Return To Paradise (Paradise Park Book 2)

by Carolina Mac

  Inside they had their pick of empty tables, but chose a couple of stools at the bar.

  “Good to see you, man,” said Farley. “You’ve muscled up a lot since we last had a brew. That out of necessity?”

  Rob nodded. “Didn’t hurt to have an edge.”

  “Fuck, I’d hate it in there.”

  “Yep, you would. Nothin to like.” Rob picked up his beer and pointed at an empty booth in the far corner. “Need to talk to you.”

  Farley followed him. “I hear you, kid. What do you need?”

  “I have to cross the border. Can you help me?”

  Farley grinned. “I can’t, but I know someone who can. “Let’s have another round and we’ll go talk to him.”

  FARLEY’S BUDDY lived in a small bungalow in south Oshawa near the GM truck plant. Not a great neighborhood, but not one of the worst either.

  Farley had called ahead and Whit met them in his garage at the back of the house. From the outside, it appeared to be an ordinary single car garage, but inside it was tricked out with everything Whit Tarkington needed to produce any ID his customers desired.

  A tall man with a weather-beaten completion, Whit worked on the assembly line during the day—the seven to three shift—steady days, a coveted shift. He came home from the plant, slept until eight, ate a late dinner then went to his second job only steps away in his garage. It was his second job that afforded him a car for his wife and a week’s vacation at a cottage in the summer.

  After introductions were made, Rob explained to Whit what he needed and stressed the urgency.

  “I charge more for a rush order, kid. You gotta know there are people ahead of you.”

  “Sure. Give me a total and I’ll hit the bank while you’re working on my stuff.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  May 7th.

  IT WAS MIDNIGHT when Rob crossed the Ambassador bridge in Detroit and lined up at US customs. His new ID, Robert Dakota, looked perfect to him, but electronically, he had no idea if he’d get past the scanner.

  Farley’s buddy guaranteed his work and it damn well should be guaranteed for the price he charged—plus the extra three hundred for doing it right away—but what good was a guarantee if they arrested Rob at the border and hauled his ass back to jail?

  The customs guy in a dark uniform stared at him from

  inside his little booth. Rob couldn’t see the guy’s face to get a read on him. He raised a flashlight, flicked it on and shone it in Rob’s face to blind him as he took the ID from his hand. “Where you headed?” The officer turned on his swivel stool and ran the passport through his computer.

  “Texas.”

  “What’s the purpose of your trip?”

  “Vacation.”

  “Any drugs or weapons?”

  “No, sir.”

  He sneered at Rob’s long hair as he gave back the ID.

  Rob thought he was home free, then the guy stepped out of his cage and pointed, “Get off your bike and open your saddle bags for me.”

  Rob nodded, kicked the stand down, steadied the bike and unbuckled the bags on both sides.

  The guy shone his light down as he rifled through the change of clothes Rob had bought at Marks while he waited for Farley’s buddy to finish up. He even opened up the shaving kit and looked inside. If he’d had the slightest idea what Rob could do with a razor blade, he wouldn’t be acting so goddam cocky.

  Rob’s heart thumped in his chest and he thought he might have a fuckin stroke if the search wasn’t over soon, but finally the asshole nodded and waved him through.

  With the wind in his face, Rob rode for an hour through the Michigan night, trying to keep it together—his nerves ready to snap. But before stopping to unwind and get some sleep, he gassed up his ride and bought a Coke, a bag of Doritos, a disposable phone and a map.

  IN THE MORNING, after he showered, Rob dressed in his new jeans and a plain black cotton t-shirt and felt slightly better. He rolled up his dirty clothes and set them on the end of the bed, ready to stuff in his saddle bag, then went in search of coffee. He strolled down to the lobby of the Days Inn, helped himself to two cardboard cups of coffee and a couple of the muffins that were on the free breakfast buffet. Back in his room, he sat at the round table, ate one of the muffins and called Jerry on the new burner phone.

  It’s good to have Jerry to talk to, even if he can’t help me. He’s a better brother to me than Gary ever was.

  Jerry answered on the first ring. “You okay?”

