Phil registered the importance of this. He inhaled, slowing his heart rate and nodded. He put his hands on Jagers shoulders, mirroring him. “I’ll call Donna and get her to send the papers. See if there is anything we can do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Jager had Gary call and fill Jeannie in on what happened. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words himself. She agreed to stay the night with the boys, offering her house while Jager and his brothers figured out what they were going to do.
They gathered around her familiar kitchen table. Many meals had been eaten there. Many plans thought up, and many disputes settled. There were dings and water stains on the old wooden thing from cutlery slammed and drinks spilled during holiday parties with the guys, from Jager when he was a boy, and a few from his boys now. That table held a lot of memories, however now, as Jager sat there, looking at the evidence of years past, he couldn’t think of a single thing besides Tatum.
Resting on his elbow, his hand covering his mouth he tried to come up with a plan but was drawing a blank. Donna called again, for the sixth time. She told Phil that the lawyer was faxing the documents regarding Tatum’s inheritance, the legal aspect of their lives. She didn’t know what use they would be. They were iron-clad. There was no getting through them, in this manner. She also said that a few of Tatum’s guys from New Jersey were on their way there. When Jager overheard, she made sure that Donna told Rick to stay put. If anyone was capable of handling Tatum’s business and of tracking her down from there, it was him.
When Phil hung up, the men simply sat around the table. The only sound in the room was the humming of Jeannie’s old refrigerator. Nobody knew what to do, only that they had to think of something quickly.
Jagers hands went from rubbing his face, to running through his hair. They lit a cigarette, but he couldn’t bring himself to smoke it, afraid the men would see it trembling. He wanted to be strong for Phil, who hadn’t stopped crying for longer than five minutes.
When the silence was cut by the beeping of the fax machine, Jager stood abruptly, knocking his chair over in an attempt to get to it. As soon as he saw that it was the correct documents, he pulled out his phone and pushed on Norman’s number.
He would forge Tatum’s signature, meet up with Norman and exchange the papers for Tatum, however no one answered the phone. He hung up and redialed again, and another six times, each with the same result. To keep from throwing it against the wall he squeezed his hand around it tightly and brought his fist to his lips. He growled into it and pulled back and punched the wall. “FUCK!” he yelled and Bobo came to stand next to him. He put his hand on his Authority’s shoulder and Jager gave in and hugged him.
“I need to find her,” he said before pulling away and walking out of the house and back towards his own.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
As the sun rose the next morning, casting dull orange strips of light over the still-made-up bed, it found Jager sitting at the foot of it, ash tray over flowing and his eyes ringed with red. He had managed to change out of his jeans and hoody, and into a pair of jogging pants. The visible scars on his stomach from his time in the pen didn’t hurt as much as not knowing Tatum’s fate. He’d take both stabbings over again if it meant having her back.
He didn’t sleep a wink. At some point he called Rick to see where they were at with everything. Tatum’s henchman told him that they were in contact with some of the other gangs around that had dealings with Norman. All signs said that they were still in San Francisco, or were laying low, trying to make everyone think that’s where they were.
Jager thought it was a good idea then, for Rick to come to them. He made sure that Donna had protection, and that someone would look after the businesses. He’d told Rick to pay off one of their associated gangs to look after the clubs, maybe even a couple of them, to be safe. Rick left right after everything was set up. His flight got in later that evening.
The day was spent tracking down anyone in town that had recent dealings with Norman. Phil met up with his contact in the police department and she told him that there were no new developments.
When evening came, Rick arrived but was rendered pretty much useless, due to not knowing anything or anyone in San Francisco aside from a couple of gangs that Jager had already spoken to.
Night fell, the day began, and then ended once again. Jager called Normans phone multiple times, every time meeting with a busy signal.
One day turned into two, two into three, four… five…six.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Phil’s phone rang on day seven. He was asleep at the club on the floor outside of the bedroom that Tatum used. When he answered he was still drunk from the night before, and had a strange sense of déjà vu from the morning when Donna called to tell him he had a daughter. How things had changed since then. He’d begun to accept that this daughter was likely dead. No one had heard anything from anyone, including Norman’s men. The guys knew that the other gangs that bought guns from Norman hadn’t received their shipments that week, which was unusual.
“Hello,” he answered, illegibly. There was no response so he sat up, hoping that would help him to hear better.
“Hello?” he repeated again to the same response. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the phone number. He didn’t recognize it.
“Tatum?” he said, hopeful. He heard the beep then, and knew whomever it was had hung up. He stood and rocked his neck from side to side. Stretching his back, he vowed that he wouldn’t sleep on anymore floors. He was getting too old for this.
Before he grabbed the keys, he took a swig of the bottle left over from last night, immediately regretting his decision, and then headed out toward his truck. He drove to Jagers house and found him sitting at the kitchen table, holding a bottle in one hand and a smoke in the other. He looked terrible and Phil wondered if he did as well. His hair was a mess and dirty. When he noticed Phil in the doorway, he ran a hand through it, in an attempt to make himself look somewhat pulled together.
