Rod

by Nella Tyler

  Chapter Two

  Rodney Vinton

  I hush the brothers around me with a nudge. I need to hear this. I scramble to hear the details. Listening intently to Ronan reveal all he knows about his daughter’s disappearance, my eyes wander to Trish. She’s sitting there looking beautiful, but has a scared look on her face. She is a mess.

  Ronan’s eyes connect with Trish’s. His words ring out.

  “You should go home and stay with your mother,” he commands her.

  “What the fuck?” she protests.

  “You don’t need to be here for this Trish. They could come after you next.”

  “I can help.”

  “No, you can’t. This was a deliberate act. These people want something. If they take you too, it’s more leverage for them.”

  “I can’t just fucking sit at home and do nothing.”

  They argue like they’re the only ones here.

  “That is exactly what you’re going to do.”

  He raises his voice. He doesn’t have time for this bullshit. His eyes move to the people surrounding her as if to tell them to help her on her way out.

  “Go,” he yells. “This is way too close to home. This is personal. As a matter of fact, anyone who is not a member or prospect needs to get the fuck out. This is personal business and if you don’t have anything to contribute, you can go, too.”

  With a wave of his arm, several of the guys who are ‘hang-arounds’ turn toward the exit. He raises his eyebrows at Trish as if to ask why she’s still sitting here. She gets up in a display of protest.

  “This fucking sucks, for the record,” she states plainly on her way out. I gather that she is the only person who will ever speak that way to the president of the Green Dragons.

  I steady myself in my seat. I won’t sit around. Like Trish, I want to help.

  “So here’s what I know,” Ronan tells us. “Missy called me at three PM today to tell me that Sasha hasn’t made it home from school today. She said that she called the school and they told her Sasha wasn’t there at all.”

  Ronan’s words hang in the air and they leave me unsure as to who would do such a thing to such a big and powerful man.

  He angrily continues, “I’ll tell you fucking what. I will go to every goddamned door in this fucking township – all fourteen thousand of them to find Sasha. If anyone knows anything, come forward now and you’ll spare yourselves an ass kicking.”

  I look around to find no one taking that offer. Some of the younger prospects appear to be scared at the idea of getting their asses kicked, but I remain vigilant.

  Ronan tells us, “We need to get organized, go door to door, and see if anyone knows anything.”

  Justin Hanke chimes in to ask, “What about the cops?”

  “The cops ain’t no fucking help, kid,” Mickey chirps up in his faded Irish accent. “Never have been and never will be.”

  “This is personal. Ronan says bitterly.

  With a vengeance, he tells us, “I swear to fucking God I will strangle whoever’s responsible with my own bare fucking hands.”

  Minutes pass and he calms himself. Once again, he quiets the room to address us all.

  “This is probably the work of a rival club. Damn, it’s been eight hours already and she could be in California for all we know. Even after two days, their help is shoddy at best. We have to take this matter seriously. That’s my baby girl. Anyone who finds her will be rewarded handsomely. Anyone with information that leads to her being found will also be rewarded.”

  I give no thought to any reward. I stand up, walk over to Ronan and extend my hand.

  “Rodney Vinton,” I tell him. He grips my hand in his.

  “Hey, brother,” he says with his eyes full of determination. Anger colors his face red and he looks like he’s about to lose all self-control. I can imagine his thoughts are wrought with feelings of regret or just pure retaliation for such an act.

  “I just want you to know that I will do whatever I can to see that your daughter is back in your arms, safe and sound,” I tell him with matched determination. “You have my fucking word on it.”

  The door creaks open and Trish pokes her head inside. “I can help,” she offers, but he waves her off. She sticks around so that I can try to plead her case.

  “Maybe she could prove to be an asset?” I pose the question, but by the look on Ronan’s face, it gets the veto immediately.

  “It could hurt our cause if she’s out there,” he tells me.

  He looks in her direction and says, “I need you to be exactly where I know I can find you. I don’t want you adding to this crisis. If it’s personal, and I think it is, they might come after you next.”

  She looks down, unhappily, but shuts the door behind herself.

  Taking notice of her retreat, he tells me, “Grab a team of people and get out there and look.”

  I look through the crowd of people and bypass the officers. Surely, he doesn’t want me herding his most important people like cattle.

  “You, you, you, and you, come with me,” I say, motioning to Arnold Coulter, Ken Clayton, Jason Maple, and Alexandra Tulane.

  “Rodney,” I introduce myself. Listening to previous chatter, I already know that these four know this township and most of its people like the backs of their hands.

  They go one by one telling me their names. I form a plan of attack before they’re done sounding off.

  “Let’s get to the school and start there. It’s still early, so maybe someone has seen something,” I dictate. I walk over to Ronan and reiterate my words. He nods as if to say thank you and tells me that Sasha is a student at Hinton Heights Junior High school.

  “Alright, let’s get outta here. We’re going to the junior high school over in Hinton Heights,” I tell my little posse.

  Trish sits on her bike as we gear up to leave the vicinity of the Lair. I walk over to her and lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “We’re going to find your sister,” I tell her.

  She looks up at me and says, “Thanks for trying to get him to let me help.”

