“Will do, Nick,” the bartender responded.
He dragged Whip through the door and into the parking lot.
In a few seconds, he returned and then dragged Panda outside.
He walked back in, and looked toward the bar. “Sorry about the burgers, Pete.”
“No problem, Nick.”
He turned toward me. “Come on,” he said dryly. “We need to get.”
I grabbed my purse. “Okay.”
My heart was racing and my mind was trying to make sense of everything that had happened. I wanted to ask so many questions, but realized the time had come for me to become more of a silent witness and less of an enthusiastic reporter.
Once we stepped into the parking lot, Navarro rushed to the semi-conscious men and planted the heel of his boot against their respective heads one more time.
Through his teeth he said his goodbyes. “Cocksuckers.”
Silently, he started the motorcycle, put on his helmet, and turned to check on me.
“Hold on tight,” he warned.
I nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ve got to go see someone, and I don’t have time to take you back.”
“Okay.”
“We’re still off the record,” he said. “Understand?”
“Fully,” I responded.
Since I was a little girl, I’d always liked to collect facts and tell stories. A journalist was all I ever expected I would be. As sat in the parking lot with two half-dead bikers on the asphalt beside us, I was no longer a journalist working as a reporter for the newspaper.
I was an accomplice to aggravated battery.
I gripped Navarro’s waist in my hands and waited. He revved the motor and released the clutch. The motorcycle sped out of the parking lot and into the street.
For that moment – and the moments that followed during that hot spring afternoon – I learned many things about Navarro.
And about myself.
TEN
Nick
One of the tell-tale signs of a promising prospect is his ability to realize when it’s time to listen and when it’s time to speak. A man who fully understands the difference without being told possesses a certain quality that evokes trust in the men who he exposes himself to.
Every passing moment of Peyton’s silence pushed me closer to viewing her as a very intriguing woman, and not simply as the reporter who happened into the bar on that Friday afternoon.
We stood by the workbench in the shop while Peyton sat on my motorcycle in the parking lot. With my eyes constantly searching the road in front of the shop through the open garage doors, I conveyed my concerns.
“As far as I’m concerned we need to go to war with these pricks.”
Pee Bee nodded. “I agree, Boss. If those two fucks came into Pete’s bar, they were looking for what they got. That place is off-limits. Plenty of neutral places they could have caught up to you at, but they didn’t. They were asking for it.”
“Agreed.”
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“Ready? If I’m breathing, I’m ready to fight. Don’t forget that.”
“Just askin’, Crip. Just askin’.”
“I’ll call an emergency meeting,” I said. “Let the fellas know to watch their backs. This could get real god damned ugly real god damned quick.”
“What about the girl?”
I turned around and shot him a glare. “What about her?”
“Well, we got to do something with her. She ain’t stickin’ around for the meeting.”
My stare continued, probably a little longer than it should have. For whatever reason, I now felt protective over her. I suspected it was a result of exposing her to the day-to-day life of an outlaw biker, and in doing so, placing her in harm’s way.
His eyes widened. “Is she?”
“No,” I snapped back. “She isn’t sticking around for the fuckin’ meeting. Her Jeep’s at the coffee shop on Old Grove. I need to give her a ride back.”
“Can’t believe you got her to sit on that fuckin’ fender. Don’t know too many Ol’ Ladies that’d ride on that fucker without a fight.”
“She didn’t have a choice.”
“She’s one tough little bitch,” he said. “How’d she handle the beat down you gave Whip and Panda? Didn’t barf or anything did she?”
“Handled it like a true professional.” I chuckled. “When they showed up, I told her to stay in the booth. She sat there and watched me whip their asses. Little bitch never said a word. When we were walkin’ out, I stomped both their fuckin’ heads one more time, and she didn’t say shit then, either. Never asked one fucking question.”
He folded his arms in front of his chest and gazed in her direction. “Probably scared as hell.”
“Her? Shit, I don’t think so. She isn’t a typical bitch. Said she snowboards, surfs, goes rock climbing, and bungie jumping. I doubt seeing me beat their asses scared her.”
He rubbed his beard with his right hand and narrowed his eyes. “She interviewing you, or are you interviewing her?”
“She offered, I listened,” I said. “Give me your keys.”
He pressed his hands to his hips and shot me a look. “Say what?”
“Your keys to the bagger. Give ‘em up. I’m taking her back to the coffee shop, and not on my Shovel.”
He dug in his pocket, then handed me the keys. “Where’s your key?”
“Ignition’s hot all the time. Don’t need a key.”
“If you fuck her on it, clean up your mess,” he said.
“If I fuck her on it, she’ll clean up the mess.”
“And make sure she doesn’t drag her feet all over my fuckin’ bags,” he shouted as I walked away.
When I stepped to her side, she was still gazing out at the street.
“You alright?” I asked.
She turned around. “Yeah, why?”
“Just making sure.”
“I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“Learning to ride.”
“You want a bike?”
She grinned and nodded. “Yep.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“You’ve never ridden before?”
“Nope.”
“California’s not a great place to learn. Traffic’s a bitch.”
