"For What It's Worth"
Thea, wearing a faded Steppenwolf t-shirt and jean capris, stood in the middle of the road. A few bikers hooted, hollered and whistled at her. Classic rock music blared from the SAMSTAR tent's loudspeakers.
Opie's Harley was to Thea's left, while to her right was a bike with ape-hangers. Its rider was bald and Hispanic, a patched member of The Mayans MC – Portland. It was the first race on Saturday, but everyone knew that club honour and bragging rights were on the line.
A big white banner over the road declared that this was the Glades Memorial Annual Charity Bike Rally Weekend. Emblazoned on the banner in bold print were the words: 'With the generous support of Palmer Tech'. The rally's sponsorship was an annual last-minute crisis and Palmer Tech had stepped up this year to ensure another successful rally.
Thea grinned at both competitors and held a red handkerchief aloft in the air. "Ready … steady … GO!" The handkerchief went down and both motorcycles screeched down the road.
The Glades Municipal Park had taken on a carnival-like atmosphere with merry-go-round rides, the smell of cotton candy and popcorn in the air and several tents full of vendors hawking their foods and wares. Or, in the case of SAMSTAR, selling their branded merchandise (and recruiting potential new members under the table).
"Great job, Thea," Jax said as Thea walked back to the Community Alley area, where the local businesses and associations had set up their own tents. He had become acquainted with Thea a bit in the days leading up to the rally, as everyone in the community pitched in to launch this year's rally on time.
"Thanks, Jackson!" Thea said. "My ex took me to the rally a few years ago. All the bikes, the speed – it's a total rush. This is probably the biggest rally I've seen to date."
She was right. MC's from across the west coast, weekend warriors and casual enthusiasts flocked to the rally.
Bobby sipped a bottle of water. Since the Glades rally was a family-friendly event, both Jax and SAMSTAR's president mandated that alcohol, weed or bad behaviour would not be tolerated.
"I'm sure more than a few guys 'round here would be more than happy to take you for a spin around a bike, if you'd like," Bobby said. Jax looked at him, puzzled.
"Don't mind him," Jax said. "Hey, I heard about the Queen Foundation's donation to the hospital." Thea was chair of her family's non-profit foundation, the late Moira Queen's lasting legacy to the city. "That 50K is going to help a lot of kids in this neighbourhood."
"The Glades gets a bad rap in the news," Thea said, "but I know there are some good, hard-working people here. Everyone deserves a helping hand."
"You're the daughter of the late Robert Queen, big captain of industry," Jax said. "No offence, but I never expected to hear that sort of love for the Glades from someone of your, umm …"
"Pedigree?" Thea said. "Believe me, even though everyone saw me as daddy's little girl I was anything but. When I was young, I rolled with an unsavoury crowd, excessive drinking, party drugs …I was in a bad spot."
"I see," Jax said. "The Holy Trinity of addiction." With more than half of his MC having gone through some form of substance abuse, he could easily sympathize. "Been sober long?"
"Awhile now," Thea said. "My ex helped me turn the corner."
"Your ex sounds like a great guy," Jax said.
"He is," Thea said, and waved as Roy walked towards them. "Roy, the presentation for the Foundation's check is at 12 noon at the grandstand." She jabbed her finger into his chest. "You better be there."
"I will, I promise," Roy said. The look they exchanged immediately caught Bobby's attention. As Thea headed towards the SAMSTAR-run breakfast tent, Roy watched her go.
"You're … Thea Queen's ex-boyfriend?!" Bobby said. "I am totally impressed, brother."
Jax clapped Roy on the shoulder. "Nice work, dude. I take it that you and princess Thea had a Billy Joel-Uptown Girl thing goin' on."
Roy smiled. "Something like that."
"What happened?" Bobby said. "Did Oliver Queen, Prince of Starling City not approve of you? Wait - was it the drugs?"
"Jesus," Jax said. "Roy doesn't have to answer any of your questions. You're ten times worse than the crow eaters, you big gossip-monger."
