A middle-aged woman tending her garden down the road notices us approaching, and she makes her way to the sidewalk and flags us down. I recognize her as one of the workers from the factory a few blocks off the docks; she and her wife have shared a drink with the club more than a few times.
“What’s goin’ on?” she says by way of greeting, giving both of us a curt nod. “Everything alright? Got a new face with you, Prez.” She’s not a club member, but it’s become kind of a town nickname for me. A few people have talked about making me president of the union when we get things back together, but for the time being, I know it’s just a term of endearment.
“Need a place to lay low,” I say, and she gives another sharp nod.
“Say no more. Loretta’s sick inside, otherwise I’d let you crash here, but the Lawrences across the street look like they’ve got doors open to ya.”
I turn my head, and I see the face of the elderly Gerald Lawrence poking out the door of the old brownstone. A smile and give him a nod before turning back to the woman. “‘Preciate it, Jan.”
“Is everyone in town this friendly?” Cherry asks from behind me. Jan laughs back.
“For Prez, yeah. Union boys have given us more of a leg up than all the cops in town put together, chickadee. You’re in good hands.”
Before Cherry can reply, I turn the bike towards the brownstone and pull around the residence, carefully moving my bike around the back where it’ll be at least partially out of sight. In the little strip of land that makes for a backyard, Wanda Lawrence steps out from the backdoor, leaning on her cane and giving us both a loving smile.
“Well look who it is, long time no see, Leon! Come on in, come on in, Gerald says you’d like a place to rest while things settle down outside.”
“Much obliged, Mrs. Lawrence,” I say gratefully while I help Cherry off the bike.
“Are they alright? Are you sure this is safe?” Cherry whispers to me after she takes her helmet off and shakes out her hair. I give her a boyish grin back, unable to keep myself from appreciating how good she looks.
“Relax. These two go way back with me. This is a safe place to lay low for a few hours while the cops buzz off.”
Cherry looks uncertain, but she nods, following me up to the door as Wanda holds it open for us, smiling warmly as we step into the quaint little kitchen. Gerald is standing inside, still casting glances at the front window as he makes his way to the kitchen to give my hand a firm shake.
“Thanks for this,” Cherry says, venturing to break the ice with what were total strangers to her. “We really appreciate it.”
Gerald lets out a hearty laugh. “Oh, you must be new around town — Leon here has more than earned a place here any time. When Wanda had her fall last year, his boys made sure groceries got here every week while I had to run the shop.”
“Not like Anya wouldn’t have done it herself if we didn’t know about it,” I answer with a chuckle, and Gerald nods, a hint of sadness still in his eyes at the mention of the name.
“Why don’t you two get settled in the living room while we make you all some coffee?” Wanda offers, and I give her a nod.
“Thanks, ma’am.” I lead Cherry to the cramped living room, covered in old, musty furniture, the walls invisible under all the pictures of the cute old couple’s family and life together. It’s a quaint little place.
Cherry takes a seat on one of the armchairs across from me. I can tell she looks more than a little uncomfortable, and I can’t really blame her. It’s been a hell of a day for her, to put it lightly.
As the owners head back into the kitchen to give us some privacy, Cherry finally looks me in the eye, chewing her lip a moment before speaking.
“What happened to this place, Leon?”
There it is. The question I knew would be coming from the moment I knew it was Cherry come back to town.
“That’s a big question, Cherry,” I say with a sigh. “Where do you want me to start?”
Cherry seems at a loss for a moment, but then just gestures vaguely outside. “I mean, all this. My school bus dropped kids off in this neighborhood when we were in high school. It wasn’t anything like this back then. I remember green grass and pretty decent houses. I know you see things differently when you’re a kid, but…”
“Things went downhill pretty fast while you were gone,” I say, and the memory of those old times takes me back to a place I hadn’t thought of for a long while. Cherry was having that effect on me in more ways than one, I was starting to realize. “I know your dad didn’t see eye-to-eye with what those of us in the union were doing during the strike, but once the bosses broke us up, it was easy for them to start driving this town into the dirt. Wages dropped, people spent less and worked more, and the only people who kept their pockets lined were the goons up top.”
