Rod (6 page)

A presence appears at the door and it
opens to reveal a woman.
 
She’s probably
in her early forties and wears a blue dress with smaller white polka dots.
 

“A friend of yours, Ron?” she asks him,
nudging him.
 

“Actually, he’s looking for a missing
twelve-year-old girl in the area.”

“People these days will snatch up our
children and do horrible things,” she rambles.

I show her my cell phone picture of Sasha
and she shakes her head.

“Well, thanks anyways guys,” I tell them
before walking back out to my bike.
 
I
make a note on the list that the man has seen Sasha, but not today.

After an hour passes, my list is
complete.
 
I tuck the paper inside my
pocket and pull my helmet onto my head.
 
I start up my hog and ride my way back to the school with hopes that the
others had better luck.

We all meet up at the school and discuss
our findings.
 
Jason tells of the
fascinating but creepy people he asked about Sasha.
 
We turn our attention to Ken who says that
he’s found nothing of interest.
 
He hands
me back his paper and I can see that he’s gotten lazy and was scratching out
names one by one.

Alexandra has also come up short.
 
She tells us, “These are some pretty fucking
creepy ass people.”

I shrug.
 
Arnold says, “A lot of these folks are in Blythe Prison, so I guess
that’s a dead end.”

“Alright, let’s head back to the club,” I
say, defeated and at a loss.

Helmets adorn all of our heads as we speed
off to the club for a quick recap of our efforts.

We arrive and another pink bike is out
front.
 
It’s like Trish’s bike, but more
elaborate and has intricate detailing in the paint job.
 
I walk inside, taking notice that Trish’s
bike is absent.

Inside the bar is a frenzy of people
working out any possible leads.
 
A
gorgeous woman of about thirty-five is at the bar, trying to reassure
Ronan.
 
She’s clad in an unbuttoned cleavage-baring
white blouse with a pair of tight blue jeans.
 
Her stilettos make her look ten feet tall.
 

I wonder who she is, but a kiss over the
bar engages Ronan’s lips and I know.
 
It’s Veronica, his wife.
 
Trish’s
mother.
 
Holy shit, Veronica must’ve been
like fourteen when she hooked up with Ronan.

“What do you got?” Ronan centers his
attention on me.

“The school’s regular attendance person
wasn’t there today and apparently the person working in her place didn’t call
any of the parents whose students didn’t show.”

“Fuck,” he says.
 
“That would’ve given us a much narrower
window.”

I nod in agreement.
 

“What else?”

“Well, Jason singled out some known
criminals in the Heights area within a twenty mile radius of the school.
 
We all talked to them, but came up
short.
 
Alexandra also retraced Sasha’s
steps from Missy’s house to the school, but didn’t see anything out of the
ordinary.”

“Speaking of whom,” Veronica says as she
takes quick strides from behind the bar to intercept a brunette woman storming
into the club.
 
She dresses the part of a
soccer mom and is every bit the small town girl next door.
 
Her presence sets Veronica off
instantly.
 

I eyeball Josh Lucas as if to warn him
that these two ladies may just have it out.
 
He glances back at me and raises a hand to say that it’s all cool.
 
He’s familiar with this woman and she’s
harmless.

“Melissa, what in the ever loving fuck are
you doing here?” Veronica snipes viciously.

“My daughter is missing and all you can do
is sit around here and do nothing?” Missy rails.
 
“I demand to speak to the father of my child.
Ronan!” Missy yells, with an effort to side-step Veronica’s interception and
gain his attention.

“Listen, bitch, you’re pushing your luck
here,” Veronica says moving closer to Missy and backing her out of the front
door.
 

Missy sobs, her hands drying her tired
eyes.
 

“My daughter is missing.”

“I know that, honey, but that little,
sweet face of yours and that stupid fucking sob story only works on my
husband.
 
If you want to deal with Ronan,
you’re going to have to do it through me.”

“Fine.
 
Here, I took this earlier today before I sent Sasha off to school.”

Missy hands over a printed out picture of
Sasha in her black pants, pink shirt and her favorite yellow purse.
 

“I’ll take care of this and will make sure
everyone gets a copy of the photo.
 
I
know you’re hurting, but you seriously need to take your pretty ass out of this
club right now before it gets kicked.”

“Jesus Christ, Veronica, have some
decency.”

“I am, honey,” Veronica says
knowingly.
 
“The best place for you is at
home just in case she goes back there, so get the fuck home and wait.”

Melissa exits the club and Veronica eyes
up Josh Lucas, telling him, “Keep that fucking bitch out of this club.”

He nods.

“Yes ma’am.”

Veronica shows the picture of Sasha to
Ronan and then disappears with it.
 
Twenty minutes later, she comes back into full view with a stack of
papers bearing Sasha’s face and information.
 

“We can pass these out and staple them to
every pole in the township,” Veronica tells Ronan.

He buries his head in his hands on the
bar’s counter top.
 

I hear the sound of another motorcycle
coming up to the club.
 
