by Nella Tyler
“What do you got?” Ronan centers his attention on me.
“The school’s regular attendance person wasn’t there today and apparently the person working in her place didn’t call any of the parents whose students didn’t show.”
“Fuck,” he says. “That would’ve given us a much narrower window.”
I nod in agreement.
“What else?”
“Well, Jason singled out some known criminals in the Heights area within a twenty mile radius of the school. We all talked to them, but came up short. Alexandra also retraced Sasha’s steps from Missy’s house to the school, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
“Speaking of whom,” Veronica says as she takes quick strides from behind the bar to intercept a brunette woman storming into the club. She dresses the part of a soccer mom and is every bit the small town girl next door. Her presence sets Veronica off instantly.
I eyeball Josh Lucas as if to warn him that these two ladies may just have it out. He glances back at me and raises a hand to say that it’s all cool. He’s familiar with this woman and she’s harmless.
“Melissa, what in the ever loving fuck are you doing here?” Veronica snipes viciously.
“My daughter is missing and all you can do is sit around here and do nothing?” Missy rails. “I demand to speak to the father of my child. Ronan!” Missy yells, with an effort to side-step Veronica’s interception and gain his attention.
“Listen, bitch, you’re pushing your luck here,” Veronica says moving closer to Missy and backing her out of the front door.
Missy sobs, her hands drying her tired eyes.
“My daughter is missing.”
“I know that, honey, but that little, sweet face of yours and that stupid fucking sob story only works on my husband. If you want to deal with Ronan, you’re going to have to do it through me.”
“Fine. Here, I took this earlier today before I sent Sasha off to school.”
Missy hands over a printed out picture of Sasha in her black pants, pink shirt and her favorite yellow purse.
“I’ll take care of this and will make sure everyone gets a copy of the photo. I know you’re hurting, but you seriously need to take your pretty ass out of this club right now before it gets kicked.”
“Jesus Christ, Veronica, have some decency.”
“I am, honey,” Veronica says knowingly. “The best place for you is at home just in case she goes back there, so get the fuck home and wait.”
Melissa exits the club and Veronica eyes up Josh Lucas, telling him, “Keep that fucking bitch out of this club.”
He nods.
“Yes ma’am.”
Veronica shows the picture of Sasha to Ronan and then disappears with it. Twenty minutes later, she comes back into full view with a stack of papers bearing Sasha’s face and information.
“We can pass these out and staple them to every pole in the township,” Veronica tells Ronan.
He buries his head in his hands on the bar’s counter top.
I hear the sound of another motorcycle coming up to the club. Moments later, Trish walks in and approaches her parents.
After a moment of their time, she parades herself over to me.
“I can help,” she offers.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” I tell her.
“Why the fuck not? Sasha is my sister.”
“Your father would have my head on a silver platter.”
“But we could be that much closer to finding out what happened.”
“Yeah, but you see, I can’t actually function if your father takes my head off, so therein lies the problem. Besides, I can’t go against his wishes.”
She resents me for my words, but I know it’s for her own good.
“I’m gonna run, but I’ll be back tomorrow,” I tell everyone in earshot.
“Good, thanks again, man,” Ronan says.
I can feel the rush of the wind in my face as I peel out of the club’s parking lot. When I’m sure that I’m at a safe distance away from the club’s members, I pull over.
Tucking myself behind a vacant, dirty gas station, I pull out my cell phone and call my father.
“Hey,” he says gruffly. “Learn anything?”
“Just that Ronan Fitzgerald’s youngest daughter Sasha is missing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Why the fuck do you think I’d know anything about his daughter coming up missing?”
“Relax, old man, it’s just a question.”
“You may be my son, but I will still knock the fuck out of you, Rodney Vinton.”
“Are any of the Deathdealers responsible for this shit?”
“How would I know that?” Dad asks plainly.
“It’s your fucking club; don’t you keep tabs on the criminal activity?”
“Listen, you little shit, I don’t know anything about this girl going missing, so unless you’ve got some information for me, then I’ll get back to my dinner.”
“Bye,” I tell him as I disconnect the line. Something isn’t right about his tone.
Chapter Three
Trish Fitzgerald
I gear up to leave the Lair and wonder where Rodney got off to in such a hurry. Missy stops me dead in my tracks.
“Hey,” she says tearfully.
“Hey,” I say with a sound of defeat in my voice.
She bursts into tears standing in front of me. I pull her into me despite my mother’s warnings against getting close and I hug her tightly.
She pulls away after getting her fill.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“If you hear anything, even the slightest detail, could you let me know?”
She pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket and scribbles something on it. She passes it to my hand and says, “Anything at all. I don’t care what time it is, day or night?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“I love her, too. We all do.”
She forces a smile through her sadness.
She shrugs and walks to her grey Volvo. She takes off, dragging up the dust from the dirt road with the car.
I walk back into the Lair with a new determination. Both of my parents are inside as evidenced by the motorcycles in the front. I have to help out.