"Speaking of crow eaters," Roy said. A bevy of impossibly gorgeous crow eaters – all clad in leather, bustiers, spiked heels and tight jeans – streamed passed them.
A blonde with short-cropped hair stopped beside Bobby. "See you later tonight?"
"Absolutely, honey," Bobby winked.
"Is it just me, or do all the crow eaters here look like supermodels?" Jax said. "And not just the crow eaters - this city is full of beautiful people! They're everywhere. I don't get it."
Roy shrugged, oblivious to this trend in the city. "Maybe it's something in the water? Well, I better get to the merry-go-round. I'm supposed to be volunteering at the ticket booth and there are a whole lot of kids lining up already."
When Roy left, Bobby pulled Jax aside.
"The Italians will be here," Bobby said. "Marco's consigliere will be at the local Italian-American association's info booth. 11 o'clock. We should probably find out where the mafia lands on all the stuff goin' on with the Asians. The mob is our oldest friend in this town, and they will want some assurances all the moves we're making don't blowback on them, or their businesses."
Jax pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up. "Agreed."
The skirl of bagpipes and the thumping of drums distracted him. It was a parade, but not just any parade. The Starling PD police band marched down the road, with flags and polished badges blazing in the sun. Scores of uniformed officers marched to the drumbeat. In the rear were a dozen officers in full dress uniform, mounted on identical black horses.
"The cops are showing their support for the hood," Bobby said.
"No," Jax said. "Make no mistake – it's a show of force." He pointed out a pair of heavily armoured police wagons, parked discreetly behind some trees at the other end of the park. The rally was a charity event, but it was also an unofficial meet-up for the Glades' underworld players. Fights between local gangs had broken out in past rallies.
One of the mounted policemen, with gold braid epaulettes and in the formal regalia of a police captain, glared at the bikers.
"That's Captain Lance," Bobby said. "He's in charge of the city's anti-gang task force. He's got no love for the MC, I can promise you that."
Jax saluted Quentin in jest. He had to admit that the police captain was an imposing sight, with a small army of officers at his command. Quentin reined in his horse and guided it to the front of the SAMSTAR tent.
"Good turn out at the rally," Quentin said coolly. "Mr. Teller."
"Yeah, the neighbourhood looks forward to it every year," Jax said, taking a drag from his cigarette. "The locals love the Reaper. We've been part of the community for years. We look out for them."
"Tell that to Ahmed Patel," Quentin said, abruptly prodding his horse back to the police column.
Jax was confused. "Who's Ahmed Patel?"
Bobby's jovial mood evaporated. "He was the security guard who was killed at the port. He left a pregnant widow and a toddler too."
Jax stomped his cigarette butt into the pavement and glowered at the police parade. "Shit. He blames us for that."
Bobby hesitated, unsure if he should bring up a difficult issue. "Lance does have a point. If we do nothing about the port killing, it makes us look like we don't give a shit about the locals. Or worse, that we're involved somehow. Well, I'll be heading to the breakfast tent now and –"
Jax held his arm. "No way, Bobby. You around unlimited food and crow eaters? Not a chance. Tara's keeping tabs on the breakfast crew. See that big, bouncy castle down there? You'll be doing some actual work today, taking the kiddies' ride tickets."
Bobby frowned. "It's so far."
Jax rolled his eyes. "Dude, it's a two-minute walk, and your shift starts in five minutes! Come on, I thought you loved kids. Chibs can be my wingman with the Italians." Bobby sighed and lumbered towards the children's carnival area.
Amid the carnival rides and fast food trucks, Tara and MC prospect Phil were making their way to the SAMSTAR breakfast tent.
"I did what you asked, Tara," Phil said. "Got a twenty on Felicity Smoak, like you said. Is there any reason why we're digging into her? If it's related to the MC, we really should tell Jax about this."
"No!" Tara blurted, perhaps too hastily. She gathered her composure. "What I mean is … I'll fill you in, I promise, but just not now. All I can say is it's Gemma-related."
