Red Hot Bikers, Rock Stars and Bad Boys

by Cassia Leo

  He sensed her lean forward, and his back burned with the anticipation that she might reach out and touch him. She was that close. But the bailiff came out and called, “All rise,” so they stood.

  Dane forced himself to think of other things, his mother’s funeral, Joe’s roses, his motorcycle locked up at the impound lot. The old judge entered, his hair flying in wisps around his bare head, and they all sat again.

  The movement sent a waft of perfume his way. Stella. He could barely contain himself, only just able to avoid turning around.

  Suddenly the plea bargain seemed a mistake. Maybe he could get off, avoid doing time.

  But when the sheriff took a staunch position by the witness stand, sneering at Dane in front of the whole courtroom, Dane realized the odds were stacked against him here. His fate had already been decided in some back room. And no Justin or slick city ways were going to change what happened here today. Justin had already made the call. The prosecutor had agreed to the terms. They just had to state the plan and make sure the judge approved the plea.

  The old man shuffled his papers. “I understand you two have come to an agreement.”

  The prosecutor, a large man in a fancy suit, approached the judge and laid a paper before him. “Daniel Scoffield has agreed to plead guilty to a lesser charge of manslaughter.”

  Dane heard the gasp behind him but could not afford to turn around. This was it.

  The judge looked sternly just behind Dane, then back at the prosecutor. “Was a term agreed upon?”

  “Twelve years, your honor.”

  Dane sensed Stella stand up. “You can’t do that!”

  The judge banged his gavel. “Young lady, take your seat.”

  “But that asshole knifed Dane from behind! You can’t send him to jail for twelve years! It isn’t right!”

  “Take your seat, or you will be removed from this courtroom!”

  Dane could hear shuffling behind him, probably someone trying to calm Stella down. He caught another strong draft of perfume. Bound to be Beatrice. She must have come in after he did.

  He could hear muffled crying, then he caught sight of Stella moving to the center aisle. “I won’t be quiet! This is wrong! You are railroading him because he’s not from here!”

  She was wrong, and Dane wanted to tell her this was his choice. But he sat numbly, staring at his chewed-up hands, scabs from the motorcycle crash flaking off his fingers. Still, in his peripheral vision, he could see her, all dressed up in a black skirt and shiny top.

  Justin stood up then, putting an arm around her. “Stella, calm yourself. Dane arranged this deal. It was his choice.”

  She turned to him then. “What? Why would he do that?”

  “Please sit down,” Justin said. “Let us finish this.”

  But Stella wouldn’t sit down. Her face was bright red. “I hate you! I hate you, you son of a bitch! Stand up for yourself! Do something! Don’t let these people walk all over you!”

  The judge banged the gavel again. “Smith. Get her out of here, and make sure she stays out.” He pointed at Stella. “You’re about to get yourself fined, missy.”

  Smith took Stella firmly by the elbow and led her down the aisle. She turned around, staring at Dane. He tried not to watch, but still moved tightly on his chair so he could see her until they pushed through the doors at the back.

  So she hated him now. That was probably for the best. Now all of them could go on, and hopefully she could find that new city she wanted so bad, and a better life, like they’d never met at all.

  *

  Stella’s feet looked warped and pale against the bottom of the kiddie pool. She’d been soaking them for an hour in Beatrice’s backyard, trying to get the ache out from wearing those tight pumps.

  So much for her whole attempt at reinventing herself, dressing respectably in long skirts and nice clothes, no more Flashdance or micro-minis or jelly flats. She’d still blown up in a courtroom, and now her feet were raw and sore, her shirt untucked as she sat among grass and weeds and dirt like the common girl she had always been.

  The back door slammed, and Beatrice settled in a splintering lawn chair.

  Stella wiggled her toes, bright with pink polish. “What are you doing with a kiddie pool anyway?”

  The chair groaned with the weight of her boss, and Stella hoped it would hold together.

