by Anne Emery
“Because of the Hells Angels?” I blurted out, then wished I had shut up instead.
“I don’t know why. He didn’t say anything, just kept giving me weird looks. Like he wanted to say something but changed his mind.”
“Oh, don’t worry then.”
“Why did you ask about the Hells Angels?”
“No reason,” I said.
“You didn’t tell anybody, did you?”
“No,” I lied. Then I remembered: “But Father Burke knows! We asked him that time.”
“Oh, yeah. I hope he didn’t tell my dad.”
“You never know!”
Then I said: “I’m mad at my parents.”
“Why? What did they do?”
“They think I’m crazy. They may try to lock me up.”
“No!”
“Yeah.”
“Are they coming to your concert tonight?”
“I guess so. It would be too bad for them if I didn’t sing in the concert. If I wasn’t even there!”
“You mean you’re going to hide?”
“Yeah, but more than that.”
I thought of something, a plan. Jenny’s mother had talked about the Hells Angels. And I always had a secret wish to see what a Hells Angel really looked like, close up and not just speeding by on a motorbike. How could you be good enough to want to call yourself an angel, but bad enough to say you belong in hell? Why would you brag about it by pasting that name on your jacket? Would you look good and evil at the same time? Well, now was my chance to find out!
I said to Jenny: “Let’s do something that will make everyone appreciate us for how smart we are.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s solve the Mystery of the Hells Angels!”
“How can we do that?”
“I know where they live. I’ve been out for drives with Tom and Lexie. She’s my brother’s girlfriend. On the way to her place there’s a big house with all these motorcycles outside it, and Tommy always slows down to gawk at them. And Lexie always teases him by singing this song about motorcycles, ‘Born To Be Wild.’ That place is the Hells Angels clubhouse, ever since their other place burnt down. Tommy told me. Let’s go there, and find out if they had something to do with your mum and how she died!”
“But they won’t tell us if they did. They’ll kill us!”
“No they won’t. Because we’ll tell them our parents know where we are and if we don’t show up at home, they’ll know where to find us.”
“They won’t believe our parents let us go there!”
“Okay, we won’t say that exactly. We’ll say our parents let us go for a walk in that neighbourhood because our friend — no, our babysitter! — lives near there. It’s not completely a lie because Lexie lives near there, and I would be allowed to go for a walk. And if they think our parents will be driving all around there looking for us, they’ll be scared of getting caught if they do anything bad to us.”
“I don’t know . . . How are we going to ask them about Mum?”
“I’ll think of something. Let’s sneak out of here and get a taxi.”
“A taxi!”
“I have some money. It’s supposed to be a donation for the poor at the concert tonight, but I’ll give them some later.”
So when the teachers weren’t looking, me and Jenny snuck out and started walking towards downtown. A couple of taxis came by and we waved at them, but they kept going. Then one circled around and came back.
“You looking for a cab, girls?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do your parents know where you are?”
“Yes, they want us to meet them. That’s why we need a taxi. My dad broke his leg and can’t drive. So he can’t come pick us up.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Take us to St. Malachy’s church.”
Jenny looked at me as if I really was crazy, but I wasn’t. Lexie was the choir director at her church, St. Malachy’s, and she lived really close to it. So finally the driver let us in, and drove us away from downtown, out to where Lexie lives. When we got to St. Malachy’s church, there was nobody around, and the taxi driver gave us a weird look.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Dad will be here.”
“How’s he going to get here, with that busted leg?”
“My mum is really big. He’ll lean on her and they’ll both hobble over here. It will take them a while.”
“What are your names, girls?”
“I’m Cindy and this is Alicia.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How much is it?”
“It’s thirteen dollars.”
Uh-oh. I only had ten. “I don’t have that much.”
“Have you got ten?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me that. And here, take a couple of quarters back in case you need a pay phone.”
“Thank you!”
So there we were, in Lexie’s and the Hells Angels’ neighbourhood. When the taxi disappeared, I told Jenny: “Let’s go.”
We had to walk around a bit till we found it. But you couldn’t miss it once you got the right street. There were a whole lot of motorcycles and there was loud music blaring out of the house.
“I don’t think we should go in there, Normie.”
“It’s okay. Did you ever hear of a biker doing anything bad to a kid? No! They ride around on motorcycles and sell drugs. We won’t take any if they try to get us to buy some.”
“We don’t have any money.”
“Right. So they won’t give us drugs for free and they won’t rob us, because we don’t have anything.”
Just then a motorcycle rumbled up with a really loud motor noise. A huge guy got off it. I thought Jenny’s dad was big, but this guy was a giant. With long straggly black and grey hair and a scary face. He had on a leather jacket that said Hells Angels on the back.
“You steal that bike, girlie, and you’re dead meat!” he said to us, then laughed and started to go inside the house.
“Can we come in?” I said, and he turned around and stared.
“Say what?”
“Can we come in?”
“Want to sign up?”
“No! Not really.”
