by Zahra Girard
And then we get up to the event. The murder. Execution, really.
“I need a second, please,” I say and my lawyer motions for them to stop the tape.
“Take all the time you need, Ms. Harper,” Officer Brodeur says. “I know this isn’t an easy thing to talk about.”
Officer Fischer just flexes his writing hand and gives me a frustrated look. He has a face and a demeanor that should be permanently behind a desk somewhere, well out of any interaction with the public.
It doesn’t take me long to prepare myself to talk about the murder. I want this over with as much as anyone. I want to leave this whole MC mess behind me.
“My boss and I were the last ones in the office. Then, when he finished whatever it was he was working on and reminded me to email him some of the marketing stuff I was working on so he could have it ready Monday morning, he left. He turned off the lights as he left. He was only gone for maybe a minute before he came back. He’d forgot his coffee cup. On his way out the second time, I snuck a peek out the window just to make sure he was gone — he was kind of an asshole and I just wanted to be sure I’d be able to finish up my work without any of his, uh, commentary.”
“Understood,” Officer Brodeur says with a bit of a wry smile. “You got all that down, Fischer?”
“Yeah. Keep going, Harper.”
“A car pulled up while Bob was heading to his car. This new car was one of those lowriders. It was black, or at least a dark enough color that it looked black. It moved up to kind of block Bob’s car in, and then a man got out. He shot Bob first. Then a second man got out of the car and he took the gun from the other guy. He shot Bob a few more times, and then the two of them drove away.”
“So there were two shooters?”
“Yes.”
“But just one gun?”
“That I saw.”
“Did you get a look at either of the two men who shot your boss?” Fischer says, looking at me intently.
I pause to think. Fury’s warning echoes in my thoughts. I need to watch my words.
“Just one of the men. The guy who first shot my boss. He had a tattoo of the number ‘45’ on his face.”
Officers Fischer and Brodeur share a look.
“You sure?” Brodeur says. “The number ‘45’?”
I nod.
“And the other man?” Fischer says.
If I shut my eyes, I’m sure I could recall a lot of small details about that man. The way he walked, the swagger that marked him as being in some kind of gang and the leather biker’s cut that confirmed it.
But there’s no way in hell I’m getting myself more involved with any MC. I’m deep enough as it is and I’m trying to leave that behind.
“Sorry. I can’t help you there. I only got a look at the first man.”
I have to leave this life behind. Whatever the cost.
Chapter Nine
Riot
“Huh, well if that don’t beat all,” Creole mutters to himself as he sets his cell phone down on the table.
The three of us, Duke, Creole, and I, are in a small tavern not far from the hotel Red’s staying at. There’s some AC/DC blaring from the jukebox, there are some beat-up old pool tables, the place smells like cigarettes, and the drinks are cheap. It’s not a bad place to spend a morning.
Duke and I both look up from our beers. Duke’s deep into his fourth and he’s been drinking angry this whole morning. Working under Creole — the man who beat him out for the enforcer’s spot — has him itching for action even more than me.
“Bout fucking time. What’s the word from Fischer?” He says.
“The witness says it was some local gang that took out our guys. Some small-timers that call themselves the 45th Street Kings.”
“What the hell?”
“My thoughts too, my friend,” Creole says. “Fischer says these boys mostly sell drugs on the small-scale and run a couple cockfighting and dog fighting operations.”
“You shitting me?” Duke says, finishing his beer and snapping his fingers to get the bartender’s attention to bring him another. “Cockfighting? And now they’re trying to move in on our operation? The fuck are they thinking?”
“Maybe they’re thinking they want to move on up to the big time. Everyone’s got to start somewhere, and these boys are going to learn they made a very big mistake. Ambition has its price, and I doubt these small-timers have the means to pay it,” Creole says, casually. “Now it’s time for us to move onto the cleanup.”
“Shouldn’t we get backup, first? Unless you just want to charge in, locked and loaded, and put these 45th Street fuckers in the ground,” Duke says. His eyes light up just talking about killing. He looks about ready to go charging off like Rambo all on his own.
Creole shrugs, always calm and cool. “Don’t need backup right now. I figure we go hunting for a little intel first, you know? Small-scale gang like this, shouldn’t be too hard to find a few of them off on their own. We grab ‘em, we ask ‘em some pointed questions, then if we need it, we can call in the rest of the club. But we’ll handle most of this stuff on our own first with these wannabe kings and with the witness, too.”
I sit up. “What about the witness? She’s done with this. She’s not involved with this gang.”
“She’s seen you, Riot. She knows enough about you and the MC and why we’re here that it’d make things very difficult for us if she talked to the cops. We don’t need a loose end like that hanging around.”
“Let me handle her.”
“You’re not going soft, are you?” Duke says.
“I think ‘soft’ is the exact opposite of how she makes him feel,” Creole says.
