Rod (10 page)

I stand up, tired of this shit.

“Mr. Vinton, I assure you that this is all
protocol,” the officer says gesturing for me to sit back down.

“Take it easy, Barney Fife.
 
We all just want to see Sasha returned home.”

“As do we, sir.
 
Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“No.”

“Thanks for talking with me.
 
This is my card should you think of any more
information after we leave here today.
 
Any details you may have left out could prove beneficial to her safe
return.”

“I get it, thanks.”

I stand up and push the chair forward to
the table.

I walk to where Ronan is perched at the
bar drinking a beer.

“Enough is enough with this shit,” I tell
him of the police presence in the bar.

“As you know, they have their
investigation and we have ours.”

He tells the barmaid to get me a beer and
we clink them together.
 

“To finding your daughter,” I state
plainly.

“To finding my daughter,” he reiterates my
words.

An hour passes and the police officers
scatter from the premises.
 
They close up
their notepads and gesture to Ronan that they’ll be leaving.

“We think we’ve got what we need,” one
yells over to Ronan.
 
He nods and they
exit promptly.
 
No one wants them here
and they are keenly aware.

“Do me a favor, kid.”

“Yeah?”

“Try to keep Trish out of this.
 
She’s only going to end up putting herself in
danger.”

“I feel
ya
,
boss.
 
I’ll try, but we both know she can
be stubborn,” I remark honestly.

“She gets that from her mother.”

“Anything you need brother,” I reassure
him of my commitment to the club and to our cause.

He nods with a half-smile and I stand.

“I
gotta
run;
Got
a few things to take care of.”

He raises his beer bottle once more and I
head out.

I breeze through the door with a mission
on my mind.
 
I need to learn what I can
about Sasha’s disappearance.
 
I pull my
helmet on my head and take off out of the Lair’s parking lot.

When I’m far out enough, I pull my phone
from my pocket and dial up my father’s second in command.
 
A shady looking man in his mid-fifties, Owen
Ketterling
is downright evil.
 
In certain matters, he could be torturous,
but I focus on Sasha.
 
Surely, not even
he would lay a finger on a twelve-year-old in a motorcycle club war.

“Owen,” I surmise upon hearing his raspy
voice on the other end.

“Who is this?”

“Rodney.”

“Rodney who?”

“Rodney Vinton.”

“What’s good, kid?”

“I know you and my old man don’t always
see eye-to-eye, so I thought I’d ask.
 
Do
you know anything about the disappearance of a twelve-year-old girl with the
name Sasha Fitzgerald?”

“Who?”

“Sasha Fitzgerald.
 
She’s the daughter of the guy who runs the
Dragons motorcycle club.”

“And she came up missing?”

“Yeah.
 
No one’s seen her in two days.”

“And you think I had something to do with
this?”

“I never said that.
 
I was just looking for information.
 
She’s an innocent fucking kid, Owen, so tell
me if you know anything.”

“I
dunno
anything about any missing kid.”

The line is dead.
 
I look down at my phone and say aloud, “You
fuckers better not hurt a hair on her head.”

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I
hop back on my bike and ride the streets looking for Sasha.
 
This search is an awakening for me and I can
see clearly that my father’s people would easily lie for the almighty dollar.

Chapter Five

Trish Fitzgerald

I thrash my way through the house, not
taking into account that my mother is back from tending to the family
store.
 
She shows no interest in my
issues, but I force them on her just the same.

“
Ya
know what
bugs the shit out of me?” I blather.

“No, Trish.
 
Tell me, what bugs the shit out of you?”

“The way I feel right fucking now.”

Mom tries to dismiss the conversation
there, but I won’t let her.

“Aren’t you
gonna
ask me how I feel right now?”

“I’ll bite.
 
How are you feeling right now?”

“Like shit.”

“I think everyone is going to feel like
shit until your sister is found.
 
It’s
natural to be upset.
 
We’re all upset.”

Her failure to comfort me isn’t all that
shocking in the least.
 
She spends most
of her time catering to my father’s every whim.
 
She deals with me because we are family, but she only puts up with
Sasha.
 
It’s a dull nagging in her vacant
eyes to see a constant reminder that my father cheated on her all of those
years ago.

