SAMPLE - "Snitches"
Chapter One
Jane stood, arms akimbo, looking out of the vast picture window in Riley's house. “So how much, and how much stress?” she asked him.
This was a home one would expect a lawyer to live in, not the sergeant-at-arms of the Hellbound motorcycle club. Riley was both. The house was high up a canyon in Oakland's Montclair district, providing a sweeping view. The living room had a comfortable, loose neatness to it, magazines on the coffee table, leather seating, lots of dark wood. It was definitely a home.
It was also a home whose location was a mystery to nearly all members of the Oakland chapter. Riley wanted it that way, and kept it that way. The other members had given up bugging him to be invited over; Riley had to make his point forcefully with a couple members who were pushy about the subject. The peace of his wife, daughters (now in college, like Jane), and himself would not be disturbed by anyone he didn't want over... and the knowledge of his location would spread like herpes if any random outlaw learned it.
Jane had the same policy for her own home. The chapter members knew she lived in “a house in Berkeley,” and that was it. The address was a secret, along with her ownership of the place.
Calling it a “house” wasn't a good descriptive. It was a freaking small mansion, up the hill and north of the Berkeley Rose Garden. Two master suites, four bedrooms, six bathrooms, a sweeping view of the Bay, a kitchen made for serious work, a spa with the same great view, and all the other spaces and amenities one would expect for a house that had sold for seven digits. It had been a gift from her best friend, Don Vito Ventimiglia of Southern California Cosa Nostra. At seventy-nine, he had finally retired as the Don, with incredibly vast wealth. He'd paid cash for the place.
There was a problem though. It was a house designed for entertaining, but Jane could think of only a select few she wanted to know of its whereabouts. Far too many from her punk rock social circle would try to use it as a Fagin's lair, a place to crash, party, and make plans. Same with the Hellbound. There were maybe a total of fifteen friends who actually knew how to get to her place... Not enough to hold the soirees it was built for. The only outlaws who'd visited were Riley, Buzzy, Hunchback, and Dopey: all officers of the local chapter, and trustworthy.
She had roommates, though. A couple, Jerry and Molly, lived in the place rent-free, exchanging labor for residence. The “labor” consisted of paying the bills (from Jane's checkbook) and keeping the place tidy, inside and out... Or more accurately, making sure the services Jane hired were doing their jobs. They were allowed to have guests; Jane trusted their judgment and discretion.
One other benefit of Jerry and Molly's occupancy: access to Jerry's vast record collection. We're talking entire walls of vinyl, all organized.
Handing Jane a fresh Budweiser, Riley answered, “Ten pounds, and plenty of stress. I don't know how those indie bastards found out about the shipment, but they did. Jesus, ten pukes with no patches getting together and getting that knowledge? Someone in Fresno tipped them off, and if I find out who, they'll be going into the bay. Mark my fuckin' words.” He sighed. “But we've gotta figure out where to put the shipment after it arrives, and someplace these bastards won't think to look. We've got a ninety-six hour window before the stuff goes out, and that's where the risk comes in. No way in hell is it coming here, and it's too risky to sit at the clubhouse.
“Look girl, I'm not trying to drag you into this. I brokered the deal, so ultimately the pressure falls directly on me. I just wanna pick your brains some, see if you can contribute any ideas.”
“Any law pressure?” Jane asked.
“Not that we know of, I tend to doubt it.” Riley cackled. “That's the nice thing about dealing with your friend Boss. Every criminal on the West Coast knows he's in bed with Cosa Nostra at this point, and has their protection. If the pigs were sniffing around they'd know it, and take precautions. And nobody is suicidal enough to try and cross the mafia.”
“Except this indie crew, I guess,” noted Jane.
“Naw, they have to know the shipment is out of Boss's hands once it leaves Nevada. Him and his friends could care less what happens after that.”
Jane sipped her beer, then lit a Newport. “What about extortion?” she asked.
“How so?” Riley asked back.
“The indies know we're holding ten pounds of meth. They threaten to ring Johnny Law unless we hand over a few pounds. It'd cut down on any threats of violence on their part.”
