by Jessie Cooke
Chelsea had called her father to pick her up that day. She knew he would come. He always did. Her mother had put her foot down about money and allowing her to stay at the house when she and Wayne were fighting. It was “tough love,” she thought. But her dad still came, any time she called him. That day he’d shown up, looking like it was killing him there, and looking more relieved than she’d ever seen him when she told him she hadn’t gone through with terminating the pregnancy. She told him she was finished with Wayne, and she wanted to get clean.
He’d driven her back to the ranch in Needham that day, and her mother had taken her to the family doctor the next day. That doctor put her on Suboxone, an injectable medication that would control the opiate cravings and withdrawals. For the next four months, she did fantastic. Her belly was growing, all her checkups with the OB/GYN had been great, she looked and felt healthy, and Wayne was in jail. On top of that, she was rebuilding her relationship with her parents at last, and it felt so good to be home.
Then, when Chelsea was seven months along, she’d gone into the city for her twenty-eight-week checkup. All was well again, and she’d left the doctor’s office with her ultrasound pictures and a smile on her face. When she got to the car she realized she had a message on her phone from the tattoo artist she sometimes sold her pictures to. He needed her to come by ASAP and draw a custom order for him, and he was going to pay her three hundred dollars to do it. So instead of going straight home, Chelsea had driven to the tattoo parlor. That was her first mistake, but the second one was a doozy, and it permanently altered the course of her life.
The tattoo artist knew about Chelsea’s struggle to get and stay clean, so when one of his clients was walking out at the same time Chelsea was, he’d whispered in her ear to “steer clear of him.” Chelsea laughed. She was seven months pregnant, who would want her anyway? The big, tattooed guy held the door open for her and walked with her to her car. By the time they got there, he’d told her how pretty she was and how incredible he thought her designs were. He told her he’d always wanted to meet her and he’d love it if she could have a cup of coffee with him…or something. Chelsea had no excuses when she looked back. The facts were that she was lonely and desperately in need of some kind of boost to her self-esteem. The guy…Brad…could smell that. She followed him to his apartment because he told her he had a state of the art espresso machine and they could have coffee on the patio. Chelsea knew that was stupid, but being pregnant and already down on herself, she thought that would be more comfortable than being seen in public with this big, hot guy.
So, Brad made coffee and, Chelsea would find out much later, put more than espresso and milk in the cup. She woke up almost two days later, in her car, confused and unsure exactly what happened. Some good Samaritan found her and called an ambulance, and once she was at the hospital chaos ensued. She had ecstasy and opiates in her system and by the time the day was over, the Department of Child Services would be a fixture in her life. Thank God her parents stepped up and took Reed, but her conditions were to stay away from men, since they believed she had a sex addiction. She was to pee in a cup once a month, keep a job, have her own place, and she could only visit Reed three times a month, on their schedule. She had no choice but to agree with it. By the end of the first year, she was given more visitation time and she could even take him out for the day.
Then Reed got sick. He had pneumonia, and he was in the hospital when he was only sixteen months old. He was put on a ventilator and they were told that he wasn’t going to make it. Chelsea once again turned to the only thing that took away the pain, and although Reed got better, her life got worse. Her mother threatened to file for permanent custody. Chelsea begged for another chance, and her dad was the peacemaker who wanted everyone to meet in the middle. Once again, she promised to abide by all the rules, but her solo visits were taken away and she was only allowed to see her baby boy twice a month, at the ranch. She called him every night and her dad let them Facetime so he wouldn’t forget her, and she’d been doing so good, so why the hell were her parents talking to Family Services again?
17
“He’s dead?” Dax’s voice sounded about as stressed as Chopper had ever heard it. Maybe it was the connection.
“Yeah, at least I think it’s him, Dax. It was hard to tell. He was a fucking mess.” Chopper’s voice was shaky. Garrett and Zack were both listening in to the call but neither of them had said a word. Finally, Dax said:
“Zack?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“You checked this bathroom earlier?”
Zack’s face changed slightly. It was almost like a dark curtain was pulled down over his eyes. He squinted almost imperceptibly and said, “I checked the men’s and women’s bathrooms. The family bathroom was being cleaned. The man who was cleaning it went inside, checked to make sure no one was there, and then cordoned it off. I watched him do all of that and then I went to check out the stores I’d already been to. When I came back, the janitor was gone, and the wet floor sign was up.”
“But you didn’t go inside, at all.”
“Not until Chopper did, and I followed him. I’m sorry, Dax, but what is it you really want to ask me?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what happened here.”
“And what Chopper told you was exactly what happened. I mean no disrespect here, but it sounds a bit like you’re insinuating maybe there’s something I’m not telling you.”
Dax audibly sighed and said, “No, Zack. Fuck…no. I know you wouldn’t lie to me. I’m sorry if it seems that I was insinuating you would. This is just fucked up. If they start looking into this guy and they find any connection to Chopper’s bike, Chopper, or Chelsea…” He sighed again. “I don’t suppose you took off your kuttes before you went into the mall?” Zack and Chopper looked at each other and Chopper said:
“No, Dax, sorry. I didn’t even think about it. Fuck. I’m really sorry.”
