Taking The Heat (12 page)

TOAD

The ride out of Wichita was a reminder of what being a biker was all about. Although it wasn’t raining when we left, Oklahoma produced a horrendous thunderstorm. Now riding through one of the hardest rainstorms I had ever seen, the drops felt like needles pressing into my skin. Riding without a helmet might not be the most sensible thing a man could do, but for me it was another way for me to thumb my nose at society, rules and regulations. As Slice, Otis, Biscuit and I cut a path through the wet stretch of highway I could see a hint of sunshine off in the distance.

Regardless of the ninety degree summer temperatures, the fact I was soaked from head to toe and not wearing any more than a tee shirt, my cut, jeans, and boots left me feeling uncomfortable. I began thinking of the day I met Sydney, her wrinkled blouse, and how cute she looked otherwise. Lost in thoughts of her kind nature, good attitude, and smart mouth, the next thirty miles passed in what seemed like a matter of minutes.

Finally, sunshine.

Slice released his left grip and pointed at his gas tank. I nodded my head and pointed down at my gas tank. Biscuit, riding to my left, looked down at his fuel gauge and grinned. As the warmth of the summer sun began to suck the moisture from the highway, we took the next exit and pulled into a gas station.

“Glad that shit’s over. Hell of a storm,” Slice said as he pumped gas into his tank and looked off to the north.

“Raindrops felt like fucking razors,” I said.

“Try riding this motherfucker with no windshield and fucking ape hangers,” Slice grunted, “the only thing to stop that shit is my face.”

My motorcycle was equipped with a fairing, windshield, cruise control, and a CD player. The rain, although not eliminated, was diverted by the small windshield. My head, clearly above the windshield, caught road debris, rain, and bugs no differently than anyone else’s, but it was fractionally less direct. 

“Not interested. I’ll keep this bagger,” I nodded.

“Fucking raining like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock,” Biscuit chuckled, “I’m going inside, need to get some Red Bull in me, I’m dryin’ out.”

Biscuit drank Red Bull energy drinks by the case. He kept a refrigerator in his home stocked with them, and drank roughly eight or ten a day. We all assumed they helped with his sharp wit and fast mouth, but we had no means of comparison because he was
always
drinking them. As Slice followed Biscuit inside the gas station, I turned toward Otis.

As I took off my cut and hung it on the handlebars, I spoke over my shoulder, “I’m thinking when we get back to town I’m going to see if Sydney wants to go out. I’m tired of following her around wondering if she’ll say yes or no.”

He scrunched his nose and narrowed his eyes, “Go out?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” I said as I pulled off my wet tee shirt.

“Like
out
? You’re going to go on a fucking date?” he chuckled.

As I leaned over and unlatched my saddlebag, I responded, “I can’t tell you the last time I took a chick somewhere. Maybe I’ll see if she wants to go eat or something.”

Otis crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, “A date? That’s funny as fuck, brother.”

“Now I’m funny as fuck. Thanks, O,” I said as I pulled a clean tee shirt from the saddlebag.

“Nothing wrong with it, hell I hope everything works out. You’ve been talking about her for a month and a half. It’s just funny, seems like just the other day you were Saran Wrapping Sloan into a ball and butt fucking her and now you want to ask little Miss Innocent on a fucking
date
,” he said.

“Who’s going on a date?” Biscuit grunted as he took a sip from his can of Red Bull.

Oh Jesus, here we go…

Otis continued to gaze my direction, raised his eyebrows and waited.

I pulled the tee shirt over my head and grabbed my cut from the handlebars. As I slipped my arms through the cut, I responded, “I was telling Brother Otis I was going to ask Sydney out when we got back.”

“The girl with the stinky twat from the bank? Well isn’t that cute,” Biscuit sighed.

“She doesn’t have a stinky twat,” I snapped.

“You smelled it? I’m just going off what she told us. She said if you were gonna tap that shit you needed a warm washrag and soap. Sounds like a stinky twat to me,” Biscuit shrugged.

“Sinners don’t fuck girls with rotten pussies. We fuck princesses,” Slice chuckled, “Who’s fucking a nasty bitch?”

“Toad’s gonna fuck the girl from the bank with the stinky pussy. He’s gonna ask her on a date as soon as we get home,” Biscuit said as he finished the can of Red Bull.

Axton knelt down and pulled his dipstick, checking his oil level. As he wiped the dipstick and pushed it back into the engine case, he peered over his shoulder, “Girl from the bank’s got a stinker does she? Hell, I saw her at your barbeque joint the other night; she
looked
like she was clean. She didn’t wait on me, so it’d be hard to say for sure, but I didn’t smell anything. Guess a man can never tell.”

