by Carmen Faye
“Something that you didn’t break,” she told him, putting her hand on his chest.
He gave her a smile and a nod but didn’t say anything. She wrapped her arms around him, wishing that there was some way to heal this wound, some way known to her.
Over ten minutes passed before he said, “You know, in chess, it is possible to make every move perfectly and still lose the game. Doesn’t matter to me that I didn’t do anything wrong. I want to know what I could have done right, or what there is to do now.”
“At this moment, the right thing to do is take me back to the cottage for rumpus sex. After that, we can check out that sushi place I can see from here, and then we’ll have some more sex. How’s that sound?” she asked, rubbing her hand across his chest, loving the feel of him.
“Sounds like words of wisdom to me,” he said with a smile. “I really hope you and Daphne can see your way past Derrick and I.”
“I’m sure we will,” she said with a grin.
CHAPTER NINE
After a sweet, relaxing weekend, they rode back together to Lakeside and then down the road to where her house was.
Hank followed up to that point and gave her a kiss. “Think I’ll go home and change, get in some pool table time. Dust off some things as well. Want to meet up and head for the club at about eight?”
“That would really be good. It will give me a chance to catch back up on some things,” she agreed.
“You worked like a demon yesterday for four hours in that cafe,” he reminded her.
“That was catching up for Friday, but this is Monday, lover, a whole new world in the work force,” she teased.
“I wouldn’t know anything about that, and happy I don’t. See you about eight,” he told her, and he kissed her again.
He pulled out, crossed the street, and zipped between the fence posts onto the dirt track leading to his house, a little rooster tail of dirt curving up behind him. As soon as he pulled up to his house, she skipped up to her porch and went inside her own, feeling like life was new.
She wanted to call Daphne and tell her all about her weekend of sex, sushi, and sleep, but she wasn’t sure that telling her that Hank was her lover over the phone was a good idea. But then, maybe ambushing her with it at the club out in public wasn’t that great of an idea either.
After several minutes of thought, she decided she would tone down the wondrous sex part and give her friend the heads up.
“Hey Daphne, how you doing?”
“Alright, considering. What you been up to?”
“I just got back from a weekend with Hank,” she said, jumping right in.
“Hank Park?” Daphne asked.
“Yes, Hank Park.”
“You should break that off. The man has no balls and is dirty as hell,” she told her flatly.
“Hank told me the whole story, all the way to the point where Derrick tells the courts, ‘Fuck the bros and the hoes,’ the hoes being you and me. But that shit is four years old, Daphne, and I’m really hoping it’s not going to fuck with things between you and me. I love you.”
“Hell, fuck what he did four years ago, Cyn. How about what he’s been doing for the last eight months?” Daphne said.
“What’s that?”
“He’s running drugs for the cartel, and not just any cartel. He’s running it for fucking Orlin Ruiz of all fucking people, which shows he could care less about this club, its people, or what we care about, as long as the cash is good. And when he goes down for this, which he will, if you’re with him, with the amounts we’re talking, you’ll be going down too, sister. The man has a rotten fucking core.”
“How do you know this about the cartel? And what makes Orlin so especially bad?” Cyn asked.
“Yeah, you probably don’t know about Howey and Margaret. Before your time. They were long-time members, founding members you might say. Damn cute couple, too. Well, anyway, back nearly a year ago now, when they were selling pot legal in San Diego? You remember that?”
“Yeah, sure, I went and got my green card and everything,” Cyn said.
“Well, Howey and Margaret, they get in real early on that, having great connections and both real good at business, and they open seven stores in prime locations. And bam! They are making money so fast they have to hire people to count it. They hired me to work a counter at one of those stores. Making $20 an hour with them. It was sweet. Most I’ve ever made in my life.”
“Alright, I don’t think I like where this is going,” Cyn said, sitting down on her couch.
“Well, if you are thinking it is going to shit, you’re right. Men from Orlin’s cartel, they come down and tell Howey and Margaret that they are going to buy into their little chain. Howey tells them to fuck off, and Knight sends down shifts of guards to work the stores for them, which seemed to put a stop to it. Except one night, the guard is late coming in for the 8 to 2am shift, and when he gets there, he finds the counter girl killed, Howey gutted, and Margaret raped and killed. Next to her is this little Mexican flag, just to make sure we know who did it and how fast they operate.”
“Ah, shit,” Cyn said putting her hand to her forehead. “So, what did Knight do?”
“He was going to make all the stores club stores, but then the DEA came in and closed all the stores with court orders and 48-hour notices. So it was done. Orlin’s cartel is too big for us to just go to war with. Knight’s pissed, but he can’t add to Howey and Margaret’s deaths by throwing us into a bloodbath, and he tells the club this. But he also promises us that this shit ain’t over.”
