GATOR: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 2) (5 page)

September 15, 2015–Los Angeles, California

“I know you don’t listen to half the shit folks tell ya, Hammer,” I said. “But surely, ya gotta remember what I told you about the gator attack I been in back in Lou’siana?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Hammer replied. “Who could forget a story like
that
? You jumped in front of a girl to save her from the gator and nearly got
your
leg bit off in return for the favor. But what’s that story have anything to do with San Francisco, or Pigpen’s murder?”

“Obviously it got somethin’ to do with San Francisco and Pigpen’s murder,” I said, returning to the fridge for a beer. “I ain’t just tryin’ to shoot the shit here.”

I knocked the lid off the longneck using the kitchen counter, then leaned back against it and took a long sip. Sure, it was a little early to be drinking, but I didn’t plan on getting drunk. I just needed something to calm my nerves and give me a little fuel for what I had ahead of me.

“Well, ya seem to remember the basics of what I told ya,” I said. “Ya get credit for that… But there are a lot of details you probably don’t remember—and there are probably a lot of details that I never told ya.”

“There always are,” Hammer said, eyeing the cold beer in my hand. “Can I get one of those?”

I raised my eyebrows, took a sip, and replied, “What’s mine is yours, brother.”

Hammer went over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer, which he, too, popped open against the counter.

“So, what kind of details are we talkin’ about here, Gator?” he asked, returning to his chair at the kitchen table.

“Little of this, little of that,” I said after taking another sip. “No need to repeat all of it right now—so I’ll just tell you what’s important. That girl I saved was named Jessica Taylor, though she went by J.T.; she and I were, ya know, intimate together.”

“Sounds familiar,” Hammer remarked, as I finished what was left of my bottle. “I didn’t remember her name specifically, but I remember you telling me about her. She was your first time, wasn’t she?”

“She was my first everything,” I admitted. “My first time, my first love, my first real friend.”

There was a time when I would have been too embarrassed to tell Hammer about the extent of my personal experiences and emotions. That’s not what most guys usually talk about, and Hammer was once, and for a long while, a player. But now Hammer and I had many years between us, and Hammer had simmered down since he hooked up with Terry’s sister, Rachel—and telling him these things at this point was as easy as sayin’ ‘em to myself in the mirror.

“But,” I continued, “her parents wouldn’t have any of it. They wouldn’t let her date me. They thought I was too rough and lowdown, too much of a big ole oaf—ya know, the way a lot of people used to see me.”

Hammer shook his head from side to side and stared at his bottle. “Some people,” he murmured under his breath before addressing me directly. “She moved out here, to California, for school or something, right? And that’s why
you
came out here, to follow her—and that’s why you did all that—”

“Okay,” I said, interrupting. “I see you
do
remember a lot of what I told you—and dagnamit, I forgot I even told you so much! But yeah, J.T. was the reason I did a lot of things, including move out here to Cali—and I don’t gotta remind
you
what happened when I got here.”

No sooner than I found J.T., I found myself in jail on that assault charge. I hadn’t even made contact with her, and she had no idea I was out here. I served my six months on that charge, then got out, got settled, and started looking for J.T. again—and sure enough, I found her.

“She was out at UCLA, doing really well in school. She was in one of them sororities and was involved with the school’s government body. She was in a really great place, and I…” I went to the fridge and grabbed two beers. I popped one open and handed the other to Hammer. “I decided it wasn’t a good time for me to reach out and make contact with her. I didn’t want
my
fucked-up life interfering with all the good she was doing.”

“I hear ya,” Hammer replied, eyeing my kitchen table. He found a bottle opener I hadn’t even realized was there and used it to open his longneck. “We all have to make sacrifices sometimes.”

“Exactly,” I said, watching my brother take a sip. “As much as I wanted to be with J.T., I knew I couldn’t go after her yet. So I went about my business and tried to get my shit together—and all the while, I kept checking in on J.T. behind the scenes.

