by Cherise West
Whoever they were, we pass the crowd by. None of them shatter my windshield, or my legs. I exhale sharply in relief.
“You know, Ms. Lewis,” Billy Boy says, plucking the cigarette from between his lips, “when Little Tony came back from California, I was there, waiting for him at the airport. Even paid to have his hog shipped back across the country. And y’know what the first thing he said to me was?” Billy guffaws. “’Don’t ever call me ‘Little’ Tony, again.’ That’s what he said. Can you believe that? Ungrateful shit,” Billy grouses through a haze of smoke and rasping laughs. “That’s just how Tony’s always been, though. Three years, rambling along the roads in California, keeping a low profile. It’s what Quentin wanted. Then the old man croaked, left us a-shambles. So the golden boy comes back to show us what’s what,” Billy elaborates. Hands hard on the steering wheel, I consider yanking the car into a passing roadsign, or leaping from an open driver’s-side door to escape Billy’s horror-inducing grip.
“I was happy to see him again, even if he’s an ungrateful bastard,” Billy puffs, then tosses the burned out cigarette butt out of his cracked window. “You know about Tony and me? You know how important that boy is to me?” Billy grins ominously, waiting for an answer.
“…No,” I respond weakly, shaking my head.
“Hah! I shoulda known. Girlie who thinks she knows all the Wardogs, doesn’t know about me an’ Tony. Did you even know Tony existed before he showed up that day in court?” Thankfully, Billy doesn’t wait for me to squeak out a fear-filled answer this time; my eyes stay locked on the road, waiting and begging for another direction from him, somewhere off of this desolate stretch of alleyway. “I knew Anthony’s parents growing up,” he breathes in deep with a fondness on his tone. “Good people. Not Wardogs, no. Knew them back before we’d even had us a club, them days when Quentin hadn’t gotten us a name yet, so the papers called us the Jersey City Boys. Like some kinda no-neck street gang. Crazy, huh?” He clears his throat, a disgusting and phlegmy sound. “I rolled into Jersey with the shirt on my back and the hog underneath me, and they took care of me. Good people. Their boy always loved my bike. Turn here.” He commands me along another skinny side-road, brick walls encroaching on me, the claustrophobia unsettling.
“His parents, good people they were, they didn’t like some of the things happenin’ with the Wardogs - that’s, when Quentin got us the name - and they weren’t so sure about Little Tony spendin’ his time after school every day at our garage, learnin’ to wrench bikes. It’s a fair trade, ain’t it? Make good money wrenchin’ bikes, huh?” Billy Boy barked, letting me know he expected me to answer.
“N-no,” I pip, “no.”
“See, so you agree with me!” he cackles. “His mom and pop, thought we were somethin’ more than just an ordinary MC. Just like you, Ms. Lewis,” he growls darkly. “Didn’t like their son wrenching for hoodlums. Tony argued in circles with them night after night, and when his daddy finally told him rolling with us had to stop, he took his things and he left. Came to stay with Uncle Billy. I bought him a hog the next day. See! I toldja, ungrateful little shit,” Billy’s laugh whines through smoke-scarred nasal passages. “Take the ramp onto the freeway,” he points to a side street, leading up towards the high speeds and flashing traffic lights.
“Okay,” I breathe out, just to hear my own voice; to know I’m still alive.
“Quentin saw a lot of potential in Tony. To Quentin, I was just a rabid dog, a southern boy with a crowbar and a knife and a barrel of hell to dish out,” Billy explains, pulling another cigarette from the lining of his vest. Pulling up to speed on the highway, I catch the flash of his lighter from the corner of my eye. “Billy Boy, the rabid dog. Tony, he said, had what it took to be keep me on a leash; to direct me, Quentin always said. I guess Q was right about that. Tony’s got the heart of a leader in him. I knew he’d never play by society’s rules, since the day I saw him, three years old, watching the sun glisten in the chrome of my bike. Boys like him, boys like me - we aren’t made to become prosecutors or lawmen or factory workers. We’re built for war, pumpkin.”
“I… I think people can become whatever they want to become,” I stammer nervously. The flash of cars past me on the highway startles me each time, the whirr of tires and engines blaring unsettling my every nerve, all of my composure balanced on a thin wire.
