Restricted MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 14) Read online

  Finally, they sent the sweating fat man, full of chicken-bacon ranch sandwiches, sodas, and chocolate chip cookies on his way and back to prison. His attorney had been unable to eat a thing.

  Wraith was still there, watching. Gregory was long gone. “Are you satisfied?” asked Frenchie, in a low voice.

  “No,” said Wraith. “I want a favor.”

  “If I can, I will,” said Frenchie.

  “I want to see him. Not now, not in six months, in a year or more. I want to see him after he’s been in supermax that long. I want to see the fat melt off his bones and his skin gray and his jumpy, sweating face. I want to see him beg for something, anything, he can do to get out. Then, I want to watch him go back into his cage.”

  “Harsh, but doable,” said Frenchie. “Maybe on film, if not in person. I can definitely visit.” She tapped the folders in her hands. “Death penalty, remember.”

  “I’ll remember,” said Wraith. “But, his death doesn’t interest me. I’ll think of him only once, after today, and that’s when I see film of him a year from now.”

  “Wraith,” said Frenchie. “I doubt he’ll last a year. They don’t like terrorists in supermax.”

  At the arraignment, a minor flunky of David Marks-Powers, Stefanie Warren, stood with him as he plead guilty to entire rafts of charges in local court. Then, he was whisked off to federal court, with a much longer list of charges for Chalke to plead guilty, with the same flunky defending him.

  When Chalke was brought out the back door, there were twelve High Desert operatives in their High Desert Security and Protection windbreakers in a line on either end of Gregory. Katya, Elena, and babies in Katya and Gregory’s arms. Henry stood with David, Chayton, Nantan, and a furious Inola. The ex-soldiers lined the walkway, along with the New York Valkyries. Wraith was at the very end with a smoldering Sigrun. Each biker turned their backs, and showed their Nighthawks or Valkyries logos. Chalke finally grasped that he had people attack motorcycle clubs. They were very, very angry. He began to realize that he had set something in motion he had no ability to stop or mitigate, even with access to money. His prestige and money were both gone, and now he had motorcycle clubs angry with him.

  Wraith, at the end, near the agents holding open the door to the van, nodded once. “Federal court,” she said, and turned her back.

  The special agents got the chained man onto the bus. Chalke looked back at the sea of black, and cringed. The door closed, and they all kept their backs to the van as he was driven away to federal prison. Homeland had gotten involved, and Chalke had to plead to charges of domestic terrorism in a special closed court session. Chalke was going to spend quality time with Homeland talking about his search for, and the hiring of terrorists, with many hours spent in little rooms.

  The Nighthawks and Valkyries all got on their bikes or in their cars and rode away. Gregory took his family out to lunch, and Wraith put her mic back on and started directing her operatives. The operatives got on bikes and into SUVs, and vanished. Wraith got on her bike, rode out, and didn’t look back. She reminded herself of her promise to never think of that dickless, fat man ever again.

  Reunion

  Vetta slid into the seat, her arms aching from putting him on his booster seat. It wasn’t the ache from the beginning of her rehab, where everything ached —the bottom of her feet, her gut, her eyeballs, even her hair. It all hurt. When Sheriff Xenia came to see her about doing the work to get her kid back, she was kind, gentle. No disapproving looks, no trying to “help.” No churchy crap, either, like at the meetings. But her sponsor was cool, a cook over at one of the hotels, a wide woman who always wore a battered Dodgers cap to meetings and loved to laugh. Gina was wide, and friendly, and wouldn’t take “I don’t want a sponsor” for an answer. Gina had told her, “Forget the God crap. Use the group as your higher power. G-O-D. Group of Drunks.”

  “Okay,” said Vetta. “I just want my boy back. They say I gotta be sober for six months just to do much more than visit Chad.”

  Gina laughed. “You get sober one minute at a time, girl,” she said. “But, you’re not alone, and you never have to drink again.”