“Before I knew it, more than a year had gone by. I found out J.T. was dating a guy—a computer geek from her school—and that gave me even more reason to hold back. Long story short, I never made my move. J.T.’s life looked so good every time I checked in—and I couldn’t bring myself to disrupt it. I wanted her so badly, but I just couldn’t do it. So one day I just gave up on the whole idea. Years had passed, and her life had developed in so many ways, but even though I’d given up hope of ever dating J.T. again, I couldn’t give up on
her
. I wanted to know how those developments in her life kept developing, so I kept keeping watch on her.

“She got engaged to that computer geek—Gary Knowles—in their senior year of college, and they moved out to San Francisco after graduation.”

“San Francisco?” Hammer asked, nearly doing a spit-take. “J.T. lives in San Francisco?”

“Yep,” I replied. “And she don’t just live there—she works there. Apparently, during college, she’d majored in administration of justice and did a program with the local police academy. After she moved out to San Fran, she started working with San Francisco P.D.—and last time I checked-in on her, about four years ago, she’d made detective… in the homicide division.”

“So J.T.’s a… homicide detective… in San Francisco?” Hammer asked slowly.

“Right,” I answered.

“And Pigpen’s body turned up—murdered—in her jurisdiction, next to a switchblade with
your
prints on it?” Hammer asked rhetorically.

I nodded my head and took a long drag from my longneck.

“That’s one hell of a coincidence, now ain’t it?” I asked mockingly.

“Sure is, brother,” Hammer replied, rising to his feet. He walked over to the window, pulled back the dusty curtain, and gazed out into the sunlight.

“Someone’s trying to get to you,” he said. “And they know how… Not only did they frame you for a murder, but they also delivered the body right to your girlfriend’s doorstep. We could ask who did it and why, or a million other questions. But the easiest place is to start with this one: Who else knows about J.T.? Who else did you tell your story to?”

“Aww, Hammer,” I replied. “Damned if I know—or damned if I don’t. I didn’t go tellin’ everyone my tale, but I told a few of our other brothers, just like I told you. I never told no Seraphs though—just Wolves, and only after I knew y’all for a while.”

“Well,
which
Wolves did you tell?” Sam asked. “Who
exactly
knows how much this woman means to you?”

“I ain’t gonna name names,” I answered. “I don’t remember who all I told, and I ain’t gonna give you a short list to go on. That ain’t fair, because if you’re gettin’ at what I think you’re gettin’ at, we’d be pointing fingers at a lot of innocent people.”

“We have to point them at
someone
, Gator,” Hammer said, stepping closer. “We need to figure out who used this information against you—whether it was one of our brothers, or someone they leaked to. Because whatever the case, this mess with Pigpen has grave implications. It means that someone is trying to hurt you, or the Wolves in general,
and
that we have a mole in our organization.”

I finished what was left of my beer and placed the empty bottle on the counter alongside several others. I thought about getting another but decided against it. I’d gotten enough fuel for what was ahead of me, but I didn’t need to be intoxicated for the ride.

“Pigpen’s dead body is only the beginning,” Hammer elaborated. “Whoever’s behind his murder has to have something else up their sleeve, and it’s gotta be pretty damn ugly. They’re trying to push you and J.T. back together—and the way I see it, there’s only one reason someone would do that.”

I looked at Hammer expectantly and waited for him to continue.

“To tear you apart again,” he went on.

I swallowed hard and reconsidered grabbing another beer but—again—decided against it.

“Alright, Hammer,” I said. “I know what I gotta do then.” I walked over to the shelf by my door and grabbed my keys.

“What are you doing?” Hammer asked, following after me.

“Right now, me and J.T. are sitting ducks,” I said. “So we both gotta get moving.”

“Fair enough,” Hammer replied. “But
where
are
we
going?”

“Not to the same place, brother,” I said, opening the door. “
You’re
gonna go to Crete’s and explain this whole mess to him… And
I’m
gonna go to the one place no one would expect me to go.”

“Are you sure?” Hammer asked as we both stepped out of the door.

I nodded and started walking toward my Harley.