I can tell Cherry looks a little skeptical. Part of that is her instinct to question, I know. She’s always had that kind of spark to her, came from her father. But I know she probably has a different predisposition to this place than us locals do.
“So what, the union dies and poverty just kind of...happens? I know everyone seems to like you pretty well around here, Leon, but I mean, how bad can they make it? Dad wasn’t big on the unions, and he seemed to do fine after the bust.”
“Lotta the folks who didn’t side with the union came out alright in the aftermath,” I agree with a nod, “but he took a pay cut just like everyone else. You don’t remember him working later nights for the time before you left?”
Cherry furrows her brow, and the pieces begin to fall together in her mind. “He said he was putting aside cash for a college fund when he started moonlighting.”
“A lot of people had to start ‘saving for a special occasion’ after the bust,” I say, a grim smile on my face. “I know your dad didn’t always love what we did, Cherry, but those of us the bosses decided to strike back at felt it hard. Nowadays, this club is the only thing keeping the place together. It’s not like it’s ideal, but until they listen to our demands, it’s what we’re forced to do to survive.”
Cherry looks like she’s starting to understand, but to drive things home, I nod my head up to one of the pictures on the wall. It shows a young man and a woman who looks like she’s got as much Russian in her as all the rest of the immigrants.
“See that? The guy in that photo is Henry Lawrence — Gerald and Wanda’s son. He was one of ours.”
“I didn’t see him at the liquor store,” Cherry says.
“No, but the lady, Anya, pushed past you there,” I point out, and I see recognition in Cherry’s face. “The two of them got hitched a few years back. Real happy couple, both of ‘em.” I smile, remembering the wedding party the two of them had, and it seemed like a lifetime ago.
“The cops brought Henry in a few years ago as a suspect in a robbery. Claimed he was an accomplice of a couple of strangers from out of town who hit a convenience store off the interstate. He just happened to be patrolling in the area, and they took him in.” I pause, my lips tight for a moment. “He died while the police had him. Official story was he was resisting, tried to jump the cops in transit. Everyone who knows Henry knew he couldn’t hurt a fly, but those fuckers…”
Cherry is paying rapt attention, and I lean forward, clasping my hands together.
“Anya was inconsolable for the longest time. She was a nurse back then, but after Henry died, she took his place in the club. Still rides his bike and wears his kutte to this day. Nowadays, she’s our medic. She’ll be making sure those workers back at the liquor store are well taken care of on their way to the hospital. I wouldn’t put it above the cops around here to try and make sure they don’t pull through so they can’t testify to anything in court. As if most of the judges aren’t bought.”
Cherry is quiet for a long time, a thoughtful expression on her features. As I watch her, I realize that while I’ve grown so hard over the years, developed such a thick skin to resist all the constant repression the people
of the town face while just trying to scrape by... Cherry hasn’t lost one iota of the youthful energy she had the day she left. She’s as vigorous as she is gorgeous, like a bolt of lightning trying to surge through her old hometown and hitting resistance she wasn’t expecting to find.
I have to admit, jaded as I am, it’s a little inspiring to see. A lot inspiring, actually.
“To say Dad didn’t approve of what you all were doing is putting it lightly,” Cherry says with a small smile. “Especially after the name ‘Union Club’ started cropping up.”
“He always was a straight arrow,” I say with a laugh, shaking my head. “And to be honest, I don’t blame him. It’s a scary thing to see an MC crop up in your front yard, I can understand that.”
“These people really seem to value you, though,” Cherry admits, glancing back to the kitchen, where the smell of fresh coffee has started to waft from. “Hell, maybe…” she pauses, obviously uncomfortable getting her thought out. She opens her mouth to continue, and I suspect I know what she’s going to say, but she lets the words die in her mouth as Wanda comes shuffling into the room with a broad smile on her face.