“Corbet’s Couloir in Jackson Hole, Wyoming is the most dangerous ski slope in the world. That’s where I learned to snowboard. I surf at Black’s Beach. There, you either ride the wave or eat a rock cliff. I don’t do anything the easy way,” she said.
“You’ll probably love it,” I said with a nod. “Hop off.”
“Why?”
“We’re not taking my bike.” I motioned to Pee Bee’s bike. “We’re taking that.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “It’ll be more comfortable for you. It’s got air ride suspension, a CD player, and a gel-filled passenger seat. Hell, it’s like riding a marshmallow down the highway.”
“Not interested.” She slapped the palm of her hand against the side of my gas tank. “I wanna ride on this.”
I narrowed my eyes and fought the urge to smile. “Why?”
“Because this is a real bike,” she said.
I exhaled, nodded, and walked back into the shop.
I tossed Pee Bee his keys. “Here.”
“Not taking it?”
“She didn’t want to ride on it.”
He looked disappointed. “Why?”
“Said she wants to ride on a real bike.”
“A real bike?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“Tell that skinny little bitch to go fuck herself,” he said. “That is a real bike.”
“Tell her yourself.”
“I ain’t walkin’ all the way out there.”
“I’m sure you’ll be seeing her again,” I said.
And I truly believed it.
ELEVEN
Peyton
I l
earned to surf long before anything else. I wasn’t quite a teenager at the time, and Phillip, my oldest brother, was seventeen. Preston was two years older than me, and two years younger than Phillip. With me being the youngest child – and the only girl – my father was slightly overprotective of me.
He took another gulp of his coffee and glanced at his watch. “You’re too young.”
“I’m almost thirteen.”
“Like I said, you’re too young.”
“Phil started when he was ten.”
“Phil’s a boy. You’re a girl. There’s a difference.”
“Is not.”
“There is. And, I don’t have time to argue. I’m almost late.”
“I’m going,” I said. “They’re going to teach me.”
It was summer, and we were out of school. With my father working, we had the entire ten-week period to ourselves. Our adventures were only limited by our imaginations and our courage, which were two things I seemed to have an overabundance of.
“They’re most certainly not,” he said. “Now I’ve got to go.”
He leaned over and gave me a kiss. It was something he did every day before he left for work, but the level of affection didn’t extend to my brothers. I didn’t really think about it at the time, but as I got older, I came to believe he kissed me each day because I reminded him of mom.
And he missed her. Dearly.
She died when I was eight, the result of a multi-car pileup on the freeway. There were many cars that wrecked that day, but she was the only fatality. My father told me that she was far too beautiful of a woman to remain on earth, and that God recognized it and took her to heaven to be with the other angels.
I believed him.
It was difficult not to. My mother was a beautiful woman, and she was definitely an angel. Her skin resembled porcelain. Her hair was like silk, and her smile was infectious. She had a soft voice, her patience was never ending, and she always took the time to do whatever she must to keep us entertained.
“Maybe just a few lessons?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I promise,” I said, extending my pinkie. “I won’t.”
“You can’t make that promise,” he said.
I extended my arm and offered him my pinkie. “I just did.”
“A few lessons, that’s it.” He sighed and reached for my hand. As our pinkies interlocked, he grinned. “Don’t get hurt.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I spent that entire summer surfing, and before school started, I was just as good as Phillip and Preston, which made neither of them very happy. Although most families took vacations in the summer, we took a different approach, vacationing during winter break.
While Phillip and Preston chose to downhill ski, I, being the more adventurous, learned to snowboard. By the time I was sixteen, I was an avid snowboarder. At eighteen, I was driving to Utah and climbing up the face of mountains where no one else had ventured.
People often asked if I had a death wish, or if I placed no value whatsoever on life. I always responded no, but never took time to explain.
In reality, my adventures took me to a place far away, somewhere between the heavens above and the earth below. With everything I did, be it surfing, snowboarding, or rock climbing, my feet were never planted firmly on the earth, and the euphoria I felt was heavenly.
Sometimes, so heaven-like, that I felt I could reach out and touch her hand.
To this day, I miss her dearly.
TWELVE
Nick
I glanced around the shop, taking time to make eye contact with each of the men. As they returned my gaze – some seeming eager, while others appeared concerned – I remained stone-faced.
“It’s no secret that the Savages run thirty deep while our membership is eighteen. I don’t say this for the sake of saying it. I say it because I believe it. Thirty deep or three hundred deep, it doesn’t matter. There’s not an MC on this earth that has more heart, soul, or guts than the Fuckers.”
The shop erupted in fuck yeahs, grunts, and shouts. To boost morale, I gave the men a moment of celebration, then raised my hand and silenced the crowd. “It’s no secret that this has been coming for some time, and ever since they stole Bunk’s bike, they’ve been asking for it. Well, now they’ve decided it’s okay to ride right into our territory, and even come into one of our bars. If we don’t stand up now, ain’t one of us worth the patches we’re wearin’.”
“What are we gonna do?” Stretch asked. “What’s the plan?”