I seek them out like a laser beam and focus on offering my help.
“Mom, dad,” I begin. They sigh, already feeling the burn from something inside the club.
“Don’t even think about it,” my father rants.
My mother smiles and just as I think she’s on my side, she turns on me.
“Your father is right. You should go about your business and stay out of this.”
“But she’s my sister and I can help,” I tell them both.
“Go home!” My father yells. A hush falls over the club and everyone listens.
I turn around and head to the front of the place where I find Mickey Pennington in his club shirt with the black patch that reads “Vice President” on it in white stitching.
“Hello darlin’,” he says in his Irish dialect that is slowly fading.
“Hey Mickey.”
“What can I do for ya?”
“I really need to get in on the search for Sasha, I know her better than anyone.”
“Now listen here, Miss Priss, ya know I can’t go against your father. Off with ya,” he dismisses me sharply. Dad has everyone’s loyalty but I still need answers.
I walk away and to the dirt road that encircles the club. Under my breath, I utter, “I guess I gotta do this without them.”
I resign myself to steering clear of the area circled on the map in the club. They have a radius of twenty miles surrounding Hinton Township and Hinton Heights. I rev up my bike and take off, leaving the air filled with dirt in my fit of anger.
Riding for a half hour, I don’t stop speeding thr
ough the streets until I’m right outside of Hinton Heights. A small wooden sign announces that I’ve entered into Hayleyville. Its population is just under five thousand people and the roads are all dirt and the houses appear to be run down.
I have no real idea about where exactly I’m going or if I’ll find anything, but the distance between myself and the club is much needed.
I ride slowly to a bar called Rose’s and park my bike out front. I stash my helmet on the back of the bike in hopes that no one will mess with it. There are other bikes outside of the dive bar, so I remain positive.
Walking inside, I don’t know what to expect. In the past, I’ve been in seedy bars like this one, so I toughen my resolve. Inside the bar has one row of shiny black bar stools and a jukebox and the end, sandwiched between two doors, one for each of the bathrooms.
This is the kind of place where everyone seems to know each other and I silently hope that I don’t stick out like a sore thumb. I take a seat and look indifferent to it all.
The jukebox is blaring a Conway Twitty song and I gather that its usual customer base is probably older. I whip out a twenty dollar bill and slap it on the counter.
An older lady appears before me and asks, “What can I get you to drink honey?”
Her hair is bright red and she’s wearing a black shiny halter top and I gather from her age that maybe she should’ve opted for something more age appropriate. Her skin is weathered and her makeup caked on her face.
“A Jack and Coke, please.”
“That’ll be all?”
I nod in the affirmative.
I scan the place and gather that this is not the type of place to go questioning people.
The barmaid slides a rocks glass in front of me and it looks as if she only used enough Coke to color the liquid inside. I sip it slowly and prove myself right.
A man in his forties walks in and looks me over.
“Hey there, little girl,” he says. He looks creepy with loose light colored jeans and an oversized red and black plaid flannel. His hair is nearly black and his sideburns say that he’s still living in the seventies. His cheeks are red and his hands are as black as coal.
I nod in acknowledgement.
“You here with anyone, sweetheart?”
“No, now get the fuck away from me so I can enjoy my whiskey.”
“A fireball,” he surmises. “I like a little spunk in my ladies.”
He waltzes to the other end of the bar, keeping his eyes fixated on me. I shoot daggers in his general direction.
Between Mr. Wonderful and myself are two older women in their forties giving me dirty looks as if I’ve stolen their action. Next to them on the far side are two guys talking among themselves.
I gather that this whole thing is a bust and I should probably move on. My bladder thinks otherwise, so I walk past the row of stools and their occupants to the ladies’ room.
Before I end up at the door, I overhear one man talking quietly to the guy next to him.
“Yeah, she’s only twelve, too. A cutie pie,” guy number one dictates to the other as if he’s bragging.
“Beautiful,” guy number two says.
“She’s got this long blonde hair,” guy number one confides.
Guy number two is pleased at the thought. I resist the urge to punch the guy’s face in, mostly because I am completely out of my element. If I started a ruckus in this shithole, it would take my club brothers and sisters at least a half hour to find this place.
I sigh deeply and decide to stick around longer. This guy could turn out to be nothing, or this could be a lead. I stuffed a dollar into the jukebox and selected some random, upbeat songs. It’s time to play the drunk chick.
“Wild Child” by Kenny Chesney permeates the room and I throw my hands in the air.
“This is my song! Woo!”
I walk back over to my seat and order up another drink; it’s going to be a long night.
“Another Jack and Coke, honey?” Mrs. Red Hair asks.
“Yeah, sure, why not?” I say.
Another drink is placed in front of me and guy number two walks on over.
“This seat taken?” He asks, patting the stool twice.
“I guess it is now.”
I trace the lip of the rocks glass with my finger and lick my lips, even though the thought of this guy being anywhere near me grosses me out.
