” He glanced at Rock, who nodded, along with Hawk and Throttle.
As Banger talked about the party, Rock felt his phone vibrate. He slipped it out of his jeans and stared at the number flashing. Fire shot through his veins. Why the fuck is Andrew’s school calling me? Ducking out to the back porch, he answered the call.
“Hello?”
“May I please speak to Mr. Aubois?”
“That’s me. Is my boy in trouble?”
“This is Mrs. Crowe, the principal, and… well, yes, he is. He skipped school again. If he does it one more time, I’ll have to report it. That’s the law.”
Rock gritted his teeth as he tried to control the rage threatening to explode inside him. “He’s not gonna do it again. Is that all?”
“It is. Perhaps we should make an appointment so we can talk.”
“I don’t have anything to say. I told you I’ll handle it. I’ve gotta go.”
Heat flushed through his body as he ground his teeth. When he returned to the great room, Axe came up to him. “Throttle’s already got the balls stacked.”
“I gotta pass on the pool game. There’s a problem that needs fixin’. I’m outta here. Later.”
The wisps of frosty air from his heavy breathing ribboned around him as he hoisted himself into his truck. With the fire of a pissed-off parent burning inside him, he made it home in record time. He waited several minutes in the garage, taking deep breaths to
calm down before he confronted his son.
Opening the car door, he saw Clotille standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “I thought I heard the garage door open and close. Roche… what’s the matter? You look like a bull ready to charge.”
“I’m fuckin’ pissed! Did the school call you?”
“Which school?”
James popped his head out from behind Clotille’s legs. “Père!”
The boy’s black eyes shone and his chubby hand waved at Rock, melting his heart. He laughed and came over, swinging James up and settling his son down on his shoulders. The boy’s fingers pressed against his head tightly as Rock brushed Clotille’s lips. “Andrew’s school. He cut his classes again.”
“Oh no,” she said, fingers flying to her throat.
“Oh fuckin’ yes.” He walked into the family room and pulled James off his shoulders, setting him down on the thick carpet. “Andrew’s out of control. I’m taking over the problem full time. All your coddling and wanting to talk things out hasn’t done shit. I’m in charge now, and if he wants to keep this shit up, he’s gonna be sorry he crossed me!” He slammed his fist on the coffee table and it splintered. James jumped and then began to cry.
“Calm down,” Clotille said as she knelt down and put her arms around the young boy, pressing him close to her. “Anger fighting anger never solved anything.”
Rock’s heart lurched when he saw big tears rolling down his three-year-old’s face. In a flash, he was back in his house in Lafayette, cowering in a corner as his dad ranted and smashed up the small living room. Fuck! I don’t want James to be scared of me. Shit.
He went over to Clotille and gently took James from her, hugging him against his chest. “Mon doux petit fils, ne pleure pas. Père isn’t mad at you. Don’t cry.” With his thumb, he gently wiped away his son’s tears. After several minutes, James calmed down and squirmed to get back on the floor. Rock bent over and set him down, and the small boy grabbed a bright red firetruck under the table. As he played, Rock caught Clotille’s gaze. “This is one of the reasons I don’t want you working. The kids need you in the home.”
“I’m not working and Andrew is still acting up. He needs to see a therapist to help him with any unsolved issues he has. The school has recommended it many times.”