“And you think Hank would work for these guys?” Cyn asked.
“Think? Hell no, I know he is. Derrick and I saw him two months ago, riding up to the Orlin hacienda with saddle bags full of coke.”
“How did you do that?”
“Derrick spotted him on the freeway, and we followed him.”
“Why haven’t you told Knight about this then?”
“Well, because we really don’t know for sure, sure. And Derrick’s told me to keep it quiet, because he’s going to reap some payback from Hank. So, I haven’t told anyone except for you right now. So, no, I’m not talking about shit four years old. I’m talking about shit yesterday, girl.”
“This is really hard for me to believe, Daphne. Seriously hard. I don’t mean to suggest you’re lying, or anything like that, but … shit.”
“Well, I kind of know what you mean, Cyn,” she confessed. “I’ve sort of been secretly on Hank’s side through all of this. I have to stand by Derrick or leave him, but Derrick gets really stupid when Hank rolls back into town. But after seeing what we saw, with the coke bags and everything, I’m beginning to understand Derrick’s view point about Hank.”
“I can’t make it jell. I can’t see Hank going against the club like that. Not like that. There’s something missing, and it’s a good thing you guys haven’t been passing it around, because this has the smell of something that will blow up in your face.”
“Smells like shit to me,” Daphne told her.
“At least we agree there,” Cyn reasoned.
“Look, Cyn, Hank is back, and that’s what Derrick has been waiting for. If you’re with him when this comes out, you’re going to be driven off, or worse, just like Hank will be. This is seriously personal to the club and everyone in it, Cyn. It’s a huge open wound that we’ve never been able to heal. Just stay away from him for a few days. Can’t you do that?” Daphne pleaded.
Cynthia was quiet, biting her thumbnail and trying to think, trying to put together Hank on his bike and working for the Orlin Ruiz Cartel, after all they did, after Howey and Margaret. “I just can’t. We’re going up to the club tonight, Daphne. I really pray that if Derrick is there, for your sake, this doesn’t backfire on him.”
“I hope you are alright after, too, cause I really love you as well,” Daphne said, and then ended the call.
Her work day seemed shot for an hour after that phone call. Running drugs for Orlin Ruiz seeme
d to her to be the ultimate betrayal. Just suggesting to the club, or even just another member, that this was going on could be catastrophic to both parties.
Going through her riding purse that had her basic makeup in it, not that she wore much, she found Hank’s small brown glass vial of cocaine. She looked at the powder inside and wondered briefly if it was from Orlin Ruiz. Then she laid out a line and sent it into her brain. The focusing rush pushed all the worries and confusion aside, and she sat at her laptop, put her hair up in a ponytail, and started working like hellhounds were on her trail.
Eight hours flew by, and she was past the point in the novel that she had planned to be at by Thursday. Forcing herself to close the laptop, she set it on her little desk, then opened it again and set the backup system to run, copying all her work to her cloud drive. Then she walked away quickly and into the shower.
It felt like a battle night was brewing, so she chose jeans and a heavy t-shirt with her leather vest, which remained blank on the back. Her knife went on her left hip for a cross-body draw.
Her father taught her the draw, back when she was twelve, and set her to practicing it every day, over and over. Then she practiced it kneeling, and then on one knee, and then sitting cross legged, and then lying down. Over and over, every day, a hundred a day. Draw-slice-defend. Draw-slice-defend. As she drew the knife, she stepped forward, slashing her attacker with the same movement, and then going into her knife fighting stance, which was loose and easy to move from. Ready for anything, from any direction.
Draw-slice-defend.
She performed the movement now, in her room, with satisfying grace and speed. She sincerely hoped that she would not have to use it tonight, or any other night at the club.
She slipped into her thick riding boots just as a knock came at her door.
“Hank?”
“Yeah!”
“Come in, I’ll be right out,” she called, and then looked at herself in the mirror. She wouldn’t ask. No. If Daphne was wrong, it would be a terrible insult, and they just weren’t ready for a hit like that with them just starting out together. She wasn’t sure when asking such a question wouldn’t be terribly insulting, but she was sure she had never had a relationship that long so far.
“I talked to Daphne,” she started as she came out of her room. “She’s a bit upset, but I think it was more of a shock than an emotional thing.”
“Did she tell you to run as fast as you could?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. Or that was the meaning, anyway.”
“Are you?”
“I invited you in, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and I withdraw the question as being stupid and perhaps a little childish,” Hank told her.
“She also told me a story about a couple who were in the club? Howey and Margaret?” she said, and she headed for the kitchen with her used coffee cup to wash it out, and to escape if escaping was necessary.
