Jerry Langton Three-Book Biker Bundle (19 page)

The bikers from the Black Knights had never seen anything back in New Aberdeen like the spread Mehelnechuk had put together at Johnny Reb's. Not only was there a free bar, a huge buffet, and a live band, but there must have been three dozen strippers. Stan Bly, president of the Black Knights, had told his men that the Sons of Satan were the “Big Time,” and now they all believed it.

Mehelnechuk was shaking hands and making small talk when Johansson rushed into the bar. Obviously drunk, Johansson walked up to Bly, mumbled something about money he owed him from back in Stormy Bay and punched him in the face. Bly flew back about ten feet. Mehelnechuk rushed to the scene and grabbed Johansson. The big man was about to shake him off until he realized who it was. His eyes met Mehelnechuk's and he fled.

Mehelnechuk spent the rest of the night trying to repair the Sons of Satan's relationship with Bly and the Black Knights. After a while and a lot of drinks, it was cool; they all started drinking and having a good time again. It all stopped at two-thirty in the morning when one of the Black Knights found Bly's cold body outside Johnny Reb's front door.

Just as all the Black Knights were coming towards Mehelnechuk looking for answers, one of his prospects yelled at him. Mehelnechuk couldn't make out what he said, but screamed “not now!” at him. But the prospect was adamant. “Ivan, Ivan!” he shouted. “Marvin's just been arrested for murder.”

A couple of days after she'd left, Kelli came home. She looked awful—her hair was a mess, her makeup smeared, and her face puffy. She was wearing some of Mallory's clothes and had that snickery look and stumbling gait of someone who wasn't quite high, but wasn't quite sober either. Even though she had a key, she rang the doorbell.

“Where've you been?” shouted Ned as he opened the door. He was still in a great deal of pain from the beating he'd gotten from the Lawbreakers. And he was pissed they'd stolen his gun—the one André had bought him—and almost seven thousand in cash. He was even more pissed off to see that Kelli had brought Mallory, Connie, and Patsy in tow.

“Just partyin', Nedley,” Kelli explained. “Just having a good time. It's not like I have anything else to do around here anyway.” The other women joined in her laughter as they sat heavily upon the couches. Kelli got up to get them drinks.

Although he knew he should say or do something, Ned was just too sore to get into it. Instead, he slunk away to the bedroom.

“You might wanna stay up,” Patsy yelled after him. “Leo's coming over in a few minutes.”

Mehelnechuk wore his best Armani suit as he accompanied Phil, Marvin Bouchard's lawyer, into jail. He knew that the only way to talk to Bouchard without anyone listening was to discuss it in front of a lawyer and claim attorney-client privilege. He had never met Bouchard's lawyer before, but he knew anyone who'd represent such a miserable fuck must know how to play ball.

There was some media presence outside the jail, but nobody took his picture. Mehelnechuk, careful to keep only the right side of his face toward the media, blended in with the other lawyers making their way in and out of the jail. To them, he was just a short-haired, clean-shaven white guy in a nice suit, not what they expected a criminal to look like. While the security guards did pat him down, Mehelnechuk was not required to show any identification, so he signed in as “Hugh G. Rection.”

Inside, he saw Bouchard relaxing with a bunch of other prisoners waiting for their visitors. The moment he saw Mehelnechuk, Bouchard straightened up. Three guards took him into an interview room so he could speak with his lawyers in private. Bouchard and Mehelnechuk sat across the tattered old desk from one another. The lawyer sat on a couch behind them. Mehelnechuk stared at Bouchard for a long time before calmly asking: “Do you realize what a fuck-up you are?”

“Look, Ivan, you left me in charge of Martinsville . . .”

“Yeah, but I did not give you permission to risk everything I have spent years building up,” Mehelnechuk's voice sounded threatening. “Why do you constantly have to be in the public eye—I read about you in newspapers, I see you on TV, every time I look around there's a picture of your stupid shit-eating grin.”

“But that was the plan; everyone sees me so they don't see you.”

“I know what you were trying to do,” Mehelnechuk scolded. “But you pushed it too far. I wanted you to be well known among our people, not Public Enemy No. 1—you got that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I took a look at your lawyer's notes and they actually don't have shit against you. Thank Christ you followed procedure. You're only here by reputation, so you'll get off on lack of evidence before there's even a trial if your lawyer is any good.”