“Aren’t you gonna lock up?” Hammer called after me. “You didn’t lock your door.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around, and looked at Hammer. “You know, you been comin’ around here for years, since I first moved in here… Ya always knock, and this morning you were poudin’…. But I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Now it was Hammer’s turn to look at
me
expectantly, waiting for me to continue. “I ain’t never locked that door once,” I went on. “It’s always open.”

Hammer chuckled, and I turned back around, hopped on my Harley, and sped off toward my destination.

September 15, 2015–San Francisco, California

“Detective Knowles?” a man’s voice asked from across the phone line. He sounded hesitant, reluctant, and a little sheepish. “Is this Detective J.T. Knowles?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“This is Officer Ken Wokowski, with L.A.P.D.,” he replied. “I’m calling to let you—”

“Finally,” I said, interrupting the officer. “I called you guys nearly two hours ago… I need you to put out an A.P.B. on Carl—”

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Officer Wokowski said, interrupting me as I’d just interrupted him.

“Why not?” I inquired. “Are you saying the L.A.P.D. is unwilling to work with us on this matter? Do I have to go above your head and contact the commissioner?”

“No, no, Detective,” the officer replied quickly and defensively. “It’s nothing like that. You called here asking about Carl Struthers… and not even twenty minutes ago, Carl Struthers came in here asking about
you
. We don’t need to put out an A.P.B. on him, because he’s already here. He voluntarily turned himself in for questioning.”

“Oh,” I said, sounding almost as sheepish as Officer Wokowski sounded when I’d first answered the phone. I was not only embarrassed that I’d jumped the gun, but I was also flabbergasted by what he’d just told me.

“We have him down in holding,” Officer Wokowski continued. “And he’s refusing to talk to anyone but
you
on this matter. He even asked for you by name—Detective J.T. Knowles.”

My mind started racing. I had so many questions—but Officer Wokowski was not the one to ask.

“Alright,” I said. “I have to clear things with my chief, but I should be able to be out there by evening. Hold him until I get there, and call me immediately if he decides to talk to anyone else before I do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wokowski replied.

“And, I mean
immediately
,” I reiterated.

“Yes, ma’am,” Wokowski repeated.

I hung up my phone—and put my thoughts and emotions on the back burner—and went over to Ramirez.

“Our boy Struthers just voluntarily turned himself in for questioning down at L.A.P.D.,” I said.

“What?” Ramirez asked, acting as shocked as I felt.

“About twenty minutes ago,” I answered, without mentioning that Struthers had asked for me by name.

“Well, if that doesn’t say guilty, I don’t know what else does,” Ramirez replied, moving away from the scene and toward me. The coroner had just taken the body away, and the boys from forensics were sweeping the scene.

“He must have had
some
involvement to know about this so soon,” Ramirez went on. “I mean, L.A.P.D. didn’t even issue the A.P.B. yet, did they? So, how’d he know we were lookin’ for him, unless he knew
why
?”

“I don’t know, Ramirez,” I said, shaking my head. “Could mean he’s involved—or could mean he’s connected and has good sources and someone tipped him off. Most people—especially guilty people—run when they get tipped off though. So why didn’t Struthers?”

Ramirez looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “This case just got even more fucked up, didn’t it?” he asked.

“It appears so,” I answered, looking away. I was holding so much back—and if there was any point where I should have fessed up, it was at this point. It was my last chance to get out of this with completely clean hands, and a completely clean conscience.

But instead of fessing up at this point, I moved right past it, full speed ahead.

“I’m gonna go call the chief,” I said. “I gotta get the OK to go to L.A.”

“I wanna come with you,” Ramirez called out, as I walked back toward my car.

“I’ll ask,” I said, lying.

Once I was at my car, I leaned up against it, pulled out my phone, and called the station. I had Barnes put me through to the chief, and I explained the recent developments to him, leaving out the part about Carl refusing to speak to anyone but
me
.

“So you wanna go out to L.A. and question Struthers?” Coop asked. “You don’t think local can handle it?”

“I’m sure they can,” I replied, with a snarled laugh. “But I wanna get this case out of the way as quickly and as efficiently as possible. I don’t want to leave any margin for error… I don’t want L.A.P.D. glossing over something, or letting him go without getting everything I need. So I’d rather take care of it myself.”

