by Brook Wilder
Della waited for him to leave, but he just stood there, almost expectantly.
“Yeah, I do,” she said finally. “I’ll see you later, Simon.”
“Right. See you, Della.”
He finally left the library, and Della let out a sigh of relief. She went to rejoin Kate, and they both stood staring out into the darkness. They needed to give Simon plenty of time to get a head start. Della didn’t want to think about the possibility that he might follow her home anyway.
“He’s getting pushier,” Kate commented.
“I know,” Della said. “It’s not just me, right? Thinking he’s totally creepy?”
“Not just you,” Kate affirmed. “I worry about you, knowing he’s around. Stalking you. Obsessing over you. Why can’t you just tell him to get the fuck out of your life once and for all?”
“I want to,” Della said. “I’m just… it scares me a little. The idea that he might react, you know… badly to being turned down. He seems like the type who doesn’t take rejection well.”
“Yeah, but what’s the alternative?” Kate asked, finally deeming it safe to leave the library. They started down the steps. “You can’t keep stringing him along forever. It’s making you miserable and jumpy.”
“I know, I know,” Della said. “What if… what if I just went on one date with him? One quick dinner. Then I could say I’d given him a chance. Let him down easy.”
“No way. You know that would only encourage him. You’d never be able to get rid of him after that.”
They crossed the street without checking for oncoming traffic. There was no need at this time of night, since the campus was dark and deserted. They turned and headed down the street toward their apartment. It was only about a ten minute walk, but Della was so tired that every minute felt like it took forever.
“I’ll think of something,” she said finally. “Can I just ask why me? Why did he have to glom onto me? If he’d have chosen you, you would have punched him out in five minutes and that would have been the end of it.”
Della really didn’t see what was so appealing about herself. Especially when compared to Kate, with her perfectly styled blonde hair and her confident aura. Simon wasn’t entirely unattractive. He was taller than Della, and he had a nice build. But when she looked into those ice-blue eyes, she always felt deeply uncomfortable.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Kate said. “I’d totally stalk you.”
“Shut up,” Della said on a laugh.
They stopped at the last intersection before their apartment.
“Do you hear that?” Della asked.
“Hear what?”
It was like a dull roar, but it got louder and sharper very quickly. Kate and Della watched in horror as a motorcycle appeared out of the darkness, careening down the street right in front of them. Right behind the first bike was another, following in close pursuit. Della jumped as the first bike crashed at the end of the block, throwing its rider. The second rider pulled his bike up, and Della couldn’t help but note the distinctive leather kuttes that marked the men as members of a motorcycle club.
She watched in horror as the second rider dismounted and removed something from the waistband of his pants. The gunshot exploded through the empty night air, drawing a scream out of Della. Kate immediately slapped her hand over her roommate’s mouth just as the guy started looking in their direction.
“This way,” Kate hissed.
She pulled Della back the way they’d come and they ducked into an alley. They waited there, panting from fear and adrenaline, until they heard the motorcycle tear off into the night.
Kate and Della exchanged panicked looks. Without sharing a single word, they ran together back to their apartment building. Suddenly wide awake, Della tried to calm her pounding heart as their front door slammed behind them. She had just witnessed a murder, but that was not the scariest thought of the evening.
Had the killer seen them?
If he did, then Della and Kate were no longer safe.
Della didn’t sleep that night.
CHAPTER THREE
How long had it been? A day? A week?
Prescott couldn’t keep track of time anymore, couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened. Al had stepped up after news of Charles’ death, slid himself right into a leadership position. Prescott didn’t even realize it was happening until it was already done. Worse still, no one had batted an eye. Not one person had brought up that it was Prescott’s right to take over now.
But how could he?
His father was gone. Murdered.
How could he bounce back from that?
A knock at the door had him on his feet. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but he wasn’t in the least bit surprised to see Shaft standing outside, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
“You eaten?” Shaft said by way of greeting.
“Sometime this week, yeah.”
“You didn’t eat at the wake.”
“What are you, my mother?”
“Just a concerned friend,” Shaft said, pushing his way into the house.
Prescott shut the door and went to grab a couple glasses. Shaft poured out two generous helpings of whiskey and pushed a glass over to Prescott.
“Al still saying it was the Varangians?” Prescott asked, staring into the amber liquid.
“Yep. Most everybody is lapping it up.”
“This is bullshit!” Prescott growled, downing the whiskey in one breath. “The Varangians are ass-deep in their own problems. When would they have had time to cross the border, kill my dad, and get back?”
