Chapter Nine
Rock
Rock stared at the slumped-over body tied around a tree trunk: sitting down, tied at the waist, legs spread. A large amount of blood pooled under the body, staining the snow a dark crimson. If Rock hadn’t recognized the chest tattoo of a busty blonde holding a frothy beer mug, he never would’ve known it was Sketcher, his face beaten that badly.
“Fuck. They did a number on him,” Jax said, kicking the ice with his boot.
“And they cut off his balls.” Rock bent down and tugged the dead man’s pants up. “He didn’t fuckin’ deserve this.”
“I hope he was dead when they did it. I put a call in to Hawk and Banger. We gotta find out who did this.” Jax pounded his fist into the palm of his hand.
“I know he planned on making a buy to find out who was dealing the shit. I told him to call me. When I didn’t hear from him, I figured he either chickened out or it got canceled.” He stood up and stared down at the broken body. The chance that the dirtbags had made Sketcher as an informant had niggled in the back of his mind and was the reason he’d come out to that wooded area of Crenshaw Park; it was known for drug dealing.
“The fuckers left him like this as a warning to other. We gotta beat their asses.” Jax spit on the ground.
“It’s a damn act of aggression toward the club. Last thing Sketcher told me was that he heard some dudes had hooked up with Satan’s Pistons and were vowing revenge on the Insurgents and Night Rebels. We can’t let this pass,” Rock said.
“Sketcher had a mom in town. She should know he’s gone.” Jax stomped his feet on the snow-covered ground.
“Banger will take care of it. That’s the kind of shit a president does.” Rock took out two joints and offered one to Jax. He lit both of them, and the two men stood looking at Sketcher, their heads bent, the smoke billowing above them.
The crunch of tires made Rock look behind him, Hawk and Banger walking toward them.
“What the fuck happened? Weren’t you monitoring his buy?” Banger asked Rock, his eyes fixed on the beaten man.
“I told him to set it up and call me so I could watch out for him, but I never heard back. That’s why I came looking for him.”
“Fuck!” Banger’s voice echoed between the trees.
It was a gloomy afternoon, and Rock looked around the empty park. It was as quiet as a mausoleum, and the bare trees with just ice and a dusting of snow clinging to their branches looked grotesquely eerie against the backdrop of lethal violence.
“We gonna move him out?” Jax asked.
Hawk pursed his lips, shaking his head.
“The fuckin’ badges will find him. Eventually. I heard his mom was staying with a sick friend,” Rock said.
“More like she was in detox,” Hawk retorted, turning away from Sketcher.
“Probably. I know she’s had a rough time of it. Should be home now. I’ll go by her place tomorrow and tell her about her boy,” Banger replied.
“Unless the fuckin’ badges beat you to it,” Rock said, putting his gloves on.
“Then I’ll offer her the sympathy of the club. We gotta find who the fuck did this, slice off his balls and cock, and feed them to him.”
Rock went down on his haunches and rifled through Sketcher’s pockets, making sure there was nothing in them that was incriminating against the Insurgents. All he found was some spare change and a crinkled photograph of Sketcher with his arm around a young woman. He shoved the picture back in and stood up.
“Nothing. We’ll find out who did this, and I’m gonna enjoy killin’ his ass.” Rock clenched his jaw, rammed his hands into his pockets, and followed Hawk, Jax, and Banger to their cars. He glanced one last time at the lifeless body, then drove away.
When they entered the clubhouse, anger and sadness crackled in the air; the brothers had a soft spot for the likable twenty-six-year-old.
“Who the fuck snuffed the kid?” Bear asked as he shuffled behind Rock to the meeting room.
“Not sure yet, but I’m gonna find out,” Rock answered.
