Blood in the Water (Kairos)

by Catherine Johnson

  Samuel was ruminating on the news Terry had brought. The club was struggling to earn. Some alliances had changed, some had fallen through and not been renewed. Some had been the victim of the current persecution by various government agencies. The club had been keeping a low profile while Samuel was inside, and that had left them vulnerable to the changes.

  In addition, Terry had borne news of Samuel’s eldest child, his son Dean, news that Moira hadn’t seen fit to tell him. Terry knew that her view on the matter would be that since Sam was locked down and couldn’t do anything about the problem, there was no need for him to concern himself with it. Samuel felt that it was one more nail in the coffin that housed his relationship with his children. For the first few years of his sentence, his absence from his family hadn’t mattered as much. The children had less concept of time and had minded what their mama had told them. As they’d gotten older and begun to understand what it meant that their father was in prison and what it was that had put him there, their attitudes had changed. Ashleigh, ever her daddy’s little princess, had become shy, but tried to hide it with a brittle excitement that hurt him to witness during her visits. Dean, barely two years older, had become sullen and uncommunicative.

  Now Terry was giving him details of the trouble that Dean was getting into at school that Moira had withheld. The boy needed his father at home. As much as his brothers were trying to compensate for his absence, it wasn’t working. The end of his sentence was in sight. Samuel could almost taste his freedom. He knew he had to keep a handle on the frustration that was bubbling in his blood. He was impatient to get out, to take control, to be useful again. He was needed, in his club and in his family. He had been missing too long. Now that it was a case of waiting out, rather than enduring, his time inside, Samuel found that the minutes crawled past with all the urgency of a comatose snail.

  His book lay forgotten, the page lost, as Samuel twisted the aggravation around in his mind until Eduardo’s disembodied voice interrupted his musings.

  “Ese, my brother, he tells me he knows your visitor today.”

  Well that had his attention. “Did he now? Do I know your brother?”

  “Unlikely, ese. We don’t spend much time socializing on this side of the border. But he tells me your brother is one of the Priests. You ride with them too?”

  “You could say that. I’m at the head of the table, when I’m at it.”

  “Really, that’s interesting.”

  Samuel wasn’t sure where this conversation was going. Somewhere benign, he hoped. He needed to make his release date. He didn’t need some grief over turf or agreements turning into extra months on his sentence.

  “Why you interested, friend?”

  “I hear Louisiana is your patch, ese. Nothing moves through this state without your say so.”

  “Yeah, that’s usually the case. Nothing moving through the state much at all these days, though. Feds are up everybody’s asses. You need to take somethin’ somewhere?”

  “My family, I think maybe you know the name, Rojas? We have some interests that need some transportation. I might have a proposition for you, Samuel, a project your club could help my family with. You think your brothers might be interested?”

  Samuel did indeed know that name, Rojas. He hadn’t dealt with them personally before, but that didn’t mean he was ignorant about them. It didn’t do to be ignorant about Colombian crime syndicates. They’d never operated in Louisiana before and Samuel wasn’t sure how one of them had ended up here in Angola with him. It was a question for the list, though. For now, he wasn’t going to turn an opportunity down out-of-hand until he’d heard the details.

  “You know how it works, friend. They’ll have to take a vote on anything that involves the club. You tell me what it is you have in mind, if I think it’s something we can get on board with, I’m happy to take it to the table.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Let’s see if we can work together, huh, ese?”

  “Yeah, let’s see.”

  ~o0o~

  Eduardo had come through with the ‘details’ for Samuel. The Rojas family moved people and drugs. To get them into the States, they first transported them to Mexico, and then over the border into Arizona. They’d lost that connection, and with it the one that continued the transportation into California for distribution across the continent. They needed new lines of movement throughout the US. They had a fresh distributor set up in Florida, far enough away to keep suspicion from looking at their old connections; but they needed to move their product from the border out east. They were in the process of establishing a way into Texas, but they needed local assistance; and that was where they had asked Samuel to see if the Priests would entertain a partnership.

