by Jessie Cooke
“Imagine this, a real-life Southside Skull coming to visit little old me, and here I woke up this morning thinking that I wasn’t going to get any visitors today.” Chopper had called ahead and requested that the officer in charge of visiting ask Wayne to add him to his approved visitor list. It wasn’t half an hour before he’d gotten a collect call from the facility and Wayne had been on the other end. He had a hundred questions. The only thing Chopper had given him was his name, his affiliation, and the fact that he wanted to talk about Chelsea. The last one seemed to be the clincher.
“I’m going to get straight to the point here, Wayne. Someone hired a hit man to hurt Chelsea. He’s dead, but I need to know who was behind it. I need to make sure she’s safe.”
Wayne grinned. Chopper really wanted to hit him. Looking at his face reminded him of all the things this piece of shit had put Chelsea through, and he was sure he only knew a fraction of it so far. “You take him out?” Wayne said. When Chopper didn’t say anything he said, “You fucking my girl?” It was harder that time to keep his mouth shut, but he did. It took biting the inside of his cheek, but he was sure it was worth it not to let this punk know he was getting to him. “Not much of a talker, huh? I don’t know who wants to fuck Chelsea up. I’m sure there’s a list.”
Chopper decided that even Mahatma Gandhi couldn’t have kept his cool around this guy, but he was still trying. Thank God for the glass between them, because he might have already wrapped the phone cord around his thick neck and pummeled his ugly face. “Look, I don’t have time to fuck with you and play stupid games. Trust me, I know how it works in here. You’re bored, so you’re going to try to string me along just to get your kicks. But let me tell you how this is going to work. This is my one and only visit. The one and only time I talk to you. You give me answers, what I need to keep Chelsea safe, and this is what we do for you…make a note of this, Wayne, because I’m only saying it once. Before I leave here today, I will put five hundred dollars on your books, courtesy of the Southside Skulls, and as soon as I’m out of here the shot-caller on your block will get a kite informing him that you are under Skulls protection.”
Wayne chuckled and held the phone against his shoulder as he raised his arms up and showed off his muscle. “Do I look like I need protection to you?”
“You will,” Chopper said. He didn’t give him any details and from the look on Chopper’s face, he didn’t need any. The smile was gone and his eyes had gone dark.
He scratched his neck and looked off to the right like he was trying to make a decision. Chopper wasn’t worried. There was only one decision to make and they both knew it. If Wayne didn’t know that it was delusional to believe the Skulls had gone soft when he was on the outside, the three plus years he’d been locked up must have. “Exactly what do you want to know?”
“Who would want to hurt Chelsea? Who would benefit from her death?”
“That bitch of a sister of hers maybe. She’s looking to take her kid away.”
“Her kid? You already know for a fact he’s not yours?”
Wayne chuckled and said, “I’ve always known for a fact that the little bastard wasn’t mine. I’ve been shooting blanks since I had an accident back in high school.”
Chopper hated this man with a passion after less than ten minutes of knowing him. “Whose kid is he?”
“Is that one of the mandatory questions? Because that one’s gonna cost you a hell of a lot more than five hundred dollars. Not even the Skulls will be able to keep me safe if word gets out that I been talking about that.”
“Why?”
“Huh-uh…you make it worth my while. How much is it worth to you? You want to keep fucking that sweet, tight pussy? I can see it in your eyes.” Chopper stood up, dropping the phone as he did. He slammed his hands into the glass and the phone dangled from its cord. He could see and hear Wayne laughing and he could hear the guards pushing through the door and rushing toward him. Fuck. He put his hands in the air and turned to face them.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I lost my head. It won’t happen again.”
“Visit’s over,” the man with the sergeant’s patch on his arm told him.
“Please, I just need five more minutes. I’ll follow all the rules, I’m really sorry.” His blood was hot, and he imagined that the veins in his neck were distended. He realized his fists were still clenched, and he relaxed them and tried to relax his jaw. Anything to look less threatening. He looked the sergeant directly in the eyes and said, “I promise, please.”
“You got five minutes and these two guards are going to be standing right here behind you.”
“Okay, thank you.” Chopper breathed a sigh of relief, sat back down, and lifted the phone to his ear. “I have five minutes, Wayne. What is it that you want?”
“It ain’t money,” he said. “Have one of your guys meet me in the chow hall at supper tonight and I’ll tell him what my price is.”
“No. I told you, no fucking games. Yes or no, asshole.”
Wayne looked around him. There was an inmate on each side, talking to their own visitors. A correctional officer stood in the center of the hallway. He looked back at Chopper, locked eyes with him, and said, “Tell Chelsea I want the drawing, the skull with the roses coming out of its eye sockets. She’ll know what I’m talking about. I know now that she sold it to the tattoo ass-wipe.” He knows now? Does that mean whoever trashed Chelsea’s apartment has been working for Wayne and not the assassin? It made more sense since the entire thing was done so crudely. “I want the original sent through to my attorney. Put the five hundred on my books and tell your guys I’ll take the protection.”
“Not until I get my answers.”
“Two minutes,” the guard behind Chopper said.
“How do I know you’ll do what I ask if I give you what you want right now?”
