There is some prime real estate in Staten Island. Right off the last exit on the Korean War Veterans Parkway. If you ride the service road all the way to the end to where the woods are you’ll find some of the best kept secrets. The dirty secrets a piece of shit like Brantley would love to uncover but never will.
After I left the garage, I drove over the Verrazano Bridge and made my way there. Finding my shovel where I’ve kept it for the last twenty years, under the overpass, I buried the bag of explosives deep in the earth next to the decaying bodies of all the motherfuckers who thought they were a match for the Satan’s Knights.
In broad daylight and covered head to toe in dirt, I wipe my prints off the shovel and put it back in its rightful place. I drag my ass to my bike and as I rev the engine my phone rings. Pulling it out of my pocket, I glance at the screen and notice it’s Tommy’s number.
“Hey, kid,” I answer as I straddle my bike and grab a cigarette.
“I’m in front of your house,” he says.
Glancing at my watch, I realize the kid is sitting in front of my house waiting to work on his mother’s car. He’s also a half hour earlier than he was the day before and for some reason that makes me damn fucking proud of him.
“I’m not home,” I tell him, taking a drag of my cigarette. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s getting Lexi and Jenna ready for school. When are you coming home?”
Hearing him ask such a simple question does something to me. It makes me miss something that’s not mine.
“I’ve got some shit I gotta take care of and then I’ll be back,” I respond. “We’ll finish the car over the weekend. You take a break today but don’t get into any fucking trouble, aye?”
“Dad’s picking us up today and won’t bring us back until Sunday night,” he reveals. That fucking does something to me too, and again I want what isn’t mine to have.
“I’ll see you when you get back and we’ll finish the car.”
“Alright,” he hesitates. Getting the impression he wants to say something else, I toss my cigarette and question him.
“You good, kid?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “I’m cool.”
“Not really but you’re getting there,” I tease. “The girls good?”
“Yeah, they’re the same pains in the ass they always are,” he mutters and I laugh.
“And your mother? She behaving?”
“Does she ever?”
Another laugh rolls past my lips.
“She’s good,” he corrects, laughing himself. “Well, I guess I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Yeah, you will. Stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Goodbye, Lee.”
“See ya, kid,” I say before disconnecting the call. Staring at the phone, I replay the conversation back in my head. For a minute, I try to figure out if I leave the city now will I make it back home to see the kids before they leave for the weekend with their father.
Home.
Kids.
Two things a man like me doesn’t deserve or want. At least I never wanted them before. But what you want and what you can have are two different things. Then there are people like Layla’s husband who get it all and throw it away.
Fucking fool.
Feeling like I do right now, it’s better I’m not there when he comes and gets his kids. On top of not being prepared to see Layla interact with the man she spent most her life with, I don’t think I can look him in the eye and not knock his teeth down his throat. With that in mind, I peel away from the curb and merge onto the highway. I ride for the sake of riding, passing the house I shared with Oksana and the clubhouse that’s still in ruins. I don’t stop though. My wheels take me deeper into the streets of Brooklyn until I pull up in front of the hospital.
Battling with my conscience, I find a spot. Before I can change my mind I enter the building. The lady at the front desk tells me what room Wolf is in and I ride the elevator up to the cardiac intensive care unit. Making my way down the corridor, I find his room and knock on the door.
Resolving there is no use in trying to prepare for the lashing he’s undoubtedly going to deliver, I place my hand on the door as his deep baritone voice hollers for me to enter. Sitting upright in the hospital bed, connected to all sorts of machines, he peels his eyes away from the television and stares at me.
“Well, it’s about fucking time,” he mutters, the shock fading from his features.
“Don’t flatter yourself, you old fuck. I’m only here because I heard you were on a diet and I wanted to see for myself how fucking miserable you were.”
He opens his mouth to reply but starts to cough violently.
“Wolf?”
Doubling over as he covers his mouth and chokes, he points to the rolling tray alongside his bed.
“Water,” he croaks as he hacks up a lung.
Quickly, I move to the side of his bed and grab the pitcher of water. Filling the plastic cup next to it, I turn and hand it to him.
“Easy,” I order, watching as he reaches for the cup, his face nearly blue from all the coughing. He takes the cup, brings it to his lips and before he sips it he throws the water in my face.
“What the fuck?” I shout, wiping the water from my eyes.
“Fuck you,” he says, tossing the empty cup across the room. “You pussy bitch.”
“Come again?” I grind out, clenching my jaw.
