Taming Crow (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club)

by Marinaro, Paula

  After he had poured a healthy shot of the expensive single malt into his own cup, he gestured with the bottle towards Crow. Crow glanced at the clock and saw that it wasn't even ten a.m. yet. And although Crow wanted to keep his head clear for the business at hand, the truth was that he could sure as shit use a stiff drink, maybe a couple.

  “Hit me and leave the bottle on the desk,” Crow answered.

  The attorney and the outlaw shared a brief look of understanding. Crow got the distinct impression that Murphy was pleased with Crow's renewed interest in the property.

  “I've got a few more files here that we should go over, then,” Patrick riffled through the neat pile on his desk. “I haven't looked at the account for a while, but Jaci gave me the go ahead to invest some of the capital. The investments paid off well. To be honest, they’re still paying off well, and I think you’re going to be pleased to find that you have a nice cash flow to work with.”

  That surprised Crow. He couldn’t have imagined that there was much of anything left for Patrick to have invested. He vaguely remembered setting up the account years ago as a means of providing for repairs on the property. With all the work that Crow knew the cottage needed, he thought the income from the rent money made it a wash financially. A little extra scratch was good news. Crow sat back, enjoyed a long pull of a fresh cigarette and took a couple of sips of the perfectly blended coffee. He willed himself to relax—things were definitely looking up.

  “Here we go.” Patrick found the file, opened it and slid it over to Crow. “You’ve got the rent income and what’s left in escrow for the cottage renovation. Jaci never touched it. Except for municipal bills. As you can see on line twenty-seven, there's a substantial amount of money sitting in that account.”

  Crow raised an eyebrow at the amount listed.

  “You mean that’s the number minus the green that you had to put in for the renovations to the cottage, right? That had to cost a few bucks,” Crow asked as he looked over the file.

  “What renovations?” Patrick looked at him.

  “That cottage was in pretty bad shape when we bought it,” Crow said. “Then it sat empty for years. I was surprised as hell when Jaci told me she had rented it out. I just assumed that she had put the scratch into it to make it livable.”

  “Yeah, barely livable,” Patrick snorted.

  “You wanna explain that?”

  “Let me just say that your ex-wife is a very savvy business woman.”

  “Why do I get the impression that you don’t mean that in a good way?” Crow raised a brow.

  Patrick drew long on his cigar and sighed.

  “I’d like to preface what I am going to tell you with the fact that Jaci rented out the cottage against my advice. Despite my misgivings, she hired a couple of college students to paint the place, bought some used furniture and a few rugs. Then she paid a photographer a substantial amount of money to take some shots at good angles and put it all up on the internet for her. Within a week, Melissa Raymoor and her son were knocking at my door with a deposit plus first and last. I thought she would take one look at the place and renege. But she told me that she had already been out to see it and, even though the place wasn't quite what it was represented to be, she wanted to rent it just the same. I knew the cottage was at least fire safe. I had insisted that upgrades be made to the electric wiring a couple of years back.”

  “You had to insist on that? What the fuck was the problem? The green was sitting pretty in that account. Why didn’t Jaci use it?”

  “I think she thought that she could take the money and use it for other things.” Patrick looked pointedly at Crow.

  Crow put the coffee mug down hard. “What stopped her?”

  “I set up the account to be very specific. She couldn’t touch it unless it went for upkeep and repairs,” Patrick told him. “After she found that out, she lost all interest in the property.

  What a fucking surprise.

  “That cottage look like…what the hell did you call it… ‘Life After People,' too?” Crow wanted to know.

  “Your tenant put a lot of time and money into it,” Patrick told him. “Melissa did what she could with paint and decorating. If memory serves, she even tried her hand at some landscaping out in the backyard. I guess you could say that she put a woman's touch on the place—it looks pretty good. On the surface anyway.” Patrick paused for a moment. “Like I said, the wiring's all been upgraded, but I think it'll need a new roof soon, and I thought I felt a spongy spot on the kitchen floor the last time I was there. The foundation is stone, and I'm pretty sure the basement floods on a regular basis. Plumbing hasn't been upgraded, but the pipes are all copper and there's not a lot of lime in the water, so they should be okay. The town put in a sewer line a few years back. We’re tied into that.”