  At first, Vetta thought Gina was lying about this sober crap. She thought for sure she’d walk out of the rehab, and somehow mess up getting her kid. But Gina picked her up in that giant white Lincoln of hers, and drove her and a few other girls to meetings, and drove them back. Gina kept them laughing, and cried with them. One by one, Penny, Rose, and Sharmaine left. None stayed sober more than a week. Sharmaine had two kids. Penny had a sick mother. Rose had a loving husband on the verge of leaving. Vetta got a ringside seat to watch each of them lose everything in less than three months.

  Gina kept her sober, kept her sane. Let her cry, scream, rage. Told Vetta to sit on her hands and let the emotional storms rage by, to wait them out, and she would survive them.

  Sheriff Xenia checked on Chad, and got him away from that horrible woman who “forgot” to take Chad to see his mother, and told her little boy his mama didn’t want to see him. Sheriff Xenia told Vetta to sit tight, that she only had three more months, and not to rage at the caseworker about Chad.

  “Take it easy, don’t look like a lunatic,” said Xenia. “I’ll check on him myself.”

  Then Sheriff Xenia took in Chad, and went to every visit, and Vetta got to eat lunch with her son. She took him to parks and walking trails, and a water park once. Xenia brought a bathing suit for Vetta, kind of a shirt and shorts, and bathing shorts for Chad, and a ton of sunblock. Chad laughed, really laughed, the first belly laugh Vetta had heard since her son was taken away from her.

  And, something in Vetta broke. No, she couldn’t drink, or smoke pot. Or meth. Or get into trouble. Or date. Her sponsor said no dating for one year, because that’s when you knew your new self well enough to know what you wanted. Vetta held onto Chad’s belly laugh. Once, at a restaurant, a guy walked by with a beer, and Vetta went white. She grabbed Sheriff Xenia’s hand and said, “Please stop me.” Chad was snarfing down a chocolate shake, and didn’t notice.

  Xenia pointed with her other hand at Chad, and said, “Reason number one.” Vetta nodded.

  When she turned in her application to work at Tallee’s place, she was shocked and stunned to get the job. She applied for anything —cashier, host, server, cook. Tallee trained her as a fry cook. Kema trained her as a busser, then a server. They even let her take money and put it in the till, and make change. And, since Vetta had gotten into the program from writing bad checks, she was honored.

  And they gave her an apartment! She had to work five days a week for a total of eight hours a day, six actually working, and if so, she got all three meals for both her and Chad, and a free apartment! She got a little spending money too, because she got to keep the tips.

  She got used to the farmers, the ones who ate the same breakfast every day, discussed weather and crops, and livestock. The cops, eating before, during, or after their shifts, tired of driving all over the county, and making jokes with the farmers. The parents with kids, feeding their kids breakfast before work and school, or feeding them sundaes in exchange for doing homework at the “homework table” with Dee and Chad, or dinners. The old folks, getting out of the house.

  Gina picked her up, and gladly took her to meetings when Chad was in preschool. If she missed one of the ten o’clock meetings, between breakfast and the lunch rush, Chad would stay with Dee when Vetta went to her meetings. And, of course, the meeting after the meeting. After the meeting, they would all go to the diner, and Kema would rush over to serve them, and would let Vetta sit there, laughing at the ridiculous stories the women told. Stories of a woman who sold Avon out of her trunk for years, and ended up paying her own way through college. A woman who wrote sexy poetry that ended up catching on, and she moved to an even smaller town in the desert to write, but still drove to the meetings every day. A woman who said, “I wasn’t officially a prostitute. I just slept around for drinks. Wish I’d paid the rent!” The la
ughter was real, full-bellied. Vetta drank in their laughter and love like water falling on desert dust.

  Kema would let her sit and laugh, and cry, until she’d signal that things were getting too busy. Then, she would run back to help Tallee cook, or help Kema wait on tables, bus tables, bring out waters and sodas, and generally help out. The ladies would hug her on the way out, and slip money into her pocket. Twice she found ten-dollar bills in there.

  The caseworker, an angry, sullen woman named Dani Peller, came to see Vetta at the apartment. She whined over the spiral staircase until Sheriff Xenia, standing at the bottom of the steps, said, “Harder to fall down. Easy to catch yourself, especially for a little boy.”