“Alright,” the chief said, dragging his word and his breath. “I’ll have admin set up a two-day expense account for you. You’re the only detective I can send out though. You want someone on this with you? Ramirez?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I want someone with me… but not Ramirez. You need him on the streets here. Have Barnes come with me.”

“Barnes?” Coop asked. “You want
Barnes
to go out to L.A. with you?”

I could understand why the chief was so perplexed. As I’d mentioned earlier, Barnes was just a clerk officer, and just about anybody else on the force would have been a better, wiser ad hoc partner. But I didn’t really
want
a partner for this interrogation. I wasn’t just talking about L.A.P.D. when I told Coop I’d rather take care of it myself.

I couldn’t have Ramirez join me. He was too smart. He’d figure out that something was up in no time, and he’d know what to do about it—and nothing could stop him. And the same could be said for the half a dozen or so other beat cops I could have selected.

But Barnes… Barnes was meek, meager, and fresh under the collar. He didn’t know what questions to ask and didn’t know how to read between the lines to find answers. And if he
did
happen to stumbled into the “know,” he’d have no idea where to go from there, and he could easily be manipulated or persuaded.

I
needed
someone like him at my side for this trip and interrogation.

“Yes, Barnes,” I answered. “We don’t need to waste a beat cop on this, but I need
someone
there. And Barnes is good enough. Plus, I’m sure he’d be happy to go on a little field trip.”

“Alright, Knowles,” Coop said. “I’ll go see if he’s on board and clear everything with admin.”

“Thanks, Chief,” I replied. “I’m gonna finish up here with Ramirez, then run by my place to get some stuff for the trip. I should be back at the station in about an hour.”

“See you then,” the chief said, hanging up the phone.

I went back over to the scene, where Ramirez was eagerly waiting.

“When we going to L.A.?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“
I’m
going to L.A. as soon as I go pick up Barnes at the station,” I answered. “You’re gonna have to wait ‘til your next day off or vacation. Chief couldn’t spare a beat cop.”

“Makes sense,” Ramirez replied. “Just be careful out there, especially since you got a rookie with you.”

“I will,” I answered with a smile.

I helped Ramirez close up a few things—you know, dotting some “i’s” and crossing some “t’s”—and left the scene several minutes later, headed for my apartment. I rushed in, quickly packed an overnight bag containing another skirt suit, a change in undergarments, and a nightgown, along with the typical toiletries—makeup, deodorant, toothbrush, and whatnot—and was on my way back to the station in no time.

When I got back to the station, Coop had me sign some paperwork and take care of some other administrative matters. Then all I had to do was wait for Barnes. The chief told me he’d gone home to change and pack his bag and would be back soon.

But “soon” ended up being about a half an hour later. And when Barnes walked into the station, I’m surprised the floors didn’t shake from all the laughter.

He came in wearing a nice enough pair of trousers with a white button-down shirt. But on top of it, he wore an oversized three-quarters-length trench coat, and he had a fedora on his head. Given his age and his getup—and the fact that he was wearing geeky glasses—he looked like a high school kid dressed up as a detective for Halloween, one who’d borrowed his dad’s coat and hat to complete the outfit.

He looked ridiculous, which confirmed my earlier conclusion. Yes, Barnes was the perfect partner for this case. I
needed
someone like him at my side for this trip and interrogation.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Barnes said, walking up beside me. “I’ve never been out of town on a case before and didn’t know what to pack.” Indeed, he’d stated the obvious. His “overnight bag” wasn’t a bag, but a suitcase, and it looked expanded at its belly.

“Well, you’re here now,” I said, patting Barnes on the shoulder pad. “And we don’t have any more time to waste—so let’s get going.”

With that, I rushed out of the station, to my car, with Barnes lugging his heavy suitcase behind me. I didn’t look forward to the ride ahead of us, or what would happen when we got to our destination, but I swear, I’d never been so motivated to get anywhere in my entire life.