Banger had called an emergency church regarding Sketcher and the encroaching threat of hard-core drugs in Pinewood Springs. The Insurgents knew meth was the drug of choice for some of the residents in town, but dealing coke, acid, and H in the county just didn’t sit well with the brothers. There was no way in hell they were going to allow that shit to come through; they didn’t want to blow their tacit agreement with law enforcement that they’d keep that shit out of Pinewood Springs in exchange for the badges looking the other way at some of the club’s indiscretions.
As the brothers let their rage over what happened to their informant spill out, Skinless came in and went over to Banger. The president looked at the group. “The prospect says the fuckin’ badges are in the great room.”
“I’m surprised they found Sketcher so fast. They usually can’t find their ass with both hands,” Chas said, and several members chortled and grunted.
“Tell them we’re in church and they need to wait,” Banger told Skinless. The young man nodded and left the room.
“Hold up. I’ll go out and stall the fucks,” Rock said.
When he entered the great room, he saw two assholes in uniform and one in a suit. He went over to the bar and leaned against it, his foot propped up on a chair. The one in the suit came over.
“I’m Detective McCue, and I have a few questions about Tommy Horace.”
Rock jutted his jaw out, smoothed down his cut, and snapped his fingers at Skinless, who promptly placed a shot of whiskey in front of him. Curling his fingers around the shot glass, he threw back the dark amber liquid, then crossed his arms. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talkin’ about.” He motioned to Skinless for another.
“His street name is Sketcher. Know him now?” McCue shifted from one foot to the other.
Rock shrugged.
Putting his pad back inside his suit jacket, McCue stared at Rock. “The word is he was an informant for the Insurgents. He was found murdered in Crenshaw Park.”
Rock stared deadpan at him and didn’t say a word.
“We can do things the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is that you and your fellow club members cooperate and tell me what you all know about the killing. And the hard way is that I tear your clubhouse apart.”
“I’ve never done easy in my whole fuckin’ life. And good luck in getting a search warrant, ’cause that’s the only damn way you’re gonna get past where you’re standing right now.”
“Did Sketcher piss you guys off, betray you?”
Rock just stared at the detective until he heard Banger’s and Hawk’s voices behind him.
“Banger. Hawk,” McCue acknowledged them. “Your informant Sketcher was found murdered in Crenshaw Park, and I need to clear up some things.”
“Don’t know him, McCue.” Banger turned to Hawk. “Do you know someone named Sketcher?”
“Nope,” Hawk said.
Soon all thirty-five members filled the room, each one asking the other if they knew the person the detective was yapping about.
“Fucking unbelievable! Are you that cold-hearted that you don’t give a shit what happened to Sketcher?”
“Let me tell you something, McCue,” Hawk said, leaning against the bar next to Rock, a shot of whiskey in his hand. “If we did know this Sketcher dude, we’d take care of things on our own.” He threw back his shot.
“And we’re not sayin’ shit ’cause we don’t know shit. You’re wasting your time and ours,” Banger said as he posted himself next to Hawk and Rock. Skinless set a shot of whiskey in front of him.
McCue shook his head. “There were tire tracks and a shitload of footprints at the scene of the crime. I’m going to guess they belong to some of your members.” Dead silence descended on the room. Staring each of them in the eyes, McCue said, “I’ll be back.” He turned around and walked out, the two badges following him.
“If that one keeps getting in our business, we’ll have to talk to the police chief,” Hawk said.
“Agreed. I gotta get going home. I just wanted to let you know that next Saturday there’s gonna be a big party.” Cheers drowned Banger out.
Rock put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. The din died down. “The president hasn’t finished talkin’. Shut the fuck up!”
“As I was sayin’, we have all the charter clubs coming, and many of the affiliate ones will be here. All the officers have to be here. No damn excuses.” He glanced at Rock, who nodded, along with Hawk and Throttle.
As Banger talked about the party, Rock felt his phone vibrate. He slipped it out of his jeans and stared at the number flashing. Fire shot through his veins. Why the fuck is Andrew’s school calling me? Ducking out to the back porch, he answered the call.
“Hello?”
