Rod (21 page)

I whip my phone out and call Trish.

“This place has a basement, I’m going down
to check it out,” I tell her.

“Where’s Lester?” she asks.

“He’s up against the wall in the other
room where we left him.
 
He doesn’t look
like he can really move just yet, but he’s trying to figure out the code to his
phone.”

“I’ll come in and watch him so he doesn’t
do anything stupid,” she says.

“Good idea,” I say.
 

We disconnect the call and I wait to hear
the outside door open.
 
When I know she’s
inside the house, I descend the stairs quietly, unsure of exactly what to
expect.

I scan the area as I walk down the small
wooden spiraled stairs.
 
It’s funky and
dark, so I look for a light switch.
 
When
I find one, I flick the switch to find myself in a large area that is basically
empty.
 

I turn around in my spot to take in my
surroundings.
 
The walls are concrete and
covering the floor is garbage and a trash bag full of aluminum cans.

In the corner, I find what appears to be a
large, white icebox.
 
I hear walking
above my head and am suddenly thankful that Trish is upstairs if the worst
comes to pass.
 
I walk over to it and
size it up.
 
It’s big enough to hold a
person’s body, so I quickly shove it open.

The inside of the icebox is foul with the
odor of rotten meat.
 
I look around to
find that it’s not plugged in.
 
I take a
deep sigh of relief and I close the lid.
 
Once I clear the rest of the room, I head back up the stairs.

“There’s nothing down there,” I yell to
Trish.
 
I draw closer to her and see her
standing close to Lester, ready to pounce if he tries to make a move.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” she
says.

“You’ll both pay for this,” Lester
threatens.
 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Trish tells him.
 

We walk out of the front door and she
surveys his motorcycle.

“I wonder how long it’ll take him to put
those pieces back together,” I say with a chuckle.

“Long enough that we’re in no danger of
him getting back at us anytime soon.”

“He really was dirty, though,” I say with
a sigh of defeat.

“Yeah, well, it just goes to show
ya
that you can’t always believe what family tells you,”
she reminds me.

“I knew my father just spun nothing but
bullshit, but this is insane.
 
I’ve known
Lester for years and I would’ve never suspected anything like this.”

“Yeah, but we still need proof.
 
We still need information.
 
We need to find Sasha before things go to
hell,” she says.

“I just don’t really know if my father
told me anything that wasn’t a lie,” I tell her.

“I guess blood isn’t always thicker than
water,” she says.

We get on our motorcycles and leave the
place quickly.
 
Speeding down the dirt
roads, we wind our way back to the pavement, feeling the brisk wind on my skin.

Trish and I ride side-by-side through
Hayleysville
to Hinton Heights, going full speed
ahead.
 
I put my hand up to tell her to
stop at our next opportunity.
 
We pull
our bikes over to the side of the road a few feet away from the Hinton Township
sign.
 
She takes off her helmet and looks
to me for direction.

I take my helmet off and say, “I’m going
to see if I can push Frick and Frack for more information on Boris and Ken.”

“Then I’m going home to do more research
on Lester.
 
He’s dirtier than we know, I
can just feel it.
 
I’ll see what I can
find, but I got a feeling that we’re on to something here.”

“Alright, let me know if you need me,” I
tell her.
 
She puts the kickstand down
and hops off of her bike.
 
Walking over
to me, she plants a kiss on my lips.
 

“I can’t wait until this whole thing is
behind us,” she says, walking back to her bike and getting on.
 
With a rev of the motor, she’s off to her
place.
 
I put my helmet back on and hear
a ringing.
 
I grasp hold of my cell phone
to look at the caller ID.
 
It reads:
“SETH VINTON”.

I teeter between answering it and letting
it go directly to voicemail.
 
I weigh the
idea of yelling at my father for his lies, but decide against letting him know
any of this new information.
 
I sit on my
bike waiting to see if there’s a message.

Minutes pass and the voicemail icon
appears on my phone.
 
I dial the number
to my voicemail and hit the “1” button to hear what he has to say.

“Rod, I need an update.
 
We’re gearing up to move soon and we need to
talk.
 
Bring Boris with you when you
come.
 
He’s got a van that we need to
use.”

Under my breath, I say, “Boris has a
van?
 
And wait - he knows him?”

I refuse to acknowledge the call until I
can talk to Trish and Ronan.
 
I shove the
cell phone back into my pocket and ride to Scott’s place in hopes for more
information on Boris and Ken.
 
They’re in
this deep and I need to figure out their involvement in the bigger picture.

I park my bike in front of Scott’s place
and notice another motorcycle next to Scott’s.
 
I walk up the stairs and hit the number next to his name.
 

A voice comes over the speaker, saying,
“Yeah? Who is it?”

“It’s Rodney,” I say into the speaker.

A loud buzz overtakes all sound in the
area as the door unlocks.
 
I walk inside
and make my way to Scott’s apartment.

Once there, I knock on the door and say,
“Let me in, asshole.”

