Chopper rode to Back Bay in record time, gliding in and out of traffic, pissing people off to the point of being flipped off and honked at, but he couldn’t care less about any of them. Dax’s text said, “Meeting with Walton in half an hour. Garrett has video.” He understood that probably meant video of the evangelist and Chelsea, which made him sick to his stomach. But he knew she needed answers and she needed to be free of this shit hanging over her head so that she could move forward. He tried to concentrate on that and ignore the poisonous ball of anger collecting in his core and slowly being fed out to the rest of his body through his veins.

As he drove up to the massive church that Chelsea had likened to the Astrodome, the anger spread quickly. This man lived off other people’s money, pretending to me a good person, an upstanding citizen, a God-fearing family man. People loved him, so much that they were going to vote for him to represent them in one of the most powerful positions in the state. He was handsome, rich, and charismatic and underneath all of that lived a demon who was pulling all of the strings. Sometimes when Chopper and his brothers got looks from people as they drove through town or walked into a business dressed in their gear with their Skulls colors proudly displayed, he wondered if they knew that greater evils walked among those dressed in Armani suits.

He saw Dax’s bike and two others, and he parked next to them. As he was climbing off, the sound of Harleys behind him made him turn and he saw Cody, Jimmie, Gunner, and Zack riding in. Dax had called in all the big guns. This was serious. Chopper didn’t wait for the other guys. He went up to the main doors and pushed them open. He could see that Dax, Garrett, and Jigsaw had already been there for a while. What looked like steroid-infused bodyguards lay on their bellies in the floor with hands tied behind their backs, three of them as far as Chopper could see. Two men in black suits sat in the very front pew with their hands tied together with plastic cuffs. Dax was sitting in a chair up on the “altar” and Jigsaw and Garrett hovered over a chair not far from him. That chair held the evangelist himself. Walton looked like he’d been crying. His face was wet, and his eyes reddened. Chopper hoped he hadn’t gotten there too late to hear him beg for his life.

“There he is now,” Dax said as he saw him come in. The evangelist looked up and Chopper could see the fear in his eyes. He wondered what Dax had told him and then realized he didn’t care. He was going to make sure that the demon’s fear wasn’t unwarranted. He strode up to the altar or stage or whatever the fuck a false prophet called it and stopped at the bottom of the three steps leading up to where the men were. He heard the other men come in behind them and saw Dax look in their direction. He’d ordered them to stay back without uttering a sound.

“Glad you made it, Chop,” Dax said. “Just to catch you up, I got a call from Dorsey last night. Wayne was a little tougher than we gave him credit for. He’s recuperating, though, just in case anyone cares. Before he finally passed out he told Dorsey that the combination was to a locker at Penn Station.”

“In New York?”

“Yeah. He was worried that this…that Mr. Walton, or one of his other ‘high rollers’ might find it if it was here in Boston. But let’s go back a few years. This sick man right here was so intent on finding what he needed to satisfy his perversions that he went as far south in the city as he could, down to our territory. Somehow, he found Wayne, probably through word of mouth from one of the high rollers Wayne liked to brag about. They met, and Wayne assured him that he could satisfy any craving this deviant had, for enough cash. Walton was so incredibly focused on sexual gratification that he made the mistake of trusting a smalltime pimp on the Southside. For over a year, he visited Wayne, and Wayne made sure he left a happy man.” Dax didn’t say it, but Chopper heard “And Chelsea” in there. His stomach rolled at the thought of the pig in front of him even looking at her, much less touching her. “So, in the midst of his happy time there, Wayne got himself arrested. The wannabe congressman here went on with his life, probably annoyed and sexually frustrated, but continuing to pretend like he’d never met a man like Wayne much less done business with him. In the few years that passed in between, Mr. Walton celebrated thirty years of marriage, baptized his first grandchild right here on this altar, and threw his hat in the ring for that congressional seat. But what this greedy, perverted man didn’t bank on was that even in prison, you hear things.”

“Wayne found out he was running for office.”

“Yes, and Wayne is also a little smarter than we gave him credit for. He had a video this whole time that could have ruined this man, but he kept it under wraps until he saw that television commercial…you know the one, with Walton smiling and holding his grandbaby, with his arm around his wife and his daughter and son-in-law in the background. His son-in-law is studying to be a preacher, just like dear old Dad here. That commercial is so inspiring. It’s all about family values and cleaning up the vermin in the city so that good, decent, God-fearing people can take back their streets. I imagine Wayne Borba was laughing his ass off in his orange jumpsuit as he watched it. It didn’t take him long to do two things. The first one was to call his attorney and tell him he wanted a DNA test on the boy that he knew wasn’t his. The second was to call Mr. Walton here and tell him a story. See, in Wayne’s story, Chelsea was the one making the videotapes and he knew nothing of them until now. He called Mr. Walton as soon as he knew to warn him, out of the goodness of his heart.”

