Chapter 16

It’s All in the Money

“What is it, Philly?” I growl.

“Just got a call from Kettle.” He’s verbally tip-toeing, I can tell. “Sent him to Benton to make sure the Knuckleheads were cleared out by the time they told us. All of ‘em gone except for this dude, Hulk.”

“You mean Hurk.” I sit up to fish around in the ashtray beside the bed for a roach worth smoking. “What’d he want?”

“Well, Hurk or whoever, says the Kobra dude wants the park for another night.” I can almost hear Philly holding his breath, awaiting a negative response.

“Really?” I touch the flame of my lighter to the roach and suck in the smoke. “They plan on paying?”

“Yeah, Hurk gave Kettle five grand.” Philly relaxes noticeably since I’m not angry. “Said we know they’re good for the rest. We can pick it up at some place over in Cherry Hill called Lanky Joe’s. A bar, I’m guessing.”

“Lanky Joe’s? Yeah, I’ve heard of the place.” I blow out the smoke lazily, taking my time with this conversation. “Knucklehead owned & operated for a decade or so now. They hold meetings and shit there, real honky tonk.”

“Oh yeah?” Philly’s as confused by my response as he is cheerful. “So you wanna go over there later or what you thinkin’?”

“Thinking they don’t plan to pay us.” I let these words drop like lead.

“What do you mean, man?” There he goes getting nervous again. “They already gave us five grand. Why give us that and then bail on the rest?”

“Cause they plan to kill us later today when we go pick up the money,” I tell him, relishing the opportunity to show my street smarts. “Get us out of the way so they can have Benton for as long as they like. Whatever they’re looking for is too valuable for them to stop. They figure we’ll refuse to let them use the park a second night, see? Figure we’ll pocket the cash they gave Kettle, then tell them no at Lanky Joe’s.”

“Tell you the truth, that’s what I thought you’d do, too, Perce. I know MadBlack’d be pissed the fuck off if we let them have another night in Benton.”

“Damn straight he would.” I have to grin at Philly’s honesty, but frown at the roach burning my fingers. “So we can’t ask him, not even gonna try. Besides, did you check that cash Kettle got handed?”

He’s hesitant. “No.”

“Did Kettle tell you he checked it himself?”

“Nuh-uh.”

I can’t help but laugh as I light a second roach I’ve found. “Old tricks, Philly. Knuckleheads didn’t get where they’re at by playin’ it straight. They also aren’t going to be forking over twenty grand to their rivals, either. So one of three things is going on here: the envelope doesn’t have any money in it, it’s got fake money in it or, and this is my bet, it’s got the cash in there because they plan to ambush our asses at Lanky Joe’s.”

“Motherfucker!” Philly’s got his volcanic anger back. “You really think so? What are we gonna do?”

“First thing you do is have Kettle check that envelope.” I snuff the second roach out before it scorches me. “If it’s empty or has fake bills, then they expect us to arrive angry which means they’ll meet us with lots of armed troops. If it’s genuine cash then they’ll be waiting to surprise us once we get there to collect the rest and won’t expect us to be ready to get jumped. We need to have an idea of their plan before we make our move.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Philly’s getting the hang of this way of thinking. “That’s fucking brilliant, man. I’ll call up Kettle and see what’s poppin’ with that envelope. You want me to call you back?”

“Nah, man,” I yawn. “I need a shower before I give a Sam a ride over to Tiff’s aunt’s place. Just wait for me there and you can fill me in once I show up.”

“Ok, so stay here and chill for right now?”

“That’s right. Besides,” I let a little evil creep into my tone. “I don’t want you running off anywhere. I owe you an ass-kicking for getting busy with Tiff.”

“But I–” is all he has time to try replying with before I hang up, laughing to myself. Though I couldn’t care less if he shagged the girl or not, Philly’s always fun to wind up.

Author’s Note: From here, things are bound to get more interesting….