“I gave you my word.”
“And what if your word doesn’t mean shit to me?”
Chopper stood up again, this time slowly. He reached to hang up the phone. “Wait!” Wayne yelled loudly enough into the receiver for Chopper to hear him without having the phone to his ear. He gestured like “What?”
“Pick the phone back up,” Wayne said.
Chopper picked it up as the officer said, “One minute.”
“Congressman Bartholomew Walton.”
“What?” Chopper thought Wayne was fucking with him again. “Congressman Walton wants Chelsea dead?”
Wayne shrugged and said:
“I don’t know. What I do know is that he doesn’t want the paternity of that kid to go public. Her sister started a shitstorm by going after that kid. I couldn’t just sit here and let them take all my money to support some kid that wasn’t mine, and once he found out that I was fighting paternity, he got scared. He gave me a little bonus to keep my mouth shut, but he’s afraid Chelsea is going to tell someone. Fuck…I doubt she even knows. She was so fucked up all the time…”
“Time’s up!” The correctional officer said. Chopper was clutching the phone so tightly that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter in his hand. Wayne had better hope that if they ever let him out of prison, he never ran into Chopper on the street. Fucker is a dead man if he does.
22
“Chelsea, please don’t hang up!” It was the third time he’d called. The first two times she just hung up. This time she planned on telling him to stop calling her, that she wasn’t going to talk to him, but she’d put the phone to her ear and he was already talking.
“Chopper, I’m at work. The only reason I keep my phone on me is in case Mom and Dad have to reach me about my son.”
“I’ll be quick, okay?…This is important…”
“I don’t have time for silly relationship games. I’m working.”
“Chelsea, please. This has nothing to do with us, okay? This is about you and your son. I spoke to Wayne today.”
“Excuse me?”
“I went to the prison and I talked to Wayne.”
“What the fuck?” As soon as the last word was out of her mouth, her boss walked out of the back. Chelsea was a good employee and she was always professional, so the look he gave her was one of curiosity, not anger. She mouthed “I’m sorry” at him and moved a few steps away. Luckily business was slow. It was dinnertime and usually the coffee drinkers would come out right after.
“Please, Chelsea, I know you think this is just about me being controlling or worried about who is responsible for what happened to my chopper, but the plain truth is that this is about protecting you…and your son. Chelsea, Wayne knows who the father is, and the news is shocking to say the least.” Chelsea’s head was spinning. She couldn’t process what he was telling her. He’d spoken to Wayne without her permission, about her and her baby, and now he thought he knew who Reed’s father was. Wayne lied as easily as he breathed, so she couldn’t imagine why Chopper would think they could believe a word he said.
“I have to get back to work.”
“What time do you finish?”
“Nine.”
“I’m going to have some of the prospects pick you up. Go with them, Chelsea, okay? Do not go back to your apartment.”
“I’m not sure who made you my lord and protector, Chopper, but I’m a big girl.”
“Chelsea, do you know who Bart Walton is?”
She rolled her eyes. Everyone in Boston knew who Bart Walton was. He was a former evangelist who was running for some public office or another. His face was all over the city on billboards, bus stops…everywhere. She actually laughed and said, “Wow, Wayne’s lies are getting bigger and better.”
“We’ll talk when I get to the ranch, okay? I should be back by ten.”
“And what if I don’t want to go with the prospects when they get here?”
“Then they’ll wait at your place with you, but one way or the other, we’re talking tonight.” He ended the call then, and she drew her brows together and frowned. What was it with her and men that wanted to control her? She growled, stuck the phone back in her apron pocket, and went back to wiping the counters. When her boss asked if she was okay, she smiled and said:
“Yes, sorry about that. My sister…she’s kind of been giving me a hard time. I promise, no more family drama on the job.” There, it wasn’t exactly a lie; Celia really was being a bitch. Now, all she had to do was figure out how to get Chopper to stop digging around in her life, stirring things up, and making things worse. With a resigned sigh she told herself that she needed to go talk to him tonight and get it over with. It was going to be hard to look him in the eye and tell him she didn’t want to see him again, because she did, so badly. But this was all too much. He was too enmeshed in her life after only a couple of weeks. If this kept up, she’d be an abused old lady doing drugs and porn on the side to keep herself from going crazy. That wasn’t going to happen to her. That wasn’t going to happen to Reed. She was his mother, first, last, and always.
Chelsea sat in the clubhouse, at a table with a glass of ice water in front of her. The people around her gave her curious glances every so often, but for the most part, they kept up with their party around her. The room was full of smoke and if she inhaled too deeply, she might test positive the next time she peed in a cup. She watched them slamming shots and shooting pool and having a great time. The club girls weren’t having illicit sex in the corners. Some of them were snuggled up to their men on the tiny little dance floor in the corner, but for the most part she could have been in any bar in any city in the world, and there wouldn’t have been much difference. They were just people having a good time, and she wondered what that would feel like. She wondered what it was like to drink to feel good, and not to kill the pain. She wondered what it was like to have friends and spend your time in a room full of men that treated you with respect and weren’t just waiting their turn to take you to the bedroom and use you.