Biscuit hooked his thumbs into his front pockets and tilted his head toward Slice, “Her rotten twat ain’t the topic of
this
discussion, Slice. Topic’s
this
, Toad’s going to ask her on a fucking date. You ever seen Toad on a date?”

Slice stood and crossed his arms. After studying Biscuit for a short moment, he turned to face me, “You going on a date with one of your employees? That’s probably not the best plan a man can come up with, but I’m pleased in your progress, Toad.”

“Stinky twat girl’s gonna be fuckin’ the boss man,” Biscuit chuckled.

Otis, as always, was the only one not commenting. Generally, Otis kept his mouth shut during situations like this. He didn’t want to encourage Biscuit, and as long as
someone
was speaking, Biscuit would continue. If no one else spoke, he’d persist as long as everyone would listen. Personally, I was done listening.

“I’m going to piss,” I sighed.

“If the next stop’s Wichita Falls, I better take a piss too,” Otis agreed.

As we walked into the gas station, Otis didn’t say a word. I could always count on him to provide useful feedback on a matter I was willing to discuss, and maintain silence when I wasn’t willing to speak. Other than Axton, there wasn’t another member of the Sinners who was as solid and caring as Otis.

Second guessing myself wasn’t something I did often, but as I walked out of the bathroom and through displays of snacks, I began to wonder if asking Sydney out was a good idea. While I stumbled along the dingy tile floor thinking, Otis stepped from behind an aisle and extended his arm.

“Here,” he said as he handed me a box.

I looked down at the pink box.
Massengill Country Flowers Disposable Douche.

“You might need it,” Otis chuckled.

I tossed the box into the display of corn nuts and sunflower seeds, “You know I was just thinking how much I appreciated you
not
acting like an asshole earlier. Good lookin’ out, Otis.”

“I thought it was funny. You want to know what’s funnier?” Otis said as he slapped me on the back.

I shook my head and opened the door, “What’s that?”

As Otis walked through the door, he turned and looked over his shoulder, “That this shit-hole gas station carries douches.”

“Maybe there’s a plague of twat funk down here. Hell, we are in Oklahoma,” I chuckled as I walked out to the bikes.

“Enough said,” Otis said under his breath.

“You ready to hit the road, lover boy? Or you want to text your girlfriend and tell her you’re alright before we go?” Biscuit growled as he lowered himself into the seat of his bike.

“No, I already sent her a text, while I was taking a shit,” I responded.

“Let’s roll,” Axton said as he started his bike.

Spending a week with Biscuit after his finding out about my interest in Sydney could prove to be irritating. I reached for the hand controls and flipped the ignition on. As the engine started, I grinned at the sound of the high performance cams. The engine had a definite
don’t fuck with me
rumble to it now.

“Race to the entrance on the highway?” Otis hollered.

I nodded my head as I pulled my sunglasses down from my brow, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Slice and Biscuit followed as Otis and I pulled our bikes onto the road leading to the highway. After pulling his bike to the side, Biscuit stepped off and stood in front of us with his hands up. After Otis and I both acknowledging our state of readiness, Biscuit dropped his hands.

I released the clutch and twisted the throttle to its limit. After shifting through three gears, I was fifteen feet ahead of Otis and traveling 80 miles per hour. As I slowed down to enter the highway, I began to wonder if Otis
allowed
me to win, or if I did so because my bike was truly faster.

Either way, it was exactly what I needed when I needed it.

SYDNEY

Every time I had moved into a new home or apartment, I felt out of place for a period of time; almost like an imposter. Waking up and realizing I was in an unfamiliar place made me feel uneasy. Dishes in a different cupboard, the dresser in an odd location, or a new route home from work acted as a reminder I was in a new location. The uneasy feeling lingered for various lengths of time, but inevitably a day would come when I felt like it was truly
my
home, and I belonged there.

Today was that day.

“No, I don’t ride, but I’m going to take the course and learn,” she responded.

“Some more tea?” I asked as I stood.

“Sure,” she responded as she lifted her glass.

I carried our glasses to the kitchen and filled them with ice and tea. Avery had been visiting for almost an hour, and as much as I disliked females, I couldn’t help but like her. She was a no nonsense woman, and seemed to have no issues whatsoever with speaking her mind. After meeting in the restaurant, she explained she was the Ol’ Lady of the President of the Selected Sinners. Discussions of my brother being a biker followed, and I later shared with her how I was renting a house from Toad. We immediately hit it off, and I invited her to come over, talk, and get to know each other better.

“Here you go,” I said as I slid the glass of tea across the table and sat down.

“I really like that, you made it?” she asked as she tilted her head toward the chalkboard.

“I sure did. I got an old window, painted it with chalkboard paint, and just scribbled on it,” I responded.

