by Katy Munger
She was silent, thinking it over. "I don't talk about it," she finally said. "But they may have guessed how much we were paid per appearance, and they saw how much we were raking it in when it came to tips. Unless they were idiots, and I don't go out with idiots, they would have been able to do the math. It's obvious Candy and I don't spend a lot of what we earn. For one thing, we don't have the time."
"So money could have been the motive and it could have been one of your ex- boyfriends?" I suggested.
For the first time, I saw a crack in her facade. Her face crumpled briefly before she regained control.
"I suppose,” she admitted. “I wish I could help more. But I don't know. I don't think Rodney is involved. And I know Candy would never do something like this. She's too nice for her own good and always has been. She probably just trusted the wrong person. You've got to help get her back." She actually sounded close to tears.
“I will get her back,” I promised, unable to stop myself. I only wished I was as confident as I sounded.
"Why do you really go out with bikers?” I asked her. "Just to piss your parents off?"
"Why would you say that?” she asked.
"When I went to see them, it seemed like a sore point."
"That's rich," she mumbled.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"My parents seem all religious on the surface, but I'm pretty sure they weren’t always that way. I mean, think about it. Take my father. If you look beyond the hopeless clothes and dorky hair, he's a good-looking guy. Tell me you didn't notice."
"I noticed. What of it?"
"Look at my mom. Did you notice she was half his height?"
"Of course I noticed. What kind of question is that?"
"Well, did you ever ask yourself how a tall, good-looking guy like my father ended up with a runty, judgmental prig like my mother?”
"Religion," I said. "I just assumed they shared the same religious beliefs and that this allowed him to…" My voice faltered. "To see beyond how she was different."
"Yeah," Roxy said sarcastically. "Because fundamentalists are so accepting of others who are different from them." She rolled her eyes. I bet she had been a handful to raise. I wanted to smack the smirk right off her face at least once a conversation.
"What's your point?” I asked.
"My parents are hiding something," she told me. "They’ve been hiding secrets from us our whole lives. I'm telling you, they have no right to judge the kind of life I lead. Not when theirs is a sham. What if it caught up with them? What if they’re why Candy was taken?"
I sat in silence, thinking over what she had said. "You really think they might be the reason for Candy being taken?"
"I don't know," Roxy said. "But you’re the one who said that the threatening letters were personal, that we didn't have any other roots. So maybe they are the reason. All I know for sure is that my parents have spent their whole lives pretending to be two people that they aren't. And if it had anything to do with what's happened to my sister, I want to find out. Because I want my sister back. I miss her and I want her back."
I believed her. "Is that why you're not with your parents right now?" I asked. "When a family member is taken, the family usually closes ranks. Yet you never drove out to see how they were handling it. They’re probably insane with worry."
"I didn't go out to see them because I knew that they would be on their knees praying, asking that God’s will be done, instead of doing something that might actually bring Candy back. That's how they deal with everything. They get on their knees and they pray, and while they're on their knees praying, life passes by just behind them. Yes, I could have gone out there and listened to my mother moan about how our sinful lifestyle brought this on Candy, or wasted my time trying to get them to actually take action, but you know what? If you thought I lost my temper in that hotel room than you have a small taste of what would've happened if I had gone home."
"How can you be so sure Candy isn’t behind this?” I asked.
"Because I know her.”
“What if I told you the cops got an anonymous phone call saying you and Rodney took your sister?”
“I’d say it was bullshit.” Roxy leaned across the table and examined my face. “What the hell happened to you anyway?" she asked. "You look like the biker chick who gets passed around at a party until she's found alone in a corner the next morning."
Ouch.
"I had a rough night,” I explained through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to deck her. “I was holding my own private wake for my friend. Remember him? Rats? My friend who basically died because he booked you and your sister at his club?"
It was a mean thing to say, but Roxy was no fool. She knew that I was hurting. She let it go and said in a surprisingly kind voice, "I'm really sorry about your friend."
If I didn't know better, I'd say that the Ice Queen was capable of melting.
"I just want to know one more thing," I asked her, barely aware that I was asking for myself. "Why are you so hellbent on going out with guys who don’t follow the rules? Look around you. People can be idiots. We need rules."
“I don’t give a shit about the rules,” she said. “And you know why?”
“Why?”
"The rules say you have to be tall and thin and blonde and beautiful and not very smart and never want anything that you can't get from a man. So why the hell would I want to follow the rules?"
I’d never heard it put that way before. But, you know what? Once again, I thought Roxy had made a good point.
Chapter Five
I felt ashamed of myself for losing the rest of Sunday night sleeping off a hangover. But there was little else I could do after visiting Roxy except crawl back into bed and pray I felt better in the morning. It worked. I woke feeling like a whole new woman.
My good mood lasted until I checked my phone messages. Three from Bobby D., demanding to know what progress I had made on the case. One from Marcus, who was wondering if I had learned my lesson about imbibing too much. And then the one that mattered: a message from Burly, the man who had stomped on my heart and wheeled away from our future together. He wanted to see me. Right away. I ignored all the other messages and called him back.