“Preaching to the choir, man.”
“I just need a witness. One person who saw what happened. Then we can nail Al for the murderer he is.”
“Witness isn’t gonna just jump out of the woodwork,” Shaft said, sipping at his own drink.
Prescott grabbed the bottle and refilled his glass. He knew Shaft was right. His best friend had been on his side from the beginning. While Al was preaching vengeance against the Varangians for their crime, Shaft and Prescott had been checking out the crime scene. But they quickly figured out they weren’t going to have any luck. The crash had occurred in a security blindspot. No witnesses to the crime, and no security cameras to pick it up.
“You need to worry about the club,” Shaft said. “Al’s trying to pull power away from you, and a lot of the guys are letting it happen. You need to be more present, remind them who you are and what you’re owed.”
“I can’t think about that,” Prescott said. “Not now. Not with Smilin’ Al breathing down my neck, knowing he got away with murdering my old man.”
Sometimes when Prescott closed his eyes, he could picture that smile. Clear as day. Hiding a dark secret. How long had Al been planning this? How long had his smile hidden the secret of Charles’ imminent death?
“Why didn’t he listen to me?” Prescott asked his whiskey. “I knew Al was no good. I knew it. I told him.”
His knuckles had gone white around the glass.
“Charles is… was stubborn. That’s where you got it from.” Shaft paused to consider Prescott. Then he added, “It’s not your fault, you know. Nothing you could’ve done.”
“I want to believe that.”
“Believe it. Listen, you may not want to involve yourself in what’s going on with the club, but like it or not, you’re involved. If this was a coup, and I believe it was, then you’re in as much danger as Charles was.”
“Al would be crazy to kill me, too. He can blame one death on the Varangians, but two? That would smell bad to anyone. Even Ramie, and his brain’s half melted.”
“You’re assuming everyone would care,” Shaft said. “Not everyone’s on your side, brother. Half the club would probably turn the other way right here and now if Al wanted to finish the job.”
Shaft had a point. Prescott had thought that too many of the Reavers were telling him to let sleeping dogs lie. “Stop fighting it,” seemed to be the general theme. Charles
was barely in the ground when they told him this. They had barely grieved themselves.
“So who do I have?” Prescott asked. “Who’s on my team if things go south? Besides you.”
“What makes you think I’m on your team?” Shaft asked, deadpan.
Prescott punched his arm, and Shaft chuckled.
“Lefty?” he offered.
“Maybe,” Prescott said. “My dad was the one who recruited him. Maybe Noz.”
“Yeah, maybe. I still want to take his temperature.”
They continued swapping names and speculations for several minutes, but Prescott was barely present for the conversation. He knew Shaft was trying to protect him, but he didn’t want to consider going to war with his own club. His dad’s death was hard enough to bear without Al’s conniving ways adding to it.
Prescott checked the time and saw that it was just past midnight already. The official time of death for his father was between midnight and one. It was practically the anniversary of his death.
“What day is it?” Prescott asked. “Friday?”
“Yeah, why?”
Prescott shrugged. “Thought I might go out.”
In truth, he wanted to go back to the scene of the crime once more, see if he couldn’t dig up some new clue. If the security cameras weren’t going to help him, then he was going to have to find something else that would prove Al’s guilt.
“You want me to go with you?” Shaft asked. He kept his tone casual, but Prescott knew his friend was on to him.
“I’m gonna do this alone,” he said. “Maybe the cold air will help clear my head. Thanks, though.”
“Just promise me you’ll watch your six.”
“Always do.”
Prescott capped the whiskey and put the glasses in the sink.
“You good to drive?” Shaft asked.
“Yeah, I'm not even buzzed. You?”
“I'm good. Gonna get home to Kayla. Try not to get yourself killed.”
“I’ll do my best.”
They left the house and got on their bikes. While Shaft motored off towards his own home, Prescott turned his bike in the direction of the nearby college campus. He figured college students were up at all kinds of odd hours. If any of them lived nearby, there was a good chance they heard or saw something that could be of use to him.
He stopped at the site of his father’s death, stood in the exact spot, and spun in a slow circle. Mostly apartment buildings in this area of town. Had anyone been looking out the window at the time of the murder? He looked up, trying to see which windows would have the best view, but saw a problem with this theory almost immediately. There weren’t a lot of streetlights on right now, and most of the windows were barely visible. If anyone had been looking outside, they probably wouldn’t have seen much more than shadows.