“Well, I like it. You’ve got talent. And you know, a friend who doesn’t judge is like an impossibility to find,” she sighed.

“They’re rare, that’s for sure,” I grinned.

“You know, I had this friend, Sloan. Well, I guess I still have her. We went to college together. We were best friends. And when I started seeing Axton, she became kind of jealous. She started hitting on him, and walking around the house half naked hoping he’d come over. When he and I started seeing each other seriously, she became
more
jealous. Then, it was almost like she became obsessed with finding a Sinner to fuck just to compete with me. I guess it’s not really judging, but jealousy. You ought to make another that says
happiness is a friend who doesn’t get jealous
,” she giggled.

I nodded my head as I took a drink. As I swallowed the tea and placed the glass on the table, I shook my head slightly, “
That
is why I don’t have many female friends.”

“I’m not big on people who are dishonest; male or female. And jealousy seems like dishonesty to me. It just causes people to act differently, and sooner or later, someone is doing something shady,” she said.

“I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. So did your friend, Sloan, ever find her Sinner,” I asked.

“No, not really. She hung around Toad for a while, but she irritated him, so he told her to kick rocks,” she said.

Strangely, the thought of Avery’s friend being with Toad made me feel uneasy. In some respects, I suppose I felt jealous, no differently than what she and I had been discussing. I had no right to feel the way I did, but I felt it nonetheless. After a short pause to collect my feelings and come to terms with the fact I may be more attracted to Toad than I wanted to admit, I smiled and spoke.

“
Kick rocks
. My brother says that a lot in the letters he writes me. I don’t know if it’s a prison saying or a biker saying, but he sure says it a lot,” I nodded.

“I picked it up from these guys. Did your brother do time?” she asked.

“Doing time now and forever, he’s doing life,” I said flatly.

“Life? Oh wow. I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay. It’s just kind of frustrating. If he actually did something, I’d probably accept it more. He was in a club, like I told you earlier, and there was this ATF agent,” I paused and reached for my tea.

As I twisted my tea glass in a circle, I continued, “This ATF agent infiltrated the club. He acted like a biker, grew a two foot long beard, shaved his head, got tattoos, and really looked the part. He started hanging around, and then became a Prospect. After he was patched into the club, he began asking about a rival club and what they’d do if they encountered anyone from the other club in their territory. This went on for two years. One night in a bar, after he was half drunk, my brother said he would kill them if he saw them. The sad thing is my brother didn’t
offer
to kill them; he was kind of
coerced
to say it. The ATF agent kept asking him
would you kill them, would you kill them, would you kill them?
”

“Eventually, my brother said
yes
.”

She sat up in her seat and pushed her tea aside, “Holy crap. They set his ass up. Like a reverse sting.”

“Exactly,” I sighed.

It was always nice to have someone share my opinion about my brother’s lack of involvement in the
crime
he committed. It acted as confirmation he didn’t deserve the punishment he received, and provided me reassurance I didn’t feel the way I felt simply because he was my brother. Later, it always seemed to make me feel a little more saddened by the fact what happened
actually happened
.

Avery’s eyes filled with excitement, “Sounds like a classic case of entrapment to me. I don’t know how RICO plays in with entrapment, I’ll have to look. I hate to ask, but I kind of have to, did your brother ever kill anyone before this ATF agent approached him?”

“No, you might have misunderstood. He didn’t kill anyone. Not before, during, or after. He’s never killed anyone,” I explained as I stared at the ring of moisture my glass was leaving on the table.

“As far as you know, had the club ever been to trial at any other point in time for murder or conspiracy to commit?” she asked excitedly.

I looked up from my glass of tea, “You sound like an attorney. And I don’t know if they had ever been in that kind of trouble before, why?”

She quickly stood from her chair and raised her hands to her face. As she rubbed her temples and stared toward the chalkboard, I began to wonder why she was asking all of the questions. After a long silence, she looked down and spoke.

“Sorry, no I’m not an attorney. I majored in Criminal Justice, love law, hate cops, and now work for an attorney who specializes in Federal Appeals. I was trying to think of a case we studied in college. It was an entrapment case. I can’t think of it now, but it starts with an S. Fucking hell,” she said as she began to pace the floor.

Sometimes it took me a minute to realize exactly what Avery had said. She talked a hundred miles an hour, and often it seemed I had to wait a moment and really think of what she was saying after she was done saying it. It was pretty obvious she was intelligent and her mind worked as fast as she spoke.

I stood from my chair, “So what’s the case say, whatever it is?”

“Well, the
law
says this. The defendant, your brother in this case, must be predisposed to commit the crime charged in the indictment prior to being approached by government agents,” she blurted.

