by George Rowe
At that point I stopped reading and listening.
Then came a number on caller ID that I recognized. It was Jenna ringing from the minivan.
“I need to talk to you,” she said the moment I picked up.
“I promise I’ll tell you everything when we get to where we’re going.”
“Where’s that? Sierra keeps asking.”
“I don’t know, Jenna. Let’s just get to where we’re going and we’ll talk then.”
From the I-10 we turned onto the I-5 and went into the San Fernando Valley, where we pulled into a Walmart so Jenna could buy herself some clothes and ditch the pajamas. Then our escort led us west again to a Simi Valley motel that ATF had booked. There we waited for Charles to show up with the room keys.
If I thought the night of the takedown was hell for me, it had been nothing compared to what my fellow CI had been through in the High Desert. As I’d been fidgeting at church in JB’s garage, Charles had been on his way over to Tramp’s place, having been summoned to an urgent meeting by his lordship. Charles hadn’t had a clue what that meeting was about, but with the takedown just hours away, he’d feared the worst.
When he arrived in Hesperia, there were several Vagos chapter officers waiting inside Tramp’s house. As it turned out, they weren’t there for an ambush. Apparently one of the Victorville patches was splitting from Psycho to form a chapter of his own called Death Valley, and he wanted to take Quick Draw, aka Charles, with him. In order to do that, Charles was required to pay Tramp a change of chapter fee.
Gotta hand it to Tramp, man. That ol’ rascal sure knew how to keep food on the table and a slot machine fed.
Anyway, Charles had paid the fee and gotten out of there alive in fifteen minutes—about ten times longer than it was taking him to bring me the fucking motel room key. I wanted that dude to hurry his ass up because Jenna was peppering me with questions in the parking lot—questions she had every right to ask but that I preferred answering in private. When she realized she wasn’t getting anywhere with me, she took her frustrations out on Old Joe, who was in my truck minding his own business.
She flung open the door and demanded, “Did you know?”
“Know what?” said Joe coyly.
“Cut the shit, Joey cakes. You know what I’m talking about.”
Joe nodded and said contritely, “Yeah, I knew.”
Wrong answer.
“You fucking knew all this time and you didn’t tell me? How could you sit there in my house and let me think George hooked up with someone else and I’m driving around at night looking for him and—what the fuck, Joe—all those times I asked what was going on and you never said a thing?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Jenna,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t.”
Jenna vented on the phone to her father next. She wanted to go home to Daddy, but he wouldn’t allow it. Going to Nana’s place was out of the question too. Bill told his daughter she was safest in my company. And the man was right too, because for months after the takedown, Bill and his wife would hear the rumble of Harley-Davidsons cruising past their home.
Not long after Jenna hung up with her dad, Charles pulled into the parking lot with the room keys.
“Who is he?” Jenna wanted to know.
“The other guy,” I told her as I moved toward the car.
“Hey, bro, that was some crazy shit, man,” I greeted Charles as he stepped from the car.
We hugged and shook hands and swapped stories until Jenna complained she had to pee. So we retired to our rooms, Charles a few doors down and Old Joe in the same room with us. There were no complaints from Jenna this time. I think at that point the girl was beyond caring.
I asked Joe to take Sierra for a walk while Jenna and I talked. No sooner had I pressed the door shut than my fiancée asked the million-dollar question.
“Okay. Why?”
I sat her on the bed and related my story from David’s disappearance to the meeting in Bee Canyon with John Carr.
“Uncle John?” she asked.
“Yeah. Uncle John.”
“He’s a fuckin’ cop.” She said it matter-of-factly, finally able to make sense of it all. “I thought maybe you were gay. I wish that was it. At least I could deal with that.”
She met my eyes with sudden intensity.
“You lied to me, George. The person I thought I was in love with was a lie. And it wasn’t just a big lie. It was a life lie.”
“If I’d told you the truth, what would you have done?”
Jenna didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. We both knew the answer to that. I stood from the bed and walked into the bathroom with my shaving kit.
“I went to high school with some of those people,” she said behind me. “Some of them were good people. They didn’t do anything wrong.”
“If they didn’t do anything wrong, they wouldn’t have been arrested.”
“And what about you?” she said.
“What about me?”
“You think you’re some kind of angel? What gives you the fuckin’ right? You’re lucky no one ever went undercover on your ass.”
I stripped down and said nothing.
“And how come I’m not locked up, huh?” Jenna continued. “I’ve sold pills, I’ve sold weed. I’ve transported across the border. I should’ve been busted too, shouldn’t I? Fuck, George. You should hear the messages the girls left me.”
She was quiet a long moment, then said listlessly, “I can’t hang out with my friends anymore.”
“They weren’t friends, they were pill users,” I told her. “They used to talk shit about you all the time.”
I ran the shower.
“They were friends, George. They were friends and they’ll get married and have kids and I’ll never see them or have my kids play with theirs.” She paused a moment. “Things will never be the same. Things will never be even close to the same.”
She laid on her side and curled up against her pregnant belly.
