by Dez Burke
She won’t. My college intern is basically useless. I’m on my own here. If I want a story, I’ll have to get it all by myself. I hit the off button in frustration and lean back against a steel pole holding up the chain link fence surrounding the clubhouse. It occurs to me that it might possibly be electrified, and I quickly move away from it.
It’s burning me up inside to be this close to a big story and still blow it. Not only am I close to the story, I was physically in the story and yet I’m still failing miserably.
I screwed things up with Toby too. I should have known he would see right through me. Taking the direct approach might’ve worked better rather than the “I came to say thank you’ excuse for showing up at his house. Now he doesn’t trust me at all, and I can’t blame him.
“Hey look! It’s a drone!”
A young cameraman standing next to me taps my arm and points to the sky. A wobbly drone is making its way over the trees behind the clubhouse.
“I wonder if that thing has a camera mounted on it?” I ask.
“I’m sure it does,” he replies. “What other reason would it be up there?”
I frown. “Are drones legal?”
I’m ticked off if they are. Someone else is getting the camera footage I want.
“Who cares? As long as they get the story, right?” the cameraman says with a laugh. “I’d do it too if I had a drone. Anything for the story. It’s what makes us feel alive.”
He winks at me and I smile back. Yeah, we’re all suckers for the story. Nothing beats the adrenaline rush of being ahead of the pack. And the despair when you’re bringing up the rear.
He gives me a closer inspection.
“Aren’t you the reporter from the attack yesterday? You were filming in the food court when it happened.”
“Yes, that was me.”
“What’s the story? Who are these guys? You must know something. What’s the inside scoop?”
“Wouldn’t you love to know?” I say teasingly.
As if I know anything either.
It’s better to keep the rest of the media guessing. Journalism is a cutthroat business when a hot story is waiting to be told.
I hold my hand over my eyes to block the bright sunlight and watch the drone fly closer to the clubhouse. The sudden loud crack of a gunshot rings out in the crisp air, startling everyone.
The cameraman flinches and dives down behind me for cover. I roll my eyes. A big help he would be in an emergency. The drone explodes into pieces and falls. The crowd of stunned reporters stand there in silence, then immediately rush to their vehicles to go live with their news feeds.
I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
Toby shot down the drone.
I instinctively know it.
I’m loving these mysterious Steel Infidels more by the minute.
11
Toby
“Do you see anything interesting out there?” Sam asks from the doorway of the upstairs office. “Any new hot chicks? I spotted the blonde girl from Fox News earlier. She’s a sexy babe.”
He pulls out the wooden chair beside me, whirls it around, and straddles it.
I hand him the pair of binoculars I’ve been using to watch the crowd of reporters so he can see for himself. We’re sitting in front of a small window in Jesse’s office located on the second floor of the clubhouse. A sheer curtain blocks us from view of the reporters.
“Not really,” I say. “Same group of people who have been hanging around all day. I wonder how long they’re planning to keep this up?”
“Until something more interesting happens,” Sam says. “You would think the crowd would be thinning out by now. They must be starving. I see your girl from Channel 5 is still out there waiting for you. There’s a cameraman standing beside her looking bored. Does he work with her?”
“No idea,” I reply “And she’s not my girl. Maggie wouldn’t stop to give me a cold drink of water if I was dying on the side of the road if it wasn’t for her wanting to get a story. She’s one of those high society city gals. I can smell them a mile away. You know the type…nice clothes, expensive shoes, makeup applied just right.”
“That’s too bad,” Sam says. “Because she’s a hot one and definitely fuckable. Don’t tell me the thought of sliding between her legs hasn’t crossed your mind? I saw the way you were checking her out at the mall before the shooting started.”
“I’m not denying it. Except I don’t like her attitude, and she’s already tried to snooker me, so I don’t want any part of her. Got to keep my distance.”
“Yeah, it’s best not to get mixed up with that kind of girl. They’re too much trouble and it always ends the same way, so why bother? Eventually you’ll have to send her packing and she’ll be pissed off. Then the phone calls and the angry text messages will start. At some point, you’ll have to change your phone number. It’s not worth it. Stick with the Sweet Butts. They’re warm, wet, and willing. The Three Ws is all you need. For now.”
Sam pulls out his cell phone. “Unless you want two or three of these of your own? Then forget the Sweet Butts. You’ll want to set the girlfriend goal a little higher.”
He hits the screen a couple of times and brings up a photo of his blond-haired, blue-eyed twin sons. They’re sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor surrounded by every pot, pan, and kitchen utensil that was previously stashed in the lower cabinets.
“This took all of three minutes,” he says with a sigh. “The time it took me to walk out to the mailbox, get the mail, and bring it back inside. I don’t know what the devil we’re going to do when they start climbing. The night this happened, Lila and I spent hours putting child safety locks on everything in the house. Sometimes I look at their faces and can see their little twin brains communicating back and forth. Travis will glance over at Trevor and they’ll both start giggling for no reason. They know what the other one is thinking. It’s a constant mental battle. Me and Lila against them.”