While she was running the water, he said, “It just popped up? The anniversary is not for several months.”
“She just said it was important club lore, and that it would help me understand the club and its actions more clearly,” Cyn lied, and then turned around to leave the kitchen.
“Well, she’s right. It is very important to the club, and Knight has not forgotten, nor forgiven. He won’t, either, until he can figure out a method of reprisal, but even then, it won’t be forgive and forget,” Hank mused, his voice thoughtful but with the hint of a storm.
“I think it was me mentioning the cocaine you left for me that sparked the story,” Cyn told him, and without knowing why, she was certain that this man, the one in her living room right now, would never, ever, work for Orlin Ruiz. “Let’s ride, lover,” she said with a smile, and she took his arm.
He kissed her outside, and it felt smooth and strong and honest. He wasn’t hiding anything from her that he might be ashamed of — nothing.
She decided that Derrick and Daphne simply didn’t see what they thought they saw. She wouldn’t go so far as to say Daphne was making it up, but what they saw simply wasn’t right.
The spring air was a bit chilly, and she was glad she had chosen to wear her thick leather jacket. They rode slightly staggered with Hank in front and her following on the other side of the lane. He rode fast, as if he were riding into something and was going to meet it head on.
We are. We are riding into something, and I’m going with him.
CHAPTER TEN
Cyn was surprised at the number of members in attendance for a Monday evening. The group wasn’t anything like Friday night or Saturday, but it was still more than Cyn expected. There were at least fifty bikes out front and a group of perhaps ten more on the side. This, with the fifteen or so cars and trucks in the lot, suggested to Cyn that something was going on. Granted, she had never been to the club on a Monday before, so perhaps this was a normal crowd. But as soon as she and Hank crossed the threshold, the air of expectancy was too thick to ignore. The crowd had a purpose for being here, and their attention was determinately focused on Hank, and on her, since she was with Hank.
She looked up at Hank, who appeared not to notice the tension in the room at all. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and then said, “I’ll be right back. I have to drop in on Knight for a moment.” He took the stairs and she could feel the crowd watch him go.
The expectancy remained the same as their eyes followed him through the room. She could tell where he was by the feeling of everyone’s focus.
She smiled at this, told herself she was getting paranoid, and went to the bar area. Spotting Larry, she gave him a wave and he motioned to the stool beside him.
Conversations were picking back up around the room as she sat down next to Larry.
“It’s not usually this crowded on a Monday night, is it?” she asked casually.
“Perceptive as always, my dear,” Larry agreed.
“What is going on?” she asked him.
“I believe the technical term is ‘witch hunt,’ where Hank is the witch and Derrick has been promoting himself as the man with the burning oil.”
“No peep as to what he’s going to drop?” she asked.
“Not a word, but he has made it sound like it is on the level of pureeing live babies,” Larry told her.
“Oh, shit,” she hissed.
“You know something?”
“Not really, but I feel something, and I’m thinking this could get ugly,” she murmured, and she signaled for a beer.
Hank came down the stairs. The focus of the crowd once again moved with him while he moved unhindered and went to the middle of the bar, ignoring her waved invitation.
He ordered a beer and left cash on the bar for future drinks, letting everyone know that he planned on staying for a while tonight.
Then Derrick was behind him, but distant enough for polite conversation.
“Eight months this time, Hank. That’s a long time,” Derrick began.
Hank turned slowly and leaned casually back on the bar with his elbow. “You’ve got something to say, Derrick, and most of these folks are here for the show, probably at your invite. So, just say it so I can get some dinner and these folks can get back to real life.”
“I know what you’ve been doing,” Derrick said. “You’ve been running drugs.”
“And?” Hank said, extremely bored.
Cyn tensed up. “Oh shit,” she hissed.
Derrick smiled. “You’ve been running them for Orlin Ruiz.”
The bar was suddenly as still as a morgue.
Hank set his bottle down and took out his phone. He speed dialed a number. “Yes, it’s me. You were right all along. I never saw this one coming, but it’s deranged, even for him. I’m asking for tribunal.”
Hank nodded his head twice, listening, and then hung up the phone.
The room was even quieter than before.
“You deny it?” Derrick said, but there was a hint of insecurity in his voice.
“N
ot only that, Derrick, but I’m saying you are seriously twisted to even think of using that subject for your own petty problem with me.”
“I saw you in daylight at his house!” Derrick swore.
“I don’t know what you saw, and I don’t care. You’re so fucking deranged you could have seen Bugs fucking Bunny there and decided it was me,” Hank said, his body language calm, easy, and completely cool.