  “So this tenant? She pays on time and shit? Does she work?” Crow asked.

  For the first time since he got into the office, Crow noticed that Patrick looked uncomfortable.

  “No problem with the rent money at all,” Patrick assured him. “I don’t think Melissa’s ever even been a day late. And yes, she works… out of the house. She actually put up a small outbuilding at her own expense and runs a business out of that.”

  “She’s running a home business? We got insurance for that shit?” Crow asked.

  “Yeah, you’re all set. I put a little extra on the property to cover it. ” Then Patrick looked at Crow. “Having that business allows Melissa to stay home and take care of her boy. I hope you won’t have a problem with that.”

  “What kind of business?” Crow asked.

  “Massage therapy,” Patrick answered.

  Crow snorted. He knew what massage therapy meant.

  “So I got a hooker living in my backyard, giving blow jobs in a goddamn shed and long as she pays the rent, you been good with that?”

  Patrick look at Crow startled for a moment, then chuckled. “Melissa is a licensed massage therapist. From what my wife, Elizabeth, tells me, she’s a pretty good one too.”

  Patrick chuckled again as he took another gulp of his whiskey-blended coffee.

  “Something funny?” Crow arched a brow.

  “Sorry, not that I’ve had much experience with that particular type of clientele, but in my opinion, Melissa is just about as far as you can get from anything that remotely resembles a hooker. I go by there occasionally to keep an eye on things. I’ve gotten to know her and her boy pretty well. As a matter of fact, I’d consider it a personal favor if you didn’t go out of your way to cause trouble for her. She’s got enough on her plate.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Her husband died a couple of years ago. I’m not sure of the details, but I think he was in the military. The boy struggles with asthma and allergies from what I can gather. Melissa is an ideal tenant, though. Quiet, never complains. I might even go so far as to describe her as on the mousy side. The thought has crossed my mind more than a few times that she probably works with her hands so she doesn't have to talk too much.”

  “Mousy?”

  “A plain-looking type of woman. Not someone who would stand out in a crowd.” Patrick grew thoughtful. “You know, she might have been pretty once, but come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen the woman smile. Except at her boy, of course. It's a shame.”

  Crow stood. He’d heard enough.

  “Thanks.”

  “You plan on heading over there now?” Patrick asked.

  “No. I need to bring the bike to the Harley shop in Deerfield and have them run a diagnostic. That’ll take up most of the day,” Crow answered. “Tomorrow looks good.”

  “Actually my schedule is pretty tight today, as well,” Patrick told him. “I haven’t had a chance to speak to Melissa myself about the transfer. I did leave her name on the list of calls for my secretary to make, but I honestly don’t know how far she got.” Patrick glanced at the calendar on his desk. “My son has a soccer tournament game scheduled for later this afterno
on. Jett and Sawyer are on the same team. Swamped or not, my wife would kill me if I didn’t make that game. Melissa will be there. I should be able to pull her aside for a quick catch up on what’s happening with the property. Either way, if you want to do a walk-through tomorrow morning, I can meet you there and introduce you.”

  “That works.” Crow heaved a sigh of relief that the meeting was finally, finally over. He had a headache and his body was stiff from sitting in one place for so damn long. Crow definitely needed some road time to de-stress and get rid of the nagging what the fuck have you just gotten yourself into voice inside his head.

  “It’s been a real pleasure, Crow.” Patrick extended his hand.

  “Oh and by the way.” The attorney looked pointedly at the Hells Saints insignia inked onto Crow’s forearm. “I think that it’s a good call you going civilian while you’re out this way. Small towns sometimes breed small minds, unfortunately.”

  “That the reason you offered to help out with the introductions? You worried I’m gonna scare off my tenant?”