  “Anytime, but I get his point. Besides, it was official club business. You probably shouldn’t have been there,” I say trying to soften the blow, but that surprisingly brings a pouty smile to her face.

  “I confronted my father just like you said,” she tells me with a shit-eating grin on her face. I could kiss her. She’s so fucking cute.

  “You did? What did he say?”

  “He made me a prospect.”

  “Very fucking nice,” I tell her.

  “Thanks again for trying, though. I really want to get out there and help with the search.”

  “Sorry sweetheart, but I tried,” I explain.

  She smiles as she revs up her bike and speeds off until she’s a blur. I want so much to be part of her little world.

  My mind once again focuses on the task at hand. Me and my group of four musketeers hit the streets on our bikes and zoom away leaving the club in our rearview.

  The school is in our view within twenty minutes. It’s an older brick building and I can tell that it has seen better days. I survey the area. Ronan texts me his most recent picture of Sasha; I share it with the group.

  “I don’t know what she was wearing when she was taken, but this is what she looks like for those of us who haven’t met Sasha Fitzgerald,” I tell them. They all look at their phones intently and I surmise that Ronan has kept his younger daughter hidden away from his day time activities.

  We park our motorcycles in a row in front of the school as we hop off and begin looking for clues. I task Arnold with talking to any school officials left behind.

  “Maybe the secretary knows something?” I pose the question adding, “I don’t understand why the school didn’t call Ronan or Missy when they took attendance this morning. Find out whatever you can.”

  “Yes, sir,” he tells me, despite being more than twice my age. He’s an older guy who looks like everyone’s happy gr
andfather.

  Arnold disappears inside the school and I turn my attention to Alexandra.

  “You know where Missy lives, right?” I ask her.

  She stops chewing her gum long enough to respond. “Yep, I sure do.”

  “Why don’t you go there and retrace the path from there to here. Maybe something will give us a lead.”

  “You got it, boss,” she says and I dismiss her. I don’t care if it’s sarcasm I detect in her voice, we’re all here to fulfill a purpose. We need to find Sasha Fitzgerald before anything bad can happen to her.

  Jason stands there without a purpose. He’s a smart techie guy from what the other members say.

  “What’s your take on all of this, tech genius?” I ask him.

  “Let me get my laptop,” he suggests in an unfamiliar accent.

  “You’re not from around here, are ya?” I ask.

  “No, I’m from Ohio,” he says.

  Aside from speaking straight-laced, his mannerisms say that he belongs in suburbia with a minivan and a handful of kids. He looks the part of a suit and tie wearing business man.

  He walks his lanky ass back to his bike and fishes out a laptop from one of the black saddlebags on his bike. He walks back over and sits down on the steps of the school’s entrance. I sit next to him and he demonstrates his computer savvy nature.

  I glance down at his fingers and they move at the speed of light. It’s clear that this kid knows what he’s doing.

  “Alright, what I would do is start from the zip code here and work out in a twenty mile radius,” he says. He types “40370” in the search box and a red circular area appears on the screen. His fingers trace the circular radius on the map. He says, “This area right here.”

  “What are we looking for in this particular radius?” I ask, staring at the screen.

  “Prior records of kidnappers, sexual predators, dirtbags like that,” he says, punctuating the final word with a tap of the enter button. A series of blue dots scatter across the screen.

  His fingers move maniacally and before I can ask what he’s doing, he’s got an entire list of names and addresses of offenders.

  “My guess is that if they’ve done something horrendous in the past, chances are, they will do it again – and that includes kidnapping.”

  “Good guess,” I say, scanning the list of names. “If you have a USB drive, you could take the list into the school and I’m sure they’ll let you print it out.”

  He says proudly, “I don’t leave home without one.”

  He sticks the drive into the side of the laptop and types rapidly. I can see his best use on display. He holds up the USB drive to show it off, smiles and disappears inside of the school.

  Ken Clayton remains perched on top of his bike, despite the rest of us moving around trying to fill in the blanks. He has a certain stench surrounding him of which I hadn’t previously taken notice. His hair is slicked back and greasy looking. He’s overweight and rather unkempt.

  “What d’ ya want me ta do?” He says in a raspy southern drawl.

  “When Jason gets back, we’re all going to take those lists and check out each of those houses,” I tell him as I look for an excuse to keep my distance. He appears content not to receive a task.

  Ten minutes pass and Arnold and Jason both emerge from the school.

  Arnold says, “The regular attendance lady wasn’t there today, so there was a sub filling in. Apparently, no one told this nimrod that parents need to be phoned when their children are absent from school. So this is a dead end for the time being. That is, unless we can talk to some of Sasha’s friends.”

  “Good work, man,” I tell him. We both look to Jason for his findings.

  He hands me five sheets of paper with names, addresses, crimes of which they were convicted and phone numbers on it all in a neat spreadsheet. This kid is good.

  “These are the names and information belonging to Hinton’s worst people within a twenty mile radius of Missy’s place,” he shares.

  “Alright,” I tell all of them. “We’re going to fan out and talk to these people and see if anything comes up. There are enough names on these lists to keep us busy for an hour, so let’s meet back up here at the school when we’re all done.”