“Aw Jesus. I never thought of an angle like that.” He chuckled darkly. “It's shit like that why I wanted to pick your brains... but you're giving me more worries, not fewer, dammit. Now I have a new worry to think about.” After a pause, Riley said, “Naw, I can't see that happening. They're not smart enough, and they're too greedy. They'll want it all.”
Jane finished her beer; Riley offered another but was turned down. “I hate riding these canyon roads with a buzz. So... Who exactly are these guys, anyway?”
“Ugh. I guess they call themselves the Fuck You Crew, or just FYC. It's hard to call them a club, not really, they don't even have colors. Just 'fuck you' written across their vests, and that's it. Everyone in the Central Valley sorta knows some of them, they've all been hang-arounds with different clubs, or just plain independents. No clubs will take them, because they're all reckless, rock stupid, or both. My hunch is they got together out of self-defense, and now think they have the stones to take on the real clubs. They don't have any friends besides each other that I know of.”
“If they organized themselves well enough to be a threat, they're a club,” observed Jane. “Any clue how they're going to handle things? Like, how did they learn of the transfer to begin with?”
“Again, it had to have been someone in Fresno. All we know is the fucking dummies have been buzzing around Fresno's clubhouse and bar for the last week, and it's obvious they're trying to spot the transportation. Beaver is gonna have a literal shotgun rider with him, just in case they try some action on the road. But them trying to hit the shipment up here is practically a given.”
Jane stared silently out the picture window briefly. Then she said, “I'll take it.”
“What!?” Riley exclaimed.
“So long as it shows up after my classes tomorrow afternoon, I'll take the drop. I don't have a problem babysitting a shipment, I've done it before.”
“What the fuck, girl, are you serious? I told you I didn't want to drag you into this bullshit.”
Jane smiled and replied, “You're not pulling me in, I'm volunteering. It's just a small favor I'm doing for you.”
“Dammit Jane, I'm not putting you through the risk. There's no way. When I said they're reckless, I wasn't kidding. A big reason why they were run off from clubs they were hanging around was they like to fight, and look for any excuse. They were a headache, they caused problems by showing off how much of tough guys they are. They might be dumb, but they're also dangerous. Total psychopaths, you get me?”
“Any chance they'd recognize me, especially if I'm not on my putt?”
Riley pondered this. “Maybe? I know you've visited Fresno and Sac, and if they were hang-arounds at the same time... You're hard to miss, little girl.”
“Okay, so I drive the Cutlass and wear a hat for four days. Keep my colors off, too. They'll be looking for an outlaw, not a tomboy in a hot rod.”
Rubbing his temples and frowning, Riley said, “Christ, Jane... Okay, look. You're gonna be home tonight? I need to talk to Buzzy and get his opinion. I'm not happy about this idea, but it could work... But dammit, you're like a daughter to me, little girl. I'm gonna worry the whole fuckin' time, and not for the normal reasons.”
Jane smiled and gave him a hug. “Listen Dad, you know I can hack stress when shit gets heavy. Talk to me tonight, and we'll work things out. You and Buzzy come up around eight, even if it's just to tell me to fuck off. Okay?”
Riley hugged Jane back and ruffled her mohawk. “Deal. We'll bring up some barbecue. Sound good?”
“Perfect.”
Chapter Two
Jane had never suspected being friends with a Domino's Pizza guy would be useful, but it was now. She had worked out a plan for the pick-up.
“Richie, I want to rent your car for an hour. Also, your uniform hat, shirt, and carrier. Does a hundred sound fair?”
Richie wasn't the pointiest crayon in the box, but even he was a bit suspicious about this request. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Nothing that concerns you, sweetie. Tell you what, I'll even throw in a hand-job if you want...”
“Okay! Um, when do I get the hand-job?”
“After I get back. Don't worry, I'll make you come your brains out,” Jane cooed.
Now practicality entered his brain. “Just an hour, right? My shift starts at seven.”
“Not a worry. I'll come back right on time, and then you'll come while we take our time.”
It was fairly simple, and Riley approved of the plan. (Jane didn't mention the hand-job.) Buy six pizzas from Breakers Pizza on University Ave. Drive Richie's ugly little Geo Metro into downtown Oakland to Riley's law office on Lakeshore Dr., stroll in disguised as a pizza girl, carrying the big pizza carrier. Pizza comes out, meth goes in, Jane goes out, drive back to Berkeley and drop the dope off at her house, then return to Richie's apartment down on Oregon St. Provide Richie with a happy ending, wash her hands, and return home in the Cutlass to let Riley know the mission had been completed. Piece of cake.