  “Well, let’s just say you aren’t exactly what she’s going to be expecting.” Patrick clapped Crow on the back with a smile.

  Chapter 3

  Way to go, Jett! Melissa thought to herself, and grinned as she watched the soccer ball sail into the net.

  Her friend, Antonia Dumont, stood up next to her and cheered loudly. Ben, Toni’s husband, put two fingers into his mouth and whistled at ear-splitting decibels.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. I think we might actually win this one.” Toni fanned herself. “Wouldn’t that be nice for a change?”

  Melissa nodded, but kept her eyes glued to the game until Jett waved at her from the field. She waved back and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

  “We’re going out for pizza after the game. You and Jett want to come with?” Toni tilted her head against the sun.

  Melissa glanced down at her watch.

  “I think I’ll pass. Jett’s asthma has been acting up a little lately. I almost didn’t let him play today. I want to get him in to bed early.”

  “Okay. Next time then. Oh, and I want to come in this week. Can you check on Wednesday afternoon and get back to me?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ll have an opening.” Melissa sighed, thinking of the empty pages of her appointment book.

  “Business still slow?

  “Yes.” Melissa frowned. “Kind of hard to compete with the full-service spas in town. But I’m hoping that things will start picking up once the word gets out that I do charge considerably less for clients looking for massage only.”

  Melissa looked at Ben. “Thanks again for putting the shed up for me. It’s perfect.”

  “Glad to do it,” he answered. “As I remember, helping you with that little project got me out of the dog house. Patrick Murphy and his damn charity poker game get me in trouble every time.”

  Then Ben added, “Speaking of Murphy, he ever give you a hard time about the business?”

  “No. Actually, he has been great abou--” Melissa began.

  “Well, he better be great,” Toni butted in. “He’s letting them charge her enough to rent that rundown place.”

  Melissa frowned slightly. She loved the little cottage by the pond. And although it needed work and the rent was sky-high, she had done her best to make it into a home for herself and Jett. She really didn’t like it when Toni called it rundown, or dumpy, or any of the other names her friend had for it.

  “But,” Toni added quickly, “that’s not to say what you have done to the place isn’t miraculous! It looks so pretty with the window boxes and stuff. It’s just that I think the owners should have stepped up and made some repairs before they rented it out. I don’t know why Patrick hasn’t held them more accountable. He’s been managing the place all this time you’d think he’d have at least done something. And that gorgeous house next to it? It’s a shame what’s happened to that. Have you ever even met the people that own the property?”

  “Antonia …,” Ben muttered to his wife under his breath.

  “What? You don’t think it’s strange that after all this time no one in town but Patrick has even met them?”

  “Hey, isn’t that him over at the refreshment stand now?” Ben interrupted his wife’s tirade. “I’m going to say hello. I’ll grab Michael after the game and meet you at the car.” Ben stood, but not before giving his wife a light kiss. “And honey? Try to stop solving the problems of the world. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the game.”

  Ben winked at Melissa and his wife swatted at him playfully.

  “Take care, Melissa.”

  “You too, Ben.”

  Melissa turned her eyes back to the field.

  “Her,” she said quietly.

  “What?” Toni reached for her purse.

  “You were asking about the property owners. It’s not a them. It’s a her.” Melissa muttered as her friend checked her cell for messages.

  Melissa cringed as she always did when she thought about meeting her landlady for the first and only time.

  It was about a month ago that she had gone into Mr. Murphy’s office to drop off the rent check, and it just so happened that Jaci was there signing off on some documents. Melissa had been surprised to find a beautiful woman whose classic elegance had been marred by the too tight, too short everything she was wearing. There was also what seemed to be an age-old hardnessin the woman’s eyes that no amount of liquid eye-liner could hide. When Melissa nervously smiled an introduction and extended her small un-manicured hand in a cordial gesture, Jaci had hesitated before she shook it.

  She had hesitated.