“I just feel so fucking useless in this
whole thing,” I confide in her.

She nods as if she understands.

“I’m of no use to anyone inside of the
club or out.
 
This fucking sucks,” I add.

“I’m sure there is some way you can help.”

Her tone sounds hopeful, but I recall my
father’s warning to stay out of it.

“No, I ask but dad tells me to stay out of
it every time.
 
I come up with one solid
lead and that’s more than anyone else, but he basically tells me to go fuck
myself.”

She begins wiping down the counter tops at
home and turns the dial on the stove to pre-heat the oven.

“You have a solid lead?”

“And then there’s fucking Rodney,” I
rant.
 
“Rodney makes me like him and then
turns on me the moment dad comes around.
 
It’s stupid, really.”

She reiterates, “You have a solid lead?”

“Yes, I already said that.
 
It’s no use, though.
 
Rodney shot that idea out of the sky.
 
He knows the guy I thought took Sasha.
 
He said he’s a good dude.”

Mom goes back to cleaning the kitchen up
and I satisfy my need to sit around and wallow in my own
self
pity
.
 
I plunge my body down on
the couch and hit the red power button on the clicker.
 
I reach over to the bottle of wine and drink
directly from it.

The television blares relentlessly.
 
I stand up, put the bottle down and
leave.
 

“Alright, well I can’t turn into you, now
can I?” I ask aloud as I leave the room and then the house.

I feel the wind in my face as I ride to
the Lair.
 
I need some words of
wisdom.
 
I seek out Jasmine or any other
friendly faces.
 
In a whirlwind, I pass
by the Sargent-At-Arms, Josh Lucas, and sit at the bar.

He approaches me from behind and taps my
shoulder.

“Didn’t your father tell you to go home?”

“Yeah, but I feel so obsolete.”

He taps me again on the shoulder, but this
time it’s more reassuring.
 
He feels my
pain.
 

I see Jasmine standing behind the counter,
busy doling out drinks to the remaining members.
 

“Are
ya
drinking?”
She asks.

“No.
 
I just need to talk to someone who understands.”

“And you think that’s me?” She asks, but
feels the flattery in my words.
 

She looks to the guy occupying the space
behind the bar and says, “Hey Jeff, take care of the bar for me, would
ya
?”

He nods begrudgingly and she walks around
to where I’m sitting.

“Alright, let’s talk.”

“I just feel so bummed out that I can’t do
anything to help out with the search or the investigation into my sister’s
disappearance.
 
It’s awful just sitting
around because everyone seems to think I’m made of glass or something.”

“I’m sure your father is just protecting
you.
 
He’s a good guy and he doesn’t
wanna
add insult to injury.”

“I get that.
 
Maybe he was right, though.”

“Right about what?”

“Right about me not becoming a
member.
 
He said that most girls my age
are draining their parents’ bank accounts and are in college.
 
Maybe I should just leave Hinton Township and
go to college?”

“Now do you really think you could leave
this town when your sister is still out there?”

“No, I can’t.
 
You’ve got a point.”

“Just promise that you’ll try and take it
easy on your father.
 
He’s going through
a lot - we all are.
 
We’re a family and
we need to look out for each other.”

“I appreciate you lending me your ears,” I
tell her.
 
Satisfied that she has been
helpful, she gets back up to tend bar.
 
Jeff wears a look of relief on his face when she tells him to go away.

“Hey, Jasmine,” I say with a wave to get
her attention.
 
Her eyebrows rise.
 
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the
Corkscrew.
 
I need some time to think.”

She smiles and I get off of the red bar
stool to leave.

“I could send someone to go with you.”

“I don’t need a chaperone,” I bark.

“I was only trying to help.”

I smile at her.
 
She has always been there for me to listen or
help.
 
She’s a good friend who I gather
keeps tabs on me for my father.
 
Everyone
stares at me looking to see what I will do.
 

I leave the Lair behind me, this time much
slower.
  
With the cool air in my face, I
kick a nearby pebble.
 
It solves nothing,
but right now I need to be in control of something, anything.
 

I get on my bike and fire her up.
 
My stomach rumbles, but I ignore it.
 

A ruckus in the club brings my attention
back inside.
 
There’s a fight.
 