Absolutely no one paid attention to Jane as she strolled through the big glass lobby of the building, not even the rent-a-cops at the security desk. In Riley's office, she gave the receptionist a warm smile and asked her to tell Jack Riley, Esq., his pizzas were here. He arrived with a smile, telling her to bring the pizza into the break room while he announced to the office staff free food was available, come and get it.
In Riley's office, the two quickly verified with each other what was getting moved: ten boxes, each containing a one pound freezer bag of lab-fresh methamphetamine. Each bag had been sealed with rubber glue, making it impossible to open one without detection. The boxes were stacked in the carrier, and were ready to go.
“What, no tip?” smirked Jane.
“Watch your ass is the best tip I can give you,” Riley graveled back. “So get that shit locked up, be cool until Friday night, and I'll come and pick it back up. I'm hoping this shell game works. God dammit little girl, take care of yourself. If it's a choice between your safety and the dope, your safety comes first. You're not carrying anything worth dying over, okay?”
“Healthy advice. Don't worry, I have my priorities straight. Toodles.”
Jane rolled back to Richie's place, considering. To hell with making two trips, she thought. Just move the shit into the Cutlass and head straight home. She pulled the Metro up next to her Cutlass, opened both trunks, and transferred the boxes from the wind-up toy into the muscle car. Then up to the apartment, where she gave Richie back the uniform, handed him a hundred dollar bill, then gave him his best orgasm all year. The ease of manipulating teen boys, figuratively and literally, always amused her.
Behind the wheel of the 442, she pulled out onto the street, glancing each direction as she did... and nearly froze up. At the last intersection, two motorcycles were sitting side by side. It can't be, she thought. An impossibility. Only one way to find out.
As soon as Jane hit the next cross street, both bikes began rolling towards her. She headed down Parker St., making a right on Seventh and maintaining a legal speed. The putts followed her, keeping a half block distance. At Dwight St. she turned left again, pulling up to the light at San Pablo Ave. and sitting, considering her choices.
Consideration was discarded as a bullet smashed through her rear glass and punctured the dashboard two inches to the right of the steering wheel. She threw the Cutlass into the intersection, pivoting the ass end of the car into a right turn onto San Pablo Ave., and began bombing south. The riders were game, all three vehicles slaloming through traffic.
At Ashby, Jane turned right again, pointing towards I-80. Get into the City, I can lose them there... if they don't kill me first. She kept on the throttle, passing cars with angry drivers on the right, using the shoulder. She prayed that the end of commute was over, and the westbound Bay Bridge was clear.
The ramps towards the toll plaza were clogged, but not badly. Her only choice was to aim for the car pool lanes and hope for the best. Running around seventy, she blasted through an open gate, the bikers now holding much closer in. Traffic was holding a legal speed, but too jammed together to provide any room to work. A glance in the rear view showed the putts were no longer behind her but had started lane splitting, getting alongside the Cutlass. A look to her right showed one was right next to her, and aiming a large pistol into the car...
… Jane slammed on the brakes, locking the wheels up, just as the biker pulled the trigger. The bullet passed her and hit the other outlaw, putting him and his bike onto the asphalt. Jane dropped the hammer and shot forward, swerving to the right and away from the path of wreckage: the putt, the rider, and now two random cars were getting entangled behind her, taking out the other motorcycle as well. The chase was over.
She took the Harrison exit and pulled onto Fremont St. northbound into the Financial District. A plan was starting to congeal in her mind, so she followed it step by step.
First stop was the parking structure at Maritime Plaza, where the Cutlass was left. With no rear glass, she hoped the security guards were on point for the evening. Next step: sit in the damn car and smoke a cigarette, waiting for the sweat to stop pouring and her heart to stop pounding. I can't wait to read tomorrow's papers, she thought crazily. That mess on the bridge should make the front page.
There was no way she was heading home that night. Find a place to hole up, one with a phone, and safe enough where she wouldn't worry about leaving ten pounds of drugs unattended for short amounts of time. Carrying it all was another issue...