  I pass one of the papers to Ken and tell him to visit each one and ask if they’ve seen anything unusual or know anything about a missing twelve-year-old girl. He speeds off any my nostrils thank me.

  Alexandra pulls up on her bike and we apprise her of the current situation. I hand her another of the sheets of paper and she speeds off to investigate.

  “Give me the kidnappers,” Jason pleads. I ruffle through the papers and realize that their crimes are in alphabetical order. I extend my hand to him with the paper including the kidnappers and he grins.

  “What?” He asks as I look at him intently.

  “Nothing, man,” I tell him. He gently places his laptop in his saddlebag and climbs on bike. Speeding away, I wonder his IQ.

  “Arnold, you can take this one,” I say, passing a paper to him. Smoke billows from his mouth as he puffs a newly lit cigarette.

  “Thanks, chief,” he says. “If you don’t mind, I’ll finish this first.”

  “Of course, take your time.”

  I climb onto my black Harley and speed off, eying the address on the paper that’s closest to the school. Once there, I park my hog out front and walk onto the sidewalk and to the porch. The light blue house is in serious disrepair and I take note of a growl emanating from the back yard.

  I knock several times and finally hear a woman yelling, “I’m comin’; keep your pants on!”

  I take a step back so she doesn’t swing the battered front door into my face.

  An older woman appears before me and clearly she wasn’t expecting company.

  “Yes?” she asks, her hair in pink curlers and she’s clad in a dirty looking blue robe.

  “I’m looking for Mitch Mayhew,” I tell her.

  “I’m Mitch’s mother, can I help you?”

  “Not exactly; I need to talk to him directly.”

  “You should probably check out Blythe Prison, he’s been there for five years.”

  I take out a pen and scribble the prison note next to his name. She looks me up and down and says, “Maybe you’d like to come in sweetheart?”

  “Umm, no, thank you,” I tell her, trying to get out of there as quickly as humanly possible.

  She slams the door.

  I shove the list back in my pocket and speed off to a house three streets away. This particular house has freshly cut grass, a wooden windmill out front and all of the trimmings of a properly kept yard. I look back at the list. Ronald Payton was imprisoned for check fraud.

  After parking my bike out front, I walk up to the porch and ring the doorbell. I am curious how such different houses can exists within a short radius of one another, but I focus when a man in a suit answers the door.

  “Yes, may I help you?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I need to speak to Ronald Payton,” I say.

  “I’m Ronald Payton,” he says, straightening his long silver tie.

  He steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind him, seemingly fearful that someone inside will overhear our conversation.

  “Rodney Vinton,” I tell him. “I’m canvassing the area looking for a missing twelve-year-old girl. Her name is Sasha Fitzgerald.”

  Seemingly relieved, he says, “Do you have a picture of her?”

  I fish my cell phone from my pocket and pull up the picture of Sasha that Ronan shared with me earlier at the club.

  I show my phone to Ronald and he says, “I’ve actually seen this girl around here. My son has a paper route and we do the rounds early each morning. I’ve seen her walking to the junior high, I believe.”

  “Did you see her earlier today?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  A presence appears at the door and it opens to reveal a woman. She’s probably in her early forties and w
ears a blue dress with smaller white polka dots.

  “A friend of yours, Ron?” she asks him, nudging him.

  “Actually, he’s looking for a missing twelve-year-old girl in the area.”

  “People these days will snatch up our children and do horrible things,” she rambles.

  I show her my cell phone picture of Sasha and she shakes her head.

  “Well, thanks anyways guys,” I tell them before walking back out to my bike. I make a note on the list that the man has seen Sasha, but not today.

  After an hour passes, my list is complete. I tuck the paper inside my pocket and pull my helmet onto my head. I start up my hog and ride my way back to the school with hopes that the others had better luck.

  We all meet up at the school and discuss our findings. Jason tells of the fascinating but creepy people he asked about Sasha. We turn our attention to Ken who says that he’s found nothing of interest. He hands me back his paper and I can see that he’s gotten lazy and was scratching out names one by one.

  Alexandra has also come up short. She tells us, “These are some pretty fucking creepy ass people.”

  I shrug. Arnold says, “A lot of these folks are in Blythe Prison, so I guess that’s a dead end.”

  “Alright, let’s head back to the club,” I say, defeated and at a loss.

  Helmets adorn all of our heads as we speed off to the club for a quick recap of our efforts.

  We arrive and another pink bike is out front. It’s like Trish’s bike, but more elaborate and has intricate detailing in the paint job. I walk inside, taking notice that Trish’s bike is absent.

  Inside the bar is a frenzy of people working out any possible leads. A gorgeous woman of about thirty-five is at the bar, trying to reassure Ronan. She’s clad in an unbuttoned cleavage-baring white blouse with a pair of tight blue jeans. Her stilettos make her look ten feet tall.

  I wonder who she is, but a kiss over the bar engages Ronan’s lips and I know. It’s Veronica, his wife. Trish’s mother. Holy shit, Veronica must’ve been like fourteen when she hooked up with Ronan.