Chopper snorted and at Walton he spat, “That’s why Dizzy was after her. You used her and now you were just going to kill her…you piece of shit!”

“Yep,” Dax said. “He thought he’d just eliminate the source of the problem, but you got in the way of that, so he started putting the heat on Wayne again, or so he thought. Wayne hadn’t even worked up a sweat yet. He knew too much. He finally admitted to knowing where the tapes were and also where the combination to the safe was, but he wanted money, of course. Walton refused to pay him, so Wayne upped the ante and told him about the boy. He told him Chelsea thought Walton was the father and she planned to cash in on it. Wayne told him about his own pending DNA test and the upcoming court battle where Chelsea would be asked directly who fathered the kid, and she might be willing to announce it to the world. I bet you pissed your pants, didn’t you, old man?” When Walton didn’t respond Dax said, “Garrett found out that Mr. Walton hired someone else to go after Chelsea. He was all set up, in that old granary building across from her apartment building with a high-powered rifle and scope…”

“Fuck! When was this?” Chopper’s heart was racing. He’d left her in Tigger’s hands.

“It’s okay, Chop. It was last night, and Garrett had him out of there before you and she showed up this morning. But not before the guy begged for his life and fingered Walton. He got fifteen grand up front. Still had the money on him as a matter of fact.” Dax looked Walton in the eyes and said, “Thanks for the donation to our teen center, by the way.” Walton narrowed his eyes slightly and Dax smiled. “I saved you the other fifteen you were supposed to pay the guy when the job was done. I’d think you would want to thank me, but whatever. So anyways, Jigsaw was in New York early this morning armed with the numbers from the sketch and another number Garrett found when he had an army buddy enlarge it…the locker number.” Dax reached down and picked up a small leather backpack. Holding it up so that Walton could see it he said, “Now, it’s all up to you, Chop. What shall we do with this evidence…and this piece of vermin that’s ruining our fine city?”

Chopper looked at the backpack. The idea of putting this scum’s face, and whatever else, up on that big screen behind him and showing all of his followers exactly who and what he was, tempted him like crazy. But he would also be outing Chelsea’s past and he would never do that to her. The idea alone that these tapes existed worried him. If her sister ever got wind of it, Chelsea might never see her son again.

“Before you answer that question, Chop, can I have a word?”

Chopper turned and looked at Cody. He was usually content to let Dax call the shots, so Chopper was curious. Dax looked curious too when Cody waved him over. “Sure,” Chopper told him, going over to where Cody stood. In a low tone, once Dax and Chopper were both within earshot Cody said:

“When I was in prison, I met a guy. He was originally from Hollywood and one of the best cameramen in the business. He got into some trouble, drugs and whatnot, and he was picked up here trying to smuggle some things on a plane while they were on location for a shoot…but that’s all beside the point. He did his time and last I talked to him, he was clean and working again. I’d be willing to see what he could do with those tapes…you know, to make sure Mr. Walton gets top billing.” And Chelsea’s face or any distinguishing marks didn’t, was what Chopper heard. It was brilliant. Chopper looked at Dax, who nodded.

“Thanks, Cody, yeah…let’s do that.” He looked back at Dax and said, “And then what? Do we let him walk free in the meantime?”

“Is that what you want?” Dax asked him.

“I want him to think he won,” Chopper said, surprising himself. The thoughts were coming to him as he spoke almost. “I want him to feel safe, and then I want him brought to his knees in front of the entire world. When’s the election?”

“Not until September,” Dax said. Two months…fuck, that was a long time to wait. But in the meantime, if the old asshole thought he was safe, he’d back off Chelsea and she could concentrate on getting custody of her boy and getting on with her life. In the meantime, she didn’t have to know the tapes even existed. He could fill her in on all of that afterwards, when her life was in order.

“Election night,” Chopper said. “Is that too much?”

“Nah,” Dax said. “He’s got that other fifteen grand that the assassin won’t be needing.” Chopper looked at Garrett. The quiet mountain of a man stood almost demurely up on the altar. He wondered if the sniper had even seen it coming. “I’d consider that more than enough compensation to keep a few guys on him for a couple of months, just in case he tried anything stupid.”

Chopper looked back up at the pig on the stage. He wanted a piece of him so badly, but this was better. Physical pain wouldn’t last forever. This kind of pain would. As he turned to walk out he heard Dax telling the guys to cut them loose and shoot anyone that made a move. He knew Dax was savvy enough to make Walton believe he was paying them for their silence, and he hoped two months would give the scumbag enough time to feel safe and confident again. And he hoped the time would fly by, because patience was not one of his own greater virtues.