Taking The Heat (7 page)

TOAD

A man’s character can almost always be determined by two things: the cleanliness of his belongings, and how he treats animals.

I knelt down and looked at my freshly detailed bike. Not much was more satisfying to me than having my bike free of any road debris, bugs, or water spots. No doubt it would be filthy in another week, but at least for now, it was gorgeous; gorgeous and ready for Otis with a new set of cams. As I admired the black paint and glistening chrome, my mind wandered to thoughts of Sydney.

As much as I wanted to stop by and see her for the last few days, I had fought the urge and refrained from doing so. The sensible side of me told me a girl like her would have very little interest in a man like me. Regardless of her knowledge of bikers, understanding of clubs, and the fact her brother was doing time in the pen for his club, she seemed to me to be a person who wanted more out of life than a good hard fucking.

Generally speaking, I was a good judge of character. Although I would typically look at a woman like her and wish she was different than my opinion or expectation, I found myself looking at Sydney and hoping I was in fact correct in my assumptions. The thought of her being wholesome and basically off limits appealed to me more than the thought of her being otherwise.

If any one thing bothered me about her it was that I found myself thinking differently about her than I was accustomed to. For me,
not
wanting to fuck a woman was something that hadn’t happened since childhood. Sydney intrigued me; her homelessness, her attitude, and her savvy personality alone were enough to make me want to know more about her. Her living on the street, in itself, made me want to sit and talk to her about her experiences. My not-so-typical feelings about
not
wanting to have her succumb to my sexual wishes provided even more reason for intrigue. All things considered, I was beginning to feel I was spending more time thinking about Sydney for some reason or another than I spent thinking about anything else.

As I gazed at my bike and fought the urge to ride to her house, the sound of an approaching Harley caused me to stand and peer over my shoulder. Biscuit was coming down the street at a rate of speed well in excess of the speed limit. As I began to wonder if he knew which house was mine, the suspension on his bike compressed as he applied heavy brakes. After releasing the brakes and twisting the throttle one last time, he shot into the driveway between where I was standing and my bike.

“What’s shakin’, motherfucker? You got any Red Bulls around this camp?” he asked as he flipped the ignition off.

“Don’t fuck with the stuff. Sorry, Brother,” I shrugged, “What’s going on?”

“Quite a bit, got a minute?” he asked as he stepped off the bike.

“I got as much time as you need, Brother Biscuit,” I responded as I tossed my polishing rag in my saddlebag.

“Let’s go inside,” he said as he tossed his head toward the house.

“So what’s up?” I asked as I followed a few steps behind his brisk walk.

“Need a beer if you ain’t got any Red Bulls. Fucking ATF, FBI, DEA and every other motherfuckin’ Fed agency paid me a visit. Oh, and the US Marshall’s were with ‘em. Cocksuckers,” he huffed as he stepped onto the porch and reached for the door handle.

“What the fuck, are you fucking serious?” I snapped back.

“Sure as fuck am. In the fridge?” he asked as he walked toward the kitchen.

“Grab me one too,” I nodded as I sat down at the kitchen table.

As he sat down and handed me a beer, I attempted to resurrect every gun deal I’d been involved in for the last five years, and if there was anything inherently wrong with them. As I mentally struggled to assemble a spreadsheet in my head, Biscuit began to explain his visit.

He tipped up his bottle of beer, drank half the bottle in one swallow and slammed the bottle down on the table, “So I was at the house dicking with my bike in the garage, and about four fucking Suburbans come rolling up. Two of the pricks pull in the drive, and the other two behind the drive. I fucking looked up, and the suits start piling out.”

I widened my eyes, took a drink of beer, and gasped, “What the fuck?”

“Precisely what I said, I’m tellin’ ya. If there’s two motherfuckers I hate, it’s people who text and drive, and fucking cops. And there ain’t a cop on this earth worse than a fucking Fed. So anyway, I stand up, toss my rag on the seat, and say
how’s it hangin’ fellas?
One, found out later his name was McCreary, he responds. He says
like a hammer
. Fuck I couldn’t believe it. So I ask these pricks as their steadily filing into
my
garage if they’re at the right place. Now this is where it got kinda scary. This McCreary fella looks at me as they’re all gatherin’ around like a bunch of fuckin’ ducks, and he says
you’re Biscuit, ain’t ya? You ride with the Sinners, right? We’re at the right place, ain’t we? This is 9310 Shannon Way, ain’t it?”
he paused, drank the remaining beer from his bottle, stood and walked to the refrigerator.