“Who’s winning the war?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Who do you think? They are. It’s too exhausting trying to keep the score even, so we eventually gave up. At this point, the best we can hope for is to keep them alive. Lila installed security cameras in every room of the house so no matter where they are or what they’re doing, she can see them. Protecting the twins is a very high-tech project. I’m telling you, it’s hell having kids. Absolute hell.” He bangs his head on the top of the chair.
I snort because I know him better than that.
“You’re not fooling me,” I say. “You love every minute of being a dad. Admit it. And not only that, you’re proud of the fact that they’re little badasses.”
Sam puts his phone away and looks serious for a rare moment. “Yeah, I am. It’s the best feeling in the world. Nothing like it. Not even close. The timing has to be right though.” He puts the binoculars back up to his eyes.
“Oh no!” he says, jumping up and moving closer to the window. “It’s Aunt Leona! What is she doing here? She must’ve seen us on the news reports. Someone should have called her to let her know we’re okay.”
“Your Aunt Leona is out there with the reporters? This can’t be good. What’s she doing?”
Sam pulls the curtains back and puts the binoculars against the glass. “Best I can tell, she’s handing out cookies.” He frowns. “She never brings me cookies.”
“What? Why would she be doing that? She shouldn’t be encouraging the press to hang around. Let me see.”
I grab the binoculars from him. Sure enough, there Aunt Leona is in her blue- flowered dress hanging below her knees, her sturdy brown shoes and her white hair wrapped up in a bun at the back of her head. She’s smiling and carrying a big tray in both hands. The hungry reporters seem glad to see her and are eagerly accepting whatever it is she’s handing out. Her tray empties out in a couple of minutes and then she strides purposefully toward the gate.
When she’s a few feet away she stops, looks t
o the side, and starts walking away in the other direction. I follow her with the binoculars to see what caught her attention.
It’s Maggie.
Oh crap! “Now she’s over there talking to Maggie,” I say. “Call your Aunt Leona and tell her to come inside. She probably recognized Maggie from the news station. What channel does your aunt watch?”
Sam is already hitting the buttons on his phone. “She doesn’t have cable and the antenna on the top of her house only picks up two channels. I’m calling her now. I’ll put her on speakerphone.” Aunt Leona’s phone starts ringing. “Come on,” he says. “Answer the phone.” The phone keeps ringing.
“Doesn’t she have voice mail?”
“No, she says she doesn’t know how to retrieve the messages,” Sam says. “Why isn’t she answering? I know she carries her phone with her and she always takes my calls. I’m her favorite nephew.”
“She hears it ringing,” I say. “I can see her digging around in that big purse hanging from her shoulder looking for it. There! She’s got the phone out now.”
I watch as Aunt Leona pulls the phone out of her purse, glances at it briefly, then drops it back inside.
“Damn! Your good old Aunt Leona just hung up on you,” I say with a chuckle. “And now she’s got Maggie by the arm and is leading her toward the gate. Is she really going to bring her inside? What the fuck? The one person I’m trying to stay away from and your Aunt Leona is inviting her in.”
“Don’t panic,” Sam says. “I’ll call Rocco. He’s at the gate. He’ll stop her.”
“It’s too late for that,” I say.
In frustration, I watch as Aunt Leona says something to Rocco. He lets out a big laugh and slides open the gate just wide enough for her and Maggie to slip through.
“They’re both inside. Now what?”
“We had better go downstairs and warn Flint the media is coming inside the clubhouse.”
12
Maggie
I can’t believe my luck.
For once, I might be catching a break. As soon as I see the elderly woman climb out of her old beat-up truck and start handing out cookies to the reporters, I suspect she’s connected to the Steel Infidels.
I’m hoping she might recognize me from TV so when she heads toward the gate, I push my way through the crowd so she can see me. The moment she glances my way, I wave at her as if we’re old friends.
“Lord have mercy!” she says, heading my way with a big smile. “You’re that Maggie girl from the six o’clock news. Are you okay, hon? I saw the video of the shooting. To think that you and my boys were right there in the middle of it all. It’s a good thing they were there with you. Otherwise I don’t know what would have happened. Were you hurt?”
I shake my head. “No, thankfully not.”
“The good Lord was watching over my boys yesterday, and you too. Thank you, Jesus! I pray for them boys every day of my life and I know it makes a difference.”
“Yes ma’am, it does,” I say, agreeing with her.
I’m not very religious. She doesn’t need to know this.
I wonder who she is. A mother? A grandmother? I hate knowing so little about the Steel Infidels. I’m flying blind here.
“You’re every bit as pretty in real life as you are on television,” she says. “Maybe even prettier. You could use a little more flesh on your bones though. Why do all of you young gals think you need to be so skinny?”
Her compliment pleases me. Truth is, I’m a little self-conscious about my weight. When they say the camera adds ten pounds, they aren’t kidding. I already have more than an extra ten pounds on the lower half of my body. Luckily my cameraman knows to shoot me from the waist up whenever possible so my extra pounds rarely show.
“Why didn’t you take the day off?” she asks. “You must be terribly shaken up. How long have you been standing out here in the cold?”
“Since about noon,” I reply. “I’m just doing my job, same as everyone else.”