“She doesn’t need to die. I’ve talked to her, she doesn’t want to be involved in this shit. She just wants a regular life. She is actually excited to be working in a fucking office, at a desk and shit. Does that sound like someone who’s going to rat us out and start even more shit when she doesn’t have to?”
“Do you trust her?” Creole says.
“Do you think I’d risk my club? My family? Fucking hell, you know me better than that.”
Duke nods and looks over at Creole. “He’s got a point.”
“Fine then, brother. It’s on you. I mean that in the heaviest sense of the word, this is on your shoulders. You sort her out, decide if she’s dying or just what happens to her. Just make sure you do some of your thinking with your brain, alright? Your cock’s not an intelligent appendage,” Creole says. “Duke and I will track down some of these 45th Street Kings and see what we can turn up.”
“Sounds good. Call me if you need backup.”
“And share the fun? Oh hell no,” Duke says. “I want these bastards all to myself. Sucks enough that I have to share them with Creole.”
“Simmer down, Duke. This is all about control. These little gangbangers will have guns, and if you get too eager and reckless, you’ll find out that even the little fish have a bite.”
“Dude, shut up. We’re here to finish a war that they’ve started. Save the mantras for your yoga class,” Duke says.
“You could benefit from some yoga, Duke. Some meditation, too,” Creole says.
I get up and leave Creole to deal with calming Duke down. I’ve got bigger problems.
Like figuring out how the hell I’m going to get Red to trust me when she’d rather run at the sight of me. And I don’t have much time, because I know that those gangbangers aren’t going to stop at one attempt at her life.
If I want Red to listen to me, I’m going to have to take things to the next level.
Shit. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Chapter Ten
Emma
The Bluestone Room is quiet this afternoon. Practically empty. The stage hasn’t even been set up for tonight’s band. It feels weird being here at this time of day, alone, but after giving my statement to the police and then having my lawyer basically speak for me for almost an hour — and prove that he really is wo
rth what he’s charging — I need a drink.
I’m halfway through Jack & Coke number two when he shows up. The biker with a verb for a name. He must’ve been tracking me. I’m not shocked. But what does surprise me is that he’s not alone this time. There’s a woman about my age with him and she’s dressed in an absolutely fabulous business suit.
It is weird as hell seeing her walking side by side with a man in a cut.
And they are obviously close. As the two of them come in, he says something to her that must be a joke, because she breaks out laughing.
They head right towards me, stopping only for a second when Riot pulls aside a server and orders a couple drinks.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” I say.
“We’re here to see you. Red, this is Alice, she’s a friend of the club,” he says.
Alice holds out her hand, very businesslike, and I shake it.
“My name’s really Emma. No one else on earth calls me — or has ever called me — ‘Red’,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, Emma,” Alice says.
“How did you find me here?”
“When you were at the police station, you called someone and told them you were heading here and invited them to join you. You were talking pretty loud, our guy overheard you.”
“Just my luck. So why are you here?”
I say it, even though I know exactly why he’s here.
But I am confused as to who the hell this Alice woman is, and why the hell she’s here.
“I’m here because you need to come with me. Things are not safe for you here, in any sense of the word,” he says. “I’m tired of screwing around, so I decided to bring in my secret weapon… before I have to resort to using actual weapons to get some sense into your pretty head.”
“I’ve already told you where I stand on you and your club,” I reply. “Go away.”
Riot looks about to say something, but Alice reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Emma, I don’t know your story, I don’t know what you’ve been through, and for any other MC out there, I’d say your assumption is right. But you’re wrong about these guys. You can trust Riot. And you can trust the Rebel Riders MC.”
“Sure. Sounds great. Thank you, mystery woman that I’ve known for a total of two minutes. I will now place my life in your hands.”
Alice sighs, then reaches into her purse — a very high-end looking purse — and pulls out a small metal case, from which she takes a business card. She hands it over.
“I know you don’t know who I am, but maybe you should take a second and just look into me, okay?”
I take a look at the card. It says ‘Alice Riley, Owner, Riley HR Consulting’. There’s a website underneath. I pull the website up on my phone, then I spend another minute or two googling her name and company. She’s legitimate, she’s got an embarrassingly full LinkedIn that makes me feel inadequate, and several high-end tech clients.
Probably the last person I’d ever expect to see hanging around with a biker like Riot.
“She’s my friend Thrash’s old lady,” Riot says as if sensing my question. “He helped her out when her mom was going through cancer treatments.”
“What?” I say, dumbfounded.
“My mom was going through treatment for stage four breast cancer. She made it through, but, for a long time, I thought she was going to die. I’d quit my old job, moved home, and was doing my best to take care of her, but it was a nightmare because I didn’t have anyone. When I met Thrash, I was about broke and wondering what the hell I was going to do. He scared the shit out of me at first, but I got over that, I got to know him, and he helped out a lot, taking my mom to some of her treatments and just being an extra person around to help, you know? If I didn’t have him, I wouldn’t have had the time to start up my own company.”