“May I please speak to Mr. Aubois?”
“That’s me. Is my boy in trouble?”
“This is Mrs. Crowe, the principal, and… well, yes, he is. He skipped school again. If he does it one more time, I’ll have to report it. That’s the law.”
Rock gritted his teeth as he tried to control the rage threatening to explode inside him. “He’s not gonna do it again. Is that all?”
“It is. Perhaps we should make an appointment so we can talk.”
“I don’t have anything to say. I told you I’ll handle it. I’ve gotta go.”
Heat flushed through his body as he ground his teeth. When he returned to the great room, Axe came up to him. “Throttle’s already got the balls stacked.”
“I gotta pass on the pool game. There’s a problem that needs fixin’. I’m outta here. Later.”
The wisps of frosty air from his heavy breathing ribboned around him as he hoisted himself into his truck. With the fire of a pissed-off parent burning inside him, he made it home in record time. He waited several minutes in the garage, taking deep breaths to calm down before he confronted his son.
Opening the car door, he saw Clotille standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “I thought I heard the garage door open and close. Roche… what’s the matter? You look like a bull ready to charge.”
“I’m fuckin’ pissed! Did the school call you?”
“Which school?”
James popped his head out from behind Clotille’s legs. “Père!”
The boy’s black eyes shone and his chubby hand waved at Rock, melting his heart. He laughed and came over, swinging James up and settling his son down on his shoulders. The boy’s fingers pressed against his head tightly as Rock brushed Clotille’s lips. “Andrew’s school. He cut his classes again.”
“Oh no,” she said, fingers flying to her throat.
“Oh fuckin’ yes.” He walked into the family room and pulled James off his shoulders, setting him down on the thick carpet. “Andrew’s out of control. I’m taking over the problem full time. All your coddling and wanting to talk things out hasn’t done shit. I’m in charge now, and if he wants to keep this shit up, he’s gonna be sorry he crossed me!” He slammed his fist on the coffee table and it splintered. James jumped and then began to cry.
“Calm down,” Clotille said as she knelt down and put her arms around the young boy, pressing him close to her. “Anger fighting anger never solved anything.”
Rock’s heart lurched when he saw big tears rolling down his three-year-old’s face. In a flash, he was back in his house in Lafayette, cowering in a corner as his dad ranted and smashed up the small living room. Fuck! I don’t want James to be scared of me. Shit.
He went over to Clotille and gently took James from her, hugging him against his chest. “Mon doux petit fils, ne pleure pas. Père isn’t mad at you. Don’t cry.” With his thumb, he gently wiped away his son’s tears. After several minutes, James calmed down and squirmed to get back on the floor. Rock bent over and set him down, and the small boy grabbed a bright red firetruck under the table. As he played, Rock caught Clotille’s gaze. “This is one of the reasons I don’t want you working. The kids need you in the home.”
“I’m not working and Andrew is still acting up. He needs to see a therapist to help him with any unsolved issues he has. The school has recommended it many times.”
“Fuck, woman,” he hissed, then stormed out the French doors, shutting them behind him. The chilly air made his eyes water. Taking out a joint, he cupped his hand around it and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he held in the smoke and then slowly exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his body. He had to calm down before Andrew got home so he wouldn’t do something he’d regret.
Staring at the snow-covered grass, his mind floated back to his childhood and the beatings his father had given him and his siblings. I don’t want to raise my hand to Andrew. I promised myself I’d never do that to any of my kids. Why can’t I control him? I’m the club’s sergeant-at-arms, yet I can’t do shit with Andrew.
The door opened behind him, and he stubbed out his roach with the toe of his boot. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Clotille come outside, zipping her jacket up to her chin.
“You know, asking for help is neither a sign of weakness nor a sign you’re throwing in the towel. It’s simply another path to finding a solution,” she said softly.
Clenching his teeth, he stared straight ahead without answering.