  Samuel had just finished explaining some of the finer complexities of the deal to Terry and was running out of allotted visitation time.

  “Terry, we bring the Rabids in from Texas, get them to meet the packages and bring them to us, we can get them from Texas to Florida. There’s no other MC claiming I-10 as their turf. It’s ours for the run.”

  The Rabid Dogs MC of southern Texas had a longstanding friendship with the Priests. As with all things outlaw, it was delicately balanced on a knife edge of comradeship and mutual benefit, but it had endured for more than thirty years thus far. The same could not be said for the Satan’s Tail MC, which controlled the northern half of the Lone Star state.

  “You don’t think the Tails are gonna have somethin’ to say about that, Boss?”

  “The Tails are clear across the north of the state. The Rabids are by the border. The Tails ain’t got no say in this.”

  “Oh I’m sure they’ll have a few words on the matter anyhow, but I see your logic. Just sayin’ they might try shit is all.”

  “Terry, if the Rabids can’t keep their turf that’s up to them. If they lose their ground we cut the deal with the Tails instead. But for now, keeping their garden clear is up to the Rabids. Anythin’ else is just a bridge we don’t worry ‘bout crossin’ ‘til we need to.”

  “Alright, Boss. I got enough here to take it to Church. I’ll let you know next week what the boys say.”

  Samuel watched Terry leave with the hope that the response from his club would be favorable. The opportunity that they’d been presented with had the potential to be lucrative, and to last over the long term, too, if they were cautious. It wasn’t something to be passed over lightly. It wasn’t something to be entered into lightly, though, either. Colombian cartels weren’t known to be easy to walk away from; but what they were proposing sounded reasonable enough to be worth the risk to the Priests, and it wasn’t too far removed from the work they’d been used to. Samuel wasn’t one to be swayed by dollar signs, but he couldn’t deny that the chance to earn big after six years of his family existing at subsistence levels was extremely attractive.

  ~o0o~

  The redhead sitting across from him at the table in the visitation room was as beautiful and alluring to him now as she’d been fifteen years ago. Sure her hairstyle had changed, she’d tamed the wild curls that had caught his twenty-year-old eyes, and she’d added a few lines around the corners of her eyes, just as he had; but she would always be the sassy bitch that had dared to answer him back. There wasn’t a day that went by that Samuel Carter ever regretted falling in love with Moira Belle Lebeau, even if he often had to stifle the urge to strangle her.

  “You didn’t think you needed to tell me he’d been suspended, cher?”

  “Nothin’ you could do about it from in here, was there? Thought I’d save you the time worryin’ about it. Terry’s got no business bringin’ that to you.”

  “Terry knew I’d be concerned.”

  “And here you are bein’ all concerned and that’s all you can be, cher.”

  Samuel knew he was looking daggers at his wife, and he was glad that this was one of the visits that she’d chosen not to bring the children along. If she kept up like this he’d be in for First Degree Murder, probably e
nd up on Death Row for the damage he was about to do to her. They didn’t need to see their daddy squeeze the breath out of their momma here in the prison visiting room. He was so angry, at Terry, at Moira, at himself, at the world, that he almost missed the imperceptible way her expression softened.

  “I know it grates on you, bein’ stuck in here. But you gotta trust me. You’ve left me alone a long time now to bring those children up and you need to trust that I know what I’m doin’ with them.” Moira sighed, obviously having caught his renewed irritability at her reminder about how long she’d had to cope on her own. “You don’t need to be worryin’ about Dean bein’ suspended for something; that weren’t nothin’. You need to concentrate on gettin’ your ass outta here in time for your daughter’s birthday. She’s depending on her daddy bein’ there. She won’t ask for no presents, says all she wants is you home.”

  Samuel’s heart shattered.