As I sat in a state of shock and waited for him to return, my mind continued to race.

“So what the fuck did they want?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Hold up, I’ll get to it, Brother,” he responded as he sat.

He opened a beer and placed two more in the center of the table.

“Now I ain’t wearin’ my cut or anything, so it ain’t like these walkin’ turds are readin’ my patches or something. These fuckers are
in the know.
So, I say
let me see some identification
. And it’s like a scene from that movie with Tommy Lee Jones, you know the
Men in Black
movie? They all yank out ID wallets and flash ‘em at me, and that’s when McCreary hands me his business card. Card says he’s the Special Agent in Charge. If you ask me, there wasn’t nothin’ special about any of them pricks. Anyway, so that’s when they start askin’ questions,” he wiped the sweat from his brow, downed half the bottle of beer, and exhaled as he gazed down at the floor.

I took another drink of beer and leaned into the table, “God damn, Biscuit, get to the meat of the story, what were they after?”

“Well, this little short prick, I didn’t get his name, he’s a DEA or ATF, I don’t remember. He starts in on the bad cop side of things, actin’ all tough. Little fucker’s about 5’-8” and maybe about a buck and a half, and he ain’t wearin’ his government issue black suit. No sir, he’s dressed like you and me. He’s covered in tats, got a two foot long goatee, and about ten ear rings. Little prick steps between McCreary and me and says
when was the last time you seen Toad?”
he paused nodded his head, and took another drink.

“Motherfucker. What’d you tell ‘em?” I asked.

He slapped the table with his hand and chuckled,  “Well, that’s what pissed this little bastard off. I said I ain’t seen a
toad
in a bit, but I was fishin’ the other day and I seen some
frogs
.”

“You said that?” I laughed.

His eyes widened as he took another drink from his bottle. As he rested the bottle on the table, he raised his hand to his chin and began to rub it with his palm, “Them exact words. And get this. Motherfucker looks at McCreary, and McCreary says
Cambio Todelli.
Toad
.
When did you see him last?
Now fuck, I don’t even know what you’re fuckin’ name is for sure, so I’m shittin’ razor blades at this point, and I look up at the ceiling of the garage and act like I’m thinkin’ real hard, and I look down and nod my head a couple times. I say
oh, Toad? Fuck fellas, I seen him just the other day
.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, “Fuck me. Was it about the bank?”

He raised his index finger in the air, “Hold up, almost there, Brother.”

My insides felt all jumbled, and my mind was going in about ten different directions. As I battled with my nerves, considered what I might have done to deserve a Government investigation, and attempted to drink my beer, Biscuit nonchalantly sipped his beer and held his free hand in the air to silence me.

After he finished his beer, opened another, and took a sip, he continued, “So he said
was it the day of the Rock Road Bank Robbery?
Now I look at this McCreary fella and I blink a couple of times and I respond
fuck I don’t know, when was the robbery?
”

“And this little ATF or DEA fella with the tats starts squealin’
cuff him, let’s take him in. We’ll pick up the others later
. And McCreary says
no give me a minute with him
and he takes me off to the side. That’s when the good-cop-bad-cop shit
really
starts. McCreary’s askin’ questions, and ATF boy’s hollerin’ to round up the entire bunch of us and haul us in. Say’s somethin’ about the girl, Sydney, and how you got her out of there so she wouldn’t talk. Said he thought the Sinners orchestrated the whole bank robbery deal. Now about this time, I’m just done listenin’ to this little prick, and he don’t know much about ol’ Biscuit if he thinks I’m gonna drop a dime on the fellas, and I turn to this little sawed off cock sucker and I say
shut the fuck up you sawed off little midget, you’re making my head hurt
. And I didn’t realize it until McCreary starts pulling on my arm, but I’m steady walkin’ toward little ATF man with my hands doubled into a couple of fists. I’m about two seconds from droppin’ this little fucker right there in the garage, and he pulls out his government-issue Sig Sauer 40 cal. and points it at me. I stare him in the eye, and say shoot me you gutless worm. Just like that. Hell, everyone starts screamin’ and I’m screamin’ and this little fucker starts shakin’ like a dog shittin’ peach pits. Fucking pussy. So, I’m screaming for him to shoot me, and steady walkin’ toward him, six other fuckers are hollerin’ for him to holster the piece, and McCreary starts pullin’ on my leg, tryin’ to get me to stop. And he’s pullin’ on my leg, and pullin’ on my leg, and pullin’ on it. And…” he lifted his beer bottle and began to laugh.

