Blessed are the Cracked for They Let in the Light

From the outside, it looked like a typical small town classic Americana ice cream shop, but stepping inside, it soon became abundantly clear that this was certainly no Norman Rockwell painting, unless he had been seriously tripping on acid when he painted this particular tableau. Tripping and maybe hanging out with Andy Warhol. Anna pushed her sunglasses up on her head and looked around. The man behind the counter gave her a broad smile, the kind that wavered dangerously between endearing and unhinged. In the corner, a girl who looked about seventeen was wiping down the tables, her eyes wide as if the entire world terrified her and she was planning her escape.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, grinning at her. As he leaned forward, she noticed that the fingers which were tapping on the counter top were prosthetic and looked like they had been cobbled together from old doll parts. Trying not to stare at the fingers, Anna readjusted her gaze, smiling at the man. "Sorry for staring, but that looks like it was a nasty injury. Sorry, I'm rambling, I'm hoping you can help me, I'm looking for Juan Carlos Ortiz. Would you be able to direct me to the Sons of Anarchy?"

Anna noticed that the smile faltered almost imperceptibly and changed from welcoming to sad. Confused, she looked across at the girl who had stopped wiping and was staring at her with even wider eyes, if that was possible. The awkward silence was broken by a languid southern drawl.

"Pay them no mind darling, perhaps I can help you?" From her seat in the corner booth, Venus Van Dam had been watching and appraising Anna. Although she didn't know her, she approved of the woman's straight, clean hair and calm, polite demeanour. A lady, Venus surmised, eyeing the rose gold hoops in her ears and her well-kept nails.

Anna turned to find a woman in a wrap dress and pearls sitting elegantly in the corner booth. Her hair fell in soft layers which had been flicked outwards as if in homage to Jacqueline Smith from Charlie's Angels. Although it was apparent that the woman was transgender, having grown up in San Francisco, transsexual and transgender people neither repulsed nor shocked Anna. They were simply people who deserved the same rights and respect that everybody else was entitled to. Still, she wondered how accepting the locals in Charming were of this woman despite having one of the most oddly beautiful and gentle faces that Anna had ever seen.

"I'm trying to contact Juan Carlos Ortiz, but he's not answering his cell or email. I'm hoping somebody here could give me some information" Anna said, walking towards the woman and holding out her hand. "I'm Anna, Anna Del Valle."

"Venus Van Dam. Charmed" Venus said, offering her hand in a demure handshake that Anna suspected belied a tough inner strength. Venus gestured to the seat opposite. "Why don't you take a seat and we'll see if we can assist you."

"Thanks," Anna said gratefully, pushing her hair behind her ears and taking a seat. "I like your dress," she said, trying to make small talk. "Triads" the man interjected suddenly. Anna stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him. "I'm sorry?"

"My hands. It was the Lin Triad. You see, I'm a chronic masturbator so they chopped my hands off with a meat cleaver.. . . " There was a clucking sound from Venus. "Now Chucky darlin', don't vex the lady with your tales of woe. Why don't you head upstairs and see if my Alexander and the boys could spare a moment?"

"I accept that," Chuck said with a smile and went out towards the back of the shop. He returned a few moments later and with a smile and a flick of his creepy doll fingers, motioned Anna to follow him upstairs. Anna turned to Venus, "Umm would you mind..."

"Don't you worry, I'll keep an eye on your belongings," Venus said, offering a sympathetic smile.

It had been a shit week, a shit few months and a shit year for the Sons. They had managed to extricate themselves from their illegal businesses and settle their old scores, but they'd paid a horrible price for it. John Teller's original vision of a hippy biker commune had been beaten, tortured and blown to pieces, taking with it a staggeringly high body count. They'd lost brothers, friends and loved ones, even their clubhouse. Worse, they'd lost the respect of the town who no longer viewed the Sons as saviors and protectors but harbingers of death. All those that had survived the war, now sat around the table trying to piece back together the fragments of their brotherhood and their reputation.

The sound of heels climbing the stairs could be heard, interrupting their discussion. Chucky had mentioned that there was a girl downstairs asking about Juice, and with a crease of his brows and a weary stroke of his goatee, Chibs had said to let her come up. Happy chewed silently on his toothpick and watched her enter the room. She had the kind of open, friendly face that looked as if a smile was just waiting to break out. Tall and slim with gentle curves, she walked towards the table with a quiet confidence, a stark contrast from the women who usually hung around them, women who wore their garish overconfidence like a protective shell. With her dark hair swinging behind her like a velvet shadow and her long legs encased in tight jeans and knee high boots, she reminded him of Rita Coolidge, that country singer his ma used to love.

He had to hand it to her, she seemed totally unfazed that in the space of 15 minutes, she had dealt with a man wearing budget prosthetic fingers, a transsexual and Rat's old lady Brooke, who looked perpetually terrified. In an ice cream parlor no less. She surveyed the men before her with the same relaxed expression. If she was nervous in the presence of bikers, she didn't show it.