“I thought so too, once. So did Little Tony,” Billy puffs, plumes of smoke wafting into my view. “That’s part of the reason he left for Cali. Quentin just let his golden boy go. Think the old man, god rest him, was startin’ to go soft after all the years rollin’ hard with the Wardogs. Tony hadn’t ever seen the world outside New Jersey,” Billy wheezes, “and he needed to know if somethin’ was… I guess, waiting for him out there. I knew, though. I knew he’d be back. Wardogs are Wardogs for life, pumpkin. It’s in our blood. Some bastard sent Quentin to Hell, and Tony came back. He didn’t have a choice. Pull off on exit 17,” he dictates. One mile ahead, the sign tells me. I kick the gas, hoping to make this mile the shortest I’ve ever driven.
“So, sugar,” he taps his chin, a cloak of smoke hanging about his demented visage, “do you know why I could possibly be telling you all of this, about Tony? About me, our lives together?” he asks.
“I’m… I’m not…” I swallow hard. Only a half a mile to go. I pump the gas, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Almost safe. Keep your head on, Mara.
“I’m telling you all this, Ms. Lewis, because I feel that you may need ta understand just how important Little Tony is to the Roarin’ Wardogs. And not just to the Roarin’ Wardogs,” he holds up a finger, “but to me. Personally. I’ve watched that boy since he was two years old. You understand that? Two years old,” he repeats gravely. “Quentin and I raised that boy. We groomed him. He was the closest thing either of us had to a son. More a son to Quentin than Quentin’s own sons, the two yuppie, white-collar fucks, moved off to NYC and left poor Quentin heartbroken. Tony’s all he had. Tony’s all the Wardogs had. I love that boy, Ms. Lewis.”
“I’m… I’m sure you do,” I whimper. My headlights flash against the luminescent paint on the sign ahead - ‘EXIT 17’. I pull hard to the side, secretly hoping to throw Billy Boy out the side of the car. Unfortunately, the puff-puff of his cigarette assures me he’s still here, subtly threatening me.
“I love that boy. And most importantly, we need him, Ms. Lewis. And I’m not gonna let anyone get between Tony and the Wardogs, do you understand that?” Billy seethes. “Pull left here.” At the intersection, my heart racing, fear shaking me like a leaf blowing in an autumn wind, I hesitantly turn down another sideroad. Ahead I see the muted glow of lights flashing against a sea of chrome. Bikers, gathered outside of some dive, pumping punk-rock at full bore.
“I love him,” Billy Boy continued, “and I’m not going to have any women come into his life that upset what he’s meant to do. Understand, pumpkin?”
“I don’t know… what…”
“You might play coy with those cops, and with the rest of the Wardogs, but I ain’t the rest of the Wardogs, Ms. Lewis,” Billy whispers dangerously. “I know you didn’t just happen on XKZ, my bar, and Tony’s bar, all on your lonesome that night. And I know Tony called the Dogs off you because, bless him, he’s got this cockeyed thought that the Wardogs oughta act civilized to you. I don’t know what he’s got in his head there, but I also know, from the way he won’t go into court with us no more, that you’ve got something on him; some hold over him, Ms. Lewis.” The threatening tone in his voice deepens and while I had hoped all this would end peacefully, the closer I pull towards this biker-dive ahead, the more I feel terror tingling in my limbs; my stomach throbs in unsettled pain.
“I… I’m not, please…”
“Oh, you don’t gotta say please,” Billy barks, a disgusting lewdness in his voice. “Yer a lucky girl. Tony don’t want a hair on your pretty head harmed. Quentin was right, about me,” he takes a long drag, making me wait. “I’m a wild do
g. Tony’s got my leash, and if he asks me to respect that wish, I respect it. But even the most loyal dogs, Ms. Lewis,” he hums, “even the most loyal dogs… you starve them enough, and then you toss a piece of meat right in front of them… well, in them cases, it don’t matter much who’s holding the leash. Pull over.” I don’t want to obey; my pulse pounds in my throat, and my eyes search for something, anything that can stop him; any protection, any escape. Someone I can scream my lungs out to, begging for help. I pull aside. I put the car in park. We sit in a painful silence for a long moment, before Billy finally speaks.
