"Welcome to headquarters, Ms. Lott."
It was a small room, dim and far upstairs, behind an incognito metal door. Inside there was a wall - an entire wall - dedicated to the Sons; a collage of mug shots and stalker quality candids, newspaper clippings, and a rainbow of push pins.
"You'll bring any and all information here." He said this while motioning towards the large maple table that dominated the center of the room. We'll meet Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights to update and keep each other within the loop. This is only going to work if we keep communication frequent-"
"Three times a week? Isn't that a bit much?"
"Frequent, and honest. Have a close look at the wall Lott. Gain knowledge, more than names. I'm going to grab some coffee before it's gone. Want me to have a secretary bring some up?"
"Oh no Lieutenant, I'm quite alright."
He left the door open and began to head down the carpeted hall; his well shined shoes make small pats of retreat.
She turned to face the wall, on toe. There was a mountain of information before her, an entire tree of family stories, and fuckups.
She did her best to poor over the small print and pictures – to gain some information - more than names.
She was getting a decent gist she thought. The Sons led a bloody life of hierarchy. There were twists and shocking turns in their history. It was most riveting. She found herself unbelievably engrossed, even transfixed.
Her phone buzzed and brought her out of focus; a private number, just a series of zeros.
"Hello?"
"Is this uh, Lily?" A female voice, soft but demanding.
"This is. May ask who's calling."
"A daughter. Can we meet?"
A daughter? "Certainly. Where?"
"There's a parking garage around the corner from the clubhouse. Seven o'clock, come alone."
The phone went dead with disconnection. She had never received a call quite like this one before. It was obvious, quite immediately, that this was the beginning of all of things she was after. She was in, she thought. She couldn't help but to smirk a bit.
A secretary, aged but haughty and covered in well fit – if not bursting - clothing stepped into the room to find her in this state. She was cradling a coffee and a plethora of sugars and creams, small stirring sticks.
"I told the Lieutenant I didn't want any, but thank you."
The woman stopped in her tracks, pausing for a moment, and then proceeded to place the beverage and it's additions on the table, leaving a small smear of condensation.
"He says to tell you to consider investing in a new wardrobe, perhaps some leather and metal." She withdrew a bundle of crisp bills from her pocket and set them on to the table. Without another word she turned to exit.
Lucy stepped from a dirty taxi and onto crunching pavement.
"Will you wait?"
"For 20 bucks extra. " She threw the near end of the police department money through the passenger window.
She was a walking with the slow gait of someone with new shoes. Her pants were also too tight, a perpetual wedgey.
All the same she oddly felt confident. Fierce cloths make for fierce personality.
She made her first few steps into the garage, she wasn't sure what to be looking for, but a large black vehicle seemed to be the only one in sight. She walked over to it without much hesitation. At approach the passenger door flew open, she climbed inside.
As expected, and to some relief, a woman sat behind the wheel.
"Did you call me here to kill me?" The question came suddenly, possibly urged by the desolate surroundings or the tinted windows, or the way the woman was sporting sunglasses as black as the truck.
"That depends. Have you done anything wrong?"
"Not yet today."
"Are you planning to?"
Lucy shook her head.
"Nice rags." The woman moved her hand to lower her shades. "Is that a tattoo I see?"
"I'm well inked."
"Any club stuff?"
Another head shake.
"Planning on getting some?"
Lucy made no response to this, just stared forward, unmoving.
"Hm." The woman removed her shades completely from her face. "I'm Gemma Teller."
"The mother."
"The mother? The old lady."
"Alright then."
"What you offered my boys is risky business. Being a spy. What's your motive?"
"I'm not trying to hurt your club, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just after some inspiration, an experience."
"My club is more than just a thrill ride."
"Look, what is this about?"
"I want you to do it." Gemma took a deep breath. "My Son he – he has a lot of pressure right now, taking over. Keeping the heat at bay sounds like heaven at present. His family, the club, me, we all just need some quiet time."
"If you're letting me in then what's with the theatrics?"
"I'm just one person honey, not even a member. If you want to get 'in' your going to have to prove yourself."
"By doing what?"
"You're going to have to kill someone. Someone bad."
Gemma reached over and with one red painted finger she pressed the release on the glove box. A solid .22 was relieved, shining in all of its glory.
End of Chapter Two
Gaaaah! I hate to say it, but please review. Hits and story follows don't motivate.