The door opens and Scott is sitting there
with Boris
Cardov
, drinking beers and watching a game
of football on the television.
 

Boris looks to Scott and says, “Is he
cool?”

I think to myself that he is merely trying
to play it off for my benefit.
 

“Yeah, he’s cool,” he says as I shut the
door behind myself.
 
Scott walks to the
kitchen and retrieves a cold beer from the refrigerator and tosses it to me

I crack open the can of beer and sit down
on the chair.

“What’s the score?” I ask anyone who’s
listening.

“Seventeen to ten, in favor of the
Wildcats,” Boris informs me.

“Fuck yeah!” I yell.

The three of us watch the game intently,
but a commercial breaks everything up.
 
Boris stands and says, “I
gotta
piss.”

He walks out of the room and thoughts of
how to get Boris to talk about this van rattle around inside my head.

“Hey,” I whisper to Scott.
 
“I’m
gonna
talk
about moving, but when I ask, say you can’t help.”

He has a question mark on his face, but
agrees.
 

We await Boris’ return to the living room
and I say to Scott, “I was
thinkin
’ about moving
soon.
 
I got a sweeter deal on the other
side of town, closer to Hinton Heights.”

“When are you moving?” Scott asks.

“I was
thinkin
’
about next week; can you help?
 
I don’t
have a truck or anything yet.”

“Actually, I’m busy all next week,” Scott
says as he looks at Boris for any contribution to the conversation.

“I have a van,” he says.
 
“I can drive it over on Wednesday if you
wanna
use it.”

“Yeah man, that’s cool.
 
Thanks,” I tell him.

“Anything for a fellow brother,” he says
with a knowing look.
 

I wonder to myself if he knows about my
knowledge of his drug dealing or that my father knows him.
 
To prevent a premature war, I keep my mouth
shut.

We sit there in silence, interrupting it
only to yell at the television when our team fumbles the ball.
 

Chapter Thirteen

Trish Fitzgerald

I ride back home and park my motorcycle
out front.
 
From the looks of the
surrounding area and the garage, I’m alone.
 
I tap in the code to gain entrance into the garage and walk inside the
house.
 
I hit the garage door button to
close it and head upstairs to my room.

I sit on my bed and pull my laptop closer
to me.
 
I power it up and check my phone
for messages as I await the welcome screen.

No messages.
 
I bring up Google and search for “Lester
Samson
Deathdealers
.”
 

I am taken aback by the amount of links
that show up for the search.
 
One
headline reads: ‘Former
Deathdealer
Member Busted
For
Kidnapping; Gets Off With Slap On The Wrist’. Another
says: ‘Lester Samson: The Unknown Truth,’ by Anonymous.
 
The list goes down the page and I select the
first story with a click of the mouse.

I read through the page to find the blog
post was written anonymously.
 
In detail,
it describes how Lester Samson was one of the original
Deathdealers
and goes on to talk about the “supposed child endangerment charge” against
him.
 

It says:

Lester
Samson, along with Seth Vinton and some other goons, arranged a massive
cover-up for Samson’s “supposed child endangerment charge.”
 
Samson, one of the original
Deathdealers
members, is known for his violent criminal
activity and his love of guns.
 

Samson
tried to kidnap his niece when she was younger.
 
He was driving drunk after snatching her up and was trying to leave town
with her.
 
He had a busted tail light and
was pulled over by the cops.
 
When the
officer approached him, he smelled alcohol on Samson, thus leading to his
arrest.
 

When
the police notified Samson’s sister to come pick up her kid, the mother then
told them that there was an amber alert out on her daughter.
 
The charges were piling up against Samson,
with kidnapping, child endangerment, DUI, and others mounting against him.
 

No
one knows the real truth and that’s why I’m putting this out there into the
ether today.
 
It’s anonymous, but I can
assure you that it is the whole truth.
 
Lester Samson is a monster and the
Deathdealers
bribed a judge to knock off most of the worst charges.
 
Because Vinton had a judge in their back
pocket, Samson was left to do six months in jail as a result of child
endangerment charges, but the rest was wiped from the system.
 

Judge
Franklin was the presiding judge in the case, but he has refused to comment on
the matter.
 
He has since retired.
 
He has never addressed the speculation
surrounding the case and declines media attention.
 

I click the back button on the browser and
click the next link to learn more information on Lester.
 
The article written about the truth of Samson
pops up on my screen.
 
This article talks
more about what Lester has done in his past involvement with the motorcycle
club.

As
a long-term member of the
Deathdealers
, Lester Samson
is on record as being Seth Vinton’s right hand man.
 
He has murdered in the name of the club, but
the lack of bodies present led the police nowhere.
 
He was Vinton’s hit man and collector, all
rolled into one.
 
He would break your
kneecaps if you didn’t pay protection money on time and is a dangerous
individual.
 

Samson
was forced to retire from the notorious motorcycle club when suspicions arose
of his dealings with cocaine and other drug running came to the attention of
local law enforcement.