“Chelsea?” She looked up at the sound of her name. A beautiful woman who looked like a Barbie doll was standing next to the table. She was dressed in a light blue pencil skirt and matching blazer over a cream-colored silk shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a French twist and she had the prettiest complexion Chelsea had ever seen. If she thought for a second that she’d been the only one out of place there, she’d been wrong. This woman belonged on the front of Business Digest magazine.
“Yeah.”
The woman smiled. It was warm, and it looked genuine. “Hi. I’m Angel, Dax’s old lady.”
Angel Brady. Chelsea had heard the stories of the cop, who came from a family of cops, who had changed her whole life to be the queen of the Southside Skulls. She was a lawyer now if the gossip in the coffee shop was right. “Hi, Angel. It’s nice to meet you.”
“May I sit down?”
“Yes, of course.” Angel sat across from her and Chelsea suddenly yearned for being alone and not the center of curiosity again.
“Chopper is on his way. He called and asked that we let you know. I was just on my way home. I had a late deposition.” Yep, lawyer, the grapevine knew their Skulls trivia. “I’m on my way up to our house. Would you like to come up and have some tea or coffee with me while you wait? I’m sure you’d be more comfortable there.”
Chelsea smiled. Dax, or Chopper, must have told her about her history with drugs and alcohol. “It’s late and I wouldn’t want to impose…”
“No imposition at all. My little girl is having a sleepover with a friend; they have a dress-up day at school tomorrow that they’re pretty excited about.” The look on her face when she mentioned her little girl made her even more beautiful, and it made Chelsea feel envy in her heart. She longed for the days that she could be involved in things like sleepovers and dress-up days with Reed. “Dax is out. He’ll be back soon, but in the meantime, it will just be me.”
Chelsea couldn’t refuse without being rude, and besides, Angel seemed nice. “Okay. Thank you, that would be nice.” She went outside with Angel and they got into a small Toyota car. The drive to the house took them past most of the ranch. Dax’s and Angel’s house sat on the far corner lot of the ranch and it was close to the barn that Chopper had taken her to a few days before. It was a pretty white house, two stories and surrounded by a neatly kept lawn and a lot of flower bushes. There was a wraparound porch they stepped up on to get to the front door, and the inside of the house was warm, cozy, and inviting. It reminded her of her parents’ home and once again she felt a surge of envy.
“Have a seat on the couch, Chelsea. I’m going to put the kettle on and change out of this suit.”
Chelsea sat down, and Angel went through a door, presumably to the kitchen. She looked around at the photos on the mantle and the walls. Almost all of them were pictures of a little red-haired girl. She was smiling at everyone and she had that joyful glow about her that happy kids always seemed to have. Angel crossed the living room again to go change and as soon as she disappeared down the hallway, Chelsea heard the sound of a Harley. She was tense and hoping Angel was almost finished when the front door opened and Dax walked in. He didn’t seem surprised to see her, but then again, she’d seen how good he was at not showing his emotions the last time she met him. He smiled at her and said:
“Hey, Chelsea, Chopper’s not here yet?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a growl of an engine announced the arrival of another bike. He smiled again and said, “I guess that answers my question. Where’s Angel?”
“Changing clothes.” He nodded and with his back to her he pulled off his leather jacket and then his vest. He hung them up on the tree next to the door and then he sat down on the bench there and began taking off his boots. He had one off when the knock sounded on the door. He reached over and opened it and Chopper was suddenly framed in the doorway. Chelsea’s heart reacted before her head had time to remind her that she was angry with him. It was so swollen that she could hardly breathe. She just hoped he couldn’t tell.
“Boots off,” Dax told him. Chopper pulled his eyes from Chelsea’s face, giving
her a chance to breathe, and she watched him sit down next to Dax and start pulling off his boots. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, and when Angel came out of the bedroom dressed in a pair of sweats, stopped and kissed her husband, smiled at Chopper and told Chelsea she would get the tea…she was blown away by how “normal” things seemed. She could almost imagine herself here if she forgot about all the drinking, smoking, and illegal stuff growing around her. She almost laughed at the thought of the look on Celia’s face if she even suggested raising Reed in a place like this. In the neighborhood that Celia lived in, people hid their addictions and their problems. They were all perfect little Stepford wives on the surface, just like her sister.
23
Angel took the spot next to Chelsea on the couch, which was probably good since she was still looking at Chopper like he had ripped out her heart and stomped on it right in front of her. She also looked like a nervous wreck, and Chopper felt like shit for doing this to her. And he wouldn’t, if it weren’t about keeping her and her baby safe. He was falling in love with her, and even if she hated him for this, he had to do it.
“So, Chopper says you know who Bart Walton is?” Good old Dax, always straight to the point.
“I know of him, yes. He was on television for a long time while I was growing up. He built that big church over in Back Bay, the one that looks like the Astrodome, and now he’s running for some office. That’s the most I know about him.”
Dax looked at Chopper and raised an eyebrow. He was giving him the option to tell her. Chopper wanted to wimp out and let Dax do it, but he knew he had to man up. He nodded slightly at Dax and said, “Chelsea, you don’t remember ever meeting him in person, do you?”