“Just like I’m a pullin’ on yours,” he raised his bottle in the air and grinned.

“Huh?’ I shrugged.

“The whole story, I was pullin’ your leg,” he chuckled.

I raised my hands in the air and stood from my seat, “What? What happened? What did you do? What did they say about Sydney? The club?”

He raised his bottle of beer and tilted it toward me, “I was pullin’ your leg. ATF didn’t stop by, brother. I was shittin’ ya. I just wanted a beer and to see if you wanted to roll with me back to Wichita. I stopped in the shop to talk to Brother Slice, and I was bored. We was out of beer at the shop, so I thought I’d stop in and see what ol’ Toad was up to. Heard you got your cams in, and wondered if you wanted to try her out, you know, take her out on the highway.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and shook my head. I should have known, the club practical joker, playing jokes and having fun at my expense. Feeling as if I was a few seconds form a heart attack, I picked up my bottle of beer and drank the remainder of it.

“You prick, I about had a fucking heart attack,” I snapped as I slammed the bottle of beer onto the table.

“So you fuckin’ that girl yet?” he asked as he stood.

I shook my head, “Nope, and I won’t. She’s too civil for me.”

“Oh, she don’t like havin’ shit poked up her ass or a rope around her little neck? Damn shame, she’s a looker. Cutest little bitch I seen in a bit. Damn shame about her brother, too,” he said as he opened another beer.

“Sure is. No, I think she’s going to make me a good waitress, though. People have been commenting about her already, and it’s all been good. Still can’t believe you came over here to get me all pissed off with that bullshit story,” I said as I picked up the empty beer bottles and walked toward the trash.

“I come over for free beer, dumbass. Let’s roll,” he said as he tilted his head toward the door.

“Fuck it, let’s do it,” I nodded as I walked back toward the trash can and removed the liner and twisted it closed.

I followed Biscuit through the door and onto the porch. As I turned to lock the house, my mind drifted to thoughts of Sydney and I began to wonder how she was doing.

“You know, we need to get Sydney’s brother’s address and information so we can get some money on his books. Anybody’s guess what his club’s doin’ for him,” Biscuit sighed.

“I’ll get on that,” I said over my shoulder as I carried the trash to the container beside the house.

As soon as I made sure my cams were going to provide the power and torque I expected them too, I knew I’d do just that, see Sydney.

All I needed was a reason to do so.

And now I had one.

SYDNEY

Absorbing the sun’s rays had always been a guilty pleasure of mine. When I sunbathed, it was never for a short period of time; but became an event in itself. Generally I baked in the sun, checking my watch every fifteen minutes or so, rotating in thirty minute increments. Every half hour I would tell myself
just one more thirty minute session, and I’ll stop.
Typically it turned into a four hour long period of wasted afternoon. Afterward, I felt guilty and spent the remaining portion of the day doing things around the house to make up for my lack of accomplishments during the availability of the mid-day sun. In the last year or so I hadn’t been able to sunbathe much. Something about seeing a homeless woman in a bikini lying on the sidewalk or in between cars in the parking lot didn’t appeal to the Wichita police.

I opened my eyes at the unmistakable sound of a Harley coming down the block. After introducing me to my new home, surprisingly Toad hadn’t reappeared. Not that I necessarily expected him to, but I hoped at some point in time he’d simply stop by to check on me. The fact he hadn’t so much as peeked in the door left me wondering if he had no interest in me whatsoever or if he was simply being polite and giving me space. Either way, as much as I appreciated him allowing me to live a life of solitude, sharing his company would have been enjoyable. It seemed no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t force myself to associate him with a 1% motorcycle club. His boyish good looks, Marine haircut, and his lack of prison tattoos made me think of him as more of an attractive actor than an attractive biker. As the sound of the exhaust got increasingly closer I closed my eyes, recognizing it as not being the sound of
his
motorcycle. I’d been around enough Harley baggers to know the unmistakable sound of the low steady rumble of the exhaust. This one seemed louder and more along the lines of a performance model. As I decided it was probably one of his brethren in the neighborhood on an old school chopper, the sound echoed through the space between the neighbor’s house and mine along the fence separating the front yard from the driveway. I sat up, pulled off my sunglasses, wiped the sweat from my eyes, and tiptoed to the fence.