“I'm the best defense att . . .”

“Didn't ask you,” Mehelnechuk snapped. “Anyway, we gotta take care of this mess.”

“Yeah.”

“So who was the triggerman—who actually shot Vanden Boom?”

“Stinky.”

“Holy shit, I never realized he had it in him.”

“Yeah, wanted to earn his stripe.”

“Earned more than that, my friend,” Mehelnechuk chuckled. “And who did he report to?”

“Shithead.”

“Shithead Ingram? That fuckin' drunk? It's amazing they pulled it off at all.”

“Yeah,” Bouchard started laughing.

“Well, you know the drill—try to keep your fuckin' mouth shut for a change and we can get you outta this,” Mehelnechuk said. “But you are gonna owe me big-time again, brother.”

“Understood.”

Ned was relieved to hear Leo was on his way. He hoped that, with his help, he could get the still-partying women under control.

He emerged from the bedroom when he heard Leo arrive and was surprised by what he saw. Leo looked like a bum; he was unshaven, unwashed, and smelled terrible. He looked nervous and out of balance. And he kept scratching himself all over.

“What the fuck happened to you?” asked Ned.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was jumped by some fuckin' Lawbreakers while you were out partying with these whores.”

“We're not whores; we're strippers,” Patsy said. “Oh wait, I
am
a whore.” All the women laughed.

When Leo joined in, Ned couldn't take it anymore. “Get the fuck out! All of you, get the fuck out!”

Leo gathered up the women and led them out. “Come on girls,” he said. “I know when I'm not wanted.”

“Not wanted? I threw you the fuck out.”

Kelli stopped at the door and looked beseechingly at Ned.

“Me too?”

“Maybe just for a day or two.”

Mario DeVolo sat at the head of a long table with a TV behind him. Assembled at the table were a number of other Martinsville bar owners and other drug distributors. Behind them, up against the walls, were what remained of the Martinsville Lawbreakers and a few other non-aligned or disillusioned drug dealers.

Satisfied they were all paying attention, DeVolo replayed a part of that night's news. It was biker expert Jake Levine expounding on the new landcape in Martinsville. “With Bouchard now effectively out of picture, the Martinsville Sons of Satan are basically powerless,” he said. “He was not just their president, but essentially their heart and their soul—without him, there will be an organized crime power vacuum in Martinsville.”

After he shut it off, DeVolo stood up and started walking around the room, doing his best imitation of Robert DeNiro as Al Capone. “You hear that? The big man is down and the Sons are on their knees,” he said. “Those bastards who have been overcharging us and cutting off any alternatives no longer have the power—they have nothing.”

Applause filled the room. “They are on their knees and now is the time for us to take control of our own destinies,” he continued. “We can get product at the price we want, from whoever we want, and charge whatever the hell we want.”

More applause. “What I am suggesting, gentlemen, is that we form our own alliance—secret at first,” he said. “I am offering you all an opportunity to join a new organization, an organization of strength and freedom.”

The response was unanimous. After about two hours of negotiation, a new organized crime entity—the High Rollers—was formed. Their objective was not just to make make money, but to retake much of the territory the Sons of Satan had taken. And, if necessary, eventually eliminate them.

As soon as they got back to Leo and Patsy's place, June passed out on the living room couch. Connie wanted to stay, but began to sense that it was getting too weird between Leo and Patsy, so she left for Steve's. She convinced Kelli, who was babbling and giggling, to come with her by telling her that Steve just got a new hot tub and they should try it out. The rain had stopped so they decided to walk.

And it did get weird between Leo and Patsy. All night, he had been accusing her of conspiring with an old boyfriend—a Lawbreaker—to kill him. At first he was subtle, joking around; by the time they'd gotten home, he was shouting at her. “I know you two are trying to get rid of me,” he said.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she snapped back.

“Then why did you buy the coke from him . . . and why haven't
you
had any?”

“First of all, I didn't buy the coke from him. I bought it from Amanda at the Strip, she probably got it from Steve.”

“Don't lie to me. It's bad coke. It's fuckin' poison and you know it. I can feel it—it's makin' me crazy. If it's so fuckin' good, why don't you have some?”

“I haven't had any of this coke because you and I have been doing coke non-stop for about a week. I need a fuckin' rest from it.”