“We need to be honest with ourselves and with Andrew. He has to know that we’re not perfect parents and we’re scared we’re losing him. We have to tell him we worry and feel inadequate as parents.”
“There’s no fuckin’ way I’m saying that,” he gritted.
“Anger is a part of him and a part of you, and we have to go beneath it. Your dad was always mad, never taking the time to listen to you, and you resented it like hell. My mother was the same. Your dad and my mom only knew how to communicate with their hands, and anger was the only emotion they ever showed us. I remember how I adored my dad and always responded so positively to him. I know you had the same experience with your mother. We can’t fuck this up. We have to be better than your dad and my mom. And maybe we don’t know how to be that way because our childhood was fraught with anger, beatings, and no communication. My mom never listened to me, and it made me feel shitty and unloved.”
“There’s no damn way Andrew doesn’t know we love him.” He didn’t turn to look at her, but he heard her footsteps clack on the stone patio.
“He does, but he thinks you’re unapproachable and I take your side all the time.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “And that’s a horrible feeling for a teen. It’s hard being a teenager. We have to put ourselves in his shoes. And we have to figure out why he’s skipping school and acting out. We need to find the source of his behavior. Right now, all we’re doing is treating the symptoms by punishing and lecturing him, and it’s not working.”
Rock leaned back against her and placed his hands on hers. “Fuck. I thought if I was the opposite of my old man, everything would be great with me and Andrew. It’s hard to think I fucked this up when all I’ve been doing is trying to be the best dad I can.”
“And you are an amazing dad. Don’t think you’re not. And you haven’t fucked anything up. It’s challenging to be a parent, especially of a teenager. Andrew has issues we probably should’ve addressed when I first brought him to Pinewood Springs to meet you. I was so wrapped up in loving you and our family unit that I thought everything was good with him. Obviously it’s not.”
He blew out the breath he was holding. Puffs of icy white vapor mingled with the cold air. “We need to make this right, ma chérie.”
“We need help in doing that, and we have to be together on this. Andrew has to know we’re a united front, and we’re doing this because we love him and are scared of losing him.”
Rock nodded. It was hard for him to ask for help. He knew Clotille was right, but a big part of him felt like he’d done something wrong. He went through so much shit in his life, but he’d survived, and he hadn’t needed a damn shrink to get him through it. But Andrew wasn’t him. And if he was being honest, he was still pissed as hell at his old man for treating his mother like shit and for beating him too many times. Maybe getting Andrew therapy will help him deal with whatever’s going on inside him.
He turned around and pressed Clotille close to him. “Que je t’aime, chouchou.”
“I love you too, sweetie,” she whispered as she gripped the back of his neck and pulled his face toward hers.
They kissed deeply, only breaking away when they heard the creak of the patio door. Rock locked gazes with Andrew, who stood in the doorway. Grasping Clotille’s hand, Rock walked toward him.
Andrew lifted his chin, a defiant gleam in his dark eyes.
Rock knew he expected him to flip out, but he wouldn’t get sucked into the old familiar pattern. He stopped in front of him. “Let’s go inside. We gotta talk.”
Andrew’s eyes widened and he stepped back into the house.
Rock went into the study, Andrew close behind him. That night, no matter what, they’d have a long talk. He’d fight down the inclination to raise his voice, he’d listen to everything his son said, and then he’d tell him he loved him. The following day, Clotille would find someone to help them.
He had no intention of losing his son. No matter what happened in his life, he’d fight to the end to save Andrew, and he wanted him to know that. It was something he never had from his own father.
Rock sank down onto the couch and gestured for Andrew to do likewise. He looked fixedly at him. “We’re gonna talk. I’m gonna listen to you, and you and I are gonna come up with a solution. Why don’t you start first by telling me why you keep skipping school?”
Andrew hesitated, but Rock didn’t say anything. Then the teen cleared his throat and looked downward. “I’m not sure.”
It was going to be a long night, but Rock had time.
He had all the time in the world.