The small home I was renting from Toad had no garage, only a short concrete driveway leading from the edge of the house to the street. A new wooden privacy fence encompassed the entire back yard, allowing me to sunbathe in the back yard without feeling like a total skank. With the added privacy I was able to walk out the back door to little corner of the yard without the neighbor’s seeing me, which made sunbathing in my yard an acceptable option. I may have been an orphan and homeless, but I was a far cry from Whiskey Tango. As if my footsteps could have been heard by the visitor, I tiptoed to the fence and peered over the top into the driveway. Toad’s bike sat behind my car.

Shit.

I crouched down behind the fence and hid. As I considered my options of presenting myself to him, I remembered I had left the front door of the house open. Earlier in the morning while eating breakfast and drinking a cup of coffee, I had enjoyed the cooler morning breeze in the front room. Now, the wide open door would be an invitation for him to walk in. It was, all things considered, Toad’s home and Toad’s investment.

I peered through a small knot hole in the fence and watched as he walked up the drive, looked in my car, and turned toward the house. Dressed in a white tee-shirt, baggy jeans, boots, and his cut, he looked identical to the way he did the day we met – with the exception of a light, very sexy beard.

Soft core biker porn.

After a short pause, he placed his hands on his hips and looked around the yard. I smashed my face against the fence and stared as he began walking toward the front door, eventually disappearing in front of the house.

I heard his muffled voice echo through the house, “Sydney, you home?”

The back door was also open, and the front and back door were in line with each other; allowing someone to potentially stare in one door and out the other. If Toad was standing at the front door, he’d be able to look right out the back door and into the yard. Although I was at the side of the house and out of sight of the doorway, if I attempted to walk into the house he’d immediately see me if he remained anywhere close to the front door.

Shit.

I stood from my knot hole and ran to the rear of the house, standing to the side of the back door. If anyone were to see what I was doing, I would no doubt appear to be some psychotic oil slathered maniac in a bikini. I’d grown up around bikers, so I didn’t feel threatened at all by his biker persona, but Toad was intimidating to me. More than likely not only was he intimidating to me, but to every other woman who had an opportunity to admire him - as long as she had blood pumping through her veins. His strong jawline and high cheekbones helped make him a very attractive man, and his muscular body didn’t make him any less appealing. His dark complexion caused his muscles to appear even more pronounced, and it was difficult not to survey his body attempting to find a fault.

To see him walk was interesting in itself. Undoubtedly an extension of his Marine Corps training, his walk was methodical and his perfectly paced. It seemed in watching him that he had a detailed plan on where he was going, how he was going to get there, and exactly how many steps it was going to take in doing so. He didn’t have a swagger, nor did he saunter; his walk had purpose. Not only did it propel him, it was a portrayal of his discipline.

He was a walking aphrodisiac; an approaching reminder it was time for me to masturbate.

“Sydney?” The sound of his voice came from the front of the house.

I crouched and ran back to my knot hole and peeked through the fence.

Nothing.

I squatted down and attempted to make myself as invisible as possible. After a short pause and an unsuccessful attempt to quiet my labored breathing, I pressed my eye to the hole and gawked as he stood in the driveway rubbing his bicep as if it were sore.

Jesus. Is that really necessary?

I watched in a trance-like state until he released his bicep and began walking toward his bike, temporarily disappearing behind my car.

I slowly stood and peered over the fence. My mild curiosity immediately turned to shock. He stood a mere twenty feet in front of me, walking my direction. Startled, I immediately ducked down behind the privacy of the fence. After realizing I looked like an idiot, I stood and smiled. 

“Oh wow, I must have fallen asleep out here in the sun; I didn’t even hear you pull up. You on your bike?” I asked with an exaggerated tone of curiosity, trying not to sound like a complete liar.

He nodded his head as he approached the fence, “Surprised you didn’t hear it. It’s loud as fuck now. I put in new cams and removed the baffles from the exhaust.”

On my tip-toes and stretched to my vertical limit, my eyes barely cleared the top of the fence. He stepped to the edge of the fence and rested his elbows along the top. Without the need to hide behind the cover of the fence any longer, I stepped back and sighed lightly. 

“I’m anxious to hear you fire it up,” I grinned.

I raised my hands slightly and shook my head, “Not that I want you to leave or anything. I just meant I’d like to hear it. I love bikes and the way they all sound a little different.”

“You look a hell of a lot different now than you did at the bank. Damn, you work out a lot?” he asked.

I glanced down at my glistening thighs.

“No. Well, yeah. Kind of, but not so much lately,” I responded as I looked up.

He narrowed his eyes and stared, “You look like a gym rat.”

“I’m a runner,” I nodded.

He leaned away from the fence and inhaled a shallow breath. As he exhaled, he raised his hand to his chin and smiled, “You know, I’ve always said people who run are running
from
something. What are you running from?”