“Okay, what does that mean?” I asked.

As she continued to pace the floor, she responded, “Okay, listen carefully. If I was an ATF agent, and I wanted to arrest a killer without having him actually kill someone, I’d have to do it in
this order
. First, prove he was a killer. Second, approach him. Third, get him to admit he was planning to kill again. If the first step isn’t met, and it must be met
first
, the law says the ATF agent can never approach the man. Entrapment is against the law. And, entrapment is when a government agent coerces or induces a person who otherwise lacked the predisposition to commit the crime to commit a crime. So, if he hadn’t killed anyone before or wasn’t advertising the fact he wanted to, they couldn’t as a matter of law ever approach him.”

“I think I’m still lost,” I admitted.

“Okay, how about
this
. It’s against the law for the ATF to ask your brother if he wanted to kill someone if they can’t prove he was
already
a killer, and they knew that fact before they ever walked up to him and said
hi
,” she blurted.

“Oh wow. Really?” I asked

“Really,” she immediately responded.

“Did he appeal the conviction?” she asked.

I shook my head, “No.”

“Did his attorney mention entrapment or try to introduce it as a defense?” she asked.

“No,” I responded.

“You sure?” she asked as she raised her hands to her mouth.

“Positive, I sat through the entire trial,” I responded.

“Did he have a public defender? A free attorney provided by the government?” she asked.

I nodded my head, “Yes, he sure did. I hate to say it, but the guy was a lazy fat prick.”

“Fuck yes! Might be an Ineffective Assistance of Counsel claim right there. It’s enough to get our foot in the door, anyway,” she shouted.

“I really hate to get my hopes up. He can’t afford an attorney, and I know I can’t either,” I shrugged.

She stopped pacing and turned to face me, “I’ll talk to my boss. He may take the case for the exposure alone. If he won’t, fuck it. I’ll do this motherfucker myself.”

“But you said you weren’t an attorney,” I said.

“I’m not. But if we have to we’ll file the shit
pro se
. One way or another, we’ll get something filed and see if we can get a new trial,” she said as she clapped her hands.

“So you could actually do this yourself?” I asked.

She nodded her head, “Hell, anyone
can
do it, but you don’t want some dumb ass doing it. It has to be someone who knows their shit. It’s called
pro se
. It’s Latin, it means
on one’s own behalf.
Because you only get one shot, and you must reference
good law
in your legal motions, you don’t want to make a mistake.”

“Sounds complicated and time consuming,” I said.

“It is, and it’s right up my alley. I’ll get copies of all of the court records and start reading as soon as I get them. I’ll keep you posted on what I find. I’ll need his name and the case number if possible,” she said as she walked toward me.

“I’ll get it all gathered up and let you know. Now that I’ve finally got a phone, I can do things like that,” I grinned.

As she opened her arms and stood in front of me, I was surprised. I barely knew her, and she was offering to do something like this. I doubted it would really make any kind of a difference, but it sure seemed like she was going to try. Hugging an almost stranger seemed awkward, but considering the circumstances, I opened my arms and embraced her.

“Okay, I’m going to go get started reviewing law,” she said as she released me.

“It’s ten o’clock at night,” I chuckled.

“I’ve got inferiority issues. I need to do shit like this to prove to myself that I’m not worthless,” she responded.

Avery’s visit made me feel great. She was genuine, intelligent, full of energy, absolutely gorgeous, and not a typical female. It was almost as if she was a man trapped in the body of a woman. So far she was proving herself to be a great person, and if things continued the way they were, I could see myself becoming very good friends with her.

“You’re not worthless,” I smiled.

“We’re about to find out,” she responded as she walked to the door.

I held my hand to my chest and grinned, “I already have. I enjoyed this. Thanks for coming over.”

“Well, my man’s out of town, and I need something to do anyway. Maybe I’ll see you again tomorrow,” she said.

“I’d like that,” I smiled.

After she drove away, I closed the door and turned toward the table. The chalkboard on the wall behind the table was becoming more applicable as the days passed. For Avery to volunteer to do what she was going to do without knowing me, my brother, or the Hell’s Fury club, she was truly a person who didn’t judge.

I picked up the glasses of tea, dumped them in the sink, and got ready for bed. As I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I realized since the day I met Toad, my life had slowly began to fall into place. The silly chalkboard I had made could really be applied to all of the people I had met through Toad.

Biscuit and Otis were both willing to hand me money upon learning of my being homeless. Toad, without a doubt was nonjudgmental. Junior, his mother, and Avery were the same. Still staring at the ceiling, I closed my eyes and did something I hadn’t done since I was a very small girl.

Thank you, Lord, for introducing me to my new friends. Please keep them from harm. In your name I ask these things, amen.