  Beatrice kicked off her own shoes. “I got a cute little niece.”

  “In Holly?”

  “Nah. Up in Jefferson City. She came down over the summer, though.”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember that now.” Before Dane. Before Grandma Angie. Her life was like the calendar. BC and AD. Before chaos. After Dane.

  Beatrice scooted the chair forward. “So you want to know what happened after your little show?”

  “Do I want to know?”

  Beatrice dunked her feet in the pool. Stella hoped hers never looked like that, bloated white hunks of flesh, lined from the pinch of the shoes.

  “He got the twelve. Fifteen, actually, but eligible for parole in twelve.”

  Stella bent over her knees, the air knocked out of her.

  “I know, honey. It’s a long stint.”

  “Did the lawyer not do him any good?”

  “He did. I talked with him. They tried to pull some shenanigans at the end, but Justin kept them in line.”

  “Did you get to talk to…” She couldn’t say his name.

  “Dane? No, honey. They took him right out.”

  Stella stared into the pool, leaves dropping from the trees overhead onto the surface of the water. The wind blew a chill through her. They were probably at the last of the decent weather. Fall would be sliding into winter soon. “What happens now?”

  “Justin said most likely he’ll go straight to the Missouri State Pen.”

  “Can I see him there?”

  “Not for at least thirty days. He has to go through some orientation.”

  Stella lay back in the grass. Fat clouds floated carefree across the blue expanse of sky. She wanted to take a shotgun and blow a smoking hole right through the big white puffs.

  “He won’t want to see me.”

  “I wouldn’t assume that.”

  “I called him a son of a bitch.”

  “He knows you. Knows you were upset.”

  Stella covered her face with her arm. “How will I even know where he’s gone?”

  “You can write him. He’ll tell you.”

  “I don’t think he will want to hear from me.”

  “I think he will. Write him.”

  Stella listened to birds cawing, and some little kids screeching a few yards over. A car chugged down a nearby street, missing on one cylinder. Life was going right on. Everybody else’s life. Hers had come to a halt.

  “Stella, I know he was important to you. But maybe you need some perspective. You only knew him a couple weeks. Maybe it’s best you keep on with that plan you had to move out of Holly and start a new life.”

  Stella swallowed hard. She ought to do exactly that. Even after she paid the lawyer, she still had some cash. She could go. Forget everything that happened. She was totally free now.

  “I don’t feel free,” she said. “Suddenly I’m more attached to this damn place than ever.”

  “Well, don’t think I’m pushing you away. I’m happy to keep you around.” Beatrice pulled her feet from the pool with a splash. “You can stay here as long as you like, and I won’t allow any tomfoolery in my shop. I don’t need the business that bad.”

  Stella sat up. “You think my being in your shop is a bad thing?”

  “Not in the least.”

  She pulled her feet from the pool. “Where is Ryker? He wasn’t there today.”

  Beatrice wouldn’t look at her, messing with her shoes.

  “Bea! Where is Ryker?”

  “He was catching some flak. Left town.”

  Stella jumped to her feet. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Where did he go?”

&nbs
p; “Just told Joe he’d get in touch.”

  “How will Dane find him? What about Dane’s stuff?” She stuffed her wet feet back into the pumps.

  “I don’t rightly know.”

  Stella dashed across the lawn and into the house. She snatched up her purse and the keys to Grandma’s Mustang.

  Beatrice caught up with her. “Where are you off to?”

  “I don’t know. Dane’s place? Joe’s?” Hysteria rose in her. Things were changing too fast now. If Ryker was gone, how would she know anything about Dane?

  “Be careful, darling.”

  Stella hurtled through the front door and into the car. The engine roared as she backed out of the driveway and onto the street. He couldn’t be gone. Not yet. She needed him.

  Kids riding bikes turned to stare as she careened through Holly toward Renters’ Row. Other cars simply stopped, letting her pass by, as if they knew and understood not to get in her way.