He walked back to the intersection, leaving his bike parked at the curb. Far in the distance, he could hear the unmistakable blare of music from various frat parties. This part of town was practically deserted, though. Al really had planned this crime perfectly.
Cursing his luck, Prescott went back to his bike. He was about to start it up when he heard voices. Thinking quickly, he pressed himself into a nearby alcove and observed from the shadows.
Two college-aged girls were approaching the intersection from the other side of the street. They were speaking quietly to each other and clutching book bags. Students. He watched them as they got to the intersection and started crossing the street. That was when he saw one of them turn very deliberately to look at the very spot Prescott had just been standing in. The spot where Charles had been killed. He couldn’t make out her features too clearly, but he was able to make out fear and concern in her expression, like she was worried something might jump out and attack her.
This was no coincidence. The girl wasn’t staring into space or checking for oncoming traffic; she was looking only at the spot where Charles had been killed. She was studying it.
When the second girl noticed what was going on, she gave her friend a shake and the two of them hurried on. Prescott watched them disappear into a nearby apartment building, a small bubble of hope rising in his chest.
Those girls had seen something. He was sure of it.
The first one had even appeared concerned or worried. It was possible she’d seen something. Charles’ death hadn’t been widely reported on the news, and most people didn’t pay attention to the deaths of bikers anyway. If she was aware of the spot where it happened, it was likely she had been there that very night. She could be the key to proving what really happened to Charles.
Prescott knew that he needed to talk to her.
Della had almost refused to go to the library with Kate. She knew Trevor was expecting them, and that this project was worth a third of her grade, but she couldn’t stand the idea of being near that place again. The place where the gunshot had rang out.
Kate wasn’t having any of it. The one concession she made was to join Della in crossing the street from the other side, so that they’d be farther away from where it happened. Della had no idea why it made her feel safer, but it did.
So they’d gone to the library, and Della had breathed a sigh of relief when they were done working for the night. Simon wasn’t waiting for her that time. At least one good thing had come out of it. She still kept an eye out for him when they left the library, but he did not appear.
Then it was just a matter of crossing that street again. It was almost the exact same time as before, too. She couldn’t help turning to look, as if she expected to see the body still lying there. But there was nothing. Only silence. The whole mess had long since been cleaned up.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a motorcycle parked on the street a half a block from their building.
“What are you looking at?” Kate asked. “Della, come on! This is too much.”
She grabbed Della’s arm and dragged her the rest of the way to their apartment.
“There was a motorcycle there,” Della said.
“Lots of people ride motorcycles,” Kate replied as she unlocked the front door. “We’ve been over this, Della.”
“I screamed, Kate,” Della insisted. “He had to have heard me, and I saw him turning to look. How could he not know we were there? He’d have to have been blind to not see us.”
“If he’d seen us, we would know by now,” Kate said. The slight tremor in her tone belied her confident stance on the matter. “We’re not in any danger, Della.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“The whole thing’s a nothing issue,” Kate said. “Look, I’ll search the web again, and nothing will come up.”
She fished her laptop out of her bag and opened it. Della looked over her shoulder as she typed in the searches they’d tried earlier that week, first thing on Tuesday. She searched for shootings, deaths, and murders. She typed in “motorcycle” and “motorcycles” and “bikers.” No results popped up,just articles from other cities or from years in the past.
“See?” Kate said triumphantly. “They hushed it up.”
“Isn’t that bad?” Della asked. “If someone covered up the crime, doesn’t that mean they’d go to any length to keep it quiet?”
“Yeah, but it also means as far as the world is concerned, this crime never happened. As long as we don’t talk, we’re just another couple of ignorant college students. So what we know never leaves this room. Okay?”
Della flopped down on the couch and let out a breath. “I could’ve sworn he saw us.”
“Like I said, he clearly didn’t.”
“Right. Because we’d be dead if he knew who we were.”
“Exactly.”
“So comforting.”
Della picked at a loose thread in her jeans. She wasn’t sure if she agreed with Kate, but she was starting to believe that the danger had passed. Even if the biker had seen them, he wouldn’t know who they were or where to find them. They were safe as long as they remained anonymous, like Kate said.
“Simon wasn’t at the library tonight,” Della said, changing the subject. “That’s a relief, right? Thank goodness for small blessings.”
Kate sat down on the arm of the couch and looked sympathetically at her friend.
“How long is that going to last, though?” she asked. “Simon has made it clear that he’s not going to give up on you. You’ve got to let him down now, Della. You can be nice about it, but you should do it sooner rather than later. I don’t see this thing getting any better for you if you let it drag on.”