“Good talk, Ms. Lewis,” he grins his disgusting grin. “I’m glad we got to chat. Now, remember my advice, huh? Don’t go leavin’ your car doors unlocked in nasty parts of town. That, and Little Tony. Just think about what I said, huh?” with a pleased grunt, Billy Boy gets out of the car, smiling sick to me one more time before slamming the door shut.
I wait for him to stroll up through the rows of chrome and steel, just out of sight, before I start to cry. I start to cry, tears gushing from my eyes, my breath quivering. I knew I had a difficult task ahead of me, taking the Wardogs on; I knew from the day I enrolled in law school it wouldn’t be easy, and I told myself I couldn’t let the threats stop me.
But this is different. I can’t stop dreaming about him every day, and now I know, my life is on the line because of it. I look at my phone, a blur of light through all the tears, looking at the messages I sent him again. Police, the state attorney, the FBI, they can all protect me from the Wardogs.
Who can protect me from myself?
Chapter 13
“Are you okay in there Mara?” Rita asks, knocking on the door to the lady’s room. I’d like to be frank; I’d like to tell her I’m not. Since my encounter with Billy Boy three days ago, I haven’t gotten a single night of restful sleep. My skin washed out and bags heavy beneath my eyes, I’ve spent most of that time weak, confused; terrified, eye always watching my front window, worried about who might be wandering along my driveway. This is my first day back in court since then; the morning after my ‘drive’ I couldn’t even step outside the front door. Every time Mr. Joseph roared up one of his old V8s I’d jump up startled; every time I’d hear the howl and the rumble of a train in the distance, I’d flash back to the night they chased me through the rain; the night they howled like whooping dogs, ready to smash my car and kill me.
The night that Tony protected me; the night I had with him. It had been maybe the best night of my life, but everything stemming from that one night is now killing me.
This morning, stepping out into the sun, I saw Billy Boy’s face in my rear-view mirror; on every billboard from my house to the courthouse. Glaring at me with that sickening, toothy grin. I could smell the cigarette stink clinging to the upholstery of my car. It made me nauseous, a feeling that’s stuck with me all the way into the courtroom, and worsened during my first hearing this morning. Judge Prince took mercy on me, wrapping the hearing up quick and letting me try to adjust myself for a few minutes. Sure. The most dangerous biker gangers in the state, after me, one of them knowing the night of passion I shared with his boss…
How exactly does one adjust to this?
“I’ll be fine, just… just give me a second,” I call out to Rita, looking at myself in the mirror. No makeup today; my hair a lazy ponytail, like the morning after Tony and I were together. The same oversized suit, though I look even more skeletal today, my body drained by this days-long illness. Just keep it together for a while longer, Mara. I have to look my best, hold my head high - because I know who’s up next. Butcher, one of the Wardogs’ muscle; Jackson got his continuance, and now he’s contesting the bail and trial date. I’ll have to stare all three of the wonder team of scumbags down - Butcher, his tattoos and cold eyes; Lisa, sneering at me, and Dolph, playing friendly while protecting the worst of the worst.
Wiping tears and sweat from my eyes, I straighten my jacket, tighten my ponytail. This is as good as it’s going to get. Emerging into the hallway again, Rita eyes me up and down.
“You don’t look like you’re alright, Mara,” she comments wryly.
“I’ll be… I’ll be fine, just a hard couple of days,” I smile. I haven’t told Rita, or anyone, about the drive with Billy Boy, or the things he’d said. A normal person would have driven to the police department. A smart woman, one who has actual friends in the police department, would have been just called Greg or Renee, or the chief of police, or someone; anyone. I’m a stupid woman. I’m a woman who spent a lusty night sexually entwined with the leader of the most notorious gang of miscreants in New Jersey. If I ask someone to help, how long will it be until the world finds out?
“We were all worried about you, when you told us you couldn’t come in a few days back. Not like you,” Rita announces warily. I start the walk down the hall towards the courtroom, and Rita follows. “Who’s got you down, girl? You know I won’t hesitate to smash them over the head with this here nightstick,” she whispers, thumbing the thread of the club hung from her waist.
“No, it’s fine, Rita, just… under the weather,” I exhale. Each time I lie, I think about my exchange with Tony, where I prided myself on my honesty. Now the lies and the stories and excuses have become exhausting to keep track of.