  Peller had Xenia at her elbow at nearly every meeting. Finally, she said, “Why are you always here, Sheriff?”

  “Because the last home you put her son in, she ended up being arrested for abusing one child, and didn’t take the boy to his appointments on the other. She also told Chad that Vetta was a whore and a drug user who didn’t want to see him, and refused to mail letters to her or pass them on through you.” Sheriff Xenia smiled up at Peller, but her eyes didn’t have a smile. “She’s clean and sober, going to meetings every single day. Her son is doing very well, and now both of them are covered for health insurance.”

  Peller glared down at Sheriff Xenia. “I know all that,” she said in an exasperated tone.

  “Do you like Chad’s car bed?” asked Sheriff Xenia. “He loves to read there at night.” Peller glared again, but went up to see the bed, and the shelves full of books.

  There were cars on the shelves, a little orange car highway on a special table complete with pit stops. There was a special table for him that had sand on one side and water on the other for him to play. There was a small tilted table and chair on the other side of the room in blue plastic, for reading, writing, and a clip for drawing, with pencils and crayons in special trays within the table. Clothes were in plastic boxes in the closet that Chad could access himself, labeled by article —T-shirts, shorts, jeans, pants, long-sleeved shirts, underwear, socks.

  “Adequate,” said Peller.

  Sheriff Xenia snapped photos, and sent them to Peller’s email address. “Safe, and encouraging both study and play,” Sheriff Xenia replied.

  Peller attempted to be obstructionist, but Sheriff Xenia literally stopped by her office and spoke to her supervisor, wrote letters, and pushed for a court date. Finally, Peller was forced to recommend closing the case, and the court ruled in Vetta’s favor. Sheriff Xenia was there, and Tallee, Kema, and their little girl, Dee.

  Vetta was stunned. She got her boy back, and so many people were there to help. She cried, then stopped for fear she’d scare Chad. They went back for the party at the diner. Sheriff Bob was there, with the baby Diana, who cried rather loudly whenever she wasn’t being held by her parents. The farmers, the old folks (including the ladies in the purple hats), the cops, and all the ten o’clock meeting members were there. Dee and Chad shared a burger and fries, and a sundae, in the middle of the huge C-shaped table. Vetta sat inside the C, across from her son.

  The sheriffs (Bob and Xenia) traded their wailing child. Diana had a mind of her own, and she wasn’t at home, and she didn’t like it. Gina got Diana in her arms, and stared into Diana’s eyes. “Hush your fussing, girl,” she said. Diana stared into Gina’s big brown eyes, and shut her wailing mouth. “That’s a girl,” said Gina. She bobbled Diana in her arms, and Diana let out a loud burp, then stared around her.

  “Gina, how did you do that?” asked Xenia. “Show me how!”

  Gina laughed. “Gotta tell her a certain word, one she’ll learn pretty soon anyway.”

  “No,” said Dee, grinning. “Mama said that was my only word for a year.”

  Kema laughed, and circled the table with coffee. “True.”

  Tallee let out a belly laugh as she spooned caramel-pecan apple pie crumble into bowls, and slid on the little scoops of caramel ice cream. “It’s true,” she said, and passed the bowls out to the mix of cops, farmers, truckers, and old folks at the counter. “I expected her to stand up for herself, and she did. Just like her mama.”

  “I’m better now,” said Dee, with a toss of the braids on the side of her head. Everybody laughed.

  “How you doing?” asked Sheriff Xenia. “I hear your cousins were delayed coming back.”

  “Yeah,” said Dee. “Their friends keep waking up with nightmares. So everyone’s walking around zombie-like. Alvitr and Freya are scared they’re going to have injuries. They’ve got counselors in there helping them.”

  “Guys who did it are in prison,” said Sheriff Xenia.

  “Or dead,” said Dee.

  “Or dead,” agreed Sheriff Bob.

  “What?” asked Chad.

  “Crazy people,” said Dee, reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it.” She ate one of the cherries on top.

  Tallee passed out bowls of the caramel-pecan apple crumble with its caramel ice cream. “Odin’s horn,” said Xenia. “This is incredible.”

  “It is,” said Bob.