"I was wondering if you could help me, I went to your garage but the mechanics sent me here. I'm looking for Juan Carlos Ortiz?" She looked down at her nails for a second then just as Happy suspected, an easy smile broke across her face. If she hadn't been standing in front of who she was standing in front of, her smile would have both disarmed and charmed them. Instead, it made them uncomfortable. This woman didn't look like a croweater or some junkie ex, in fact, she didn't look like on an average day, she would be within a hundred miles of the Sons.

The bristling of the men and the uncomfortable looks between them did not go unnoticed by Anna. They seemed to be silently debating who would provide her with an answer. She looked at the man wearing the president patch, and wondered if this was the infamous Jax that she'd heard about. From the way she'd heard him described, she thought he'd be younger. This guy was handsome sure, but he looked older, more road weary. She had been expecting a golden prince. "Who exactly are you?" the president demanded in a tone that suggested he was leery of strangers. And as far as they knew, she was definitely a stranger.

"I'm Anna. Is Juan Carlos around? I haven't heard from him in a while and I was starting to get worried." The men at the table looked at her dumbfounded, Juice had never mentioned anything about having an old lady and she sure as shit didn't look like the kind of girl who'd randomly bang a biker. Happy was the first to answer. "Juice's dead. Got shanked in prison. Died like the rat he was." Anna looked at the direction of where the voice had come from, a smoky, rumbling voice that if it hadn't been delivering such a harsh message, would have garnered more sexual interest from her.

Happy heard the sharp intake of breath and watched the quickened rise and fall of her breasts in that threadbare t-shirt as she struggled to comprehend what she had been told. He watched as she paled and began to tremble, noticed how her long fingers curled and dug into her palms to calm herself down, saw her straighten her shoulders as if to brace herself against the bad news.

The answer had taken Anna by surprise, particularly the harshness with which it had been delivered. Juan Carlos had always spoken of the club like it was his family, something he would do anything to protect, yet that man with the dark eyes and piercing, almost brutal stare had called him a rat. She sucked in a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, trying to desperately avoid falling apart in front of this table of strangers. She could feel her eyes beginning to prickle with tears and was suddenly desperate to get away from the men, from the shop, from Charming, from this. "Umm, OK well I guess I'll be going. Sorry to bother you" Anna said, trying to surreptitiously wipe a stray tear away. She looked at the men, trying to get a read on them. Beyond the stony expressions, there was anger, sadness and pity and the last thing she needed was anybody's pity, especially these men's. She waited until she was halfway down the stairs to allow her shoulders to slump.

"I don't know who the fuck that girl was, but I kinda feel sorry for her. Obviously she got mixed up with the idiot somehow" Tig said.

"Think somebody should go check on her?" T.O asked.

"Aye."

Chibs looked across the table, to find the best person to go and comfort the girl. The reality was that people who had always been the best at comforting distraught women were all dead or gone, there was nobody left who was good with the charm or a heartfelt sympathetic glance, nobody to make a soothing cup of coffee or offer a "it'll be OK darlin'." Of course, he reasoned, he could go himself, after all, he knew some things about women, he had a wife, a daughter and until recently a fuck buddy. But he just couldn't bring himself to move from the table - the rage and hurt of Juice's actions hadn't subsided and he didn't know if he would be able to find it in himself to say something comforting. A part of him hated Juice, and whoever this girl was, if she had a connection to Juice, he had a feeling he would just project his hatred of Juice onto her. If he sent Rat, there was a strong chance that his old lady would come down with a case of the psychos, and Chibs really didn't need Brooke flipping out and breaking shit today, they were existing on the vapors of community goodwill as it was. Quinn looked like he was gearing up for Wrestlemania V, and Montez and T.O had never really got to know Juice that well. That left Happy and Tig; Happy with his dead expression and that damn toothpick and Tig with his wolf eyes and creepy sexual proclivities. "Jesus Christ", thought Chibs, "in what fucking world are the two guys who not only kill for the club but take pleasure in it, the best options to comfort a crying girl?" He gave the two men a pointed look, seeing who would bite first.

"Fuck it, I'll go," Happy said, pushing himself away from the table and heading downstairs in long strides.

Downstairs, Venus was mobilizing the sympathy troops. "Brooke, can you please go and wet a washcloth and bring it to me? Chucky honey, how about a cup of strong, sweet tea for the lady?" Leaning against the doorway, Happy surveyed the situation and tried to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do to help. It wasn't that he wasn't good with women or sympathy for that matter, but years on the road as a soldier for the club hadn't required him to do a lot of comforting of women, that had been Gemma's domain. Besides, most of the women in the club were accustomed to the life and didn't require sympathy - they tolerated it until the couldn't anymore and then they left. Nowadays, Happy mused, there weren't that many club women left around. Aside from Lyla and Tig's freakshow of an old lady, they were either dead or long gone.

Happy watched as Anna hung her head slightly to unobtrusively swipe her index finger under her eyes. Venus gently took hold of Anna's hand and stroked her hair which, Happy observed, was the color of coca cola. "It's alright sugarplum," Venus soothed, "just take deep breaths." Although he still had no idea who this woman was, Happy couldn't help but admire her determination to remain stoic. The shop was basically empty so there was no reason to hide her tears, and yet she continued to duck her head so that nobody would see her sadness.

It was then that he noticed the kid clinging to her leg.