Josh Lucas steps in the middle of Boris
and Ken.
 
Two older men taking swipes at
each other paints a crooked smile on my face.
 
I take the smile, even if it’s slightly temporary.
 

“Well, isn’t that a fine fucking how do
you do?” Boris asks Ken.

“Fuck you too, you fucking fat twat,” Ken
yells from two inches away.
 

Josh pushes between them, but they don’t
care.
 

“Alright, you guys, break it up or I’ll
break it up for you,” the beefy Josh tells them as they all stand eye to eye.

“So I can’t kick his fucking ass?” Ken
yelps.

“If you are going to fight, then it has to
be fair,” Josh advises them.

“He’s talking about that fat gut of yours,
you fucking pig,” Boris snipes.

I grin for the first time since learning
of Sasha’s disappearance.

I walk to Jasmine whose eyes are trained
on the mischief afoot in the club.
 

“This is quite the entertainment,” I tell
her with a chuckle.

“We look at it as a sort of an ice breaker
around these parts,” she says sarcastically.

Josh addresses all of us: “I guess these
two
wanna
go.
 
Don’t fucking break anything and keep it fair, assholes.”

Boris throws the first punch at Ken.
 
Jasmine appears amused and I realize that
neither of us care why they’re fighting.
 
Ken dodges the punch completely and hits Boris with an uppercut.
 
It’s at this point, the place is loud with
people egging them on and taking bets.

“My money’s on Ken,” Jasmine says.
 

“That is, if Boris doesn’t get sick from
the smell of the guy,” I counter.

She laughs.
 
The tension is gone.
 

A rumble from my dad’s office tells me and
everyone else that he’s still here.
 
The
door cracks open and the light from his office breaks into the back room.
 
Everyone takes notice, but Boris and Ken.

“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell
is going on here?” he shouts to get their attention.

Boris turns to dad and it is evident that
he is sporting a black eye.
 
Ken is
bleeding from his mouth.
 
They’re both a
mess.
 
I hop behind the counter and grab
the first aid kit.
 

Ken sits his giant body on top of one of
the little red stools and his flesh spills over.
 
I dab some peroxide on a cloth and wipe his
mouth with it.
 
Boris settles on a seat
further away.
 

Jasmine reaches Boris a beer and before he
can open it, she says, “Hold it up against your eye.”

Dad says to the room, “Am I fucking
invisible here?”

Josh walks over to him and says, “I don’t
know why, but those two idiots just started throwing punches at each
other.
 
I stepped in to make sure it was
a fair fight, but they’ve only tossed insults at each other in between
swinging.”

“Boris, you’re already on the verge of
getting your ass kicked out of here.
 
I
mean, you pull this shit when you know my daughter is missing?”

He looks upset that dad has placed the
blame on his shoulders.

“That fucking guy and his bullshit,” Boris
rants.

“Yeah, well fuck you,” Ken tells him.
 

My dad gives them both the evil eye and it
shuts them up.
 
I move away from Ken as
the stink overwhelms my sense of smell.

Satisfied that everything is calm, dad
retreats back to his office.
 
Josh
escorts Boris and Ken out of the club under protest.

“You idiots don’t get to come back here
until you can play nice,” he tells them before shoving a boot to Ken’s ass as
he makes them leave.

I cackle at the gesture.

For the moment, our tension gets
erased.
 
I walk out and put some distance
between myself and the Lair.
 
I get away
at what feels like the speed of light.
 
I
reach the Corkscrew and park the bike on the side of the place next to the
others there.

Swinging the door open, I walk to the bar
like I own the place.
 
I feel hopeless
and hollow.

I look up to find a different person
behind the bar.
 

“What’ll it be?” The older lady asks.

“Jack and Coke,” I tell her.

“Can I see your ID?”

“Yeah,” I sigh tiresomely as I fish the
card from my pocket.
 
I hold it up, but
she squints.
 
She takes it from my hands
and holds it up to the light.
 

“Alright, be right back with your drink.”

She slides my ID card back over to
me.
 
I resign myself to drinking the
night away.
 

A familiar face sits next to me at the
bar, but I can’t make out who he is.

He’s tall, scarily skinny and looks like a
cross between Harry Styles with shorter hair and a young Steve
Buscemi
– and not in a good way.
 