“Nah, it’ll be alright. It’s just always fucking something. Garrett?” Dax sounded tired. He’d just gotten to Sturgis, but Chopper doubted he was going to enjoy his time there with all of this on his mind.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“David is tracing those numbers on the van; when they come back, find this guy and get some answers, okay? He’s also keeping in touch with a friend he has out there. Some computer geek. If there are any familiar fingerprints in that bathroom, hopefully he can catch them and get rid of them before the police get the list. He mentioned getting access to the cameras at the mall, but he couldn’t promise anything. I don’t suppose either of you noticed if there were cameras pointed at that bathroom?”
“No,” Chopper and Zack both said at the same time. Zack wasn’t smiling. He looked worried, or pissed, probably at himself for not thinking of it. It hadn’t even crossed Chopper’s mind. Everything just seemed to happen so quickly.
“You got it, boss. I’m sorry I let him get away. Fucking traffic was heavy. Everybody on their way to Sturgis.”
“Yeah, well, two hundred clubs coming through Sioux Falls might actually work to our benefit here. They won’t jump straight to us even if your faces are on those cameras. I’m sure they’re not great quality. Darwin has gotten some good quality video suppressed in court in the past. If it comes to that, and I hope it doesn’t, then we’ll just have to put our faith in him.” He changed tracks then and said, “Chopper, I need you to talk to Chelsea again and make sure she understands how important it is that she’s telling us everything.”
“She’s telling us…” Chopper wanted to automatically jump to defending her, and then he remembered who he was talking to and said, “Yeah, I’ll make sure. I’ll call her as soon as…”
“No. You need to get back to Boston. I don’t want you anywhere near that murder investigation.”
Zack cleared his throat and Garrett was looking at the phone, not Chopper. He wasn’t sure if he was being punished or if Dax just wanted to protect him. “So, you want me to com
e back today?”
“Yes, now.”
“On a plane?”
“No. I want you to ride that bike we got you, and make sure you stop at a few of the rally spots along the way. Don’t let anyone know you’re headed east. You’re a nomad and you’re headed the same direction as everyone else. You just prefer to ride alone. When you get back, go talk to Chelsea first and express to her just how important it is that she tell you everything. Then, get back to the ranch and stay there.”
“Dax…”
“I’m not asking you, Chopper.”
He looked at Garrett and Zack again. The look in both of their eyes told him that he was a fool if he argued. “Okay.”
Dax gave Garrett a few more instructions and when they ended the call Chopper said, “Is he pissed at me?”
Zack shrugged. “At least he doesn’t think you slit some guy’s throat.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “You,” he said to Zack, “need to grow a thicker skin. It made sense for him to ask; you were there.” He looked at Chopper then and said, “And you need to understand that Dax will always do what’s best for his club first. If he tells you that he needs you in Boston, or Needham, or fucking Timbuktu, he has thought it through and he knows exactly what he’s doing. So, both of you need to pull your bottom lips up off the fucking floor and do what the man is telling you to do.”
Garrett finished talking, and Chopper was still staring up at the big man’s face in some form of shock. It was the most he’d ever heard him say all at once. He glanced sideways at Zack. He was smiling. A few tense seconds passed, and Zack said, “It’s a good thing you’re fucking eight feet tall or I’d break your jaw for talking to me like that.”
Garrett rolled his eyes again and flipped him off. Chopper couldn’t help but smile. He knew Zack wasn’t serious, and he knew Garrett was just trying to keep them both from saying the wrong thing and pissing Dax off. He couldn’t express how he felt about these guys, or Dax for that matter, because no matter how bad things were, he knew that somehow together they’d be able to handle it.
Two long-ass, grueling days later, Chopper pulled off the highway into Boston. He was tired, dirty, and hungry, but the first thing he did was pull over and call Chelsea. He hadn’t spoken to her in three days. He missed her, just the sound of her voice, but he hadn’t wanted to explain any of this on the phone. The latest update he’d gotten from Dax was that all the fingerprints had been intercepted and Chopper’s had been erased, and Garrett had a name and address on the guy with the silver van. It was in Iowa, though, so Garrett would have to backtrack again. The biggest piece of the puzzle was Brown-Jacket’s name and last known. His name was Desi Gardner, but he went by “Dizzy” on the street in Boston where he lived. The big news was that Dizzy was a smalltime hit man. He worked mostly for gangs and smalltime gangsters. The scary news was that if he was stalking Chelsea, someone really wanted her dead.
“Chopper?” Chelsea sounded happy to hear from him, but at the same time her voice sounded sad.
“Yeah, hey. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was sure she was lying.
“Are you sure? Is someone bothering you again?”
“No. I’m fine, really. I just went back to work yesterday and I’m a little tired is all. Are you okay?”
“I’ll live,” he said. “Can I see you?”
“Yes, of course. I have to work the evening shift today. I go in at five.”