"I found out some stuff that I think will help you," he said. “I know you can, well, do things the cops can’t.”
"Why are you helping me?" I asked, suspicious to the end—even though I knew the clock was ticking and that every hour that passed without finding a lead was bad news for Candy.
"I know you loved Rats. Isn't that a good enough reason for you?"
In other words, he wasn’t doing it because he still cared about me. Fine. I had a job to do and I was desperate for new information. I arranged to meet him at Johnny’s Gone Fishing, a coffee shop just outside of Chapel Hill. It was close to his home in Chatham County and there would be room for his wheelchair.
I couldn't wait that long for my caffeine fix and got there early. By the time Burly arrived, I had gone through about two quarts of coffee and visited the bathroom twice. Talk about a vicious cycle.
As always, my heart stopped when I saw him. Burly had always been a handsome man, but the last few years without me had made him even more attractive.
"You look good," I said. "It was hard to tell in the club the other day."
"That's because you were too busy drooling over Cody Sherrill," he pointed out.
I ignored his comment. "You must be happy. How‘s the other half?"
"I don't want to talk about her," he said immediately. He noticed my face. "I'm sorry. It's just too hard for me to talk to you about my new life."
"Okay," I said, not knowing how to respond to that one. He felt a need to protect his new life from me. That hurt. It’s not like I went around boiling rabbits on his stove to terrorize his new girlfriend. I only wanted good things for him. “Why did you want to meet?”
His answer was simple. “Because I know you. I know how much Rats meant to you. I know
the cops aren’t letting you in on their investigation and it’s driving you crazy. I know one of the stripper sisters is missing. And I know you don’t have a lead. I may have one for you. I owe you.”
“What did you hear?” I asked. Everything he had said was all too true and I didn’t want to dwell on it.
“I asked around, figuring someone had to have heard something about Rats that might explain what happened. I know a lot of the guys who ride with the clubs around here. None of them are totally clean, and most of them keep an eye on everyone else's game.”
"It's hard to imagine you were ever part of that world," I said, meaning it with all of my heart. Burly truly was one of the most honest people I knew.
His world-class grin rose like the sun. "I was only in it for the bikes and the chicks."
"And you were very good with both."
For just a moment, the old spark was there. It made me feel better.
“So what did you find out?" I finally asked when the silence grew too long.
"I don't know if it's true, but I’m friends with a guy Rats used as muscle when he needed extra security. He says Rats was desperate for capital to open up a new club. The banks turned him down. And based on some regular visitors Rats had, word is that he started laundering money for an operation up north a couple months ago."
"What kind of operation up north?" I asked, my heart dropping into my size ten feet. If Rats had gotten tangled up with low rent loan sharks, it would have been one thing. But if he had been stupid enough to get in bed with organized crime, and then stolen from them, he had signed his own death certificate.
"One of the lesser families," Burly said. "At least that's the word on the street. He got turned on to them through a couple of guys who were running drugs for them. He says the family was bringing heroin in from Mexico going one way and exporting crank from West Virginia going the other way. When they started raking in too much cash to run through their legit businesses up north, they decided to keep the cash down south and send it to Rats. He ran it through his club in exchange for a percentage.”
"How did they get the money back from Rats after he ran it through the club?" I asked. Rats must have wanted his empire desperately to get in bed with the devil like that. He hated having to answer to someone else more than he hated drugs. He had steered clear of bringing in any sort of partners up until now. I guess he had wanted his dream so much that he’d broken his own rules. Oh, god. That made my heart ache.
Burly shrugged. "I don't know how he paid the money out. Maybe they came on board as investors and he paid them in dividends? Set them up as a dummy contractor? Maybe he marked some of the money as loans and paid them back with interest? All I know is that the word on the street is that Rats was laundering money.”
"Do you know which family?" I asked.
"The Lopresti’s. They’re from New Jersey by way of Attica.”
"I never heard of them," I said. But that didn't mean anything. The Mob’s local involvement was limited in this part of North Carolina. They had a few restaurants scattered across the Triangle that they ran their Yankee drug money through, but not much else. Most of them knew better than to muscle in on someone else’s action, especially good ole boys. Southern bad guys were just as corrupt as the Mob, but they were definitely better shots. And they liked to skin their kill. Only a dead man messed with the Dixie mob.
"Apparently, the Lopresti’s are pretty new around here," Burly explained. "I heard they got into the crank trade early and helped bring it in from the other side of the Mississippi. They've been raking in the dough ever since.”
"And I'm guessing that they brought in the violence that comes with it?"
Burly shrugged. "These are not good guys, Casey. If Rats worked for them, it's not a good sign."
"But they don't have anyone running the local show that you know about?" I asked.
Burly shook his head. "Not that I know of.”
“Then who did they send after Rats? Who picked up the money from him?”
“Maybe local freelancers? I don't know if they were affiliated with any local biker clubs or not, but I can tell you it was not the Panthers."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Cody Sherrill won't do business with anyone unless they can trace their roots back to a North or South Carolina founding family."
"Seriously?" I asked. "You're telling me he's like a one-man Sons of the Confederacy of Crime?”
