Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(97)

"You're right, Samantha. You deserve to know what that was all about,"  he said, glancing at my mother, who gave him an encouraging look.

"Come," he said, gesturing to the living room. We filed in and sat down,  Mom and Dad on the couch, me on the loveseat facing them. I twiddled my  fingers in my lap. I wanted to hear, I didn't want to hear.

It didn't matter what I wanted anymore.

"Ten years ago … geeze, Samantha, you were eight. Ten years. How did … " Dad  got a glassy look in his eyes, his sentence trailing off. Mom coughed,  bringing him back on track. I knew that part of it was for show, just  Dad stalling telling me the story. Dad sighed.

"Ten years ago, I was a police officer, just a regular cop. There was a  fellow on the force with me, named Giordino. Danny Giordino. He was a  good guy. We never talked much, weren't close, but you know. Cops are  family. He bought rounds at the bar. He had a wife, no kids. Young, same  age as me. A whole world in front of him … "

Dad seemed to get lost in the story again, in his memories.

"He coulda been Sheriff, I guess," he finally said after a long moment.  Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought, he continued in a  no-nonsense tone.

"We had some trouble back then with a group of bikers who'd rented out  one of the hotels. Bad guys. This was in the 90's, and there were all  sorts of ATM scams, still are, but worse back then before we had the  technology to stop some of them. These guys were stealing money left and  right, credit card fraud, identity theft. Plus, they had something  going on with a couple local dealers, slinging heroin.

Samantha, this was serious business. Serious, serious business. We  waited for months to dig up enough dirt on them to put the leader away,  if not the whole horde. But, you know, things just moved slowly. Trying  to gather evidence, trying to make a case that would stick. These guys  were as smart as they were bad.

But we got them, finally. We had enough to make it stick. We got  re-enforcements to come up from Billings, got ready to swarm the hotel,  take ‘em all down. But when we got there …

I don't know how they left without anyone noticing. I mean, those bikes  make a lot of noise, you'd think someone would have noticed. But no one  did … the hotel was empty, Samantha. They'd cleared out. The only thing  left? Two bodies. Dead bodies. One of them was one of their chicks, a  worn-out looking gal, couldn't have been much older than you. Poor thing  was probably doomed from birth. Worst case of meth mouth I've ever  seen.

And the other body was Danny Giordino. He was … I'll just, I'll never  forget it. It's one of those moments as a cop when you realize how … how  dangerous it all is. You were so young, Samantha, and I saw that body,  and I thought, what if I never see my little girl grow up?" Dad was  welling up now; I felt like my heart was breaking.

Have you ever seen your father cry? It's something most people would be a  lot better off never seeing, I'd wager. I felt my own eyes filling with  tears, saw my mother's head hanging low, as we sat in silence.

"Two bodies. One cop, one woman. We couldn't tell, from the way the  bodies were splayed out, who'd shot who. We knew she didn't shoot him.  He might have shot her. We didn't know. We didn't know how he'd gotten  there, either. He wasn't on a call. He was a good cop, though. And I  think …

Well, I'll tell you what I think. I think he went there to try and save  that little boy. See, the woman, she was shacked up with the leader of  the group. Their president, so to speak. Tank Culver," Dad said, his  eyes now growing cold. The name shook me. I knew that was Boon's father.  I didn't need Dad to finish the story; I had all the pieces now, could  figure it out for myself. But I wanted to hear him tell it. Tell me.  Make it make sense.

"Real name John Culver. Biker name Tank. He and this woman had a son.  That young man," Dad said, his tone growing darker with each word. "That  young man you've been … fraternizing with. I recognized him. He couldn't  have been more than 12 at the time, but I recognized him. After  Giordino, I studied all our surveillance for days. I couldn't get it out  of my head. I think Giordino went there to try and get her and the kid  out before the place got raided. So they wouldn't have to see … "

Dad trailed off. We sat in silence, the ticking clock the only noise. Finally, he sighed again.