  “I want to take a bath in it,” said Sheriff Xenia.

  Kema laughed. “My mama makes the best apple crumble ever.”

  “Gramma does,” said Dee. “She rocks.”

  “She does,” said Sheriff Xenia. “Your mom and your gramma rock.”

  “They rock,” said Dee, snapping her fingers. Chad joined in, and they chanted. The adults laughed.

  The ladies held back on their salty knowledge, keeping it kid-friendly, while still making everybody laugh. The kids ended up at the Homework Table, where they played a spirited game of Splendor, a board game. The woman switched to salty, making the adults double over from laughter. Sheriffs Xenia and Bob told funny cop stories, making the other cops come over and join in. They all went back out, the cops with to-go cups of coffee, the sheriffs with cups of chocolate shakes and a sleeping Diana attached to Sheriff Xenia’s body.

  The ladies left, laughing, to Gina’s boat of a car. They had a terrified newcomer with them named Donna, and she needed to go back to rehab. Donna had two kids, and Vetta’s success interested her.

  Vetta took a sleepy Chad home, who insisted he wasn’t sleepy. They stopped short at a man opening the back door. He had a little girl attached to his back and a fat bag at his feet. He was tall, and stooped over to let the girl sleep on his head. He had brown skin and brown eyes, and a sleepy smile.

  “Hey,” said Vetta. “Need help?”

  “Think I can get my door open. You must be Vetta. I’m Frank.”

  “The doctor,” said Vetta.

  He laughed. “Physician’s assistant. Can’t study for twelve years and miss my daughter’s life.” He got the door open. “The monkey on my back is Anika. She’s five.”

  “I’m five too,” said Chad, swaying on his feet. “I’m not sleepy,” he said.

  “We’ll read some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” promised Vetta. She turned to Frank. “Goodnight,” she said.

  “Goodnight,” he said. “And Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are cool.”

  “Donatello is my favorite,” said Chad.

  “Mine too,” said Frank. Vetta herded Chad in, and Chad said “Goodnight!”

  “Night, buddy,” said Frank. Both parents shut their doors.

  One book later, Chad slept. Vetta looked up the physician’s assistant thing. She had two years of community college, before drinking her way through school and a sudden pregnancy at twenty years of age. She looked up the community college. She could get back in; her grades had been good until the end. She found out she could get a nursing degree and be a nurse within two years, or an x-ray or ultrasound technician.

  She called Gina, and Gina said, “Even in tough times, people still get sick. So, go for it, girlfriend! Make you a plan. Write it out. I wanna see it at the next meeting.”

  “I don’t make enough,” said Vetta.

  “Well, see if you can get a scholarship, or ask for more money
, or join the damn army,” said Gina. “The only one in your damn way is you.”

  Gina fell asleep with the phone in her hand, researching schools, and was cranky the next day because of it. She got Chad off to school, then wrote out a plan between serving the first breakfast rush —farmers and truckers, and the second breakfast rush. She showed it to Kema. She thought Kema would be upset, but Kema was super excited.

  “That’s great, girlfriend!” she said. “You work your way up to full-time waitress, then you can earn enough. You’ll see. Plus you’re a single mom; maybe you can get a scholarship.”

  “Call the college and talk to an advisor on your break,” recommended Tallee. “Get you an ultrasound or x-ray degree in no time flat.”

  “I always thought I was stupid,” said Vetta. “Look at my life.”

  Kema pointed at Vetta. “One, go clean off that stinking thinking. Two, what’s them women always saying? Don’t ‘should’ on yourself? You got a beautiful boy outta it, like I got my Dee. Now, figure out how to support your son. I own this joint with my mama. A little hard work never hurt anyone. Figure it out!”

  So, Vetta cleaned the table, and all the other ones, and pocketed tips, helped make hash browns and fried eggs, and went to her meeting. She delivered her presentation to Gina. “I barely got a hundred dollars in the bank, and the spin-dry wasn’t cheap. Neither was the halfway house.”

  “Scholarships,” said Gina.

  “Grants,” said Becky Sue.

  “Get a job slinging steaks,” said Becca.