“Why not? You got something against motorcycles?”
“No! I think they’re cool.”
“Good answer. So whaddya want? You selling Girl Guide cookies or somethin’? How ’bout you bring the cookies in, we’ll add a special ingredient, and you go out on the street again tonight and sell them for a higher price. That sound good?”
“We don’t have any cookies. We’d just like to talk.”
“Fuck!” (The only way to tell this story is to use bad language. That’s just the way it is.) After the F-word, he said: “I don’t believe this. Excuse my French, ladies. Okay, why don’t you come in to Big Daddy’s house? Never too young to learn the facts of life, eh?” He laughed again.
Jenny and I were scared but we didn’t want him to know, so we smiled and went into the house with him.
“Hey, Axe, what the fuck?” This other guy was looking at us. He was sprawled on a couch in front of the television. It was loud. He had all his hair shaved off and had a devilish-looking beard on his chin. “You said you were running a couple new girls, but we didn’t think you meant this new. Tap into a whole new market with these two! Hey, kids, what’s your names? Lemme guess. You’re Misty, and this here’s” — the guy turned and looked at the television, and there were two girls dancing and they hardly had any clothes on! — “Candy! That’s it, Misty and Candy! Just like the two, uh, exotic dancers in this movie! Would you like to dance like that, girls?”
We didn’t know what to say. But the guy who brought us in, Axe, told the guy: “Turn that off, asshole. There’s kids in the house.”
; “But I was just getting into it, you know what I mean?”
“I said turn it off.”
“I just rented it, and I’m dubbing a copy. If I turn it off, I’ll have to . . .”
Then I couldn’t believe what happened. Axe walked over to the television and lifted up his foot, and drove it right through the TV screen. The glass smashed and there was a big noise, and that was the end of the TV! “Next time I tell you to turn something off, Pratt, you turn it off. Understand?”
“Okay, Axe, okay, chill out, man!”
Two other guys came in then, with one girl. She was tough-looking. She said: “Hey, Axe, some of your long-lost kids are finally turning up to cash in, eh?”
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“So, kiddies, would you like a brownie?” the girl asked.
“Sure!” Jenny said.
But Axe said: “Don’t give them any, you dipshit.”
“I wasn’t going to!”
I wanted to say we’d like to have a brownie, but it’s rude to ask for food at other people’s houses.
“Smoke a little weed, girls, help you relax?” That was the guy on the couch.
“We don’t smoke,” I said, “but thanks anyways.”
“So what can we do for you, girls?” That was Axe.
I figured I’d better think of a way to ask them about Mrs. Delaney, without really asking whether they killed her or hung around outside their house. So I made something up.
“Somebody lost a wallet with some money in it, outside her house.” I pointed at Jenny.
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s mine!” one of the guys said. “Hand it over!”
“We don’t have it with us.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we were scared someone would steal it from us. Someone who didn’t really own it.”
“You’re not saying we’re thieves, are you, ladies?” Axe said.
“No! We meant anybody, not you guys!”
“So why did you think one of us lost a wallet?”
“Uh, because it had a picture of a big motorcycle in the photo holder. And because . . .”
“Because my mum said your name before she died!” That was Jenny, obviously. We weren’t supposed to sound like we thought they were around when she died, but Jenny blurted it out anyway.
“Let me get this straight. Your mother died, and you’re here because you think we had something to do with it?”
“No, no, not really,” I said. “It’s just that her mum said the words ‘Hells Angels’ before she died, but we know you weren’t there at the time because, well, there was nobody there . . .” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Sounds to me like there was somebody there. Sounds to me like maybe her old man should be sat down with a strong light shining in his face and questioned about this death himself, and not bringing our name into it!” Axe again.
“Oh, my dad didn’t do it!” Jenny said then.
“If you say so.”
“It’s true.”
“Back to this wallet,” another guy said.
I answered: “Yeah, like I was saying, somebody lost a wallet with a bike picture in it, outside the house, so we were just wondering. That’s all.”
“And this wallet got picked up right around the time of this death, is that it?”
“Yeah.”
Axe looked at all the Hells Angels in the clubhouse, and said: “Anybody here lose their wallet when they were killing somebody lately?”
“It wasn’t lately; it was a long time ago,” I explained.
“Long time ago? Anybody?”
One guy said: “I can’t remember all the people I knocked off, but I’d sure as hell remember if I lost my wallet.”
They all made jokes like that. Of course it was a dumb idea for me to say the wallet was at Jenny’s; they wouldn’t confess that they were there, even if there really was a wallet with money in it. It didn’t make any sense. But that’s all I could think of. I had never tried to do anything like this before. Being a sleuth looked a lot easier in the Nancy Drew books.
Then Axe said to Jenny: “This is bullshit about your mother dying, right, kid?”
“No! She really died.”
He looked as if he felt bad for making a joke about it. But he didn’t say he was sorry. Then I wondered: Now what?