So on to step two. Jane walked down Drumm St. to the Embarcadero Center, the ritzy mall that took up four square blocks between the Embarcadero and Battery Streets. The directory showed her where a luggage shop was located, and she walked that direction. She was getting the eye from people: the whole of the complex was very high end, and not the sort of place where sweaty nineteen year old girls with blue mohawks and Hellbound colors normally go to shop. As long as she didn't get bugged by the beat cops, she'd be fine.
After purchasing a large JanSport day pack, she hit up a couple other boutiques for underwear, shirts, and a pair of jeans. All this got stuffed into the pack. Then she hiked up to the Safeway at Jackson and Davis to buy some toiletries. She'd be staying in the City for the next couple nights... possibly. A final decision would be made after talking to Riley.
Back to the Cutlass – thankfully unmolested – where the dope got wedged into the half-full backpack. Hopefully she could find a mobile glass service who would come out and replace the rear window of a twenty-three year old muscle car. Then more walking, straight to the cab stand in front of the Hyatt Regency at California and Market. Her destination was a hotel in the tenderloin, an SRO hotel named the Winton at O'Farrell and Jones. This might be home until Friday. She hoped not.
The room on the fourth floor was the stained, spartan space she'd been expecting. Bathrooms were down the hall, the room having only a small hand sink. Its one saving grace was the window opened out onto O'Farrell street, so it wouldn't have such a stale odor to it... being replaced with exhaust fumes.
Pay phones were located in the lobby, and were mercifully enclosed booths, reflecting the age of the hotel. After buying two rolls of quarters from the corner liquor store, Jane settled in a booth, steeling herself for the upcoming conversation. It was a given there would be yelling on both ends of the line.
Ring, ring, ring... “Yeah?”
“Hey, it's Gator Bait. Is Riley around?”
“Whassup, girl. Naw, he ain't. You coming down to the bar tonight?”
“Doubtful. Look, if you see him, tell him I'm in the City and need to talk, pronto. Umm... Shit, I don't have a fucking number he can call, just tell him to page me, then wait.”
“What'cha doing in Frisco, girl? That place ain't nothing except cops and queers.”
“None of your fucking business. I gotta go.” Click.
Ring, ring... “Riley residence.”
“Hi Nora, it's Jane. Is Dad home?”
“Down in the garage, let me get him.”
Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up – “Where the fuck are you, girl? Why aren't you answering your phone or your pager?”
I'm in the City. Bad shit went down, they had me made. How the fuck did they get me spotted, Dad!?”
“Wait, what? What happened?”
Jane encapsulated the last hour of her life, since leaving the law offices (but leaving out the hand-job). “All I can guess is they knew my car... Man, I dunno. Right now I'm in a fucking phone booth in a cheap hotel in the Tenderloin. The Cutlass is parked in a garage in the Financial District. The ten pounds are up in my room... and don't worry, I know this place, it's safe. Most of the other tenants are bike messengers, I probably know a couple of them. So, Dad, what do I do from here? I'm open for suggestions.”
“Where are you again?”
“It's called the Winton, it's on O'Farrell between Ellis and Jones. The neighborhood is crap, but the hotel is safe.”
“Okay. Look, me and Hunchback are gonna ride over and meet you. Quit ignoring your fuckin' pager and wait to hear from us.”
“Bring a spare helmet with you, in case I need to get double-packed somewhere. I still wanna know how they found me – fuck! Do you think they picked me up at my place?”
“We gotta work on that some other time. Why?”
“My roommates. I don't want to drag them into our current little war. Okay, I have more calls to make. Page me when you're in the neighborhood, bye.” Click.
The next call went to the Berkeley Hilton, reserving a suite for four nights, under the name Jerry Warren. Jane went through the motions of providing credit card details, leaving the card open so Jerry and Molly could call for room service and other amenities.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring... “A-hello!”
“Jerry, it's me. Look, don't ask me questions, just do what I tell you to. You and Molly pack a bag for a couple nights and head straight for the Hilton at the Berkeley marina. You'll have a room in your name waiting. I need you two to get out of the house ASAP. Okay?”
“Wait, what's going on?”
“What did I just say about questions? Look, I'll explain some other time. But you both need to get the fuck out, and stay away until I tell you it's okay to go back. I'll put you up in a nice suite, just think of it as a short vacation. Now move.”