We didn’t speak again that day. I took a shower, then shaved off my beard and moustache, rediscovering my chin for the first time in fourteen years. I didn’t recognize the man in the mirror, and that was the whole idea. I was preparing to say good-bye to George Rowe. Course I still had the 22 behind one ear and Green Nation splashed across the back of my head. But I’d deal with those tattoos later.
Jenna didn’t bother opening her eyes when I collapsed in bed facing her. Either she couldn’t bear to look at me or the girl was as exhausted as I was. Pure adrenaline had kept me going for the past thirty-seven hours. Now, all of a sudden, I had nowhere to go and not a damn thing to do: no trees to trim, no club runs to go on, no church meetings to attend, no guns to buy. I felt like I’d just finished a monthlong meth jag and now it was time to crash.
I rubbed Jenna’s swollen belly until I drifted off into a deep sleep. You could have run a locomotive through that motel room and I would have snored right through it.
Finally, it was over.
Operation 22 Green was history.
VAGOS MOTORCYCLE CLUB TARGETED IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA CRIME SWEEP*
The Associated Press
March 10, 2006
Rancho Cucamonga, Calif.—Twenty-five leaders and associates of the Vagos motorcycle club were arrested following one of the largest coordinated law enforcement probes ever conducted in Southern California, authorities said.
Thursday’s operation involved 700 personnel from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives and local police and sheriff’s departments.
“The Vagos are a ruthless criminal biker gang that virtually held our communities hostage” by dealing in “guns, drugs and death,” said John Torres, a special agent in charge with the ATF.
“Operation 22 Green,” as it was called, targeted Vagos associates in five Southern California counties. Green is the club’s chosen color and 22 corresponds to V, the 22nd letter of the alphabet. More than 80 search and arrest warrants were
issued and 25 people were taken into custody Thursday on federal or state charges that included firearms and drug violations. Another five people already were in custody.
Arrestees Thursday included seven chapter presidents, one vice president, one secretary, one treasurer and seven sergeants at arms. The vice president, Ryan Matteson, 29, was arrested for investigation of murder in connection with a home invasion robbery in Lucerne Valley where three people were robbed and one was killed, authorities said.
In a statement, Torres said investigators seized 95 illegal firearms, some illegal drugs, $6,000 in cash and two stolen motorcycles. San Bernardino County District Attorney Michael A. Ramos said the sweep effectively “dismantled” the club, which he estimated has several hundred members. Torres said he anticipated that many of those arrested will have their cases incorporated into a federal racketeering case against the club.
An e-mail message seeking comment from the club was not immediately returned. However, leaders in the past have said that Vagos is a social club, not a criminal enterprise, and frequently have complained of being subjected to witch-hunts.
“It’s about riding motorcycles together. Spending time as a family, a pack, a club, a tribe,” James Cross, 34, former president of the Placer County Vagos told the Sacramento Bee in comments published Wednesday. “The club frowns on criminal activity,” said Cross, who is one of three people accused of conspiring to kill a fellow member.
* Used with permission of The Associated Press Copyright © 2012. All rights reserved.
23
Vanishing Act
He’d been straight-out crazy dealing with the aftershocks of Operation 22 Green, but John Carr finally arrived at our motel a few days after the takedown. When I answered his knock, he thought he’d come to the wrong room until he realized that the clean-shaven baby face staring back at him was mine. John laughed and shook my hand, then I turned to introduce him to Jenna.
Holy shit!
It was like staring into the eyes of the Medusa. I mean, if a look could kill a man, Special Agent Carr would have been stone-cold dead on the floor.
“Hi, I’m Uncle John,” he said, gamely proffering his hand.
Jenna ignored it.
“No, you’re not,” she snapped at him. “You’re a fucking cop.”
A slow smile crept across John’s face.
“I always knew you were going to be a handful.”
Jenna smirked back. “Whatever you say, Fabio.”
Fabio. Guess that was a slight aimed at John’s shoulder-length hair. That’s what Jenna would call John Carr from that day forward and every chance she got—just to bust his balls. In her view, that ATF special agent was just as responsible for her predicament as I was.
John had come to the motel to talk about WITSEC. The U.S. Marshals Service had given a thumbs-up and were allowing us to enter the program, so John wanted to explain to Jenna what she could expect once she got on board . . . if she got on board. He told her we’d be given a place to live, that she could go back to school on the government tab and study to be a nurse (a bad idea Jenna wanted to pursue) and that I could learn how to operate the big cranes, something that interested me. But the entire time John was talking, Jenna’s face remained scrunched up like someone in the room had farted.
“I can tell you’re not really hip to the program,” John said after finishing the pitch.
“What was your first clue, Fabio?” was her snarky response.
“I know you don’t like me, and that’s okay,” said John. “I get that. This isn’t the life you chose, and you’re not happy about it. But you don’t have many options here, Jenna. If you choose to split with the program and go off on your own, well, that’s your choice. No one can force you to do this. But you and George have been together for almost three years, and you know as well as I do that the Vagos will think you knew what was going on. I really think you need to consider WITSEC as your best alternative.”
