Wheelie

by Jessie Cooke

  “Hot paid hoe? Are you fucking kidding me? Did Syl know about any of this?”

  “No. She thought I was just working security for the guy and that when I traveled it was with him. Look, I wasn’t fucking them...” Wheelie rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine...I fucked one or two, shoot me, I’m weak.”

  “If only I could,” Wheelie said. Christopher ignored that and went on.

  “I was traveling a lot and it was hurting my marriage and I never got to see Bella...” Wheelie snorted, which Chris also ignored. “So, I promised myself that I’d do one last job and get out. I’d made a lot of money and I knew the longer I did this, the more chance there was of getting caught. Syl and I talked about moving out of North Carolina, maybe to upstate New York or something. I had saved enough to buy us a house up there and the money from this last heist would put us in the clear for probably a year while we got settled and I found another job.”

  “Did Sylvia even ask where all this money was coming from?”

  “She might have thought it was another insurance policy...one they overlooked when they paid out on Mom and Dad’s deaths.” Wheelie was shaking his head as Chris went on. Sylvia was not stupid. He wondered if she loved his brother that much, if she was in denial, or if she had become as infatuated with money as Chris was. “Anyways, I had gotten pretty damned good at what I did. I’d go in and mingle at the party and excuse myself to go to the bathroom or make a phone call, and while I was gone I’d take care of the alarms. My boss Joe, he always supplied me with a map of the property and a diagram of where all the alarms were located, a list of security and whether or not they were armed, all of that. So, this night the benefit was being held at a museum...”

  “A fucking museum? You stole from a fucking museum? Are you insane?”

  “Will you just shut up and listen?”

  “I’m getting bored. Where does the part about me come in?”

  Chris rolled his eyes and said, “I was supposed to take this tablet, it was Egyptian or something, really old. It was kept under glass and that was locked. But I was going to use a glass cutter and that was going to happen as soon as the orchestra started up and everyone was busy watching the show. I’d already cut the alarms, and everything was right on schedule. We had dinner and as soon as the orchestra started up, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I went through three different rooms, picking the locks on each one of the doors. They were usually all alarmed, but I wasn’t worried because I’d disabled them all. When I got to the last room, I closed and locked the door behind me and took out my glass cutter. I cut a hole in the glass big enough to remove the tablet and everything was still good, until I stuck my hands inside to get it.

  “I swear I cut every one of those fucking alarms, but somehow they had it rigged inside the fucking glass with a motion sensor or something. The fucking alarm started screeching—it was so fucking loud—and that, plus the sound of my own fucking heart pounding in my chest, made it impossible for me to think. I fucking froze up. It wasn’t until I heard them running in the hallway outside the room that I convinced my feet to fucking move. I knew from the maps that there was an emergency exit in the back so while they were trying to get in the locked door, I ran for it. I could fucking smell freedom, until I hit that door. Security was already covering that one and I was slammed down on the pavement face first before I could even speak.”

  He stopped there and didn’t say anything for a full minute before Wheelie said, “So that’s it? The end of your long, drawn-out story?”

  “No, I just got a little shook up telling it. Give me a minute.”

  “Why don’t we start question hour here?” Wheelie said. “Why didn’t Syl mention this when I spoke to her the other day?”

  “Because she doesn’t know...yet.”

  Wheelie sighed. “You were arrested and spent how much time in jail?”

  “Three days before I made bail. It’s been a week...but I was told not to leave New York. I know I have to tell Syl, but for now I told her that the job was just going longer than I expected...which is kind of the truth.” He laughed. Wesley glared at him. “Anyways,” he said for the hundredth time at least, “I shouldn’t even be here now. I could lose my bail status. But I’m kicking my attorney a few extra bucks to cover for me and I’ll get my ass on the red-eye if they decide to call me in earlier than planned...but I thought you needed me, so I came.”

  Wesley sighed loudly. “Okay, once again, what does this have to do with me?”

  “I was arrested, but I wasn’t going down for fucking grand theft of a priceless artifact...so I rolled on my boss.”

  “The well-connected billionaire thief. Good thinking.”

  “Can you keep the sarcasm to a minimum, please? But yeah, I did. If they took me down on the theft, I was looking at twenty to twenty-five years. They’re offering me immunity, man, so yeah, I rolled. The DA turned it over to the Feds as soon as I started talking. I guess they want this guy...bad. They offered me full immunity if I agreed to tell them everything and testify in court if they arrest him.”

  “Am I going to have to ask again what this has to do with me?”

  “Well, like I told you, this guy is well connected. I’m pretty sure he knows I rolled already, and since he might know all about you...it’s a good possibility that the killer is someone he hired.”

  Wheelie furrowed his brow. “Why would he know all about me?”

  “Well, I was just talking one day, and I might have mentioned how you were a part of this motorcycle gang...”

  “Club.”

  “Okay, whatever. When he asked me which one I said the Skulls or some shit. He got really interested then. He seemed impressed with the club’s reputation, especially your president. He’s always looking for connections and at the time he was probably thinking about hooking up with you guys, maybe having you do some work for him...”