"Oh. Shit," Phil said. "Gemma? This isn't good."
Tara nodded. "It's Teller family stuff: Gemma, JT, Clay - all the history that connects them. Nobody can know, you understand?"
"I – I don't know," Phil hesitated. "I'm only a prospect. Maybe I should bounce all of this off Jax, or maybe Chibs." He began to head towards the main SAMSTAR tent where Chibs was conferring with other MC officers.
Tara held his arm. "No, none of them can know. At least not yet. If Gemma gets wind of it, we are all in trouble! You, me, the whole MC."
Phil's jaw dropped. "Tara, what exactly are in those letters?" Tara had mentioned to him earlier that Felicity may have accidentally picked up some personal letters during the purse snatching incident.
Tara wanted to confide in someone, but the notion that the club could find out about Clay's involvement in the death of John Teller made her stomach squirm.
"It's best you didn't know," Tara said. "I'm trying to protect my family, you understand? And believe it or not, I'm trying to protect you too. If Gemma finds out about those letters, and that we know about it, things could get messy. One: The MC would never make you a full patch. Two: I won't be able to keep my boys safe. The MC tasked you with protecting me and my boys, right?"
"Absolutely," Phil said. "I would take a bullet for you. And your sons. I love those little monsters!"
"Tell me what you learned about Felicity Smoak," Tara said, "and you'll be doing your duty. I'll make sure none of it blows back on you, me or – God willing – the MC."
Phil sighed. "Okay. Ms. Smoak is an IT chick/executive assistant at Palmer Tech. She used to work for Oliver Queen, before that Ray Palmer dude bought Queen Consolidated. Now she works for Mr. Palmer. She's dating him too. There's really not much else I could find out. Oh, and she likes caramel lattes. Skimmed milk with a dash of cinnamon. I spotted her at Starbucks during her break."
Tara nodded. "Good work, Phil. We're helping the MC by doing this. I promise. Plus, it's keeping both of us out of Gemma's crosshairs, which is always a good thing."
I'll have to deal with Palmer's 'Girl Friday' soon – before I leave Starling City, Tara thought.
Loud yelling interrupted her brief respite. A couple of crow eaters were shouting at Thea in the breakfast tent.
Thea looked upset. "I'm sorry to trouble you, Tara, but none of the MC's girls want to listen to me. The all-day breakfast should be up and running by now." A growing crowd of hungry rally attendees were already starting to line up for food. The crow eaters were lounging around, filing their nails or checking their phones for messages.
"I don't know who the hell she thinks she is," a heavily-tattooed crow eater said, "but Kate Middleton over here got no business tellin' us what to do, ain't that right ladies?" The other crow eaters nodded and smirked, hurling abuse and curses at Thea.
"Stupid rich bitch," another crow eater said. "Her daddy died on a yacht. Oh boo hoo!" Thea looked mortified.
"Hey!" Tara said. "You don't get to talk to her like that. Listen, and listen carefully, 'ladies'. This rally means a lot to the community, and not just to the MC. Thea is the daughter of Robert Queen. Yeah, that Robert Queen, the guy who helped John Teller – the founder of the whole goddamned MC – keep this bike rally afloat when the whole city was willing to write off the Sons and drive them out of the city."
"That's old history," the loud-mouthed ringleader retorted. "All that means shit now. She's no better than us, just cuz she got her dead daddy's trust fund in her pocket." She moved to confront Tara.
"Are you going to stop this?" Thea whispered to Phil.
"Oh hell no," Phil said. "Tara's sooo got this. You'll see."
Tara didn't give an inch. "You listen here, you dumb piece of gash. I'm Jax Teller's old lady! Show some respect." A hush soon enveloped the tent. Nobody said a word. Tara's status held serious weight here.
"This goes for all of you SAMSTAR crow eaters too. When you're in this tent, you're not just serving the community. You're representing the MC: Jax Teller's MC, the one his father built! You pull any shit that disrespects the Reaper during this rally - you're disrespecting the club and the VP of SAMCRO. If you'd like, I could have Jax come over and 'clarify' what that means to you."