“Frank,” he says, extending his hand to mine.
“Alyssa,” I lie.
He looks down at his hands and says, “Sorry, my hand is dirty, I’ve been working on cars all day.”
“Think nothin’ of it,” I punctuate with a bite of my lower lip. He smiles and I realize my plan is working.
“Who’s your friend, Frank?”
“Oh, that’s Les.”
“Does Les think I bite or is he just not friendly?”
He looks amused. He pokes his head down to his friend and waves him over.
“Hi Les, I’m Alyssa,” I state feigning intoxication. “These drinks sure are strong!”
They both chuckle and I realize they’re putty in my hands.
“So, do you guys like to party?”
“Party?” Frank asks, intrigued by the suggestion.
“We don’t do drugs if that’s what you’re askin’,” Les interjects.
Les is the one who was talking about the twelve-year-old girl and my thoughts wander to if he’s holding Sasha at his place. I need more information.
“I didn’t mean drugs, silly. I’m just really lonely since my boyfriend broke up with me.”
I sense their relief.
I bat my eyelashes at them and say, “Where’s a girl to find any fun around these parts?”
“You’ve come to the right place, sweetheart,” Frank says without hesitation.
“We can go back to my place,” Les suggests.
I throw back my drink and stand. They follow suit.
“What’s your address for this little get together, y’know, just in case I get lost on these back roads?”
Les scrambles to get a napkin and dirties it up with his filthy hands.
“109 Bober Street,” he scribbles before passing the napkin to me.
“I’m just going to freshen up in the ladies’ room before we go, okay honey?” I ask them.
“Sure,” Les says.
I walk slowly to the bathroom and turn back to see Les rubbing his hands together with a less than toothy smile. I push the bathroom door open and see a window over the toilet stall. The bathroom looks like it hasn’t seen a clean day in years.
I hear the sound of the men getting closer to the door as they talk among themselves. They’re certainly eager.
“I’ll be out in just a minute, gentlemen!” I say through the door.
“Sure thing, darlin’,” one of them says.
I kick the toilet seat down and perch myself on top of it. I push the window open quietly, but it creaks and I fidget. Moving slowly, I pull myself through the opening and hang-drop from the window to the dirt road outside.
I move quickly to get to my bike, stuffing the note in my pocket. That was close.
I rev up the motor and take off, leaving this little jukejoint in my back mirror.
A trail of dust follows me and I realize that it’s probably all over my motorcycle, too.
Speeding through Hayleyville, I stop at another place ten blocks away from Rose’s. I pull out my phone and dial up my old high school best friend, Teresa.
“Hey girl,” I say, hoping that I didn’t catch her sleeping.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Are you out and about? I’m in your neck of the woods,” I tell her.
“Yeah, where are ya?”
“I’m at this little bar called Carl’s. It’s right off of South Street.”
“Oh yeah, I know the place. I can be there in ten.”
“Awesome, see you soon.”
I saunter inside after removing the key from my bike’s ignition. Carl’s
is a step up from Rose’s in that it also contains two pool tables and a dart board in the back. It’s all dark wooden accented bar furniture with the exception of a red velour couch propped next to the jukebox.
A Reba McEntire song is playing, but I can’t gather which one it is. I listen intently, but my drinks from Rose’s make me a little hazy.
“What can I get you?” a strong, younger guy says. He’s got blonde hair and light green eyes.
“Jack and Coke,” I tell him, slightly slurring my words.
“Gonna need to see your ID,” he says proudly.
“Sec,” I say as I fish it from my jeans pocket. I brandish it to the guy puffing out his chest.
“See, I’m legal.”
He smiles.
Turning his back to me, I check out his assets. His tight little ass reminds me of Rodney’s firm butt and how I want to squeeze it.
The bartender slides my drink in front of me and says, “Four-fifty.”
I place a ten dollar bill on the counter and slide it to him. I stir my drink with the tiny red straw as I look around the place.
“Hey, Carl,” says a familiar voice to the man behind the bar.
I turn and find Teresa taking the open spot next to me.
“It’s about time you got here,” I tell her.
I look to Carl and say, “Whatever she’s having.”
“The usual?” he asks her.
“Sure,” Teresa says.
I draw closer and ask, “What’s the usual?”
“It’s a Gin and tonic,” she says matter-of-factly.
I nod. By the look of her, she has already been gallivanting all over Hayleyville tonight.
“So, what brings you out to our little neck of the woods?” she presses.
“I dunno, I just had to get outta Hinton for a bit and thought of you, so I figured I’d call ya.”
“Yeah, me and Chester broke things off,” she rambles.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say sympathetically.
“I’m not; he was fucking that Heidi chick from down the way.”
“Wow.”
“So, you know what I did to get back at that cheating bastard?”
I search myself for an answer, but before I respond, she goes on. “I fucked that sweet piece of ass behind the bar.”
Teresa has never been one to hold her tongue.