“But – ”
“I will talk to you later, okay? Get moving.” Click.
There are plenty of dark greasy dead-end alleys in the Tenderloin, full of illegal activities, and Steveloe Alley was one of them. The ground glittered from the broken glass of crack pipes, the odor was that of an open pit toilet, and the array of dumpsters provided enough privacy for quick $5 blowjobs. Not a place to meet quality people, really. That was where Jane would meet Riley and Hunchback; it was certainly the largest drug transaction to ever happen there.
“So you think both of those bastards got snuffed?” asked Hunchback.
Jane answered, “If they aren't dead, they're out of commission for a while. We'll have to read the papers in the morning to say for sure. That smash-up was too big for the news to skip.” She paused. “So, now what?”
“Lemme ask a couple questions first, just out of curiosity,” Riley stated. “First, where is your car?”
“Sitting in the Maritime Plaza parking garage. I'm leaving it there until I can get the back glass replaced. Oh, and I have a goddamn bullet lodged in the dashboard. A souvenir.”
“What about your friends?”
Jane actually smiled. “They're taken care of, I sent them to the Hilton at the Berkeley marina until this shit gets resolved. I know they're dying of curiosity, but I'm keeping them in the dark, no matter what. This ain't their battle, no sense in them being collateral damage.”
“Okay, good,” Hunchback muttered. “Right now, the sixty-four thousand dollar question is what the fuck should we do with the dope?”
“Stick with the plan,” said Jane.
Both outlaws squawked, “Say what?”
“Right now, I don't see any alternatives. All that's really gonna change is the location of where we're stashing it. Again, I don't mind babysitting for the next few days. Once it leaves our hands, it's no longer our headache, is how I see it.”
Riley went into Dad-Mode and asked, “What about your classes?”
Jane gave it a moment's thought and replied, “I'll keep going, I just need to take BART into Berkeley. No biggie. I need to go to my place and grab my book bag, but that's no sweat. I'll be there three minutes, enough time to grab some personal stash and the bag. Uh, speaking of...”
Hunchback smirked and said, “I'm holding. I could use a few puffs myself. Let's go up to your room.”
Jane walked around the corner to the hotel while the outlaws looped the block, anchoring on the street right in front. Both were concerned about their machines, but Jane assured them they'd be visible from her window. “If anyone tries to fuck with them, I'll put a round from my pistol into the sidewalk next to them. They'll get the hint.”
The front desk clerk was supposed to screen visitors, but took one look at the arrivals – the girl with the mohawk, plus two bikers, and all wearing Hellbound colors – and decided to mind his own business for the time being. They called for the rickety gated elevator (in use since the place was built), then rode up to Jane's floor. “I was expecting worse,” noted Hunchback, gazing around.
Once everyone was seated and the pipe was being put to use, Jane said, “I figure these FYC dudes would have a hard time putting their thumb on me here in the City. Who knows? They just lost two of their members, maybe the rest will reconsider.”
Riley mulled, “I wouldn't put money on that. Like I said yesterday, these assholes are both violent and stupid. They may have enough of a hive mind that they don't care about their own friends getting killed. The rest of 'em could figure, 'Hey, two less people getting a cut.'”
Jane took a hit and said, “So boys, any ideas on how they put their thumb on me?”
Nodding slowly, Riley asked back, “Have you ever been to Fresno in the Cutlass?”
“Yeah, once. I went to visit Boomer, and the weather was too shitty to ride. We hung around the clubhouse some. Why?”
“I said yesterday I suspected there was a snitch in the Fresno chapter, whoever tipped off FYC. Now I'm sure of it. Someone in Fresno remembered your car – Christ knows it's memorable – and suggested you may be the mule up here. I may want to pay their chapter a little visit, and in the near future.”
“Not a bad idea,” mulled Hunchback. “A few of the boys go down for a visit, and sniff around some. Who knows, maybe it was Beaver himself.”
Suddenly angry, Riley growled, “I don't give a shit who it was, but I'm chopping 'em into pieces when I find them. Some motherfucker put Gator Bait's life on the line She's like a daughter to me. They're gonna pay.”