  He took a deep breath, trying to find some center, some calm. He knew he was failing miserably, but he had to at least pull himself away from the verge of crying like a baby right here in the middle of everyone.

  “You gonna at least tell me why he was suspended, cher?”

  “Fightin’ in school.” Samuel didn’t miss how uncomfortable Moira looked, positively shifty. She could manipulate him like no other woman ever had, except for maybe his mama; but she had too fiery a nature for subterfuge. She had a direct brain to mouth link with no filter that made it practically impossible to lie, at least to him. She seemed to manage it just fine with some people.

  “And the rest, cher.” He prompted gently.

  Moira took a beat, but he knew she knew she had to give it up. “He tells me one of the boys in his class was bein’ mean to Ashleigh. Said some things ‘bout you bein’ a jailbird, ‘bout you never comin’ out. Said a few more about the club, about her family bein’ criminals.”

  The pieces of Samuel’s heart shattered into fragments.

  He dropped his head and looked at the table top, keeping his eyes wide until he was sure the tears would not fall. He usually kept the feelings of powerlessness tamped well down, but they were leaking out all over the place right now. He’d always hated seeing his kids off to school. Dean he was less worried about since the boy had grown big enough to take care of himself, and had heeded some lessons in how to fight from his collection of miscreant uncles, but Ashleigh was his baby girl. He hated that some little shit had been mean to her, hated that little shits like that existed, hated that he was stuck where he was and couldn’t even go visit with the little shit’s parents.

  Moira’s soft hands snaked across the Formica and covered his white-knuckled fists. “Don’t you fret, Samuel. Dean broke that boy’s nose. That’s how come he’s suspended for so long.”

  Moira gave his fists a little shake, but Samuel still didn’t trust himself to open his mouth, not until he was convinced that there was a better chance of words coming out instead of his anguish.

  “I had a word with Principal Schaeffer. They’re not suspendin’ the boy since he’s goin’ to be home so long recoverin’ anyway. They seem to think it’ll be counterproductive. But I made sure they knew that I backed my boy on this and that I would do again.”

  Samuel had no doubt that the Principal had seen the side of Moira that most people would throw themselves into a burning tar pit to avoid encountering, Samuel included.

  “You just get yourself home soon, cher. Get home for your little girl and your boy. Get home for me.”

  1993 – Part Two

  Finally, the day had dawned. It might have been Samuel’s imagination, but he thought perhaps the sun shone a little brighter this early summer’s morning. He had no doubt that he would be dicked about for hours yet with official bureaucracy, but he could bear it. Today was the day he got to go home, to his club, to his family. Today was the day he got to be the man he knew he was again.

  Terry had come back with the club’s answer for their involvement with Rojas scheme. It was a go, but the club didn’t want any wheels in motion without Samuel. As far as they were concerned, he was the link to the Rojas, the element of essential trust necessary for the exercise to work effectively. Eduardo had understood. It was a natural caveat and not a surprise. All the arrangements were in place for a very profitable alliance as soon as Samuel took his seat again at the head of the Priests’ table.

  ~o0o~

  Samuel hadn’t been wrong; it was well into the middle of the afternoon by the time he’d been processed out of the prison. The guards escorted him to the perimeter gate, as if they didn’t trust him to actually leave, which amused the hell out of Samuel. The humidity was high, but even so it was better to be outside than in. There was no air conditioning inside the prison walls. The clothes he’d been wearing when he’d entered the prison years ago were a lot too tight now; following years of physical labor, he was broader just about everywhere. Between them Terry and Moira had ensured he had jeans and a t-shirt that fit him, a little grease money had made sure that the new outfit hadn’t gone missing.

