by Evie Nichole
I knew I was only prolonging the inevitable. Tomorrow was my last day there. I’d need to ride south for a few hours and meet Drake and the rest of the Hornets a day later. If I’d had any sense I would have just done it there and then, but I wanted that last date with Maxine, even though I knew it couldn’t work out. Just one more date to be around her, to make sure she was okay, and then I’d go.
Maybe that would hurt her, but in the long run it would be for the best. The hidden truth would reveal itself eventually, and unlike the bar of the same name which Maxine loved, she would not seek shelter in it. If she ever found out, she would hate me. I’d rather disappear into the sunset than let that happen.
Chapter 10
I should have let him kiss me. I wanted to let him kiss me, but as Josh leaned in, I felt that pang of guilt. Like I was still promised to Daniel, that we were married, that the crash had never happened and he was still my one true love. It felt like a betrayal, and yet, I knew that one day I would have to face up to the fact that I loved someone else.
It was early days with Josh, and he was a biker, born for the open road. Since I’d met him I knew there was no real chance of anything permanent. How long would he stay for, a week? A month? A few more days? If I was going to open up myself to someone new and start a relationship, it would have to be with someone who I at least potentially could rely on be around. A biker didn’t exactly offer that.
But, the heart wants what the heart wants. I’d have been lying to myself if I’d said I didn’t have feelings for Josh. Over both dates he’d made me feel alive in a way that I forgot I even could. No doubt I’d be upset if he left, but I wanted to see where it went. Even if it was just a few nights with someone I cared for, that might just be enough to get me through to the other side, where the normal people live. Where they get on with their days and meet new friends, even lovers, and don’t feel torn up inside by trauma and anger at the world. It would be nice to feel that way, and Josh seemed like a bridge to a better place.
When I woke up in the morning I made a stiff cup of coffee, put on some Coltrane – music I usually kept for the evening, but, what the hell? – and sat at my laptop once more. Checking my inbox, I got excited. Charles O’Malley had replied to my email! Hopefully he’d be able to help me with my search for answers regarding Daniel’s bike keyring.
It read:
Hi Maxine. Thanks so much for the inquiry! By the description, I’m pretty sure that the key ring is engraved with a gang insignia of sorts. Not all gangs do that, but some do, especially on the East Coast, which is a good thing as that’s more my area of expertise.
RBH could be the Ridgeback Harleys, a small group operating just outside of Boston. Their insignia though is a hog with tusks, but yours sounds like a half circle which could even be a bay. If that’s the case then I’d be more inclined to say that the key belongs to someone in the Rip Bay Hornets. A very peculiar group of bikers, more secretive than most. Their insignia is a bay shaped in a smile, with almost devil like eyes above it, so I’ve been told. Sounds like that might have worn away on the key you have, which would indicate that it’s an older pendant.
I’d really love to take a look at it if possible? I’m researching an upcoming book, and the Rip Bay Hornets have been almost impossible to track down. They don’t like outsiders getting involved in their business, and unlike some of the other bike crews or gangs, try to keep a lower profile. You won’t see them wearing any markings which would identify them. They won’t wear gang specific tattoos either. In fact, until now, this sounds like the only way to know if someone is actually one of them.
I’m only a couple of hours drive away from where you are, I was wondering if it would be at all possible to meet up so that I could look at the pendant? I’d be happy to answer any questions you have then.
~ Charles
I hadn’t intended on meeting him, but this O’Malley guy seemed to really know his stuff. Also one thing he said in his email stuck in my mind, that the Rip Bay Hornets liked to keep a low profile. The only reason I could think for someone doing that was if they were involved in crime.
Oh, Daniel, what were you doing with that key?
Charles O’Malley answered my email immediately, and within a couple of hours I was meeting him in a small cafe nearby. He wasn’t at all what I expected. He was small for a guy, maybe 5'5”, and he was balding with thick glasses. If I could have picked one person in that cafe who I thought didn’t have an interest in bikers, biking, or gangs, it would have been him.
“Ah, Maxine I presume?” he asked, excitedly.
“Hi, Charles, nice to meet you,” I said.
He was dressed like an old academic, even though he was only in his 30s going by his appearance. In fact, he dressed significantly older than his years, wearing a deep red tank top and a dark blue bow tie and shirt underneath.
After a few pleasantries we got down to business. I could see that he was anxious to see the key, yet I was a little anxious myself to hand it over as well. I didn’t know Charles, and if he was as eccentric as he appeared, I couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t just run off with the key for himself, seeing as it was such a rarity and all.
But it was the only way to find out more, and to confirm if it did belong to a member of the Rip Bay Hornets. I handed the keyring to him reluctantly. His eyes lit up behind his glasses, and I immediately thought of Doc Brown from Back to the Future. He had that way to him, and that was charming in an eccentric sort of way.
“Yes! I never thought I’d ever see one of these,” Charles said, his cheeks slightly red as he perspired. “This is definitely from the Rip Bay Hornets, Maxine. Sometimes they are referred to as the Hornets, which is a bit of an honor considering there are a few gangs which use a similar name. Yet they are easily the most important.”