  The duplex stood empty, the dirt yard looking more forlorn than ever. A “For Lease” sign stood in front of it, shiny and new.

  Stella killed the car and rushed to the door, almost tripping once again on the overturned pot, still blocking the path.

  She banged on the door, but no one answered.

  She moved to the front, trying to peer in the window to the living room. The blinds were down. She tried the pane, to see if it was locked, but it was shut tight.

  She walked around to the back door leading to the kitchen. Also locked.

  The kitchen window didn’t have blinds, so she dragged a weathered water hose under it, making a tight coil that got her an extra two feet to stand on. She could just peer over the sash, somehow hoping to still see the wobbly table stacked high with beer bottles and pizza cartons.

  The table remained, cleared off, and all the counters were empty. The fridge hung open, all its contents gone. Stella sagged against the siding. Ryker was gone.

  Her pumps sank into the soft ground as she trudged back to her car. She opened the door and just sat there, staring at the front of the duplex, remembering the three of them in that spot the night the assholes broke her window. How did they get away with that? And the knifing? And now her Dane was doing time.

  And this was it, a moment she’d dreaded but was a long time in coming. She laid her head on the steering wheel and bawled her eyes out.

  *

  “State your name.”

  Dane held his state-issued towel, white shirt, and gray pants in front of him, naked except for a pair of rubbery shoes. His wet hair dripped down his back. His face felt raw from the shaving. “Dane Scoffield.”

  The attendant ran a finger down the list on his clipboard. “Daniel Scoffield?”

  “Yes.”

  “In here you are Daniel Scoffield. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The guy liked the deference Dane gave him, squaring his shoulders. “All right. Get dressed. You’ll see your caseworker next. And I wouldn’t go barefoot in here.” He gestured to the perpetually damp floor outside the showers.

  When the man didn’t move, Dane realized he would have an audience. He laid the stack on a bench and knocked off one shoe, awkwardly sticking a leg into a pair of gray boxers, putting one shoe back on, then repeating with the other leg.

  “You’re gettin’ it,” the attendant said. “You’ll have a second set of everything checked out to you later today.”

  Dane nodded, pulling the top over his head.

  “All right.” The attendant unlocked and opened the metal door. “Let’s get you to Miz Penders. She’ll get you situated.”

  They walked down a long corridor with large wooden doors. The attendant led Dane into a room, austere with peeling walls. A woman sat at a large desk behind stacks of folders.

  She watched him behind giant coke-bottle glasses. Her hair was a helmet of Aqua Net, and a blue suit with huge shoulder pads made her look like a linebacker. Her voice was tinny and high. “All right, Mr. Scoffield. I’m here to determine which of our housing units will be best suited for your situation and to answer any questions you have. Go ahead and sit down.”

  He perched on the edge of the gray chair, leaning forward on the table, hands splayed in front of him.

  “No need to be nervous now. I’m just here to talk to you.”

  Dane tried to relax his shoulders, but they drifted back up, tense and tight. “Is this where I’ll stay?” The Missouri State Penitentiary had a terrible rep. “The Walls,” one of the deputies had called it. The riots had been famous, even in Texas. Suddenly he longed for Huntsville. Its history was no better, but at least it was the devil he knew. Two high school buddies had ended up working stints there, though he’d never heard from them after.

  She shuffled through some papers. “Yes. You’re a pretty standard case. No history of mental illness. No medical problems. No special dispensations by the judge or contingencies on your sentence.” She flipped through the papers. “Medium sentence. No special risks.”

  So his wall-slamming incident hadn’t followed him. Maybe Justin had helped. Dane breathed a little easier. He’d feared solitary confinement or something worse. He’d never known anyone on the inside, so movies and television were his only clue. The head-bashing-with-a-pipe scene from On the Yard had popped into his head more than once. He wondered about cigarettes and contraband and prison hierarchy and, grimly, if he’d have to fight off people trying to poke him. He wondered how far he’d go for his own protection, if he’d end up fighting and getting even more time. His shoulders tensed again.

