Prologue
“Oleander, you didn’t possibly think bringing your boy here would save your sorry ass, did ya?” the tall, overpowering man asks my dad with a smirk of pure evil.
“Jones, give me a minute. I wasn’t expecting you. Lewis said we were meeting tonight,” my dad says with a look of fear crossing his features.
At the man’s slight nod, my dad turns to face me. When I look in his eyes, the worry, stress, and tears are all present as he’s trying to push them back.
“Franky, my boy. I need you to go on over to the bagel shop. Get breakfast for your mom and sisters and then head home. I’ve made some mistakes, son, but none of those are your fault. You’re gonna be the man now. Take care of home. Go on. And no matter what you hear, don’t come back. You’ve seen nothing here today!” He orders firmly before turning me around and sending me on my way.
I barely make it a block away when the sound of repeating pops fills the air. Crack. Crack. Crack. No one has to tell me what has happened, and I know better than to turn around or question anything. My dad runs with bad people. Mom has always told him it was only a matter of time before it caught up to all of us.
Whether they will come after me or not, I don’t know. However, I have to get home to my mom and sisters, step up and take care of what my dad has never taken care of. At eleven-years-old, the innocence of childhood has never existed for me, but a man is what I’ve become on this unexpected, cold winter day.
Going home, I make a decision not to tell my mom what I’ve seen today, though the cops arriving later does not surprise me. They inform her that a passer-by found my dad’s body in an alley. They tell her there will be an investigation and ask if she has any information that may give them a lead. She doesn’t know anything, so I know the case will go cold quickly, or I hope it does.
When they leave, Mom takes the news as a turning point, deciding it’s time to get out of the place we are in.
*****
Life sometimes hands you opportunities in the craziest of moments. It has been five years, and Mom has moved us from the inner city of Detroit to be with her family here in coastal North Carolina. She claims having the help to keep an eye on my sisters and me is the reason why. However, I think the weight of my dad’s associations in Detroit were inescapable, so she retreated.
She has found herself a decent enough waitressing job at The Shell Shack, though. It’s a small diner, specializing in local seafood. I bus tables there on the weekends. We manage to make ends meet, but it’s only barely, so I’ve been known to steal here and there to bring in a few extra dollars. It’s still better than the danger and the pace of life in Michigan.
I have made some connections here. Not ones I am proud of, but someone has got to step up. If I can ease the burden for my mom, I will, and by any means necessary. I know what I am about to do is taking things to a different level than anything I have done before, however hard times call for extreme measures.
The hot rod is one of those dilapidated tobacco buildings, which sits in an open field, housing the beautiful machine. She is a fully restored, black, 1967 Chevy Nova SS, and the dust settling over the car screams to me that no one is going to miss this piece of American muscle right away. I can have her gone and to Charlie’s chop shop in Virginia before anyone will notice, I reassure myself. Besides, mom could use the money, Laney needs new shoes, and Bonnie is getting boobs now, which means an entire new wardrobe.
The thoughts of what the extra money could do for my sisters’ pushes me forward. Sure, I’ve stolen stuff as we’ve needed it—I’ve been boosting rims and parts from a few tire shops and garages around here for the last year—but this will be my biggest haul. My buddy, Jason, will meet me and drive the car over to Charlie’s. Once there, he gets paid and we split the money.
Jason’s the one who gave me the location of the car, saying everything’s been scouted. It is an easy in and out. Step by step, he has given me instructions on what to do. As a minor, if I get caught, the penalties are less harsh and those records get sealed. Jason is nineteen, therefore the risks and punishments are much higher for him. So this one is all on me.
Removing the cover, I swing around to the back, adding the stolen license plate to the car. There’s no need to give the cops more of a red flag since the car currently has no tags. Climbing in the driver’s seat, I run my hand over the steering wheel. She is one fine piece of American machinery, and I’m practically giddy when I see the key ring is dangling from the ignition. The turn of the key, the stroke of the engine as it turns over, coming to life under me—it is a moment of power and control. The rumble of the motor sends vibrations through the old building.
I’m just getting ready to put the car in gear when I look up and come face to face with four bikers all aiming their guns at me through the windshield of the beauty encompassing me. Shit just got real.
Raising my hands in defeat, I stare down the biker who is walking over to me. Today may be the end of my road, but I won’t show them any fear.
“Cut my car off, boy,” one of the bikers commands.
He is huge. Tall and built he has long, brown hair braided in the back with a goatee and tattoos coming down both his arms. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at the others who are just as mean in appearance. They have since lowered their weapons but are watching me like a hawk circling its prey.
“Get out of the car, punk ass,” another one with short, salt and pepper hair orders. His goatee is an even mix of gray and black, matching his hair.
Doing as I’m told without hesitation, I can’t stop my mind from worrying over my mom and sisters. What will they do with me gone? My family is going to lose the only man left to protect them. Mom has always told me to stay clean, don’t fall to the temptation of a quick dollar. Too bad I didn’t listen.
“What’s your name, boy?” the long haired, burly biker that apparently owns the car asks, stepping up to me.
“Franklin Thomas Oleander,” I answer, steeling my voice to one that shows no weakness, no fear. He may kill me today, but he won’t break me.
He tucks his gun back into the waistband of his jeans against his back, obviously feeling I am not a threat. Truth be told, I’m not a threat, not to him and his crew. They could each crush me with their bare hands. I am still filling out, and since Mom can’t afford much, I make sure my sisters eat before I do, which means I am skinny and rough around the edges.