Chapter 13

All About the Bikes

We’re pulling into the Benton parking lot now. I’m surprised to see how empty the place looks without its regular commerce taking place. Just two pick-ups and a half dozen Harley Davidsons. Knuckleheads must be doing their thing. I can see shadows moving around out there, but I can’t quite make out what it is that’s going on. As Deep and I are getting out of the car, two of them come stalking in from the dark section of the park.

“Hey, man,” the smaller of the two calls. “Park’s closed tonight.”

Deep looks at me for my reaction. “It’s cool,” I tell the big guy, “We’re Kingfin. Here to check things out.”

Both men keep walking towards us, stopping once they reach us. The smaller guy has long, auburn hair spilling down over his black leather motorcycle jacket. His jeans are faded, but smeared with dirt and grease which I take to mean he actually rides one of the bikes parked out here. His companion’s wearing the same general outfit, except instead of a leather jacket he’s sporting some military issue coat and he’s put his hair back in a ponytail. The larger man crosses his massive arms over his chest, eying us from beneath dark, bushy eyebrows.

“Kingfin, huh?” his voice is raspy and softer than I’d expected. “Well, I don’t think we need any checking up on. Y’all can go on home, now.”

“Yeah,” the smaller guy pipes in, “We paid you guys fair and square for the privacy.”

I lick my lips before speaking so I can reign my temper in. “I’m Percy Straight,” addressing the larger one since I figure he’s in charge. “I’m the man who arranged this deal with Kobra.”

“That so?” the big guy’s beard shifts about as he works his jaw, thinking.

“It is,” I give him direct eye contact, “We’re not here to interrupt your gig, Mr…?”

“Big Doug,” he extends a hand, which I shake firmly, “Member of the Diamondknuckle Saxons. Our boss spoke highly of you, Mr. Straight. That’s rare.”

I nod, “Everything working out down here tonight? Any trouble?”

“Not a bit,” Big Doug relaxes into a less guarded stance. “Your boys are keeping all trouble at bay, so far. Not that we couldn’t handle it ourselves, but it’s good to see they do their job.”

“Mind if I take a look at the proceedings?” I ask, glancing towards some of the shadows moving around out under the trees.

“That’s really not up to me,” he reaches into the side pocket of his coat, pulling out a cellphone. “I can call and ask the boss if it’d be alright with him, though, if you want?”

“Go ahead,” I say, noticing Deep Kut standing over by the bikes. “Mind if I check out your rides?”

“Help yourself,” Big Doug grins slightly, “Just don’t touch nothin’.”

I can hear Big Doug making the call as I stroll over to Deep Kut, pulling out and lighting up a smoke as I go. Deep’s got his hands in his pockets, taking in the beauty of the bikes, their paint jobs glittering even in this low light. They really are a sight to see and in a good deal better shape than the more banged up pickups they’re parked near. Squatting down, Deep seems to be studying the machines, which amuses me.

“You into bikes, Deep?” I ask between drags.

“Huh?” he seems startled as he turns to look up at me. “Oh. I don’t know, I’ve always kind of liked the individuality, you know? Sort of like back in the day when a man rode a horse around to get where he was going. Wild, free kind of thing.”

I suppress a chuckle. “I guess you’re right about that. These bikes sure do speak for themselves. Can’t really picture myself riding one, but they’re good looking machines, aren’t they?”

“Hell yes.” Deep’s tone is one of awe. “Look at the paint job on this one,” he reaches out to touch the bike, “Looks like red wine poured over-”

“Hey!” I whisper. “The man told you not to touch that shit! They get real territorial about these bikes.”

“Oh,” Deep snatches his hand back like the thing was hot. “Sorry, man. Kind of hypnotizing.”

“I feel you.” I, too, am thoroughly impressed by these iron horses. One of them’s a deep shade of maroon with some sort of tribalistic design painted in silver along the body, the other’s metallic forest green up front, fading back into a pale blue towards the rear.