Diverting back to practicalities, Jane asked, “So... Is it settled? I camp out here until the customers can show up?”
“You sure you gotta go to classes?” asked Hunchback. “Sounds like a risk to me, they could spot you real easy.”
“And do what to me? Killing me wouldn't get them any closer to the dope, and trying a snatch job is impossible. Too many damn people around, that campus is crawling with cops all day and all night. Remember, I'm famous there, everyone knows 'the porn girl' at UCB. A couple dudes trying to drag me off would get bum-rushed by every jock and frat boy in the area, wanting the rep as a dude who saved Debbie LaLaurie from kidnappers. And that's if I didn't get my pocket rod into play first.”
“Okay,” Riley sighed. “I'm not happy with this, but I wasn't happy having you make the play to begin with. One favor, though: if you're not in class, hang around here. Call it being over-cautious, but I want your eyes on that dope as much of the day as possible.”
“I'll hit one of the electronics stores down on Market and buy a TV and a tape deck,” Jane smiled. “And I have my studies. Gotta keep that GPA up, you know?”
“Just another nice college co-ed, that's you,” giggled Hunchback. “I brought my old lady's helmet, let's go get your stuff.”
Chapter Three
One of the nicest things about riding a motorcycle while flying Hellbound colors was how much respect you got from drivers. They passed cautiously, they didn't tailgate. Good manners were in play everywhere in your vicinity. Hunchback and Jane made good time across the Bay Bridge and into Berkeley.
At Shattuck and Vine, Jane gestured for Hunchback to pull into the Safeway lot. After they shut down, Jane told him, “I want to do a slow loop through my neighborhood before we get to my place. We still don't know how those bastards put a thumb on me, and if they're watching my house or not.”
“Copy that,” replied Hunchback.
The two rolled up Euclid Ave. through the Berkeley Rose Garden and up into the winding streets which covered the hillside. Absolutely nothing seemed out of place on the streets around Jane's home: no Harleys, no cars that didn't look like they belonged there. Mentally, Jane breathed a sigh of relief. She jumped off the putt, dashed in and grabbed her book bag, then they were off again. Before they did, Jane told Hunchback to stop at the Safeway again. “I want to pick up some snacks they won't sell in Tenderloin liquor stores. You like sushi?”
“Never had it. Ain't it raw fish?”
“Yeah it is, and it's fucking awesome. I'll pick up a couple small variety boxes, you'll love it.”
Several minutes later, the two outlaws were leaning against Hunchback's putt, him experiencing California roll, tamaki, and salmon roll for the first time. Jane had to warn him about the wasabi; he first thought it was avocado dip. “I'm gonna have to take Jeanie out for this stuff sometime,” he said through a mouth full of tuna.
“Save your dimes. Sushi is never cheap... In fact, avoid cheap sushi like the plague, unless you consider food poisoning a nice vacation.”
Their presence certainly caused a bit of consternation among the usual patrons of the Safeway. This area of Berkeley was deep in yuppie country, a place where... Well a place where the local Safeway has a sushi chef. The two were stared at. Single women hurried past, lest they be assaulted directly in front of the automatic doors. The two Hellbound outlaws were a visual disruption, and a very unfamiliar one in this neighborhood. Aware of this, the two didn't dawdle, instead saddling up and rolling out lest Berkeley PD get a call about... Well, the caller wouldn't be sure, but no doubt the cops would find something illegal about their presence.
Back in The City, Hunchback anchored his putt in a parking structure on Geary St., then the two walked downhill to Market Street. This stretch was littered with storefront electronics shops, offering video and camera equipment standards for a worldwide audience. After a bit of browsing a 13 inch color TV/VCR combo, from an unknown Chinese manufacturer, was chosen. “Fuck it, the damn thing only needs to work for the next four days,” Jane told Hunchback. “I'll probably leave it here, the hotel can charge extra for it.”
Hunchback cackled, “I guess making porn gives you enough bread to throw it around sometimes, huh?”
“It does help,” answered Jane, as Hunchback hefted the TV under one arm.
Back in the hotel room, the television was plugged in and turned on. Jane pulled out her glass pipe and sack of methamphetamine, and the two smoked a bowl before Hunchback's departure. “Gonna be okay here?” he asked.