“Cellulite, high gas prices, the cops, outlaw bikers, and…” I looked down at the ground and paused.

“And the reality that after each day passes I don’t get a chance to redo it, live it over, or make any changes,” I said as I looked up.

Be it a strength or be it a weakness, it really had never mattered to me who was in my presence, I acted the same way around everyone; as if I were alone. I was a true take me or leave me type of woman, and there was no place in my life or my routine to try and be someone or something I wasn’t. So, I acted like myself at all times and held nothing back. People could see me for what and who I was and either accept me or cast me aside. The advantage, if there were one, was if someone accepted me they generally did so because they truly found value in
me.

As he moved his hand from his chin, his mouth curled into a smile, “You talk fast. Actually, you don’t
talk
fast, you
respond
fast. You’re a quick thinker, aren’t you?”

“Quick thinker, quick runner, quick learner…” I quickly responded as I looked down at my thighs again.

“And quick to burn in this hot sun. It’s been too long since I’ve been outside, I’m fried. Want to come in?” I asked as I motioned toward the rear door.

“Sure, if you don’t mind,” he responded.

“It’s your house,” I sighed.

He shook his head lightly as he stepped away from the fence, “No, it’s yours.”

After he disappeared, I ran to the back door, into the house, and took two long strides to the bathroom door – hoping to get there before he made it to the front door. Quickly, I dried off with a towel and pulled on my shorts. As I was pulling a tee-shirt over my head, the doorbell rang.

I have a door bell?

“Come in,” I shouted in a high pitched voice.

Although the front door was open, I recalled the outer screen door was locked. I opened the bathroom door and leaped the three steps to the front door, bouncing into place and unlocking the door. Toad watched intently as I pushed it open slightly and smiled. I stood in front of him feeling like the little girl I never had an opportunity to be. The look on his face confirmed it really didn’t matter to him how I acted. After stepping into the front room, he simply stood and grinned as I pulled the screen door closed.

“Do you drink tea?” I asked as I turned toward the kitchen.

“Sure,” he responded.

As I walked to the kitchen, I realized it had been almost a month since I had moved in, and he was probably coming by for one reason and one reason only – he was hoping for the rent. I sighed as I pulled the refrigerator door open and reached for the tea.

“It’s funny. Any more, unless you’re in the country, houses don’t have screen doors. Hell, most of the new ones don’t even have windows you can open,” he said flatly.

As I placed the pitcher of tea on the counter and pulled two glasses from the cupboard, I thought about his statement. I’d never lived in a house that
didn’t
have a screen door; at least not that I could remember.

“Really?” I said over my shoulder as I filled the glasses with ice and poured them full of tea.

“Absolute fact,” he nodded.

“Sugar?” I asked.

“No thank you, I try to stay away from the stuff,” he responded.

I should have known.

I couldn’t choke down a glass of tea without sugar if I had to. As he walked up beside me I poured about two inches of sugar into the bottom of my glass.

“The only place to sit is the little table,” I said as I nodded my head in the direction of the table he so graciously left in the home.

“Otis and I sat there and solved the world’s problems while we were working on this beast,” he responded.

The home was small and had an open floor plan, one bedroom, a utility room, a bathroom, and the main body of the house which consisted of the dining area, kitchen, and living room. If I was a guy, I’m sure I could stand on one side and piss to the other. It was small, but it was perfect for me.

“You need to get some furniture,” he said as he sat down.

“I know. I need a lot of things. I’ve only been working a little more than a month. A little at a time,” I sighed as I stirred my tea.

He raised the glass to his mouth, took a small sip, and raised his eyebrows as he did. My tea making abilities were apparent. Eyebrows still raised, he downed half the glass.

I noticed as he relaxed into his chair he had a small skull patch on the bottom of his cut. Motorcycle clubs have assorted patches for various accomplishments and goals, and although each club was different, most had similar patches for certain achievements. A skull or skull and crossbones meant one thing in most any club. The patch holder had killed for the club. Some clubs added a knife or a gun under the patch to indicate how the killing was done. I couldn’t decide if I was
much
less impressed with him or only a little less. I decided as I looked over his cut I would have to know all of the details to make an accurate decision. For now, I decided I didn’t like it.

“Damn. That’s good tea. Oh, and another thing. Your four weeks comes up in the middle of the month, so let’s just go to the beginning of the following month for rent. Say, the first of next month, how’s that sound?” he said as he lowered the glass to the table and smiled.