“Here we are. I hope neither of you wanted decaf.”
“Thanks,” I say with a smile, taking the coffee and feeling invigorated by the smell alone as Wanda hands Cherry her mug.
“Now let me tell you, dearie,” Wanda tells Cherry with a grandmotherly smile, “I don’t know how long you’ve been in town, but if you’re riding with Leon here, why, you couldn’t be in better hands.”
“It sounds like it,” Cherry says with a nervous laugh. I can’t help but grin. She seems a little uncomfortable around older people. I forget that living in a city like she has can let you stick to your own age group pretty exclusively.
She and Wanda exchange some brief small-talk about where she’s from and where she’s lived, and while she does, I find myself surprised by an old, familiar feeling in my chest.
I only knew Cherry for the shortest of times when she was in town, sure. But seeing her again has been like seeing the ghost of an old friend. Maybe she just reminds me of the life I used to see in Bayonne, before the bosses had a chance to really dig their claws in. But the more I watch her mannerisms, the way she unconsciously plays with a lock of her hair, the way she talks...I don’t know. I feel like I’m talking to an old sweetheart. I find a smile playing across my face involuntarily, and I’m only snapped back to reality when I feel a hand on my shoulder suddenly.
I jerk my attention up to see Gerald giving me a knowing smile, and I feel color in my face as I give a quiet scoff and focus on my coffee again. I shouldn’t get distracted like this, anyway. We may be out of the frying pan for now, but as the saying goes —
As if on cue, all four of us nearly jump as a loud pounding sound knocks at the door.
8
Cherry
“Oh no,” I murmur, scooting over closer to Leon on the floral couch. The police have found us. We’ve been caught. I glance suspiciously at Gerald and Wanda standing in the kitchen, wondering if maybe they’ve turned us in. Wanda might have called the cops while we were busy talking to Gerald. I don’t want to believe any of that, as the old couple seems so warm and genuine, but in my current state of fear my brain is just searching for someone to blame.
“Who’s that there?” Wanda calls out sweetly. She hobbles into the living room, leaning on her cane. When she catches my eye she gives me a wink and a smile. As if she knows exactly what’s going on.
The pounding at the door gets louder as a second voice outside shouts, “URGENT BUSINESS ABOUT YOUR FLOWER BEDS!”
At the sound of his voice, I can feel Leon’s shoulders relax and his fists unclench. I give him a look of confusion. Why isn’t he panicking like I am? What the hell is the cop talking about? Flower beds? Is this some kind of weird, elaborate prank?
Leon stands up and pats Wanda gently on the shoulder as he makes his way to the front door. I want to run after him and pull him away, hide him from the cops. Surely he isn’t stupid enough to answer the door himself! Doesn’t he know they’re here to arrest him? That filthy slimeball Mickey Lamar probably pinned the shooting on Leon and now they’re booking him in for attempted murder or something.
“Alright, alright!” Leon says loudly as he turns the front door handle and opens it. I cautiously get up and look around the corner to see Leon facing down a pair of officers.
“What is he doing?” I hiss, biting my lip worriedly. Wanda appears at my side looking very calm and sagacious. She puts a hand on my arm and shakes her head, still smiling.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry. It’s all under control. They’re on our side,” she informs me quietly. Gerald comes walking around the corner with his lopsided gait to stand by Leon at the front door.
“What seems to be the matter, fellas?” he asks gruffly. But there’s a hint of sarcasm to his voice, like he’s simply reading from a script and finding it more than a little amusing.
“Routine business, sir,” responds the first officer. “May we step inside?”
“Of course, of course. Anything for the strong and just arm of the law,” the old man answers with a deep belly laugh. He stands aside and spreads one arm in a gesture of welcome, and the two officers walk in.
“Let me start a pot of tea and fetch us some sandwiches,” Wanda pipes up brightly, taking me by the hand suddenly. “I’m sure you’re all famished!” she adds as she nudges me alongside her to the kitchen.