Chopper looked at the time. It was just after ten a.m. He’d been driving all night. By five p.m. he was likely to be comatose, and he couldn’t wait. “That’s perfect. I’ll head out to the ranch now…”
“No, I’m not at the ranch, Chopper. I’m at my apartment.”
“What? You were supposed to be at your parents’ house. What are you doing back there?” he snapped at her. He hadn’t meant to, but the damage was done.
“I’m a grown-ass woman for one thing and I really don’t owe you an explanation,” she said. Chopper already felt bad as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but he felt worse when she snapped back.
“Hey, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you, and on top of that I’m exhausted. I smell like dirty socks…”
Chelsea laughed. The sound was like music and it comforted him somehow. “Dirty socks, huh? Why are you back so early anyway? Did they kick you out of Sturgis because of the stench?”
He sobered slightly at the mention of Sturgis and said, “I never made it that far. I’d rather tell you about all of this in person, though. Is it okay if I come over now? I’m about fifteen minutes away.”
“Of course. I’ll see you when you get here.”
Chopper put the phone away and pulled back out into traffic. He drove as fast as he could to Chelsea’s apartment, just making sure that he didn’t go fast enough to get himself pulled over. He parked the bike out on the street and walked down the narrow sidewalk to her apartment, which sat on the far end of the complex. The location of it had probably made it easy for them to break into, and it would make it easy for them to do it again. The thought of her being there when that happened terrified him to his core. He stopped in front of the door and lifted his hand.
Chelsea opened the door before the knock even sounded. Damn, was she a sight for sore eyes. She had on a pair of cutoff sweatpants and a sweatshirt with one shoulder cut out of it. Her long hair was braided down the back, and her pretty, fresh face was scrubbed clean. Chopper hadn’t planned on attacking her off the bat, but his body had other ideas as soon as he saw her. He reached for her and pulled her body into his, crushing his mouth down on hers. He knew he needed a shower, but at least he’d brushed his teeth at his last stop. He walked her backwards and kicked the door closed behind them, then he leaned up against it and pulled her in tighter. The kiss was filled with everything he’d felt since the last time he saw her…passion, longing, need. And the best part was that she kissed him back with what felt like all the same emotions. They kissed until they’d exhausted not only the oxygen in their lungs, but most of what had been in the room. It took them both a full minute to catch their breath when he finally let her go, and when he caught his, he said:
“I’m sorry.”
Chelsea smiled. “Not what a girl wants to hear after one of the best kisses she’d ever had.”
“One of?” he asked and grinned.
“Well, I thought it was the best, but then you said you were sorry.”
He laughed and pulled her in for a hug. “I just meant I was sorry for attacking you. I hadn’t planned that. But fuck, baby…you’re so pretty, it’s dangerous for you to just walk around looking so hot.”
Chelsea laughed loudly at that and took a step back. “This is my sketching outfit, and I haven’t fixed my face or hair in two days. It’s been a ponytail or braid and make-up be damned. I know what I look like but thank you.”
“You mean you know that you’re fucking beautiful, right? You don’t need make-up, I like your braid, and that outfit…” He whistled. “That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She was giggling. “You’re crazy. Come on and sit down. Do you want something to drink?”
He started to ask for a beer but caught himself. “Water is good if you have it.”
She smiled and stepped over to the little kitchenette and pulled a water out of the small fridge. Coming back over, she handed it to him and then sat down next to him on the couch. He took a drink, set the bottle down, and put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “Damn, baby, I keep forgetting how badly I stink.” He started to pull away and she gripped onto him tighter.
“You don’t stink. Stop. Tell me why you’re back so soon.” Chopper knew Dax was waiting for him to call or text. If he hadn’t been, he would have told her they could talk later and invited her to shower with him. But this business was no joke, and he needed to handle it.
“Things are kind of a mess,” he started. �
�First of all, Brown Leather Jacket Guy is dead.”
She sat up and looked at his face. “He’s dead? Did you…?”
He shook his head. “No. It wasn’t me. As a matter of fact, we don’t know who it was yet, but I might just shake his hand when I meet him. Chelsea, does the name Desi Gardner or ‘Dizzy’ mean anything to you?”
She drew her brows together and then shook her head, slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“What about Michael Diaz?” That was the name of the owner of the silver van, who was still in the wind. His last known was in Boston as well, but he had a place in South Dakota and the van was a recent purchase in that state.
“No. I’m sorry. Who are they?”
“Dizzy is the dead guy…the stalker. Diaz was a guy he hooked up with somewhere between here and South Dakota. Chelsea…” He didn’t want to scare her, but she needed to know what she was up against. “Dizzy was a hit man, smalltime, cheap, and not the best by far, but it was what he did for a living. Someone wanted you…”
“Dead?” She frowned.
“Yeah, baby, that’s why I snapped at you on the phone about being here alone. I’m sorry. I’m just so freaked out and worried about you. Is there anyone in your past that would have any reason to want to hurt you or kill you?” Even saying that sent a wave of nausea through him.
“No…not kill me,” she said, “or even hurt me physically, but there are some things I need to tell you and they might be related to all of this, although I’m not sure how…”
“Okay. You can tell me anything.”