  And that hesitation had made it embarrassingly evident to everyone in that office, that the landlady had been afraid that touching her tenant would release some sort of toxic working-class contaminant. Melissa had never felt so humiliated in her life.

  The shrill sound of a whistle brought her back from her musings.

  “Well, finally! About time this team won a game.” Toni stood up and stretched. “You sure you don’t want to grab Jett and come with?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. But thanks anyway.” Melissa had already started quickly down the bleachers to the field and to Jett. When she was about halfway across the field, she spied Patrick Murphy engaged in what looked like a pretty heated debate with his son’s coach. Melissa sighed and thought, not for the first time, that some parents could really benefit from a lesson in good sportsmanship. When Elizabeth Murphy caught her eye and gave her a long suffering look and an eye roll, Melissa smirked back and shook her head. She knew she would be hearing all about the coach/father exchange at Elizabeth’s next massage appointment.

  ***

  For the second night in a row the sound of a revving engine startled Melissa out of a restless sleep. She glanced at the clock on the dresser, got out of bed and peered through the shades of the window. Although she had finally gotten used to the fact that the sound of every passing car stood out in the quiet area, Melissa watched on uneasily as a set of tail lights disappeared into the darkness.

  She tore away from the window, padded to her son's room and breathed a soft sigh of relief when she saw that he was sleeping soundly. Out of habit, she checked to make sure that Jett's breathing was even and took satisfaction in seeing that his brow was smooth and free of the worry that kept her up most nights tossing and turning. When Melissa noticed the humidifier's low water indicator light flashing, she pulled out the reservoir to fill it.

  “Mamma?” She turned to find her small son rubbing his eyes.

  “It’s okay, honey. Let’s get you back to bed.”

  Melissa gathered Jett into her arms and tucked him back in. As she watched her son snuggle deeply under the covers, she was struck again by the enormous responsibility of raising a child all by herself. But she reminded herself that Jett would not be the first or the last child to be raised by a single mother.

  Even though Melissa knew that twenty-nine years old was a little young t
o say not ever, she was also sure that the chances of her getting married again were pretty slim. She had been so naïve and full of hope when she had married Jesse. It had never even crossed her mind that not everyone gets to keep their happily ever after. And after his death, Melissa found that she just didn’t have the heart to believe in the fairytale anymore.

  Feeling wide-awake now, Melissa went down the stairs to check the deadbolts on both the front and back doors. Satisfied that all was as it should be, she sat down at the worn Formica table with a hot cup of tea. She toyed absent-mindedly with the gold wedding ring that hung from the long slim chain around her neck.

  Melissa thought for what seemed to be the hundredth time that this was not the life that she was supposed be living. But then again she knew that tragedy was not exactly something that one ever planned. And what mattered now was Jett. She thanked God every day for the joy that her little boy brought her. And no matter what else life had in store for her, Melissa was determined that her son would grow up happy, healthy and whole.

  As a baby, Jett had struggled with bouts of croup and several bronchial related illnesses. Then, just weeks after his father died, he started to develop signs of alarmingly severe asthma. Month after month Jett's condition only seemed to get worse, and he had been prescribed a course of steroid breathing treatments. When the pediatric pulmonary specialist further suggested that relocating Jett to a warmer, drier climate would be helpful, Melissa jumped at the chance.

  She began packing the minute they returned from the doctor’s office. Within a week’s time she had sold what she could and gave away what she couldn’t. Then Melissa and her small son set off away from the freezing northeastern winters, moldy autumns and humid summers.

  While the change in climate did in fact improve Jett's health significantly, the truth was that her son's asthma was not the only reason Melissa had hit the road south.

  It was because they would not leave her alone.

  Her friends, her family, Jesse’s family were all relentless in their pursuit of moving Melissa past her sorrow. If she heard one more time that it’s what Jesse would have wanted she thought she would go crazy. Time and time again she had to stop herself from screaming out to them, “How could you possibly know what Jesse would have wanted, when in the end Jesse hadn’t even known himself?”