“Thanks, ma’am,” says officer number two.
Standing at the little wooden island counter, I lean back to peer around the corner into the living room, where Gerald, Leon, and the two policemen are gathering now, talking in hushed voices. Wanda is humming some upbeat tune as she takes various items out of the cupboards and refrigerator, setting them down on the counter in front of me.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper urgently. Wanda turns around to face me, beaming. She slides a bagged loaf of bread toward me and sets a butter knife down.
“We’re making sandwiches,” she quips lightly.
“I can see that,” I reply, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. The whole Stepford Grandmother routine is getting old. I just want to know why, after Leon and I took every precaution to avoid being caught, the men are now simply shooting the breeze with a pair of cops in the living room ten feet away.
“Turkey, swiss, lettuce, tomato, and mustard. I suppose that’ll do!”
“Why are the cops here?” I ask in an undertone.
“Sorry, dear, I’m a bit hard of hearing!” Wanda shoots back, still preparing the sandwiches as though everything is perfectly normal. This is getting ridiculous.
I drop the loaf of bread and storm into the living room despite Wanda’s feeble protests behind me. Walking straight up to circle of men, I demand, “Could someone please tell me what’s going on right now! Are we under arrest, or what?”
The officers blink confusedly at me, then they both start to chuckle.
“Wow, I’ve never seen someone so eager to incriminate herself,” says the first one, whose name badge reads SAMUELS.
The second one, whose lapel bears the name GREENE laughs, “I wish we were here to arrest you. It’d be an easy job.”
“Cut her some slack, gentlemen,” Leon interjects, though he’s smiling, too. “This is a new friend of mine. She’s not fully initiated yet, alright?”
“New friend, eh?” Greene says, waggling his eyebrows up and down and nudging Leon in the ribs.
“You gonna initiate her, or ya gonna give us the pleasure?” Samuels jokes. But Leon gives them both warning glares and their smiles fade instantly.
“Drop the innuendoes, boys,” Gerald adds, rolling his eyes. “This is serious business, if you haven’t forgotten. This is John LaBeau’s girl.”
Both officers immediately remove their hats and press them to their chests, bowing their heads slightly in deferential courtesy.
“Our apologies, miss.”<
br />
“And condolences. John was a good man.”
“Thank you. He was,” I respond, my voice sounding thick and emotional. I have to hold it together. I can’t afford to look weak in front of these guys.
“Have a seat, boys!” Wanda says, wobbling into the room carrying a silver tray stacked with turkey sandwiches and little cups of tea. Leon rushes to take it from her gently.
“Here, let me get that,” he offers, lifting it away from her with one steady hand. Something moves deep inside me at this kind, simple gesture. Maybe he isn’t the cold-blooded gangbanger I thought he was this morning in the warehouse. In fact, that first encounter seems to have happened so long ago, in another world. It’s hard to believe that in under twenty-four hours so much has transpired. So much for life moving slow in Bayonne.
“Thank you, son,” Wanda says, beaming at him as she settles into a slouchy, ancient-looking armchair.
I wonder how often Leon comes by to see them. I’m sure that the old couple sees something of their own late son in him. My heart aches for their loss. Sure, I have lost my own father, but I can’t imagine how terrible it must be to have to bury one’s own child. Especially under such suspicious circumstances.
The men all sit down, leaving a spot on the couch beside Leon, presumably for me. So I take it, shivering just so slightly when my thigh touches against his. I force myself not to look down, not to give that minuscule touch even an ounce of my attention. After all, like Gerald said, this is serious business. I’m not here to cuddle up to some hot shot bad boy.
Even if he did literally save me from otherwise certain death so many years ago. And despite the fact that he’s scorchingly, blindingly attractive. I can hardly fathom what those muscular arms and sensual lips could do to my body…
Hitman - the Series: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Collection (Alexis Abbott's Hitmen #0) Page 25