“Like ‘em?” The short guy seems to have materialized behind us because I don’t recall hearing him walking this way. “The Softail’s mine, the one with Polly written down low above the engine. Other one belongs to Big Doug. Rode mine up from L.A. to get here. Four day trip.”

“Nice looking bikes,” Deep says as he stands up. “Must’ve cost you some serious change, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” the biker replies. “My last bike damn near fell apart so I needed a new one, anyhow. Seabeard brothers pitched in and help me get this one custom.”

“Polly the name of the bike or your name?” I ask.

He laughs, “Nah. That’s my old lady’s name. They call me Hurk.”

“You put your mom’s name on your bike?” Deep’s eyebrow’s arching up over his shades.

“Saxons call our girlfriends our old ladies, you know?” Hurk seems highly amused by Deep Kut’s question. “Traditional thing. Goes back to the Hells Angels and all that.”

“You bring her up here with you?” I ask, glancing over to see Big Doug still talking on his cell.

“She always rides with me, wherever I go,” he speaks solemnly which draws my eyes back to him. “In my heart, you know? Passed away a few years back, but I’ll never forget her.”

“Sorry to hear that,” wishing I’d left that subject alone. “Must’ve meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” Hurk’s tone is wistful. “We rode all over Southern California. Together for eight years, me and Polly. Stuck with me through a lot of bad shit.”

“That’s the kind of woman to have, for sure.” Deep Kut’s sympathy is genuine, “Stick to you when things get rough. Hard to find a lady like that.”

“Sure is.” Hurk’s making me uncomfortable with this kind of talk, so I’m glad to see his partner heading over our way, at last.

“Kobra says you’re free to take a look around as long as you’ll be quiet,” Big Doug tells me. “What they’re doing takes some concentration so we don’t want them distracted. That cool with you?”

“No problem.” I step on the last of my cigarette since it’s finished. “Just need to take a look around and we’ll be out of your hair.”

With that, Deep Kut and I head towards the park. It’s so cold the grass has iced over and it crunches under our feet. I try to minimize the sound as I take a look around. There’s several big dudes out here, clad like their pals back in the parking lot. Two of them are leaned up against trees keeping a watch over things and a few are wandering around slowly, holding Y-shaped branches out in front of them.

“The hell they doin’?” Deep Kut whispers to me.

“Dowsing,” I keep my voice as low as possible. “Looking for something below the ground out here.”

“Crazy shit,” Deep shakes his head slowly. “Any idea what they’re after?”

“Not a clue,” I respond. “Now keep quiet like the man asked us to.”

We continue on, scoping the place. Over by the bathrooms there are some candles arranged over a chalked symbol on the concrete. More symbols have been chalked on the outside wall of the bathroom, too. One particularly heavy-set biker is watching over the temporary shrine, smoking a cigarette. He eyes us suspiciously, but doesn’t move from his position to approach us. Satisfied that the Knuckleheads aren’t tearing the park up, I head back to the parking lot with Deep Kut in tow.

“Everything check out for you, Mr. Straight?” Big Doug calls as we’re stepping into the parking lot.

“Looking good,” I nod to him. “Except for the writing on the walls outside the restroom. I don’t mind the chalk but I want it off there before you pull out.”

“I’ll let ‘em know,” the large man’s eyes darkened only slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be cleaned up by the time you see it next.”

“Best of luck with your dowsing out there,” I offer. “Hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

Both men nod quietly. It’s something of a standstill because none of us want to be responsible for sparking any sort of war between our gangs. MadBlack would come down on my head like an anvil if I stirred up trouble at this point, so I’m trying to operate with that in mind.

Social etiquette demands that Deep and I excuse ourselves politely from the park these Saxons are renting, so we do that and head back to the Cutlass. The ambiance of Benton seems to have changed. Somehow, things feel different to me right now, but I’m unable to put my finger on it.

Author’s Note: Okay, to anyone still reading I am back after some serious upheaval in my life. I am going to post every day for a while here to get back on track so be sure to check back frequently so you don’t miss out. I apologize for the 2 months of skipping!