Phil smirked as the crow eaters moved like lightning to get the eggs, bacon and home fries on the grill and cooking. He had never seen crow eaters move so fast.
The ringleader was chastened. "You're Tara Knowles? I-I'm sorry, we didn't know. We'll be ready in time for the crowd, ma'am. I'll keep the others in line too. You got my word on it."
Tara nodded. "Good. And you do whatever Thea asks you to do, got it? 'Cause if you don't, I'll hear about it. And so will Jax."
"Thanks, Tara," Thea said. The display was a bit unnerving to Thea, but she brushed these feeling aside. "That was truly … impressive." The MC had their own codes of conduct and she didn't pretend to understand them. It was evident that a SAMCRO officer's old lady commanded practically regal authority in their world.
And the funny thing is, everyone thinks I'm a princess in this city, Thea mused. At this rally, she began to appreciate that the only royalty that mattered was Tara Knowles and Jax Teller.
"Dealing with a couple of half-bright, half-baked, mouthy crow eaters? It's nothing," Tara said. "If they give you any more problems, just let me know. I'll personally smack some sense into them, if I have to."
"She will too," Phil added, with no hint of irony.
When Thea had left to handle arrangements for the Queen Foundation's noon-hour check presentation, Tara took Phil aside.
"We'll deal with the Felicity situation later," Tara said. "Like I said, everything we do at this rally reflects on the MC. We keep the cops out of our hair and put our best foot forward, etc."
"Copy that," Phil said, as he warily eyed the low-key but visible police presence at the rally.
As Oliver wrapped up his speech announcing the Queen Foundation's $50,000 donation to the Glades Memorial children's wing, Felicity and Ray arrived from the carnival area. Felicity tried to keep her composure but Ray's loud 1960's hippie costume was a gaudy, tie-dyed mess. She couldn't help but giggle at it.
"I'm embracing the spirit of the rally," Ray insisted. "These biker clubs were born in the Sixties. They are all about love and brotherhood!"
Felicity laughed. "Well, first of all don't ever call them bikers. They're 'motorcycle enthusiasts'. And second – please promise me you're not going up on stage dressed as The Grateful Dead's tech-savvy love child!"
Her protest fell on deaf ears as Ray bounded up on stage, shook Oliver's hand in thanks for his donation and encouraged the audience to enjoy the rally weekend.
As he fielded questions from TV news crews, Oliver put on a smiling face even though he knew in his heart that he was not enjoying this rally at all. He saw the rally as an unofficial convention for every gangbanger and underworld boss in the Glades. It was a shallow PR stunt to him, nothing more.
He vaguely knew his father's association with underworld players like the Bertinellis and SAMSTAR, but he didn't dwell on it. His father thought that making compromises with people like Frank Bertinelli, Jimmy Fong, Galen O'Shay and John Teller would keep the peace in a troubled city, but Oliver couldn't see how this was possible. This history was part of the litany of his father's past misdeeds, as far as he was concerned.
Felicity watched the presentation and she could sense that something was amiss with Oliver, but she wasn't sure what it was. Oliver looked like he was playing a role on-stage, which in a sense he was. Oliver Queen's public persona – playboy and heir apparent to the now-diminished Queen fortune – was just not the man he was.
If that man ever existed, she thought, he died when the Queen's Gambit sank all those years ago.
Someone else came back from the island of Lian Yu.
Not far from the main stage, Jax and Chibs had returned from their meet-and-greet with the Italians.
"We good with the mob?" Bobby asked.
"According to Marco's consigliere," Chibs said, "as long as we don't upset the balance that exists between the Bertinellis and Fong's triad, they're ok with the MC branching out. They're uneasy about the instability in the wonton street gangs, but they think it's an internal beef that Fong will deal with. Marco will want a face-to-face to set boundaries going forward."