  “Yep. Made it across the border and rode for a couple of hours. I picked up a map and I’m ready to go. I’ll check in with you tonight.”

  “Can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re doing this, Rob. If I had a choice, I’d be doing it myself. I’ve always taken care of my sister since she was a teenager.”

  “I know that, man.”

  “If my phone’s off later, leave me a message. I’ll be at the hospital. I think today is the day.”

  “Okay,” said Rob. “Hope everything works out good for Kate and the baby.” The ache in his chest grew stronger every time he thought about his own baby and the years he had already missed. The drive inside him to find Grace and Joey redoubled.

  BY MIDNIGHT the second day, Rob was in St. Louis. He booked into a Comfort Inn on the outskirts of town and parked his bike at the back of the lot out of sight. Twice during the day, he felt like he was being followed, but couldn’t spot anybody who looked like they belonged to the Brand. Maybe it was his imagination.

  He walked next door to a Bob Evans and ordered their dinner special—ribs and a baked potato with a garden salad. It came with a piece of cherry pie, but he was too full to tackle the pie. His server, a pretty blonde girl who openly flirted with him and would have given him more than food, put the pie into a container for him and he took it back to his room, along with a coffee to go.

  He scanned the parking lot, saw no movement and shrugged. Inside his room, he locked the door, used the safety chain that he knew to be virtually useless and closed the drapes.

  Shit, am I paranoid, or what?

  HE SLEPT WELL, despite feeling uneasy before he cut the power to the TV and spent five minutes listening for footsteps in the hallway. Shit, was he turning into some kind of a nutcase? He heard guys in prison talking about getting screwed over by their own brains and he couldn’t figure out what the hell they were talking about. His brain had been okay, so far. Well, except for a couple of times.

  Rob resigned himself to wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before, something Grace rarely let him do. She’d instilled a ‘clean gene’ in him. He could remember a time when he was a kid and lived with Gary, they never did laundry. When their clothes were filthy and stinking, Gary would throw them away and buy them something to wear from the Goodwill store.

  Maybe tonight if he stopped somewhere and noticed a laundromat, he’d make the effort.

  He called Jerry after he’d raided the breakfast room and Jerry’s phone went to message. Must be with Kate at the hospital.

  THE THIRD DAY the heat increased as he crossed Missouri heading south-west. Every time he stopped at a rest area or to have a quick smoke, he fried in the heat until he hit the road again.

  If it’s this fuckin hot in May, what’s it like in Texas in the summer? Does Grace like it this hot?

  By noon he needed gas and pulled into a truck stop just outside of Joplin. He filled the tank on the Harley, then parked and went inside the restaurant praying they’d have air conditioning. He let out a breath of gratitude as he slid into an empty booth, the back of his t-shirt temporarily gluing itself to the vinyl back of the booth.

  A cute waitress rushed over, gave him a menu, told him about the lunch special and asked him what he wanted to drink.

  “Coke with extra ice.”

  She came back with the Coke and he still hadn’t made up his mind. Not that he could get confused by the choices on the menu—he didn’t even know what the fuckin thing said. He wanted soup, bu
t it was too fuckin hot.

  “Want me to give you a couple more minutes, sugar?”

  “Sure, thanks.” Rob looked up to smile at her and out of the corner of his eye saw them walk in. Four of them. Shaved heads. Swastikas on their necks. He turned his head, picked up his Coke and took a long pull on it. They crossed the restaurant to a table against the far wall where they had a view of the whole room and a clear sightline to the entrance.

  What can I do against four of the assholes? I don’t even have a weapon.

  The waitress returned, and he ordered the special. He couldn’t remember what she had told him it was, but it didn’t matter, he wasn’t gonna eat it anyway. He needed time to think.

  She brought the Philly steak sandwich with onion rings stacked on top, a huge plate of fries and a side of coleslaw. His Coke was almost empty and she rushed off to get him a refill.

  Jesus, how will I eat all this?

  He glanced across the room and saw that the Aryans had drinks and were holding menus.

  They’re gonna wait until I leave.