"I'm just telling you that Cody doesn't trust anyone unless they're from around here. If that seems less than visionary to you, keep in mind the guy has never done a day of time in his life. He does a pretty good job deciding who to trust. And he does not trust Yankees."
I believed Burly. From what I heard about the Panthers, they didn't like to work for anyone else anyway. They had their own business interests to protect.
"Thanks,” I said. “We need to tell Bill about this. It changes everything."
"I know. But Bill Butler is your department. I'll leave that to you."
It was all I could do not to mention the phone call he had made to Bill Butler, ratting me out about drooling over Cody Sherrill. But I knew it would lead to an argument, and I hated fighting with Burly, so I let it go.
"Do you have anything else for me?" I asked. “Not that I’m ungrateful. It’s the only lead I’ve got.”
"Everything else I have is just rumor." Burly had barely touched his coffee and I realized that something about this case was making him anxious.
"I'll take rumor," I pointed out.
"Well, for starters, I heard you were out in Garner yesterday and talked to a couple of Panthers."
That pissed me off. "I knew one of them would tell you."
"Of course they told me," he said, his voice rising. "What did you expect? I used to be one of them."
"And they called you to see if you could reign me in?" If they had, it would mean they were involved somehow in what was going on.
"No," Burly insisted. "They just wanted me to know that you've been out there talking to Cody."
"You really don't like that guy, do you?"
Burly did not feel the need to apologize. "No, I do not. And I never have. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. Not even his club brothers."
"That’s a harsh statement."
"It’s also true. He's one of those guys that acts like he's entitled to the whole world on a plate. The rest of us are just there to do what he says. If he has an idea, the whole club has to go along. And trust me, his ideas always mean pain for someone."
"Like you said, he's never done time. Maybe he's cleaner than you think."
"He's not. And if you ask me, his not doing time should scare you. A lot. It means he's better at hiding the bodies. Trust me on this one, Casey. He looks good on the surface, but he is dirty underneath."
“He doesn’t look that good,” I said—and I could have sworn that Burly relaxed to hear me say it. "Do you think he's involved with what happened to Rats?"
Burly shrugged. "Maybe. I don't think so, though. Not his style. What happened to Rats was sloppy. Cody is efficient. When you cross Cody, you just disappear.”
"Did you know Rodney Salem when he was a Panther?"
Burly shook his head. "Not really. He didn't last long. I think he disagreed with Cody’s vision for earning money, if you know what I mean. I had problems with it, too. I heard Rodney dropped out of the life for a couple of years and, when he resurfaced, he had joined the Renegades."
"Kind of a step down, don't you think?" I asked. "Do you know why?"
"I have no idea. No one really knows where he was when he dropped out of sight. Some guys got it in their heads that he became a narc. But then he started riding with the Renegades and I don't know why the cops would waste a narc on them. They’re such losers to begin with. But they do know how to ride. In fact, that's the only thing they do know how to do. Maybe Rodney felt he could steer clear of drugs and guns with the Renegades and just go along for the ri
des."
"Maybe." I was skeptical. "Do you know if Cody Sherrill was friends with Rodney back when he was a Panther?"
"Cody Sherrill isn't friends with anyone unless they are important enough to do him some good. Then he pretends to be their friend. Kind of like a shark offering to hold your hand."
"Were they at all close?" I asked. Maybe Rodney had known too much about Cody Sherrill’s business. Maybe this whole thing was about him and Rats was just collateral damage.
"I don't think so," Burly said. “I heard Rodney was a straight-up guy. He’d steer clear of someone like Cody and, like I said, he left the Panthers because of him.”
"Have you ever heard of someone named Firewalker Coombs?"
"Firewalker? Sure. Every biker on the East Coast has heard of him. He's a legend. Like Bigfoot. Except Bigfoot has his own reality TV show and Firewalker never did like the spotlight."
"Did you know Cody Sherrill was the last person to see Firewalker alive?"
Burly shrugged. "That's not surprising. I heard Cody and Firewalker were friends. Or at least as much friends as Cody is capable of being."
"Isn't it kind of unusual for guys in two different clubs to be good friends?"
"Yes. But there’s a reason why. Firewalker saved Cody’s life. Someone threw a fire bomb into a biker bar over by Goldsboro one night and Cody was trapped in the bathroom. The door wouldn’t open. A couple guys thought maybe that was on purpose, that someone had shimmied the lock to trap Cody inside. The guys who saw it happen say that Firewalker threw himself against the bathroom door until it splintered and then he carried Cody outside through a wall of flames. Gave him mouth-to-mouth until the fire trucks arrived and the paramedics took over. Stone cold saved his life. It’s a legendary story."
"You sure? I heard Firewalker got his name because he survived this huge wreck on I-85."
"Look, Casey—I don't really know. People say it’s a true story. Like I said, Firewalker is like Bigfoot. Lots of people claim they saw him walking through fire. Maybe the story about him saving Cody Sherrill’s life is true. Maybe not. I've heard the wreck story, too, so maybe they're both true. I just know Firewalker and Cody were really tight."