“That’s great, and I’m glad things worked out for you, but I don’t want this. All I want is to be left alone. I fought so hard to escape this life, I don’t want to go back,” I say.
“Life doesn’t give a shit what you want, Emma. Life will hit you hard whether you’re ready for it or not. And sometimes you need people around you — friends, family — to catch you when you fall and to help you get back on your feet when life really decides knocks you down,” she says. “I would not have made it without Thrash and the other Rebel Riders being there to have my back. I was reluctant at first — heck, I hit Thrash hard and nearly blinded him the first time I saw him — but now I realize I am so fortunate to have a man like him in my life.”
“I’m glad it worked out for you. But I am not going down that road, I know where it leads,” I say. “How often do I have to keep repeating this?”
Alice frowns for just a split second, so fast I question whether I’ve actually seen it. Then she looks over at Riot.
“Give us a minute,” she says.
Riot shrugs, grabs his drink and walks across the room to take a stool at the bar.
“Who hurt you?” Alice says. “I won’t tell anyone, I just want to know what happened. I’m really trying to help you. This is serious and I care. I want to understand where you’re coming from. Please. Help me.”
She reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. I don’t know why I’m even considering telling her, other than she honestly seems like she cares about me. No wonder she’s in human resources.
“Don’t tell Riot. Don’t tell anyone,” I say, dragging the words, clawing and kicking and screaming up my throat. “But I’ve dated men like him. I used to be someone’s old lady. And it started out great. Until it got really, really ugly. He hurt me in ways I don’t ever want to think about. Ways I’ll never get over. He made me suffer until, one day, I ran away. And I spent months running, living in my fucking van, poor as fucking dirt and just hoping that one day I’d get somewhere where I can get back on my feet. And I’ve started to do that here. I really, really did. I found a support group and I got a job and an apartment, and I was starting to feel safe. I’d forgotten how good that feels and I was so happy the first time I woke up in my own bed and I wasn’t afraid. Right now, I can feel that all slipping through my fingers and I am terrified.”
I take a breath. Just putting that all out loud sends my heart racing and makes me feel like all that fear is waiting just around the corner, ready to seize me again.
“Jesus, Emma, I am so sorry,” she says, squeezing my hand. “I can tell you, honestly, that Riot just has your best interests in mind. It’s going to get real dangerous for you here in Redwood City, more dangerous than it is already because the word is out that you’ve talked to the police, and they just want to get you somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“Crescent Falls. It’s the MC’s turf. No one can get to you there. Not unless they want to mess with Riot and a dozen other guys just like him.”
I sigh and find myself unconsciously scratching at the table. I hate that the most sensible sounding option is for me to give up my independence and step back into the MC life.
“Fine.”
* * * * *
We finish up at the bar soon after and I follow Alice down to Crescent Falls in my van, while Riot tails us on his motorcycle. The drive takes a couple hours and I think about turning around or just making a break for it at least a dozen times along the way. But I don’t because, as crazy as it sounds, there’s a part of me that knows I need someone like Riot and the rest of his club on my side.
I hate admitting it, but I’ve seen what these clubs can do. And I’ve seen what the 45th Street Kings are willing to do to try and shut me up. On my own, I know that it’s just a matter of time until someone catches up with me and I’m faced with a problem I can’t deal with alone.
At least Riot is good-looking, in a rugged, burly kind of way. This — very temporary — time around the MC would be a lot worse if he wasn’t easy on the eyes.
Alice leads our caravan to a nice two-story house in a little cul-de-sac neighborhood in Crescent Falls. I park beh
ind her on the street and get out, while Riot drives his motorcycle right up to the garage and parks it inside.
Alice waves me over to her car window. She’s kept the engine running.
“Riot’s set you up with a place to stay for now. It’s safe, and it’s as temporary as you want it to be. However long you feel comfortable with, and if you want to go looking around town for your own place, you’re welcome to. I know you’re going through hell right now, but, remember, you’re safe here.”
“Thank you, Alice.”
I lean through the window and give her a small hug.
“You’re going to be fine. These boys have dealt with worse. Now, I’ve got to get back to San Francisco. I have meetings all day tomorrow. But if you need anything, or just want to talk, call me, okay?”
“I will,” I say, and I watch while she drives off.
It feels so weird to have someone make themselves so available after just a short conversation. But I know that’s how it works in the MC life. Once you’re taken in, once someone vouches for you, you become family.
And that’s what Riot’s done for me. He’s put himself on the line to make sure I’m safe.
What else is he risking for me?
And what kind of price is he going to demand in return?
“You okay?” He calls out to me, standing a respectful distance away in the driveway. “You ready to check out your place?”
I nod. “I’m fine. Just a little rattled. You know, with people trying to kill me and me having to abruptly flee to a different city. But I’m sure I’ll get over it.”
He comes close and gently puts one of his big hands on my shoulder. His eyes are intense as he looks into mine. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re safe with me. And I’m going to make sure that whoever’s after you learns to stay the fuck away.”