  “But now you think he sent someone up here to slit people’s throats and blame me for it?”

  Chris made a face and said, “It wouldn’t be unlike him. He has a tendency to go after the families of the people that piss him off...”

  “And where is your family, dipshit? At home, alone, in North Carolina.”

  23

  The first thing Wheelie did was call to check in on Sylvia and Bella. They were good, but Syl was a little suspicious about why he was calling. It took him a while to get off the phone with her; he’d never really been able to lie to her and get away with it.

  After hanging up with Syl, he called Dax. Without Wheelie’s telling him any more than that she was his sister-in-law and Bella was his niece, Dax was willing to call in a favor from a friend in New Orleans that he thought might have a nomad or two in the area. He was going to have someone keep a close eye on them both until Wesley could get to the bottom of what was really going on here. While he was on the phone with Dax he was told to be ready to saddle up and ride by six in the morning. They were headed to New York. When he ended that call, he looked at his brother and said:

  “Go back to New York. The first thing you need to do when you get there is call and talk to your wife. Tell her the truth, Christopher, because if you don’t, I will. Then, you’re going to talk to your attorney and have him tell your new friends in the FBI to put Sylvia and Bella under some kind of protective custody at least until this shit is over.”

  “Don’t you want me to talk to someone for you? I mean, wouldn’t it help you if they were looking at Joe for setting this up?”

  “I will let Dax know what you told me, but I doubt this guy sent someone all the way up here to act like a serial killer just to torment me.”

  “You sure? Because I was thinking that maybe if I could help you with this...your club might be willing to help me out...”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? This is why you’re here? You didn’t come to fucking help me at all, did you?”

  “No man, really, I think Joe has something to do with this...”

  “Fuck that, Chris, and
fuck you. What the hell did you think my club would or could do for you?”

  “I don’t want to go to prison, Wes...and I don’t want to live my life on the run. Even if I testify, they might still slap me with ten years. I’m risking my life for these assholes and they won’t even give me full immunity. I was thinking...you know, maybe Syl and the kid and I could live out on that ranch you’ve told her so much about...”

  “Fuck you,” Wheelie said, this time with more feeling. “I haven’t heard one word from you in fucking years and you think you’re going to show up here with some bullshit story about helping me and I’m going to greet you with open fucking arms? You’ve lost your mind.”

  “I have money, Wes. I have a lot of money...please. I heard you talking about going to New York tomorrow—please, just talk to Dax Marshall and see if he’d be willing to just meet with me. You won’t have to ask him for another thing, just that.”

  “Go catch a plane, Christopher. I’ll be checking in with Syl later tonight to make sure you called her and told her everything.” He turned toward his bike and straddled it. As he slid the key into the ignition Christopher said:

  “You’ll ask him though, right?” Wheelie ignored him and just for spite he made him jump out of the way when he took off on the bike. He hated to say it, but some people were just incapable of feeling anything for anyone but themselves, and Christopher was one of those people. Everything Wheelie knew about how a family is supposed to treat each other, he had already learned before his parents died. Christopher grew up in the same house and had no fucking clue.

  His head was pounding by the time he drove up in front of Bri’s little house. He sat there on the bike for a while, letting everything his brother told him sink in. He finally got off and pulled the rag off his head before going up to the door. Bri must have been waiting for him because she pulled it open before he even knocked. As soon as she saw his face she said, “Damn, you look like you could use a drink.”

  He smiled and nodded. “But first, I need this.” He pulled her into him and brushed his lips against hers once, and then the soft, gentle kiss he intended turned into a fiery, passionate one. He was filled with heat by the time he forced himself to let her go. He wanted to fuck her right there in the doorway. Damn, she drove him crazy. But they had some things to talk about first, so he took a step back, smiled at her, and said, “If I try to do that again before we get a chance to talk, slap me or something.”

  She giggled. “I can’t promise anything that might resemble resistance. Come on in, I ordered a pizza and I’ll fix you a drink.”

  Wheelie told her about the meeting with his brother while they ate. She listened, mostly in stunned silence, and when he wrapped it up with the part about them going to New York in the morning and Chris asking to meet with Dax she said:

  “Why are you going to New York?”

  “I’m not sure, Dax didn’t tell me. My guess is to check out a lead he found.” Wheelie didn’t want to get into the whole thing about Bubba the mechanic just then because there was something else they’d put off talking about too long. As much as he worried that bringing it up would upset her, he made himself say, “You never finished telling me about that guy Brayden the other day...”

  She had eaten half a piece of her pizza and when he mentioned Brayden she curled her lip and put the pizza down. “Detective Sampson called me earlier. He wanted to talk about Brayden too.”

  “Oh yeah?” Wheelie drained the whiskey she’d put in a glass with ice for him and sat forward on the couch. Bri was sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table with her legs underneath her. “Why was he asking about him?”

  She shook her head, slowly. “I guess the FBI is digging into all of our pasts. He said that she was asking about the incident where I had to pull my gun on Brayden and if there’s any possibility that he could be back in town. She’s considering him as the killer.” Wheelie would have been happy they were considering anyone but him, if it hadn’t been someone that Bri might be complicit in killing. He’d rather be in trouble himself than think about her career and her entire life being ruined over her father taking out some dickhead that tried to hurt her and her sister.