“I'm keeping my same schedule, I hope.” She blew out a plume. “The only thing changing is where I'm resting my head at night, and the distance of my commute. I'm gonna be kind of trapped here, but you heard Riley. Job one is keeping an eye on that dope, and I'm following his instructions. No partying, no local friends over... I'm probably not even going to hang around with any of the messengers I know in the building.”
“You know people here already?”
“How do you think I knew of this joint to begin with? I've been here before, partying with friends of friends. I remembered it as being fairly sedate, full of long-term residents, and passably clean. Seen any roaches in the room so far?”
“Whoa, you're right. Okay, cool, it's a safe space for you. Glad to know it. Try not to get too bored, you know?”
“It's hard to be bored when you're as keyed up as I am,” Jane commented. “This is not the situation I signed up for, but... Shit, nothing else to do except ride it out.”
They hugged, and said their goodbyes.
The next thing on Jane's task list was taking care of the Cutlass. While plenty of pages from the Yellow Pages had been ripped out, the ones covering “Auto Glass” were still intact. She located a 24-hour service and gave them a call.
“You want the back glass for a 1971 Oldsmobile Cutlass replaced. That the 442?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice.” A pause on the line. “We're gonna have to order the glass, we don't keep anything like that in stock. Where's the car?”
“The Maritime Plaza parking garage. Can you pick it up, by any chance?”
“Us? No. But call Harrison Towing, they'll pull anything, anywhere you want. Lemme give you our address...” A number and street were rattled off. “And you'll be okay with no car for a few days? I'll warn you right now, that piece of glass will cost a few hundred dollars at least, it may be a custom piece. Not a lot of those bombs running around these days.”
“It's gotta be done. I'll have it moved to your yard tonight, and you can give me a quote then. How late will someone be there? I don't want to leave it where it is.”
“Someone is always around. We'll watch for the tow truck, don't worry about that. What's your call-back number?”
“Pfoo... Give me a moment.” Jane stepped out of the booth and asked the front desk clerk for the number, then instructed him to pretty please get a hold of Jane anytime there was a call for her. She'd make it worth his while. No fool, the clerk smiled and nodded.
Returning to the booth, Jane told the glass guy, “415-555-7385. It's a hotel, so you'll need to leave a message for me. Don't worry, I'll stay in contact with you. See you in a while.”
Finally it was time to make the call she was dreading, to Lenny and Bekka. It was a secret she couldn't keep, and wouldn't.
“Hi, master,” Jane said when Lenny answered the phone. “Um, is Bekka there too? I have a lot to tell you, there's been some stress in my life recently, and I thought you should know about it...”
After Lenny hit the speaker button on the phone, Jane laid out what the last day and a half of her life had been like. When she finished, there was a lot of dead air. If it weren't for the sound of cigarette smoke being exhaled, she'd have assumed the phone had been hung up. Finally Bekka said, “Jesus Christ, girl... This is exactly the sort of thing we hoped you'd never get mixed up in.”
Lenny growled, “I'm gonna have words with Riley. I can't believe he'd rope you into bullshit like this...”
“He didn't rope me in, I volunteered,” insisted Jane. “Leave him alone, he didn't want me involved at all. I just wanted to help out him and the chapter. I feel like I owed them for all the help they'd given me in the past.”
“So what happens if the buyers decide to skedaddle? They could get scared out of completing the deal, and I wouldn't blame them one bit. Then you and the club are holding ten pounds of dope, and with no customer.”
“Shit Lenny, I don't know! I'm just the bag man, I don't have to worry about that shit!”
“Except now you do have to worry about it,” Lenny told her. “What if the buyer really duck out? How long does the chapter expect you to sit on that shit? How long do they expect you to camp out in that hotel? Why didn't fucking Riley have some contingencies, if he knew the deal was compromised? Not to sound callous, but all this is the club's problem, not yours. Dump it back on them.”
Jane paused, then said, “I won't. They're showing me this much trust, and I won't betray it. Don't tell me you've never been in a situation like this... like you doing the same service for Angel. You think I forgot about all that coke you used to carry for Angel? Y'all told me those stories, you've been in the exact same situation as me in the past.”
“And I made myself sick with worry every time he did a run,” interjected Bekka.
--- continues ---
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