“What’s so special about them, Chuck?”
He smiled and turned red at me using an informal form of Charles. I could tell that he wasn’t used to the company of women very often, but he seemed harmless. In actual fact, he seemed kind of sweet, in an oddball way.
“Ha! Chuck, I like it, thank you, Maxey,” he said.
“Don’t call me ‘Maxey,’” I said, having always hated that nickname.
“Okay… Anyway, the Rip Bay Hornets are very special in the world of biker gangs. You can’t ask to join, you have to be approached by the current leader. But good luck finding him even if you want to!” Charles’s excitement had notched his voice up a few decibels.
I tried to bring the conversation back down to earth in a lower volume. “Why is it so hard to find him?”
“Well, most gangs have a stomping ground. In fact, many of them have a specific bar where they all hang out together in their territory. If you have a problem with a gang or you need to hire them, you know where to find them. But the Hornets are different, they don’t operate like that.”
“How do they operate?” I was enthralled, but underneath as each revelation about the nature of the Hornets was made to me, I winced at the thought that Daniel was somehow involved with them.
“The Hornets call their home the Rip Bay, but no one knows exactly where it is. Of course it’ll be known by some other name, but even if you found it, you might not find the Hornets’ leader there if you wanted to do business. The Hornets are very nomadic, they move around a lot, all across the country. There’s even rumors they’ve been spotted in Mexico and Canada on the odd occasion.”
“What kind of business do they run?” I asked, part of me not wanting to hear the reply.
“That’s another thing which is different about them. You have to understand that most biker gangs don’t have that high an aspiration. They might get some work as security, some muscle to sort out a small-time problem, but most of the time they just drink and ride. That’s it. The Rip Bay Hornets on the other hand are rumored to be more of a… I suppose you would call them an ‘organization.’ They take on more elaborate jobs - heists, drug smuggling, that sort of thing. I even
heard from one biker who did some limited business with the Hornets that they’re involved in assassination as well.”
“Like a hit?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick. Immediately my mind was ablaze with possibilities, all of them horrendous. Was the night Daniel died more than just as random act of violence? I’d always heard about the violence of biker gangs, but it seemed more orchestrated. Like they had been waiting for us to drive along the lonely forest road. Waiting to spring their trap. But why? What had they wanted? Was it just to kill Daniel?
“My dear, are you alright?” Charles asked, obviously concerned.
“Yes, I’m fine… It’s complicated…”
“Listen to me, Maxine. If you are involved in any way with the Rip Bay Hornets I urge you to be careful. Of course there is an element of mythologizing done about them, maybe they haven’t been involved in as many disappearances or intelligently conceived heists as whispers say, but even if 1% of the stories are true then they are not a group to be trifled with.”
“I don’t have any connection with them, Charles. You don’t need to worry about that.” I said it, but I didn’t totally believe it. That key. My Daniel. These things more than likely connected me to that shadowy gang of elusive bikers.
“May I ask, Maxine. How did you end up being in possession of this keyring?” Charles was clearly wanting to get to the bottom of the mystery.
I was too, but I was reluctant to tell him. “Charles, I’m not interested in ending up being a footnote in one of your books…”
“Heaven forbid!” he said, his face glowing red again. “Maxine, I’ve heard enough stories about the Hornets to know that I wouldn’t go printing anything about them which would put a third party like yourself in danger. You have my word.”
There was something about that strange little academic man. He was quirky, but I had the impression of him that he would be true to his word.
It was probably a bad idea, but in a rash moment I decided he might be in a better position to make sense of it. I told him everything, letting the chips fall where they may. “Two years ago, I was run off the road by a group of bikers in the night. My fiance, Daniel, was driving and he was killed in the crash.”
“Oh, I am so sorry, Maxine.”
“So am I. When I was looking through Daniel’s stuff after his death, I found that key. He’d hidden it under a floorboard. I knew it was a key for a motorbike, but that was all. Recently, it’s bothered me, I can’t explain why. It’s been on my mind more than usual. I want to know the truth. Daniel never rode a motorbike to my knowledge. It seems too much of a coincidence that this bike key would be sitting hidden under the floor, after he was murdered by a gang of bikers. That’s why I contacted you.”
Charles sat deep in thought for a moment, then he spoke. “Maxine, are you intent on getting to the bottom of all this?”
“Yes, I am.” There was no doubt in my mind about that. I couldn’t let the connection go unanswered.
“In that case, I’d like to offer my assistance…” Charles said, puffing out his chest as best he could.
I could tell he was the chivalrous type. “How could you help me, Chuck?”
“Let me do a little digging and get back to you. First thing’s first though, you’re going to have to put this bizarre keyring somewhere safe.”
“What’s so bizarre about it?” I asked, curious.
“Beyond the fact that it’s the first ever Rip Bay Hornets’ keyring I’ve ever seen in person, and absolutely convinces me that they do indeed exist, there is also one other puzzling thing.”
“What’s that?”
Charles leaned in towards me, holding the key in his hand. “It’s not a bike key at all.”
“But it’s on a biker’s keyring,” I said, confused.