  He couldn’t hold back the smile that split his face at the sight of his brothers waiting for him. They were keeping a respectful distance from the prison perimeter, but as he neared they parted to reveal his pride and joy, his ‘79 Fat Bob. They’d polished the paintwork and chrome until it gleamed. The reflected sunlight almost blinded him. His smile only grew as he left the prison grounds well and truly behind and was engulfed by hugs and back-slaps. It was Terry that handed him his kutte. He slipped it on, feeling like a piece of his skin that he hadn’t known was missing had been grafted back to his body. The weight of the leather on his shoulders was a balm for the portion of his life that he’d never regain.

  The ride back to the clubhouse was as exhilarating as the first ride he’d ever taken. Fuck but it’d been a long time, too long, far too long. Right then and there he made an oath to himself that he was never going down for a stretch that long again. No way, no how. If his kutte was his skin, his bike was his heart. The paltry muscle in his chest had been beating for the last six years, performing the functionary job of pushing blood around his sorry carcass, but this machine beneath him now was what made him live. The wind whipping past him was the air in his lungs. He would die before he gave this up again.

  The ride back to Absolution, his hometown, the home of the Priests, took a couple of hours. It was too short. As much as Samuel wanted to do and experience on this, his first day of liberty, he wanted to stay on his bike and chase the sunset. He needed that freedom, but being home was freedom in its own way and it would have to do for the present. He knew that the following day would find him astride his bike, the blacktop flying away beneath his wheels. The regime in prison had been based on physical labor, with the intention that a bone deep muscular tiredness would control inmates as much as anything else. That meant that the majority of the inmates spent a lot of time in the open air, but Samuel didn’t recall one minute of one day of his sentence when the air had tasted quite this good. Simply being on the other side of that razor wire-topped wall gave it a different flavor.

  As they entered the town limits, he slowed. His brothers, riding in formation behind him, slowed too. The town had been around since the 1700’s. It had its own schools, hospital and a mall. It wasn’t such a big place, but it wasn’t such a small place, either. There were a couple of other MCs in the state, above the bands of weekend warriors, but they all recognized the Priests as the guiding light. Samuel took note, as best he could as they passed, of the more significant changes that had taken place while he’d been incarcerated. He needed to get to know the town again, to find his hook back into its nervous system. In the six years he’d been gone the town had expanded a little, pushing its limits out with clean, fresh new buildings. Along with the homes came businesses.

  The Priests provided a degree of protection to the businesses in Absolution. The town had its own police department, but the club picked up the slack on a lot of the minor crimes and some
of the larger ones, too. Whenever something was deemed too small to warrant an officer’s full attention, something like a bad seed’s continual shoplifting habit, the MC would step in and straighten the kid out where repeated cautioning by officers had failed. In cases where there was little to no evidence and no chance of any conviction, but everyone knew who was really behind it, the MC would take up the enforcement while the legal system was hogtied by due process. For continued access to this insurance policy, the businesses paid a percentage to the club. Terry’s twice monthly reports to Samuel had assured him that the new businesses were just as grateful for the club’s continued interest in the town’s well being as the more established ones.

  Samuel’s father had joined the Marine Corp straight out of high school, barely taking the time to marry his school sweetheart first. The war in Vietnam was heating up and Samuel’s daddy had been desperate for the opportunity to fight for his country. Samuel had been born in 1962, almost exactly nine months after the wedding. When his father had eventually returned from Asia, Samuel had still been too young to remember much, but his mother had told him that his father was not the carefree boy who’d set off with stars and stripes in his eyes. When Maxwell Carter had come home he had struggled to settle into domestic rigidity with his wife and child. Samuel knew now that his father’s state of mind would be labeled Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and treated with a bunch of pills and therapy. At the time, Claire Carter, well used to coping on her own with a house to run and a small child, hadn’t been quite so bothered by Max’s absences when he’d acquired a motorcycle and taken to riding around the southern states with his buddies from the Corps, but she had asked that he find a way to bring money into the household. Max’s answer to that request was to combine the two things he cared most about in life, his love of riding and his family, thus the Priests motorcycle club, based in Absolution, Louisiana had been born.