  Rob ate half his steak sandwich and picked at the fries, all the time wondering what the hell he was gonna do. He had to leave soon, he couldn’t sit here all fuckin day.

  I’ll get money out for my bill and set it on the table. If I see an opening, I’ll run for my bike.

  He tucked a ten and a five under the coleslaw dish and figured that would cover it, along with a tip. Trying not to be obvious, Rob raised his eyes and saw the boys across the room laughing and chatting with their waitress. She appeared to be laughing too.

  Not a good idea, girl. Those guys can turn on a dime.

  She was writing the brothers’ order on her pad when the door opened, and three State Troopers came in, calling out greetings to a couple of the waitresses.

  Rob jumped to his feet, used the trio of cops as a buffer and booked it out the door. He ran for his ride, thankful he hadn’t chained it and prayed it would start.

  The big Sportster rumbled to life on the first try and he was gone. Back on I-44 and crossing into Oklahoma.

  Should he stay on the interstate hoping to keep ahead of them? Or should he take another route?

  I need a fuckin knife. I’m not that good with a gun.

  HE RODE HARD and fast to Tulsa, not bothering to stop for gas or a smoke. With the gauge touching a corner of the ‘E’ for empty, he took an off-ramp in the middle of the city, figuring if they didn’t see him turn, they’d never find him.

  He filled the tank, wished for an auxiliary tank that he never could afford, used the facilities in the convenience store, then bought Cokes, bottles of water, a banana, and a pre-made ham and cheese sandwich on whole wheat.

  No sign of them outside. Afternoon heat hit him like a hammer when he stepped out of the air-conditioned store. He filled his lungs with hot Oklahoma air, loaded up the saddle bags on his bike and took off. Once his speed was up to the limit, he couldn’t feel the fuckin heat.

  By nightfall Oklahoma was almost history. A few more miles to go. He left the interstate and found a small motel where he was able to park his bike around back out of sight.

  Were they close? Or had he lost them? How the hell did they know where he was?

  He laid on the bed in his clothes and couldn’t sleep. The room was cool and that was the best thing about it. Shabby and well-used, it was clean and cheap and out of sight. His head pounded, and he didn’t even have an aspirin.

  AFTER THREE LONG days of hard riding and not enough sleep, Rob crossed from Oklahoma into Texas. He pulled into a rest area outside of Wichita Falls and parked his Harley. After using the facilities and buying two bottles of water out of a vending machine, he returned to his bike to find three Harley’s parked next to his.

  Oh, fuck. Those Aryan bastards are here.

  A couple of eighteen wheelers were parked in the back row, but the rest of the parking lot was virtually deserted. Sun beat down with no mercy from a sky without a single cloud. It would be a helluva hot one for his first day in Texas.

  As he got closer, he got a better look at the riders.

  Nope, it ain’t them.

  He released some of the tension he was holding as he sized them up. Three shoddy-looking riders lurked too close to Rob’s Sportster, smoking and staring at his ride. The sour reek of body odor swirled around them like an aura gone rancid.

  Grace said that. He didn’t even know what a fuckin aura was until she explained it to him. He smiled as he recalled it.

  Rob visually checked each man for weapons. Boot knives—all three. One Smitty in a waist holster.

  Probably more in their bags with extra ammo.

  “Canadian tag.” The tallest one had taken a stance behind Rob’s bike, blocking his path. Full beard. Reflector shades. Colors Rob didn’t recognize. Not Angels or Banditos. Not a big club. Local.

  “Uh huh.” Rob unscrewed the top on one of the water bottles and chugged half.

  “Where you headed?” Shorter guy stepped closer. Stalky. Bare muscled arms showing ink—shoulder to wrist.

  Rob nodded. “Nice ink.”

  “I asked you a question.” Another step closer.

  Rob finished the water and fired the bottle overhand into a

  container. He set the second bottle on the pavement and lit up a smoke. “San Antonio.”

  “You a lone rider?”

  Rob glanced over his shoulder and said nothing. He could hear his own heart beating and hoped they couldn’t.

  The third guy was about to join the party when a deafening rumble cut through the heat and the quiet. Four riders cruised in off the highway. Rob saw the leader point his way. The bikes circled and stopped next to his little knot of trouble.