“Yes, that is true. There’s no doubt this belongs to a biker, but the truth is it’s not a key you would use in a bike’s ignition. It’s to open up the fuel cap of a bike.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and you say your fiance had this hidden away somewhere safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then the real question is, why would your fiance keep a key for a fuel cap?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t.”
We sat for a moment in silence, no doubt pondering the same thing. I was also pondering something else, why hadn’t Josh told me that, as a biker he surely would have known?
My phone rang, the display lighting up my room in a blue hue. There was only one person who would be calling at that time in the middle of the night, and it wasn’t Maxine.
I picked up the phone and answered groggily: "Yes, Drake?"
"Yes, Drake, nothin’. Show a bit of respect, kid," he said. "Get dressed, and come meet me."
"I told you, Drake, I’m miles away. I’m on my way down now, but it’ll be another day before I get there to see you. Can’t it wait?"
"Sure, it could wait, but the only problem is, why is your bike parked outside a crummy hotel just a couple of hours from the city?"
I didn’t know what to say. My stomach filled with nerves. Drake was not someone you lied to, not if you were part of his inner circle, one of his Night Riders. Your job was to be a loyal little pup, and that was it.
"Speechless, huh Little Josh?" He started laughing. "Get dressed and come meet me out front. Now."
He hung up. I pulled on a pair of jeans, white T-shirt, and my leather jacket. There was no way to know how this was going to go down. I wished I had a gun just in case. As I walked down the hotel fire escape, I cursed myself for not having bought one, but Drake forbid any of the Hornets from carrying a piece in case we ever got caught by the cops. That was, unless you were on a job for Drake, then you could carry.
I pushed against the fire escape door on the ground floor and stood around the back of the building in a small alleyway. Trying to calm myself, I took a few deep breaths, planning what I was going to say.
I walked around the side of the building, the cool night air filling my lungs. I don’t know exactly why I exited through the fire escape at the back. In some ways I think I was weighing up whether to run or not... Deep down, I knew Drake was trouble, as much as he’d been good to me for the first few years, but once I was in his Night Riders, I finally saw the real Drake. The one who carried out terrifying acts of violence for cash, the one who swore us all to secrecy about that night on the road. I guess I knew then that I was truly growing apart from the Hornets, there was something else out there for me, but I wasn’t sure what it was.
When I walked around to the front of the building, Drake was standing there. Two of his closest, a towering skinhead by the name of Anton and a long haired creep the gang affectionately called Hendrix due to his obsession with the dead guitarist, stood alongside Drake, watching me closely.
"Hello, Josh," Drake said, staring me down.
"Hi, Drake."
"Where you been, boy?" said Anton.
"Around," I said, not knowing what else to say.
"It’s not the time to mess us about," Hendrix said. He was rolling up one of his disgusting cigarettes, filled with the dried tobacco he kept in his denim breast pocket.
"I’m not messing anyone around."
"Oh, is that a fact?" Drake was grinning from ear to ear. I’d seen that smile a thousand times. It was impossible to read what it meant, half of the time he would give you a big hug, the other half it was a fist to the stomach, or worse.
"Drake... Why have you come here at this time of night?"
"We’ve got a job that needs done. Sent out a few of the boys to scout out a couple of places we’ll need. Low and behold, one of them sees you driving around here. And I’m thinking to myself, can’t be. Josh is miles up state. He wouldn’t lie to me about such a thing like that... Not to his old pal, Drake."
"I… How… How did you really find me, Drake?" I was stuttering.
"Never mind that. Best make the next words count, Josh." Drake stood at me, that
grin still plastered across his face, covered slightly in grimy grey-black stubble.
Then it came to me. An out. I just hoped he’d buy it. "I came here to look for my dad. I didn’t want you worrying about it."
Drake’s smile disappeared. He walked over to me. With each footstep I could feel dread in my veins. It was difficult to hide my nerves, if I showed them he’d know I was lying. Standing now a few centimeters in front of me, I could smell his tobacco stained breath.
"Why would you hide something like that from me?" he asked, quiet yet forceful.
"I know how loyal you are to your guys, I didn’t want you beating up on him because he abandoned me as a kid." It was a long shot, but worth a go.
"My dear boy," Drake said, the grin reappearing like the sun from behind a cloud. "Come here."
He put his arms around me, and gave me a big hug. To an outsider they might have thought Drake was being a nice guy, looking out for his friend. But I knew different. I’d catered to his ego, made him feel good about himself – a protector of his men.
"Did you find him?" he asked enthusiastically.
"No, not yet. I just need one more day, if that’s okay with you? If I can’t find him, I’ll come back to my real family." I was laying it on thick, but it seemed to be working.
"Of course! One more day should be fine. Tell me, why do you think he’s here?" Drake stared at me, a blank expression on his face.
"Just a rumor I heard. Remember a couple of months ago when we were out at San Antonio?"
"Yeah, I remember, Josh."
"This biker said he knew my dad, and said he was always hanging around a bar here... The Hidden Truth it’s called. I just want to wait around one more day to see if it’s really him. If that’s okay with you, Drake?"