Jenna sat tight-lipped and refused to look at him. After a moment John and I left the room together.
“I’ll have a marshal come talk to her,” he said as we started down the second-floor walkway.
I nodded and paused at the top of the stairwell to light a cigarette.
“What’s going on with Billy?” I asked.
“If your fiancée gets on board, I’ll talk to him and see if he’ll sign off on the kid. But there’s no point getting the process started until Jenna makes up her mind.”
“I think she’ll do it,” I told him. “She’s just a little pissed off right now.”
“A little?” John chuckled. “If that’s a little, I’d hate to see her when she’s really ticked.”
“It ain’t pretty,” I said.
John smiled at this, then said, “Start getting your things together. We’re moving you and Charles up to Oxnard this afternoon. There’ll be more room there. You’ll need it with the baby on the way.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“And I’ll need your cell phone when we get there. Jenna’s too. Just precautionary.”
“Understood.”
John paused to look out over the parking lot.
“You know, George. To be honest, with all the crazy shit we’ve had to deal with, I’m amazed we pulled the fucking thing off.”
“We did, didn’t we?” I smiled, and we shook hands.
John headed down the stairs and I tossed my cigarette and returned to the room. I found Jenna crying when I stepped through the door.
“I hate you for what you did,” she said, choking back angry tears.
“I know you do,” I replied. “But this is where we are . . . for better or worse, huh?”
She looked at me with scorn.
“Do you really think I’d marry you now? After what you’ve done?”
“That’s up to you,” I told her as I opened one of the bureau drawers and began pulling clothes. “Right now we need to get our shit together. They’re moving us again.”
“Oh, let me guess. And Joe’s coming with us.”
“Joe’s coming, yeah.”
She shook her head and wiped her eyes.
“Maybe you should fuckin’ marry him,” she said sarcastically.
I kept my mouth shut and dumped a load of clothes on the foot of the bed.
“You know,” said Jenna quietly, “there was this one moment when we were driving away from the house that I thought, George could have left and I never would have seen him again. But he came back for me. I’ll finally have him all to myself. We’ll be just like a real family—just the four of us.”
She gave a mocking laugh.
“And then I saw Joe standing outside that trailer and I thought, George, you motherfucker. Nothing’s changed at all. This is how it will always be. George then Joe . . . then me.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Jenna snapped as she rolled from the bed. “Go fuck yourself, George. You’ve ruined my life, you rat fucking bastard.”
She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door so hard it woke Sierra.
John Carr was right. It would have been so much cleaner had I never let that crazy woman into my life. The hard truth was, I could shave the beard and change the name, but my past would continue to haunt me as long as Jenna remained . . . dragged from place to place like the chains of Marley’s ghost.
Charles and I were resettled at a Residence Inn in the city of Oxnard, about an hour’s drive west of Los Angeles. Old Joe even got a room of his own. A few days later, true to his word, John brought in a coordinator from the U.S. marshals who explained the WITSEC program to Jenna all over again. And this time she listened. I guess as long as it wasn’t Fabio doing the talking, she was willing to climb aboard the WITSEC train . . . especially once she learned Old Joe wouldn’t be coming with us.
A few days later John Carr called Jenna’s ex and explained to Billy the situation with Sierra and witness protection. I don’t know how
the hell John sold it, but I suspect that absentee father never really gave a shit whether his little girl was in his life or not. So he did the right thing for once in his fucked-up existence and signed away all rights to his daughter.
The three of us were now free and clear to enter WITSEC. We were just waiting on the arrival of the fourth, and ten days after the takedown he decided to join us. Unfortunately the baby’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Jenna and I hit the Ventura Freeway during the morning commute and crawled eastbound toward the medical center in Woodland Hills. As anyone who’s ever traveled the 101 during rush hour knows, nothing moves. Drivers, stuck in their cars, are applying makeup, reading the newspaper and brushing their fucking teeth.
I couldn’t bear to look over at Jenna beside me. The contractions were coming fast and furious, and she was kicking the door and biting the shoulder strap screaming in agony, “They’re every two minutes now!”
I’m not sure how, but we made it to the emergency room with that baby still inside her. Per government instructions, Jenna was admitted as patient Jane Doe. As I walked Jane up and down the maternity ward, trying to jog the kid loose, the family members started arriving. It was a small group. First Bill showed up with Jenna’s younger sister, then Charles and Old Joe came in with little Sierra. And that was it. When the time came to deliver, Jenna climbed onto the bed, the curtains were pulled and our little boy began punching his way out while an ATF special agent stood guard outside the door.
When the baby’s head popped out, I think I tripped over my jaw. I’d never witnessed anything as amazing as a child entering the world.
My child.
Fuck Todd and all those other wannabes. This was my kid, goddammit.
As the baby’s shoulders popped into view, Jenna grabbed hold and pulled him the rest of the way out, laying him on her chest. It was fuckin’ amazing.