  “Hey.” The caseworker tapped on the table to get his attention. “You’re going to be fine.”

  He tried to really look at her now. She wore a soft pink lipstick, something a child might choose, and this made her gentler somehow.

  “Let’s try this again. I’m Maggie. I’m going to get you assigned to a hall and your inmate paperwork complete.”

  “I didn’t mean to kill that guy.”

  Maggie lifted a stack of papers and tapped them lightly to straighten the edges. “I don’t judge on that. I just look at your needs, what skills you have, and where you’ll fit best. You’re a mechanic?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t get you in the shop right off. But maybe a transfer if you have good behavior.”

  Dane nodded.

  She pulled an oversized manila envelope forward. “These are the effects you had on you during your arrest that you will be allowed to keep with you if you want them.” She pulled out a list. “You also had some things that will be kept in storage for your release, or we can destroy them—boots, spiked belt, jeans, a watch chain, keys, cash.” She made a note on the form. “I’ll get the cash put in your inmate account.” She dumped the contents of the envelope on the table. “These you may take to your housing unit. Inmates are allowed approved personal items.”

  His T-shirt came out first, one he’d bought at the truck stop along with the Show Me one for Stella. It was black with a small emblem on the chest in the shape of Missouri. He resisted the urge to grab it and see if it smelled of her like his jacket had.

  Second was his wallet. “Your IDs are in your case file,” Maggie said. “But there were some inconsequential scraps of paper, receipts, and whatnot in there.”

  She peered into the bag. “One last thing.” She reached in and pulled out a bit of pink fabric, the one he’d torn from Stella’s shirt. “It was short enough to meet regulation. Is it important?”

  He swallowed. He had no idea if he’d ever see Stella again. “I’ll keep it.”

  She laid it on the T-shirt and wallet, and pushed them toward him. “Next we have some forms.” She pulled a sheet of paper from a folder. “This is where you’ll list the visitors you’ll be allowing to see you.”

  Visitors. Ryker, maybe? He didn’t have any other family. Stella’s image drifted forward, but he shoved her back. She wouldn’t want to come. “I have a brother.”

  “Good. Put him down. Any others?
”

  He hesitated. “There was a girl.”

  “A girlfriend? That’s fine.” She tugged another page from a blue folder. “We have very strict rules of decorum on visits. She can only wear certain things. She can’t bring anything in on the visits.”

  “Will I get to really see her? Or just through glass?”

  “If you have good behavior, you’ll be allowed to sit with her in a visitors’ room.”

  “I don’t know if she’ll want to come.”

  Maggie rolled a pen toward him. “You can write her first. You are only allowed twenty names on the list. But I wouldn’t wait too long. We have to mail her a form for her to return. Then we do a criminal check. Once all that is done, then you can have her visit. Same with your brother.”

  “So I’ll know if she’s willing based on whether she returns the form.”

  “It’s better to write her first before the form arrives, if you’re not sure.”

  “I don’t even have my brother’s address right now. He just moved.” Hell, even Stella could have blown out of town.

  “You can always add him when you get it.”

  Dane stared at the form for names and addresses and numbers. He didn’t know anything.

  He pushed the empty paper back at her. “I’ll do this later.”

  Maggie slipped the form back in the folder. “I’ll arrange for some paper and envelopes to be sent to you. You should write your girl. It’s important to have visitors, to keep some link to your old life.”

  He didn’t want any links to that.

  Maggie pulled out another paper. “You’ll want to contact your bank to have some money moved into your prison account, so you have money for stamps and incidentals you might want to buy from the store.” She pushed another form at him.

  This, at least, he could fill out. Nothing personal. Just lines on a page, black and white questions with simple answers. Completely unlike a letter to Stella.

  If he even sent one.

  ***