  “Fuckin Badgers,” growled tall guy, nodding towards the new arrivals. “Bunch of pussies.”

  Rob recognized tall guy for what he was. Intimidator with backup. Nothing on his own. The fear leaked through.

  “Any goods we’d be interested in?” The leader of the new arrivals went about two-fifty with twenty pounds of chain around his thick neck. He pointed at tall guy and asked his question while he stayed seated on his bike, boots on the concrete for balance, engine throbbing.

  Tall guy shook his head. “Nothing. Just cruising.”

  “Sayin you got nothin to trade for your lives?” Big guy grinned and showed a blackened incisor.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” said tall guy.

  “Uh huh.” Big guy took his time. Turned off the engine, dismounted and put a boot to his kickstand—all in slo-mo. The three behind him did the same.

  “What about you?” He took a step closer to Rob and zoned in on the prison tat on his neck. “Fresh ink.” He pointed a chunky finger. “Where you been, kid?”

  “Millhaven.”

  Big guy’s lip curled up. “Canada. Fuck, that’s meanness. Heard that place is harsh.”

  Rob nodded. “You heard right.”

  He sized Rob up, head to toe, pausing to stare at the bulging biceps, glistening with sweat.

  “You best get along, kid. I’ve got business with these boys.”

  Rob nodded, shoved the extra water bottle into his saddle bag and threw his leg over his bike. The crowd backed off, and gave him enough room to maneuver out of the spot he was in. He gave the wave, squeezed the gas and left.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WITH DEFIANCE IN his dark eyes, Lonnie took a stance—one hand on the door handle and one hand clutching Joey’s little hand.

  “You can’t take him in the truck, Lon. He’s too little.” Grace reached for Joey and Lon snatched him up.

  “He’s my son, and I’m taking him. Come to think of it, we might not come back. You’ve got your editor—what do you need us for?”

  “Don’t start that ‘affair with your editor’ crap again, Lon. We’ve been down that road. There is nothing going on. I have never cheated on you, and I never would.”

  Lon tossed his head and laughed. “Look what happened with Rob. Don
’t tell me shit can’t happen.”

  “Rob isn’t open for discussion. You promised. And that was all you. You made that happen. Nobody else. You left me. Don’t deny it.”

  “Bullshit,” Lon hollered. Joey started to whimper.

  “Give him to me.” Grace took a step nearer and reached for Joey.

  Lon pulled Joey tighter to his body and with his other hand, gave Grace a healthy shove. She stumbled backwards and fell to the floor.

  Ted growled and bared his teeth at Lonnie.

  “My own dog is growling at me.” Lon pointed, “and it’s all because of you.” He turned and jerked the door wide open.

  Grace scrambled up from the floor, grabbed her phone from the table and pressed 911. “I’m calling the police. You’re not taking Joey with you.”

  Lon stomped outside as their neighbor from next door, mounted the porch steps. “I heard shouting. Everything all right here, Grace?”

  “No, Dan. Far from it. I don’t want Lon to take Joey on a long haul in the truck.”

  “He’s my kid and I’m taking him,” shouted Lonnie. “Try to stop me.” Lon pushed past Dan, set Joey on the grass next to the big black and purple rig and jumped up on the side-step to unlock it. When Lon’s back was turned, Grace bolted down the steps and scooped Joey up. Lon spun around and swatted her across the head. She fell to the ground with Joey in her arms and Dan ran to help her.

  Joey screamed, and Grace sobbed as Dan helped her to her feet. She picked Joey up and cuddled him close.

  Sirens sounded as the police drew nearer. Lon jumped into the Peterbilt, revved up the engine and took off.

  GRACE WOKE SOBBING. Would she ever get that last morning with Lonnie out of her head? Reliving it every night in her dreams was driving her insane. She couldn’t function. She couldn’t face the world. She couldn’t write.

  After the funeral, she’d left the house she shared with Lon in the suburbs of San Antonio and she’d run for the hills–literally. Grace had put as many miles between her and Lon’s memory as she could—and it wasn’t nearly enough.