BANE: A Devils' Due MC Romance Novel (11 page)

"Legal."

"Inappropriate."

"Why? Because she's as young as your daughter?"

I didn't reply. It was a fucked up topic that I wasn't comfortable discussing. Too much drama there.  Too many loose ends. Too much pain.

"How old is your kid again?" Trevor continued to question.

"Seventeen... I think."

"And her name's Lala, correct?"

"Lalafelle. Lalafelle Chase."

"Good thing her mother allowed her to use your name."

"Heh. She needed leverage for child support."

"And you provide?"

"I have to. I give her everything I earn, Veep. Got no savings because of it."

"Jesus, Bane! Your kid's name even sounds like the rat's daughter's. Surely you've taken a liking to our new tenant."

"Not really," I denied. "Renzo's brat got a little bit of an attitude. She can be very feisty once y’ya get to know her."

"You like your bitches feisty," Trevor reminded me as he laughed.

"Well, yes. But this chick and me? Ain't happenin', Veep. She's carryin' a lot of drama, and the club got issues with her. I don't need that kind of baggage."

Trevor eyed me intently as he took s sip from his glass of whiskey. He wanted to know if I was dead serious about what I just said. I had to show that I was.

"This club needs that kind of drama, I believe," he eventually continued. "It makes us remember who we really are instead of being consumed by the idea of who we should be."

"Who we are?" I asked. He got me confused.

"Humans. Humans who can easily be blinded by hate and anger... humans who should strive to rise above them all, to find the compassion necessary to do the right thing."

"Fuck, Trev... ‘yer drunk," I chuckled.

"Think about it, Bane. The brothers... they may not be that vocal about it, but they fucking hate the girl. And why? For the sole reason that she's Renzo's kid? Is that even right? The girl's not her old man. She shouldn't be made to suffer for the sins of her father."

Trevor's words gave me a semblance of comfort. At least I knew that I wasn't alone in feeling pity for the kid.

"Yet they abhor her like she was a slut with STD," he proceeded to share. "We are so drowned in our rules and our codes and our culture. For us, a rat is a rat... and everything about a rat stinks, including his children."

"What do ‘ya want me to do, Veep?" I wanted to get straight to the point. It was obvious that he was leading me somewhere. I wanted to spare him from having to badger his way to what he really wanted to say.

"Watch over her," he replied. "You're pretty close to the girl... well, closer than anyone of us at least. Keep an eye out for her. Protect her. Make the brothers know that she ain't a problem. You're already doing that... whether you realize it or not. I just want you to keep up the good work."

I nodded.

"That's all?" I wanted to know as I was itching for another bottle of beer.

"No," he remarked. "I'm gonna meet up with the Captolis tomorrow to sort out this mess before they decide to do something... drastic."

"Good plan, especially with Prez still in jail and all."

"Yes. We have to protect the club."

"Aye."

"So Bane," he added, "get an early shuteye. We'll leave at seven tomorrow morning."

Aw shit! Why didn't I see that coming?

Veep and I rode towards the southeastern part of Route 25 until we reached Fort Laramie, a little past Glendo Reservation Park.  There are Easton Avenue - the busiest street in the district - was a quaint little tailoring shop called
Vito’s Biancheria
.  They specialized on made-to-order clothes that used Italian linen, what many believed was the most beautiful and elegant textile in the world.  Now, I dunno if that kind of shit sells in America, but I haven’t seen a single customer grace the shop during the few times I visited that place.

It was just a front, though.

There was a door at the back of the counter that opened to a long alleyway leading to another building that couldn’t be viewed from the street.  It was a relatively luxurious building, with stylish interiors and moody lighting.  It was actually like a small hotel during the forties, the ones that were always portrayed in noir films throughout the years.  There was even a reception desk, a voluptuous woman... a
Ginny
from all indications though she was too soft-spoken and polite that she made me doubt, initially, if she was indeed Italian.

She guided us to the elevator and pressed the button that would bring us to the sixth floor.

The doors closed, and when they opened again, we were greeted by a bunch of
Guidos
in suits, surrounding a table where an old man sat restlessly.  The grampa was Don Vito Captoli, patriarch of the clan and head of the family.

There were no hallways in that level.  There were no rooms, no partitions, no windows.  The entire floor was the Don’s office.