“You got a death wish, Oleander?” The other three bikers remain back, letting the one man handle me on his own.
“No,” I answer firmly.
“Apparently, you wanna die. Why else would you be dumb enough to touch my car?”
“Umm…” I have no answer. Seeing as it is his car I was attempting to steal, I am faced with two options: man up and take what is coming to me or cower down and beg for my life. Well, no one ever calls me smart. “You gonna kill me, kill me. You wanna beat my ass, beat my ass. Whatever you’re gonna do, just do it.”
Laughing in my face, he responds, “You’ve got balls, kid. Not many grown ass men would step up and take what’s coming to them. Get back in the car, start it and follow me. If you detour, I will find you, and this will get a whole lot worse. Let’s go.”
I do as I am told, adrenaline building inside of me. I’m not dead yet, so maybe this will be okay after all. He could have called the cops when he found me, but these men don’t strike me as the law-abiding type. Nor do I think they would call for help when they can dish out their own kind of punishment.
Following the bikes, we pull into the Hellions’ motorcycle club compound. Everyone in Haywood’s Landing knows who the Hellions are. Why didn’t I pay better attention in the barn? I should have known with the leather cuts, guns and motorcycles who I was dealing with. I park the car beside where the guys have stopped their Harleys then get out and wait by the driver’s side door.
The long haired biker is definitely the one in charge. He is barking orders and pointing inside the building in front of me before he makes his way over to me.
Before I can speak or move, he yanks me around by my shirt. His arm comes around me into a head lock as he drags me violently behind him. We make our way inside the compound, no one says a word to us or to help me. I grab at his thick forearm, trying to relieve the pressure around my neck.
“Bull, get your ass out here. Your punk ass nephew needs some words,” the biker yells, squeezing tighter with his arm.
Bull, who the hell is Bull?
He releases his grip on me, shoving me forward. Two arms grab me then and pull me steady. Looking up, I am face to face with my uncle, Kenny.
“Franky, what the fuck? Why are you here and why is Roundman dumping your ass in front of me?”
“Umm…” is all I manage to stammer.
“Your boy wanted to go on a little joyride,” the burly biker, who is apparently Roundman, says with a snicker. “A joyride in my fuckin’ car.”
“Fuck. Franky, what’re you thinking? Have you lost your damn mind? Your momma is gonna kill you and me both.”
“Laney needs shoes.” It slips out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop myself.
I don’t want to be rich and wouldn’t have agreed to steal the car for a simple joyride. My mom is two months behind on the electric bill; it’s going to be turned off any day. We have never had cable television, and currently, we don’t have a phone because it was disconnected three months ago. If it weren’t for food stamps and the left-over scraps from her job, we wouldn’t have food most days.
My sisters get good grades and are innocent to the damage our dad’s past brought down on my mom. Hell, Bonnie was only eight and Laney four when he was killed; neither of them really remember him. He wasn’t around much when he was alive anyway. They do vividly remember two days later when the goons showed up and took everything out of our house to repay my father’s debt, though.
That’s right. They took everything, down to the very mattresses we slept on. My mother’s jewelry gone, including the macaroni necklace I made her in kindergarten. It took time, hard work, and long hours for my mom to raise the money just to get us to North Carolina where her sister lives.
Her sister, Aunt Marsha, got her a job and set us up in the small two bedroom trailer we live in. I sleep in the living room so my mom can have a bed to rest her tired feet in at the end of a long day. Pride has always kept her from telling anyone how bad our finances are.
“What do you mean Laney needs shoes?” Uncle Kenny asks, his face distorted in anger and concern.
“The electrics about to be turned off. Laney needs shoes. Bonnie needs clothes. And Mom is working herself sick. I’m the man of the house; I gotta help. I was given an opportunity, so I took it.”
The swift movement of the back of his hand coming across my face doesn’t register with me until I am on the floor, spitting out blood.
“Fucker, you call me. You don’t go steal shit.”
As soon as I am standing, the next blow comes—a punch to the gut. My breathing is coming in hard pants as the room spins around me. Trying to catch my breath and remain standing is almost too much. Before I fall to the ground again, two arms are holding me up by my shoulders.
“Enough, Bull,” Roundman commands from behind me.
Turning me to face him, he smiles at me as I fight to breathe regularly and my face is rapidly swelling. “Boy, I get you’ve had it bad growing up, but it’s time to learn about family. You want to learn about brotherhood, son?”
I can only nod in agreement. What else is there to say?
“You’re young, but you’re strong. You’ve faced what you’ve done with pride. Still, you’ve got a debt to pay for touchin’ my car, and you’ll start repaying it next weekend. We’ll take care of your momma and your sisters; get them what they need. The Hellions are gonna make a man outta you, boy, and teach you what your daddy obviously didn’t.”
I nod once again in agreement. As I breathe deeply, I realize the man in front of me is cutting me a break, which is something no one has ever done for me before.
Roundman meets my eyes as he continues, “Life may hand you a shit deal in the cards, but you have to show that motherfucker no one controls you. Rise above it, boy. Make something for yourself, your mom and your sisters.” With that, he turns and walks away.
Afterward, Uncle Kenny takes me home and agrees not to tell my mom about the shit-storm I’ve escaped today.
One bad choice has changed my life. The path before me that has once been unclear and filled with more struggles than I care to think of, suddenly opens to a world of possibilities and the chance to do something with my life.
Roundman and the Hellions turned everything around for me.