“Didn’t stutter, motherfucker,” he replies, pulling the wires from his arm as he sits up. “I’m real sorry about Oksana. Truly, I am…but what you did, how you left, what the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking my wife was murdered,” I sneer, pushing the rolling cart away from him before he throws his fruit cup in my fucking face next.
“A lot of people have died on our watch, Pipe. We’ve all lost folks that we loved and yet we’re all still here. Everyone except you.”
“Fuck that. If Jack had of listened to me…if any of you had of just fucking listened when I said the club shouldn’t get involved with the mob then maybe my wife wouldn’t be in a fucking tomb right now. Hell, you wouldn’t be sitting here with your fucking fruit cup either.”
“You don’t know that,” he argues, ripping another wire from his body. This one sets off an alarm as he leans over the rails of his bed and starts smacking the monitor next to him. “Piece of shit thing. I pass gas and the fucking thing goes off.”
“What the hell are you doing? You’re setting off all the machines,” I shout as he pulls the oxygen from his nose.
“Mr. Scotto,” a nurse calls from behind me. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop pulling out the wires? I’m going to strap you to the bed.”
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, waving a hand toward me. “It’s all this schmucks fault.”
“Well, if you don’t quit it I won’t bring you any more chocolate pudding,” the blonde nurse says with a wink. Leave it to this son of a bitch to wrap a girl half his age around his finger.
“It won’t happen again,” Wolf promises.
“Let’s get these leads back in place.”
“Can you wait until I kick his ass?” Wolf questions.
“Lookin’ weak, Wolf. Whose ass you kickin’?” I reply.
Gritting his teeth, he turns to the blonde.
“Cover your ears, darling,” he orders, snapping his attention back to me. Lowering the bed rail, he pushes the sheet off his body and throws his hairy legs over the edge of the bed. Dressed in a hospital gown and black dress socks he tries to pull himself up.
Watch out Tyson, here comes Scotto.
“Need a hand?” I question, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t care if my fat ass hangs out of this fucking nightgown, I’m going to beat the Irish out of you.”
“Come at me, you guinea bastard.”
“I’m going to call Jagger if you keep this shit up,” the nurse hollers.
“Who?” I ask, slicing my eyes back to her.
“Cobra, she’s his old lady, you idiot,” Wolf hisses as he swings and misses.
“Nice try,” I tell him, studying the petite blonde shaking her head at the two of us. “Pipe,” I offer.
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, Pipe, but you’ve upset my patient and I’m not very fond of you right now.”
“Pleasure is all mine,” I mutter. In the last twenty-four hours Riggs, Wolf and now a nurse I don’t know, who just happens to be Cobra’s woman, have all given me shit. I’d say it’s about time I go back home. To where there are people I haven’t disappointed yet and a little girl who thinks I’m a superhero.
“Mr. Scotto, let’s get you back in bed,”
“I’m fine,” he fires back. “And how many times I gotta tell you to call me Wolf.”
“Right,” the pretty nurse says. “Well, Wolf, the doctor has put you back on the oxygen for a reason.”
“Yeah, because you people made me run on a treadmill and I nearly dropped dead.”
“Well, maybe if you didn’t have people sneaking you in salami sandwiches you’d be okay to exercise.”
“That’s all bullshit. I get enough exercise.”
“Flapping your jaws isn’t an exercise,” I mutter, noticing as he stands that he does look thinner.
“Give us a few minutes, darling,” he tells Cobra’s girl. She hesitates for a beat before pointing a finger at me.
“Don’t make him upset,” she warns.
I hold my hands up in mock surrender.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure her sarcastically. A moment later she leaves the room and it’s just me and Wolf.
“You were wrong in leaving,” he says after a moment of silence.
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“That’s the fucking truth,” he corrects. “It wasn’t the Corrupt Bastards who blew up the clubhouse. Charlie Teardrops wasn’t the one who strapped that bomb to Ronan.”
Narrowing my eyes, I stare at him confused. However, as confused as I am by the information he’s revealed my mind flashes back to Blackie on my doorstep.
“I think Blackie tried to tell me that,” I admit.
“Yeah, well maybe you should have listened instead of slamming the door in his fucking face.”
The confusion wears off as clarity sets in and I realize if Charlie wasn’t responsible for the bomb then I took my revenge on the wrong person. Whoever killed my wife is still running free. Apparently, Wolf recognizes the look in my eye and he starts to provide more insight. Insight I’m sure he also believes I don’t deserve.
“After Victor died, his nephew Rocco took over his organization. The gangster in training tried to speak with Jack a bunch of times but he was in agreement with you. He felt once Victor was laid to rest all ties with the mob should die too.”
“It’s a little too late for that, right?” I mutter the question.