  “What did you say?”

  She shrugged. “What could I, really? I told him I had no idea, that I haven’t seen Brayden since that night...”

  “What night was that? The police had a report on this guy? For what?”

  “Abuse, assault, attempted rape...he attacked my sister and when my dad got home, and Pam was in the hospital and I had bruises all over, he called it in. The police issued a warrant for him and he just disappeared off the face of the earth...for a while.”

  Wheelie was sick to his stomach, thinking about anyone putting his hands on her. He didn’t ask who Brayden attempted to rape. He knew that thought would make him homicidal. “But he came back, and you saw him again, at least once, right?”

  She nodded and took a big drink out of the glass of wine she’d fixed for herself. “Yeah...I did.” She got quiet again and drank more of her wine. Wheelie waited. At last she said, “When Pam got out of the hospital, she was scared all the time that he was going to show back up. I carried my gun everywhere even though I didn’t have a permit to conceal it yet. My dad hired security and people to find him, but for months there was no sign at all. It was Pamela’s twentieth birthday when he showed back up. We were having a family dinner and it was one of those rare nights when everyone was getting along. But then Dad heard something out back. He told us all to stay put and he went out to check it out. He was gone a long time and finally I told my mom I was going to make sure he was okay and if I wasn’t back in ten minutes, to call the cops. I had my gun and I went out onto the patio. I called out to my dad, but I didn’t see him and he didn’t answer me. I should have called the police right then. I don’t know why I didn’t.

  “Anyways, I didn’t. Instead I went toward the workshop that sat on the other side of the trees. My dad likes to build ships in bottles in his spare time. He says it relaxes him. So, thinking that was where I’d find him, I pulled open the door and I saw him...he was lying face down in the floor. At that moment I forgot all my training and even my good sense. All I could think was that my dad was dying, and he had no idea that I loved him and I always wanted his approval. I got down on my knees next to him and tried to turn him over with one hand, but he was too heavy. I set the gun down and used two hands. I hadn’t gotten him all the way over when I heard Brayden say, ‘Hello, Bri.’ I quickly reached for the gun and that was when I realized he’d picked it up.”

  “Damn, baby, I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. Killer or not, dead or alive, I want to shoot this son of a bitch in the head.”

  She smiled gently. “Thank you, for that.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled her legs up to her chest before saying, “I was looking up at that gun and the sick look in that bastard’s eyes and I knew he was going to kill me. But he had plans for me first, and all I could wish for was that my mom had called the police and they were on their way. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet and then got behind me and held the gun to my head as he pushed me out the door.

  “I guess most of what I remember after that came later. It just all happened so fast. I heard a thud and a grunt and then I felt his weight hit me from behind and I went down on my face. He was on top of me and I was freaking out, trying to get him off. Suddenly I could breathe, and move again, and instead of Brayden I was looking up at my dad. He had a shovel in his hand. Brayden was lying about a foot from me and he was unconscious. I was so relieved that at first what my dad was doing didn’t even register, I think it was when I felt the blood splash across my face that I came out of my state of shock. Dad was raising that shovel and slamming it down into him, over and over and over again. I could hear his bones crunching and his face was split open and there was blood everywhere. I said ‘Dad,’ probably several times, but it was like he was in this murderous rage or trance
or something and couldn’t hear me. What he finally heard were the sirens.”

  “Jesus,” Wheelie didn’t know what to say beyond that. He had no sympathy for Brayden and despite his dislike for her father, he completely understood the man’s rage. But what hurt him was the thought of her having to sit there and watch that.

  “Yeah. So, when he heard the sirens he stopped and that’s when he looked down at me like he just noticed I was there. He dropped the shovel and started stripping off his clothes. I thought that he’d completely lost his mind. He threw the clothes and the shovel in the shed and then dragged Brayden in there too. Without saying a word, he picked me up and carried me in the house.

  “Mom and Pamela started freaking out when they saw him in his shorts and me covered in blood. He ignored them and took me down the hall to the downstairs bathroom, and dropped me in the tub. ‘Shower,’ he said. ‘Don’t take your clothes off and don’t come out of this bathroom until I tell you to.’ He locked the door on the way out. It was only minutes later when I heard the police banging on the door. I turned on the shower and with the water running, I couldn’t hear anything that was going on out there. Pam told me later that Dad had pulled a pair of sweats out of the dryer and was getting dressed when the police started knocking on the door. He told her and my mother not to say a single word about me or the blood. Dad wasn’t the DA then, but he was running a campaign. If he had shot Brayden in self-defense, maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference to his career...but beating a man to death with a shovel, even a man that deserved it...that was career suicide.”

  “So what did he tell the police?”

  “He said that he thought he heard something outside but when he went out to investigate, nothing was there. He told them Mom and Pam were jumpy because of the thing with Brayden and him still being on the loose, and that’s why Mom called the police. Dad knew three of the four officers that showed up. They didn’t even suspect anything.”