She frowns and hugs her brown coat tighter around her. “You’ve been hanging around out here for hours? What’s everyone waiting on?”
“We’re hoping someone from the Steel Infidels might come out and give us a statement,” I say. “My station manager told me not to leave here until I get something to put on the news tonight.” I’m stretching the truth here and don’t feel one bit guilty about it.
“Well, you should tell him to come stand out in the cold if he wants something,” she says. “It’s too dang chilly out here. And you were almost killed yesterday. Come with me, child. Let’s go inside the clubhouse and I’ll get you something warm to drink. The boys might have a pot of coffee on and if they don’t, I’ll make us a fresh one.”
I’m surprised when she places a wrinkled hand on my arm and leads me straight up to the gate. I shoot the cameraman a shocked look over my shoulder.
“Go,” he mouths silently and motions me on with his hand.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” I tell her. “It’s freezing out here. What’s your name? You already know I’m Maggie.”
“I’m Leona. The boys call me Aunt Leona. Even the ones who aren’t my nephews.”
For a second I’m worried we won’t get through the gates when a menacing-looking biker with a full beard steps up to the other side.
“Hurry up and open the gate, Rocco,” Leona orders. “We haven’t got all day.”
“Where’s my cookies?” he asks gruffly, hiding a smile behind his dark beard. “I saw you giving them out to everyone else.”
Leona reaches way down in her purse and pulls out a couple of cellophane-wrapped cookies. He opens the gate wide enough for us to squeeze through. She hands the cookies to him and pats his arm.
“I’ve got plenty more in the truck,” she says. “Can you get someone to bring my vehicle inside for me? I don’t want it to get banged up out there. There’s plenty of cookies, but be sure to only eat the ones that are wrapped in cellophane. The other batch of cookies on the seat are for the reporters hanging around out here blocking your way.”
“Oh no,” he says with a knowing smile. “What did you do this time?”
“Nothing,” she replies. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She hands him a big, heavy set of jangly keys.
“I’ll take care of your truck,” he says. “Thanks for the cookies.”
“Remember what I said now. Only the ones individually wrapped.” She winks at him and he lets out a big belly laugh.
I realize there’s something happening that I’m not picking up on. Maybe Leona isn’t as sweet and innocent as she appears. Now I’m wondering why she’s being so nice to me. When we get to the front door of the clubhouse, a woman with tired eyes and short grey hair swings it open and quickly ushers us inside.
Leona reaches over to hug her neck. “Hey Jodi, how are you?”
“I’m good,” the woman replies. “The boys are already waiting upstairs. They said to tell you that they need to talk to the girl for a few minutes and then they’ll come down to see you.”
“You got any hot coffee for this little gal first?” Leona asks. “She’s freezing to death out there.”
“Let’s go in the kitchen and check,” Jodi replies with a smile toward Leona.
She doesn’t acknowledge me at all. I feel completely invisible. I take a quick glance around the large room that is empty except for us. There’s a large pool table in the middle. Half-filled cups of coffee are scattered around, as if everyone jumped up and hid right before we came in the door. Hot steam is still coming off one of the cups.
I suspect that’s exactly what happened.
They must have been watching the gate and knew Leona was bringing me in with her. Naturally, they wouldn’t want a member of the press inside the clubhouse. It will be a miracle if they let me stay five minutes. I’d better check out the place and absorb everything I can while I have a chance.
I fall back a few feet and slide my hand in my po
cket, curling it around my cell phone. If nothing else, maybe I can sneak a few photos before they make me leave. Carefully, I start to inch it out.
A large hand reaches around me from behind and covers my hand tightly in its warm grip.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” an angry voice mutters in my ear.
I would recognize that deep Southern drawl anywhere.
Toby.
His breath tickles my neck. The familiar smell of his soap from this morning’s shower is still lingering on his skin. The image of him leaning against his doorway, looking cocky as hell in nothing but a towel, is permanently imprinted in my brain.
He squeezes my hand tighter, almost hurting me now.
“Planning on taking a few photos of our clubhouse?” he asks. “Or videos to run on tonight’s news? I don’t think so, missy. Give me your phone.”
He snatches the phone from my grip and drops it into his leather jacket pocket.
“It’s mine now,” he says with a smirk. “You’re in our house and you have to follow our goddamn rules.”
Leona stops walking and whirls around, her hands on her ample hips.
“Toby!” Leona scolds. “How many times have I told you boys not to use the GD word? Especially in front of a lady! I don’t like it when you use the Lord’s name in vain. You should know better than that.”
He appears contrite for a moment.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he says. “I’m working on it. I picked up some bad language in the Marines. It’s an awful habit. I’m trying to quit. I promise.”
“You probably picked up lots of nasty things,” she replies. “Doesn’t mean you need to be spreading them around. Jodi, do the boys use that kind of language in the clubhouse all the time?”
Jodi looks over at Toby and winks, then back at Leona.
“No, not much,” Jodi says. “Occasionally they’ll slip up now and then. Otherwise they’re pretty good about the cussing.” She waves toward the stairs. “Toby, why don’t you take the girl on up to the office? I want to sit down and have a chat with Leona in the kitchen. Catch up on some things.”