I explore his face as he tries to piece
together something to say.

“Hi, it’s Jeff,” he says as if it has some
special meaning.

“This seat’s taken, Jeff,” I say
nonchalantly.

He moves to the other side of me and I
stop him in his tracks.

“That one, too,” I tell him bluntly.

“It’s Jeff Preble, from the club.”

“Do you want a medal, ‘Jeff Preble from
the club?
’”
I tease.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re going through
some tough shit right now.”

He walks away and I’m silently thankful
for the silence.

A drink appears in front of me and I slide
a twenty to the barmaid.
 
Minutes pass
and the space in front of me is full of bills and change.

“Aww yeah!” I hear coming from the other
side of the room.
 
I see figures move by
the pool table, but I can only make out one.

I suck down the first drink and motion for
the bartender to come over.

“Another one?” she asks.

“Yep, I got a feeling it’s going to be a
long night.”

She takes some of the bills from the bar
and returns with a drink.
 

The sound of balls flying on the table
couples with the music blaring from the jukebox.
 
I turn to look at the pool table and suck
down drink number two.

“Are you trying to get drunk?” The barmaid
asks.

“I have a lot of shit going on right
now.
 
So, yes.”

She smiles and says, “Do you
wanna
talk about it, honey?”

“I don’t think I do,” I tell her.

“Another one then?” She asks, taking
notice of my empty glass.

“Yep.”

“This one’s on me,” she says as she
returns with my third drink.
 
I take a
gulp and realize that the alcohol no longer burns going down my throat.

Like a pro, I slam the glass on the bar.

“Another?”

“Yeah.”

I can’t see straight, but at this point, I
don’t care.
 
I take the drink in hand and
walk over to Rodney.

“Trish?”

“Rodney.”

“Are you okay?”

“About as okay as I can be considering
that everything is falling apart around me and there’s nothing I can do about
it.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Captain Obvious rears his ugly head,” I
snipe.

He holds me close and I get a hefty whiff
of the mix of his natural scent coupled with his cologne.
 
I nuzzle his neck.

He moves away to take another shot and I
look over at the pool table.
 
The game is
almost over.
 
He banks the shot and lands
the eight ball in the corner pocket, as he predicted.

“I got next,” I tell him.

“Is that right?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t think you need to be anywhere
near a stick
and
 
balls
,”
he jokes.

“I
wanna
play.”

“You’re drunk.
 
Maybe another time?”

“No.
 
Now,” I am adamant.

The others move away from the pool table
and I sit myself near the corner pocket, with a pool cue in hand.
 
I lick my lips and look at him as if he’s a
piece of meat.
 
The gesture doesn’t go
without notice.
 
I lean over to pick up
the blue chalk square from the table and slide the cue between my legs,
teasingly.
 
He watches me intently as I
spread my legs and chalk the stick.

“Chicken?” I ask.

“Fuck no, I’m not chicken.
 
I’ll rack and you break.”

I hop off of the table and land feet
squarely on the floor.
 
He walks to the
other end of the table with the triangle and places the balls inside.

I tease, “I like the way you play with the
balls.”

His face reddens.
 

“I can’t wait to bust them.”

I pull my arm back and with a swift
motion, shove the cue stick forward with a quick thrust.

“I’m solids,” I declare.

He moves close enough to kiss me and
whispers in my ear, “I’m going to kick your ass at this.”

I feel his warm breath on my neck and
anticipation builds inside of me.

“This is going to be fun.”

A half hour elapses and even drunk, I feel
like I run the table.

“Don’t get too cocky,” he says taking note
of how I gloat when I’m winning.
 
“I’m
just getting warmed up.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” I reply.

He knocks the nine ball in, followed by
the eleven ball and then the fifteen ball.
 

“Oh, you’re good,” I tell him, witnessing
him now running the table.
 
Our ball
count is even.
 
He knocks in the thirteen
and then scratches.

“Your turn,” he notes.

I kill him in the first game and he wants
revenge.
 
“Loser racks,” I nudge
him.
 

He takes the triangle and racks the
balls.
 
This time, in a fit of revenge,
he crushes me.
 
The game is tied two to
two and I grow curious.