“So, is anybody coming to pick you girls up? Or should we set two more places for supper?”
I realized we couldn’t call Daddy and get him to pick us up at the Hells Angels’ house. He’d kill us. And besides, I was still mad at him and Mum, so it served them right if their daughter was hiding out with a biker gang! And we sure couldn’t tell Jenny’s dad about this. So we didn’t know what to do.
“What do you girls want to do? Watch a movie?”
“Yeah, that would be great!” I said.
Pratt twisted around on the couch and gawked at Axe. “You’re lettin’ them stay here? You got a death wish or somethin’?”
“Nah. Should be fun to see who turns up to get them, after they get bored and call home. It will be worth it to see Daddy’s face when he comes to the door. So put a movie on for them, Pratt. How about Hansel and Gretel? Or Easy Rider. Oh, that’s right. We don’t have a TV!”
“You had a little accident with the TV, Axe.”
“Right. So go get them another one.”
“What?”
“Get off your ass and get a TV for them.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“You’re trying out for membership in this club, aren’t you, Pratt? So make your bones! Hoist a TV set somewhere, and get back here. I’ll give you half an hour.”
“What the fuck?”
“Get moving. Now!”
Then Axe got on the phone. “It’s me. Bring the kids over. Yeah, I know it’s not my day. Bring them over on your day, and I’ll let you have them on my day. Is that rocket science? Okay, good.” And he hung up. He said to us: “I got kids around your age. They’re coming over. Now we’ve got some business to take care of in the back room, some product we gotta move, so make yourselves at home. There’s pizza in the fridge. Phone’s there if you need it.”
“We won’t,” I said.
“Have it your way.”
So they all went into another room and shut the door. Jenny and I sat down, then got up and looked around, but there wasn’t much to see. There were some posters on the walls with pictures of motorcycles, and there was a really old leather jacket with the Hells Angels sign, hanging up with some guy’s picture underneath it. There was also an old-fashioned picture in the brown colours the cameras used to do. It showed a bunch of men sitting on top of an old airplane with Hells Angels written on it. There were words on the picture that said: “The Original Hells Angels: 303rd Bombardment Group of World War II.” I couldn’t believe they let the Hells Angels fight in the war. But maybe they were really good at it, so they put them in to fight the Nazis.
That was all I saw. The bad stuff must have been in the other room. They said we could have pizza, so we got it out of the fridge, along with a couple of cans of pop, and we sat down to eat. Pratt came in and, sure enough, he had a TV. The wires were hanging down from it, as if he just yanked it out of a wall some place and brought it to the clubhouse. He hooked it up, and didn’t talk to us the whole time. He knocked on the door to the other room, and they let him in.
Then we heard people coming in from outside. A woman shooed two kids into the house, told them to call for a lift later, and left. One was a boy about grade-three age, with short hair and kind of a skinny tail of hair at the back of his neck; the other one was a girl older than us. She had long, wild, curly brown hair. They sat down and had some pizza and didn’t talk to us.
Jenny and I went to the couch and clicked through a whol
e bunch of TV channels. The boy said “Gimme that,” and tried to grab the clicker, but his sister whacked him on the side of the head, and he fell over. He got up, went across the room to a table, and opened up a drawer; he pulled out some kind of game that looked like a small computer. He sat in the corner and played it by himself. The girl went to the phone and called her friend. She started talking to her and ignored us.
So we went back to switching TV channels. We saw a choir singing on the cable channel. The concert! Then I felt really bad. Mum and Dad would be at the concert wondering where I was. And I hadn’t gone home for supper. They would be really worried. I wanted them to worry, to pay them back for thinking I was crazy. But now I didn’t feel so good about it. We watched as the choir finished their song. It was another school and they weren’t very good, especially their diction. And they went flat a couple of times. The guy in charge of the show thanked them and asked people to call in with donations for the poor. Then he introduced the next performer: Father Brennan Burke, director of the Schola Cantorum Sancta Bernadetta, and music director of St. Bernadette’s Choir School. The man thanked Father Burke for having the show at the choir school; then Father came on to sing. He was in his priest collar and black suit, and he looked nervous. Which he never is. No, he looked as if something was bothering him. Was he worrying about me, or mad at me for missing the concert? I would be in so much trouble! Then he was singing La Rondine, all about someone who flew away like a little bird, and wouldn’t fly over the mountains and the sea to come back.
It seemed like he was talking and looking right at me. He probably wasn’t, but it seemed like it. And I started to cry. Jenny started too.
So I got up and hammered at the door to the next room. It took a few minutes, but Axe opened it.
“Can we go home?” I begged.
“We’re not keeping you here, girls. I thought you didn’t want to go home.”
“We do now. Can you call a taxi and we’ll pay you back . . . some day? My dad will kill us if he has to . . . come here to get us.”
“No shit!” He was laughing. I just waited. What else could I do? “So, you want a taxi, or you want a ride home on a big Harley hog?”
“Is that a motorcycle?”