"I know it's not his fault, what happened to Giordino. I know that,  Samantha. But he's bad news. Boys like that, they grow up bad, and they  only get worse. If he's got half the piss and vinegar in his blood that  his dad had … I think that's who did it, by the way. I'm pretty sure, it  was John Culver. Who else? That boy's no good. I don't want him in my  city, I don't want him in my block, I don't want him near my daughter,"  Dad said, finishing with a stare that turned my blood to ice.         

     



 

I sat, turning the story around and around in my brain. I imagined Boon  as a young boy, a pre-teen, on the back of his father's bike, fleeing  the scene of the crime. I imagined two bodies, pools of blood. I  imagined my father standing over a dead cop. I imagined flashbulbs  taking pictures. I imagined a woman.

"How awful," I finally managed to squeak out. Mom nodded gravely.

"Your father has his reasons, Samantha."

"I'm sorry I scared you, baby. I am. I … I lost my cool. I just saw his  face and it all came swimming back. All that blood … and me with a little  girl at home and … I just, I lost it. I know, I went about it the wrong  way. That was wrong of me. But I need you to understand … "

"I do, Daddy. I understand. I … get it. But … but what if he's not like his  dad? What if he's different?" I regretted the questions as soon as they  left my mouth. Dad's face grew cold again.

"I don't want you to take that risk, Samantha. Now, you know my side, I  don't want you to go digging for his. I'm serious about this, Samantha,  this is not up for negotiations. You are never to contact that boy  again. If he knows what's good for him, he's halfway to Portland by now,  anyway. Samantha, if you care about me at all, you'll promise, right  here and right now, that you'll let this go. You'll have a good summer  and meet a nice local boy and go to school and forget all about him."

Dad's face was cement, a brick wall, impenetrable. He meant all of this  from the bottom of his heart. I could tell that. From the way he was  speaking, from the look in his eyes, this was serious business. What  could I do? I nodded.

"I promise, Dad," I said, vaguely aware, in the back of my mind, that I was making a promise I wasn't sure I could keep.





18





I didn't exactly get sent to my room after that, but it was clear the  BBQ was off and I needed time to think. I didn't call Alicia and Becky  right away. There was enough for me to process on my own, without  calling in extra opinions.

Dad's story made sense: it made sense that he would react so violently  to seeing Boon. It made sense why he wanted me to steer clear of him. It  made sense in so many ways. It also made sense for me to follow his  order never to see Boon again: it was clear, now, that he really was up  to no good, at least as far as his gang was concerned. A few puffs on a  joint was one thing, but heroin? Identity theft? Those were serious,  serious things. And I was fresh out of high school: I had no business  getting involved in any of that.

But then … he must have been so young then. He couldn't really have had  anything to do with all that. And was it really fair to judge the son by  the sins of the father? He'd found me, come all that way, just to see  me … didn't that say something about him? He hadn't needed to do all that:  he could have just forgotten all about me, about our time together. It  didn't mean that he was a great guy, per say, but it meant something,  right?

I paced my room, hands in fists. Suddenly, I remembered what Boon had  slipped into my palm; I'd forgotten all about it. I dug my fingers into  my pocket. It was small, square … pulling it out, I saw that it was a  matchbox. Gateway Inn, it read on the front. So I knew where he was  staying now. Whatever good that did me. It does you no good at all,  because you're not going to see him, I thought with one part of my  brain.

Now you know where he is, you can see him, ask him, thought another  part. I groaned and threw the matchbook on the bed. I texted Alicia and  Becky, asking them to log back on to Skype. In seconds, we were in  another video call.

I told them the story my father had told me. I watched their faces  anxiously, making note of every expression and reaction. Becky had her  eyes narrowed, following the story with concern. Alicia was leaning  forward, wide-eyed, hanging on every word. When I finished, no one said  anything for a long while.

"So … I mean, what do I do?" I finally asked, dying to hear their opinions.