“Anything?” he asked and Phil knew that he was asking if there was news on Tate, as was the routine every day since the first.
“I had a weird phone call this morning,” he said this time.
Jager was expecting the usual shake of the head. He sat up straighter and encouraged Phil to continue.
“Don’t get too excited now Jag, my boy. It could have been a wrong number…” he said and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. Touching the screen he brought up his logs and laid it in front of Jager.
“This number right here,” he pointed to the screen. “Someone called and just didn’t say anything. I don’t know who it was. I don’t know that number.”
Jager studied it for a minute. “I don’t either,” he said, biting the nail on his thumb. He took out his own phone and attempted to ‘Google’ the number but to no avail. It wasn’t there.
“Should we take it to the Charlene?” Phil asked, looking over Jagers shoulder.
He rubbed his eyes and nodded behind his hands. Sleep hadn’t been coming easily for him. “Can’t hurt,” he said.
They drove together to the police station. Phil made sure that Charlene, his police contact, was the one who they spoke to. They knew she was trustworthy. She wrote down the number and told them she’d look it up. They weren’t out of the building before she came running out behind them.
“Phil!” she called to him just as he strapped back on his helmet. He lifted his chin, letting her know he was listening. “Can you leave your phone?” she asked. “I’ll keep it with me, don’t worry.” The guys knew they could trust her. She’d been on their payroll for eight years now. She was just as guilty of shit as they were.
“Why?” Phil asked as he handed it over to her.
“I think it’s a burner phone. You know, just a temporary one, like you fellas use on occasion…” she hinted.
Phil raised his eye brows and Jager took a step closer, making sure he heard everything.
> “I looked it up and it’s not listed, not to anyone. If whoever this was kept the line open long enough, we might be able to pin down a location,” she said, shaking the phone briefly in the air.
“Keep me in the loop Char, please,” Phil said before hopping back on his bike.
For the first time in days Jager felt hopeful. He headed home and showered. May came to stay with the boys while Jeannie attempted to clean up his house. Once he was cleaned up, he headed over to the club where the guys all waited to hear from Charlene.
He sat at the bar, while one of his guys poured him a drink, flipping his cell phone over and over. At first he thought he imagined it vibrating, but on the second ring he turned it over to check the phone number. He wasn’t positive, but it looked like the same number that called Phil’s phone that morning. He gave his guys a meaningful look before answering. They gathered around and waited.
Jager was greeted by the same silence that Phil had told him about. Even after saying hello there was no response, but this time, whoever it was didn’t hang up.
“Who is this?” He said after about two minutes. The sound of water dripping was the only thing he could hear in the background. That and the occasional raspy breath.
“Tate?” he said growing desperate. The sound of something creaking had him straining even further.
“What did you do?! What the fuck are you doing?” Came an unfamiliar man’s voice from the other end. “Where’d you get that?!”
There was a struggle. Jager heard the phone clatter to the ground. He’d thought that the phone had broken, disconnected until he heard what was undoubtedly two gun shots.
At the same time, Charlene burst in through the club doors. “We’ve got something,” she said and left again. The sound of the sirens filled the air moments later, as did the rev of a couple motorcycles and some trucks.
The men followed the cops at a break-neck pace all the way out to a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. It had taken them twenty minutes to get there. Jager’s stomach churned. His knees were weak and he didn’t know how he was staying on his bike, let alone maneuvering it in and out of traffic.
On the road was a single warehouse. There were two expensive looking SUVs parked outside along with five police vehicles. The sound of the ambulance in the distance had Jager nervous and hopeful at the same time. He hoped that they weren’t called just as a precaution, but because Tatum was inside. He prayed that she wasn’t hurt too bad.
Once he got close enough he jumped off his bike, not caring if the kick stand was down or not. Charlene stopped him from entering the crime scene. “Jager, hun, it’s a mess in there. You can’t go in. We don’t know what’s what yet. Just stay out here and keep calm, please,” she said and looked purposely at the rest of the guys who had come to stand next to him.
He was furious, but understood. Walking back and forth the police line as it was being set up, he looked like a lion in a cage, itching to run. For a long time no one emerged from the warehouse. After what seemed like hours, one of the cops did and headed over toward Charlene who was more or less there for crowd control. Jager edged closer, just enough so that he could hear what was being said without looking as if he was eavesdropping.
“Just the perp. He was the only one alive in there I think…” he said and Charlene’s eyes shot toward Jager.
His world came crashing down. He had to see for himself. If Tatum was in there, he had to know. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running through the police tape. Charlene and the other cop tried to stop him but they weren’t fast enough. He could hear yelling, from inside the warehouse, as well as from his brothers behind him. When he got to the door, there were cops and half a dozen or so dead bodies on the floor. As he looked around, he saw that all of them were men. To his right, in the corner being zipped into a black bag was Norman. There was a bullet in his head. On the other side of the room he heard a cop giving someone their rights and the familiar click of hand cuffs.