I nodded. “I’m getting’ to that. We’re not huntin’ ‘em down, but we’re giving no grace when it comes to territory. Not now. If one of ‘em is spotted on our turf, it’s on. Right then and fucking there.”
“If you whipped Whip’s ass, you know they’ll be comin’ for us,” Ryder said.
“If I whipped his ass? If? There’s no if. I beat that motherfucker like he owed me money. And then I stomped his head in the dirt. Him and that little steroid eatin’ sidekick of his, Panda. And, you’re right. They’ll be comin’. So, here’s the best advice I can give each of you.”
I raised my index finger in the air.
“If you’re on your sled, you’re going to be wearing your colors. If you’re wearing your colors, you’ll be a target. We need to always be in pairs.” I pointed to Pee bee, and then to myself. “No exceptions. I realize there’s going to be little short runs where you’re alone, but what I’m talking about is being out on the road alone. Don’t do it.”
“Closest patch is ten miles from where I stay,” Cholo said.
“Meet halfway. A ten-mile run alone on the highway is asking for it. I know some of you don’t like doin’ it, but splittin’ lanes in this state is legal. If you get stuck in traffic, split lanes and get on down the highway.”
I studied the men. Each of them stood in wait. Some for further instructions while others waited for reassurance that everything would be okay. A few probably hoped for an invitation to go bust someone’s head.
“I know some of you are eager to bust heads, and there’s others who would just as soon have this thing end without any bloodshed. Well, I got news for you, fellas. This won’t come to an end without spillin’ some blood. Not now. The Savages have gone too far this time. And if there’s anyone thinking that what I did was wrong, go ahead and turn your patch in now. They came into our territory, walked into one of our bars, and pulled a knife on me. To tell the truth, if that reporter wouldn’t have been with me, we’d probably be burying those two pricks”
“Where’s it end?” Ryder asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Will this be like the Hells Angels and the Outlaws? A never ending battle that lasts a lifetime? If you say no, tell us what’s going to stop it. What’s gotta happen to get this thing to end?”
“Listen up, fellas,” I shouted. “Ryder asked how this thing’s gonna end? My answer isn’t what any of you want to hear, but it’s the best I’ve got. My answer’s this: I’ve got no fucking idea. If these pricks give us the respect we deserve, then I guess it’s over. If they don’t, it’ll continue until they do or they’re all dead.”
The men fell silent.
“Anyone take exception to what we’re doing?”
Silence.
“Anyone want out of this club? Now’s your chance. If you’re not willing to be part of this, I’m going to ask you to turn in your patch. I’d rather have you walk away now than not have my back or one of the fellas backs when the shit gets real. And, believe me, it’s gonna get real.”
Silence.
“Nobody?”
“I’ve got somethin’,” Pee Bee said.
“Listen up, fellas. Peeb’s got something to say.”
Pee Bee raked his fingers through his hair, glanced around the group, and sighed. Although I was the president of the club, the men looked at him as a spokesperson, their protector, and someone who would never bullshit them about club b
usiness.
“We might not follow society’s rules, and we sure as fuck don’t abide by society’s laws. But, we’ve got a strict morale code that we live by. Our own set of rules. Each and every rule we follow gets back to the same thing, respect. We don’t ride in San Bernardino County. Because we’re pussies? No. Because we respect the Devil’s Head MC. And we don’t go to the Five Corners in Escondido. Why? It’s a Hells Angels bar. We show respect to these clubs because we respect them. And, in return they give respect. What this is about, with the Savages, is respect. They don’t respect us, and they’re flexin’ their muscles.”
He raised his fist and flexed his bicep. “It’s time we flex our muscles. We’ve got two of their patches in the safe. Far as I’m concerned, we ain’t done ‘till we got twenty-eight more. That’s all I got. I’m droppin’ my mic.”
“Good point, Peeb.” I nodded. “He’s right, fellas. Respect. That’s all we’re asking for. And until they give it, we need to watch our backs.”
Pee Bee’s eyes shot wide and he motioned toward the street. “Fuck. Cops.”
I turned toward the open garage doors. Without lights or sirens, police cruisers pulled in one after the other. After the fourth, an unmarked Dodge Charger parked alongside the last cruiser. In unison, eight uniform officers – and who I suspected were two detectives – got out of their cars at the same time.
The detective driving the unmarked charger stepped a few feet inside the shop and stopped. His partner and the remaining officers stood in position.
“Nicholas Navarro. You can either surrender, or we’re coming in.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll give you fifteen seconds.”
“Nobody do anything,” I whispered. “Don’t fucking move.”
I took two steps forward, separating myself from the group of men. “I’m Nick Navarro. You placing me under arrest?”
He nodded. “I sure am.”
“What are the charges?”
“You’ve got six seconds.”
“What are the fucking charges?”
“The disappearance of Bryan Whipple for starters. Time’s up.”
I pulled off my kutte and handed it to Pee Bee. Having it confiscated by the police and used as a trophy during a news conference wasn’t going to happen. After handing him my cell phone and wallet, I gave my only instruction. “Get the reporter to come see me in jail if they don’t let me bond out.”