“Probably,” he agrees. “Anyway, the man who ordered the hit on us is worse than any devil we’ve wrestled with. He played us into believing it was Charlie who made the play so we’d be too distracted to see him coming through the harbor.”
“Who is he?” I ask, pulling a chair next to the bed.
“Vladimir Yankovich,” he supplies. “A Russian prick who is looking to wipe us and Rocco off the map. He wants control of the harbor so he can traffic girls through it. Young fucking girls and drugs, enough drugs to make Pablo Escobar look like a choir boy.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Jack finally sat down with Rocco and the moment Yankovich’s name came up, Cobra delivered the next blow. The guy had a twin sister who was abducted when they were kids. The cops did shit to find her and after they closed the case, his old man hired a bounty hunter. Yankovich caught wind and murdered Cobra’s parents. He and the bounty hunter have been hunting this motherfucker ever since.”
“Jesus Christ,” I grunt, scratching my jaw. “His sister?”
“Dead.”
He pauses as I run my fingers through my hair.
“There’s more.”
I don’t want to hear anymore. The idea that some cocksucker is using young girls to move drugs through our harbor is enough to get my blood boiling This is what happens when an outlaw motorcycle club joins forces with a mobster. Their enemies become yours. No one is safe, the casualties pile and if you survive it’s only because the good Lord knows there is a RICO case building against you. Along with burying those you love; your punishment will include a maximum-security prison. If you’re the Satan’s Knights you’ll also add a motherfucker like Brantley to the mix.
“There’s more,” Wolf says. “Vladimir had Rocco’s sister raped.”
“And let me guess, Jack has decided it’s his place to get revenge for the victim.”
“The victim also happens to be Stryker’s old lady, so yes, the club is involved. It’s not about helping Rocco anymore. It’s personal. It’s been personal since we found out this Russian bastard killed your wife, two prospects and left Linc fucking paralyzed.”
“Linc is paralyzed?”
“Yeah, and this no good hospital wanted to throw him on the street. I had to mortgage the house I own free and clear so he could get the fucking help he needs to get out of that chair. I’m busting out of this joint this week and we’re going to make the pigs who violated Stryker’s girl pay. Blackie and Jack will catch you up to speed,” he pauses. The faintest hint of a smile works its way across his lips as he looks me over. “Looks like you picked a fine time to pull the tampon out of your vagina. Saddle up you old bastard, we’re going to war.”
“That’s not why I’m here, Wolf,” I say hesitantly, watching as his face falls and his features harden with anger. “It’s a fucking shame the girl got raped and Linc lost his legs but I hung up my patch and I have no intentions of putting that reaper back on.”
“You’re not here for your patch?” he replies, genuinely baffled.
“No, I came to see how you were doing—”
“Bullshit,” he roars. “I’ve been holed up in this shithole for nearly two months and you haven’t so much as picked up the phone to see if I was alive, so don’t tell me you give a fuck now. Why are you here?”
There is no use in arguing with the man. I can go on and on about my own grief but there is no excuse as to why I didn’t call him. I’m wrong and I’m man enough to admit that. However, I’ve had enough guilt shoved down my throat for the day. Deciding it’s best to give him the information I have on Brantley and get the fuck out of here, I continue.
“Brantley.”
“What about that cocksucker?”
“He paid me a visit,” I say, rising to my full height. “He’s working with the ATF to bring the club down. I don’t know all the details but he’s got a warrant to search the garage. I saw it with my own eyes. I cleared my shit out so no one’s going down because of me, but if Jack’s negotiating any deals with the guns I’d watch your fucking back. He’s out for blood.”
“You cleared your shit out?” he repeats.
“The pipe bombs,” I clarify. “They’re gone.”
“Well, if that isn’t the final nail in the coffin,” he mutters. “When is he planning on raiding the joint?”
“Today.”
“I suppose you want me to thank you for giving me the heads up.”
“No,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “I don’t want anything from anyone.”
“You’re going to come back, you know?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you will,” he argues. “You and I, man, we’ve always been cut from the same cloth and that cloth is leather. This club is engrained into you. When you realize that, when you realize you’re not whole without it, you’ll be back.”
Again, I don’t argue, mainly because I’m not a hundred percent sure he isn’t right. Stranger things have happened. Hell, they’re happening right now as I look at the man who took a chance on me, wishing the woman I left back home is equally generous and ready to take a chance on me.
Me.
Lee Jameson.
Not Pipe of the Satan’s Knights.
“Lay off the salt,” I tell him as I reach the door. Not bothering to look back, I walk out of the room knowing I did my part.
It’s time to move on.
It’s time to live.