A tall, middle-aged man stood beside him.  He had a receding hairline and thick glasses.  He looked like a younger version of Mr. Burns’ assistant - the faggity fuck from that Simpsons show - and the thought made me want to laugh.  He smiled at us before I could chortle.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Sirs?” he asked with mild-mannered courtesy.

“I swear, Lazzaro... your civility scares the shit out of me sometimes,” Trevor told him and I finally let out a laugh.

This Lazzaro fella was about to speak, but Don Vito raised his hand to stop him.

“I will handle this,
Consigliere
,” he said weakly.  It was very apparent that the Don was ill.  he has been for years, though no one knew what he was sick of.  “The Devils are here for one thing and one thing only, after all.”

“Don Vito,” Trevor quickly replied, “we would like to apologize for what transpired.  There has been a betrayal in our ranks, a fact which you already know.  We have dealt with the traitor and our club is once again cle...”

“You have dealt with the traitor?” Don Vito interrupted him.

“Yes, Don.”

“When?”

“A week and a half ago.”

“A week and a half ago?  And you just come to me... today?”  The Don bowed his head and rubbed his palms together, as if he was trying to placate himself.  At least that’s what I thought he was doing.  This limp dick has always been weird.  Who the fuck knows what’s running in his mind?

“I apologize for that, Don,” Veep said.  He was being overly apologetic, too eager to appease the elder Captoli.  That shouldn’t be the case.  We weren’t their underlings.  We weren’t their fucking lapdogs.  We were their equals, and that’s being generous.  We shouldn’t be afraid of these
Goombahs
.  They should be afraid of us.  Trevor should thank his lucky stars that Prez wasn’t here.  Loco would just slap him around like a bitch.  “We’ve been a little... disorganized... as of late.  Our president’s still behind bars and he has yet to post bail,” he continued.

“Mr. Vice President, that is not my problem now, is it?” Don Vito said with a somewhat mocking tone.  “I was merely expecting a little more civility from you.  You could have come to me earlier.  The day your traitor betrayed you, for example.  That would have given me some time to take necessary precautions.”

“It all went down quickly, Don,” Trevor explained.  “All twenty-two meth labs were raided the night he ratted us out.  I don’t think there was anything you or our club could’ve done to prevent those losses.”

“I am inclined to agree,” the Don stated.  “You’ve always known me as a fair man, Mr. Vice President, and I do not want to change your perception of me.”

“Yes, Don, you’ve always been fair,” Trevor concurred.

“This... traitor... he has a child, correct?” the old geezer asked.

Oh shit!  Why that question?  What was he leading to?

“Yes,” Trevor answered.

“A daughter?  A girl?”

“Yes.”

“And where is she right now?”

Trevor turned to face me.  I tried to speak to him with my eyes, to tell him that he shouldn’t give out the whereabouts of the kid.  But he was caught in a bind.  A lie would jeopardize the club’s already fractured relationship with the Captolis.  He returned my gaze with a regretful stare.

“She’s at our clubhouse,” Trevor confessed.

“And why is that?” the Don wanted to know.

“We made a... promise... to her father... a dying man’s wish...”

“A
traitor’s
wish,” the Captoli emphasized.

“Be that as it may, it remains a promise,” Trevor insisted.

“I see.  You feel that it is the honorable thing to do, Mr. Vice President?”

“Yes, Don, I believe it is.”

“And what about the honor you owe me, Mr. Vice President?  Is that less important than the honor you owed the traitor?”

“Of course not, Don.  We value our partnership.  You have, as you always will be, our most regarded associate.”

“So... you honor me more than you honor the traitor?” Don Vito wanted to know, but I already had a bad feeling about the point he was driving at.

“Of course, Don.”

“Then, if I will ask for this girl, you will give her to me?”

Trevor couldn’t immediately give a reply.  I butted in before his silence was mistaken as hesitance.

“Don Vito,” I said, “with all due respect, the girl is just a child.  What do ‘ya want with her?”

The Don gave me a dagger look.  Then he tapped Lazzaro’s rib.

“Consigliere, who is this man who is interrupting my conversation with Mr. Vice President?” the old fucker asked his cartoon character confidante.

“His name is Jeremiah Chase, Don Vito,” Lazzaro readily replied.  “He goes by the name of
Bane
.  Former Sergeant-At-Arms of the Devils’ Due Motorcycle Club.”

“Former?” the fart fuck wondered aloud.

“His position was not...
renewed
... when their challenge vote passed and a new president was elected,” Lazzaro explained.