He was frozen in the doorway and only moved when the paramedics pushed past him in a hurry and ran into a room in the back of the building. The ringing in his ears began to dissipate and voices became more legible.
“She’s breathing!” Someone shouted and Jagers knees nearly gave out. Charlene came to stand next to him and attempted to move him out of the way so that one of the other paramedics could get the gurney into the room.
He backed out and leaned against the side of the building, and once he caught his breath and was sure he wasn’t going to be sick, he allowed Charlene to lead him back toward his guys. He didn’t want to get in the way if it was Tatum. For that many paramedics to come running like that, he knew something must have been wrong, and to him, that was almost worse than if he had seen her dead. She was suffering, probably dying.
The cops led out the man in handcuffs and Jager stared blankly at him, not realizing that he could be the one responsible for Tatum being hurt. His mind was in that back room. They walked the man over to their cruiser and made him sit in the back seat, but left the door open. Two of the cops stayed close.
The men’s hearts stopped beating in unison as the body bags began being pulled out. Jager was visibly shaking, waiting to see the woman on the gurney, praying that Tate wasn’t in one of these bags.
Time passed too slow for the men as the paramedics finally wheeled out the gurney. Jager tried to get past the cops again to go and see, however, they held him back with brute force. He yelled out, “Tate!?” to the back of the head on the gurney. Her hair was a mess and filled with dirt and dried blood. Slowly the head turned toward him and at first he thought that this was all for naught. The woman on the gurney wasn’t Tatum. She had black, swollen eyes. One was completely closed, the other a tiny slit. Her lips were swollen and there was dirt and blood all over her face.
His heart dropped, believing she was still out there somewhere until something caught his eye. Her hand was hanging limply over the side. On her finger was the ring that Phil had given her on the first day they’d met. His eyes darted back to her face and he recognized her then.
Rage filled him. Panic.
He began pushing and shoving as hard as he could at the cops. “Tate!” he yelled so loud that his voice cracked.
Sugar watched him and knew that this was the way he should be acting. He and Tatum were supposed to be a thing, however during this whole ordeal he realized that he couldn’t keep up the charade. Her heart never belonged to him. It was Jagers the whole time.
With the cop’s attention on Jager, Phil took advantage and burst through the line and ran over to his daughter. He grabbed her hand and kissed it before he was pulled away. “You’ll be fine lovey!” he yelled at her through his tears, but it seemed at that point she’d lost consciousness.
The feeling that consumed Jager was unlike anything he’d ever felt. Pain, hatred, anger, panic, and sadness, all rolled into one. Before he knew what he was doing, he turned away from his brothers and the ambulance and began walking over toward Charlene, by the man with the handcuffs.
“Who is this guy?” he demanded.
Standing next to her she could tell he was prepping for a fight. His hands were clenched at his side and he could barely stay still. She didn’t care however. This piece of shit that did this to Tatum deserved a good smack. “His name is Victor Porter. He’s one of Norman Collins men.”
With one swift motion Jager pulled Charlene’s gun out of the holster on her hip, aimed and fired at Victor. Before the bullet imbedded itself into his shoulder, Jager was running toward him. He put the gun in the waist band of his pants and pulled a screaming Victor out of the car. Throwing him on the ground he wailed away on his face, his bleeding shoulder wound, his stomach. No one tried to stop him, although he knew everyone was watching. Something inside his head told him he should stop however his heart didn’t listen. By the time Gary pulled him off of Victor, there was no mistaking he was dead.
A couple of the cops made a move to walk towards Jager but Ch
arlene held them back. She unhooked her cuffs from her belt and walked over toward him. He didn’t resist when she pulled his hands behind his back. “You don’t make this easy for me you know?” she said into his ear so that only he could hear. His hands were slick with blood. Charlene was glad she was wearing gloves. She walked him over to the cruiser and pushed his head down, forcing him into the seat that Victor had occupied moments before. Blood was sprayed onto the glass partition that separated the back seat from the front. She got onto her machine then and had them send another bag for Victor’s body.
Gary leaned into the door before Charlene closed it. “I’ll make some calls boss. We’ll get you out of here somehow,” he said but knew it would obviously be impossible to cover up a murder that happened in front of a dozen or so police officers.
Jager didn’t even blink. He’d barely heard Gary’s words. All he was thinking about was Tatum’s black and bloody face.
CHAPTER THIRTY
When Charlene came down to his cell three days later and unlocked his door, telling him he’d made bail, he was confused. How does one post bail for murder? When he asked her, she just shrugged. He didn’t think about asking who it was that paid for it, knowing it must have been a hefty price.
“Some woman came in this morning. I’ve never seen her before. She’s waiting upstairs.”
Jager didn’t know what to expect but once he reached the top of the stairs, he knew right away that the woman was Donna. He’d never met her during his stay at Tatums, but she was the spitting image of her daughter.
She stood and smiled when he approached her, and he couldn’t help himself, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. A little bit of Tatum right here with him.
Altering Authority Page 11