Moments later,
Trish walks in and approaches her parents.
 

After a moment of their time, she parades
herself over to me.
 

“I can help,” she offers.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” I
tell her.

“Why the fuck not?
 
Sasha is my sister.”

“Your father would have my head on a
silver platter.”

“But we could be that much closer to
finding out what happened.”

“Yeah, but you see, I can’t actually
function if your father takes my head off, so therein lies the problem.
 
Besides, I can’t go against his wishes.”

She resents me for my words, but I know
it’s for her own good.

“I’m
gonna
run,
but I’ll be back tomorrow,” I tell everyone in earshot.

“Good, thanks again, man,” Ronan says.

I can feel the rush of the wind in my face
as I peel out of the club’s parking lot.
 
When I’m sure that I’m at a safe distance away from the club’s members,
I pull over.

Tucking myself behind a vacant, dirty gas
station, I pull out my cell phone and call my father.

“Hey,” he says gruffly.
 
“Learn anything?”

“Just that Ronan Fitzgerald’s youngest
daughter Sasha is missing.
 
You wouldn’t
know anything about that, would you?”

“Why the fuck do you think I’d know
anything about his daughter coming up missing?”

“Relax, old man, it’s just a question.”

“You may be my son, but I will still knock
the fuck out of you, Rodney Vinton.”

“Are any of the
Deathdealers
responsible for this shit?”

“How would I know that?” Dad asks plainly.

“It’s your fucking club; don’t you keep
tabs on the criminal activity?”

“Listen, you little shit, I don’t know
anything about this girl going missing, so unless you’ve got some information
for me, then I’ll get back to my dinner.”

“Bye,” I tell him as I disconnect the
line.
 
Something isn’t right about his
tone.

Chapter Three

Trish Fitzgerald

I gear up to leave the Lair and wonder
where Rodney got off to in such a hurry.
 
Missy stops me dead in my tracks.

“Hey,” she says tearfully.

“Hey,” I say with a sound of defeat in my
voice.

She bursts into tears standing in front of
me.
 
I pull her into me despite my
mother’s warnings against getting close and I hug her tightly.

She pulls away after getting her fill.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“If you hear anything, even the slightest
detail, could you let me know?”

She pulls a piece of paper out of her
pocket and scribbles something on it.
 
She passes it to my hand and says, “Anything at all.
 
I don’t care what time it is, day or night?”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Thank you.
 
I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“I love her, too.
 
We all do.”

She forces a smile through her
sadness.
 

She shrugs and walks to her grey
Volvo.
 
She takes off, dragging up the
dust from the dirt road with the car.

I walk back into the Lair with a new
determination.
 
Both of my parents are
inside as evidenced by the motorcycles in the front.
 
I have to help out.
 

I seek them out like a laser beam and
focus on offering my help.

“Mom, dad,” I begin.
 
They sigh, already feeling the burn from
something inside the club.

“Don’t even think about it,” my father
rants.

My mother smiles and just as I think she’s
on my side, she turns on me.

“Your father is right.
 
You should go about your business and stay
out of this.”

“But she’s my sister and I can help,” I
tell them both.

“Go home!” My father yells.
 
A hush falls over the club and everyone
listens.

I turn around and head to the front of the
place where I find Mickey Pennington in his club shirt with the black patch
that reads “Vice President” on it in white stitching.

“Hello
darlin
’,”
he says in his Irish dialect that is slowly fading.
 

“Hey Mickey.”

“What can I do for
ya
?”

“I really need to get in on the search for
Sasha, I know her better than anyone.”

“Now listen here, Miss
Priss
,
ya
know I can’t go against your father.
 
Off with
ya
,” he
dismisses me sharply.
 
Dad has everyone’s
loyalty but I still need answers.

I walk away and to the dirt road that
encircles the club.
 
Under my breath, I
utter, “I guess I
gotta
do this without them.”

I resign myself to steering clear of the
area circled on the map in the club.
 
They have a radius of twenty miles surrounding Hinton Township and
Hinton Heights.
 
I rev up my bike and
take off, leaving the air filled with dirt in my fit of anger.

Riding for a half hour, I don’t stop
speeding through the streets until I’m right outside of Hinton Heights.
 
A small wooden sign announces that I’ve
entered into
Hayleyville
.
 
Its population is just under five thousand
people and the roads are all dirt and the houses appear to be run down.

I have no real idea about where exactly
I’m going or if I’ll find anything, but the distance between myself and the
club is much needed.
 

I ride slowly to a bar called Rose’s and
park my bike out front.
 
I stash my
helmet on the back of the bike in hopes that no one will mess with it.
 
There are other bikes outside of the dive
bar, so I remain positive.
 

Walking inside, I don’t know what to
expect.
 
In the past, I’ve been in seedy
bars like this one, so I toughen my resolve.
 
Inside the bar has one row of shiny black bar stools and a jukebox and
the end, sandwiched between two doors, one for each of the bathrooms.