“Well, weather or no, I’ve got good news for you, honey. Remember all those hollering, irritating ruffians used to pile into the hearings for these Wardogs friends of yours?” Rita asks; my attention piqued, I stop in the middle of my gait and turn to her.
“What?” I demand. “What happened with the Wardogs?”
“Judge Prince ordered them barred from the building for the hearing today,” Rita chimes with a smile. “I made sure to do my part. Bart and I had to muscle the tall one, Scare? Through a back door when they tried to barge into the gallery, earlier.”
“Barge into the gallery? Where was I?” I ask, confused.
“Where you’ve spent most of the morning, hun,” Rita gestures back towards the bathroom. The morning’s been a mess of nausea and fatigue and misery, and I can barely remember most of it. But what I do remember of it was spent in the bathroom, so I guess she’s right. The thought provides a little comfort - no Wardogs interfering this morning, though facing down Butcher will be enough on its own. Who knows what Billy Boy may have said to one of his most important Wardogs about Tony and I?
“Thanks, Rita,” I mumble, when we reach the door to the courtroom.
“Take care of yourself, okay, Mara? You’re going to make it through this,” she consoles me. The lies have gotten so deep that it hurts me like a dull hammer to the back of the head each time someone reassures me of my own safety. No one really knows, because I won’t let them know. I can’t. What would happen if the world knew that I’d spent a night with Tony? With my greatest enemy? My career, this whole case of the Wardogs could come crashing down. Who knows what would happen to him, if anyone except Billy Boy knew. Maybe they do. One night of want ruining both of us. I crave him every night, but should I?
The courtroom doors open. I walk through the empty gallery; Judge Prince’s eyes roll over her paperwork, while the defense team sits waiting in silence, their eyes landing onto me as I stride into the courtroom. Scott looks up lazily from the papers leaning against his knee, sipping on his coffee with an expression of mild disdain on his face. My head spins and pain squeezes my stomach. I’m not ready for this, but I have to pretend to be.
“It’s nice of you to join us, Ms. Lewis,” Lisa Marino’s smarmy voice slithers into my ears as I pass through the door to the gallery. “Dolph and I thought maybe you’d taken a brief vacation from your personal vendetta against the Wardogs members. Unfortunate to see you haven’t.”
“Lisa, I’m not really in the frame of mind to trade sarcastic and unprofessional barbs with you today, so let’s just stick to the briefings and what’s on the docket, okay?” I plead. “Any other day, sure, I’d be happy to verbally bury you for being a shoddy attorney work
ing for the most unscrupulous ball of pus in New Jersey, to defend the scum of the earth, but today’s not the day.” Lisa’s nose wrinkles.
“I didn’t jab at you at all today, Mara, that feels a little uncalled for,” Jackson retorts.
“Can we keep the court civil today and just get on with the case, please?” Judge Prince interjects in our hushed conversation. “This is a courtroom, not a water cooler nor a frat house. Mr. Jackson, Ms. Marino, you’ve asked for a continuance to deal with pleading and bond issues. What’s the problem here?”
“Actually,” Dolph stands from his chair, pacing in the front of the courtroom. My stomach rumbles and a pressure rushes through my throat; my legs wobble, and everything hurts. “We’ve come with new evidence in the case against my client, particularly regarding the prosecution’s failure to disclose certain facts to the court, and to the defense.” I glance across the aisle, nerves clear in the tint of my widened eyes; Butcher watches me with a dead smirk on his lips.
“Mr. Jackson, this isn’t about discovery,” Prince chastises, “nor is this a hearing on your particular distaste for Ms. Lewis, for Mr. Stone, or for their office. This is about your particular client and his particular crimes against the people of the state of New Jersey. I’m tired of the spectacles you and Ms. Marino savor,” Prince’s voice raises, more than I’ve ever heard from soft-spoken judge. “Get on with your point, or get out of my courtroom.”
“Judge Prince, we feel this is a particularly salient point, given this court’s previous discussion on Ms. Lewis’s questionable relationships,” Lisa interjects, pacing along with her boss. I freeze; the pain worsens in every limb, a dull but intense hurt, a lot like a lingering hangover. Butcher stares at me, immensely pleased with himself. What could this be about? ‘Relationships’? Had Billy Boy told the rest of the Wardogs about Tony? About me?