"Don't shit on the gravy train," Jax said. "His words, verbatim. The mob is big enough to stay out of the fray, just like the Chinese. Their neutrality could be both good and bad, depending on how it plays out."
"Aye," Chibs said. "We might get a freer hand in doing business in the Glades, but if things do go sideways – we're on our own and it'll be on us to clean it up."
Jax was already considering locking down existing relationships with the Glades' black street gangs, longtime allies and partners of the MC. He was unsure about the odds of forging new links with the Latino crews, who had been rivals and enemies of SAMSTAR for many years.
"Let's introduce ourselves to the Prince of Starling City," Jax said on a whim.
"Seriously?" Juice said. "He's an upper crust bigshot in town. He probably wants nothing to do with our club!"
"Might be a good idea to get a feel of where the junior Queen lands with the MC," Bobby said. "Robert Queen had relationships with many people, on both sides of the law. He was a pragmatist. Maybe the apple didn't fall far from the tree, if we're lucky."
"Lemme guess," Jax said, "the elder Queen knew JT too."
Bobby nodded. "The city was prepared to write us off decades ago. People like Robert didn't. He chose not to, when it would have been easier to go with the flow."
"Well boys, let's go make a new friend," Jax said and boldly strolled towards the stage.
Oliver's mood soured when he saw Jax and his entourage of full patch members walk towards him.
"Be nice, Oliver," Thea gently chided. "Jax is alright." For a brief moment, Oliver considered listening to Thea. His father had made compromises with criminals and the corrupt and powerful. Perhaps he would have to do the same for the city to survive. Not as the Arrow, but as Oliver Queen.
Jax was about to extend his hand to greet Oliver when Ray came out of nowhere and seized his hand.
"Jackson Teller?" Ray said. "I'm Ray Palmer. So glad you could come to the rally in person! I read all about John Teller helping to get the Glades hospital's children's wing up and running all those years ago. Very inspiring."
Jax was taken aback by Ray's enthusiasm and praise. "I should be the one thanking you, Mr. Palmer, for sponsoring the rally this year. The club appreciates it. Nice outfit by the way, it's, uh, very 'Summer of Love'. My old man would have dug it."
"Thanks!" Ray said, oblivious to the snickers from Juice and Chibs. "I made it myself." Felicity buried her face in her hands in embarrassment.
Before Jax could get another word in, a flurry of reporters had descended upon Ray.
Oliver had left the stage and thought the surprise media scrum would buy him some time to extract himself from the crowd, but Jax and his friends had inadvertently blocked his exit route.
"You might not know who I am, Mr. Queen, I'm -" Jax began.
Oliver looked at Jax's hand and the public gesture of friendship it represented. Thea's sensible advice evaporated in the noonday sun. I cannot trust this man. "Well … I know what you are."
Jax was stunned at the forceful tone in Oliver's voice. "And what would that be exactly?"
"You're the vice president of a one-percenter motorcycle club," Oliver said. "A club that has thrived on the misfortune and suffering in the Glades for decades."
"I've heard your father felt differently about the Sons of Anarchy," Jax said, in an attempt to leverage Robert Queen's acquaintance with SAMSTAR and JT.
"My father was wrong," Oliver said bluntly. "He was wrong about many things." Thea pulled at Oliver's arm, urging him to calm down, with little effect.
Opie, who had just returned from winning his race against the Mayan biker, hauled his first-place trophy towards his MC brothers. None of them appeared to be happy about his victory at all. "Did I miss something, guys?"
Jax had stepped closer to Oliver. "Look, I get it. Your old man left you with some baggage. So did my old man. But the legacy of John Teller doesn't define me, not any more. Maybe the ghost of Robert Queen still defines you. You got something you wanna get off your chest? I'm right here, bro!"
He pounded his chest in a juvenile show of bravado, angry that Oliver had shunned his offer of friendship. But he sensed that Oliver was not one to back off. The odds were good that a man who survived five years on scorpions and banana leaves, stuck on a desolate island, probably could hold his own in any confrontation.
A few reporters had noticed the tense moment off-stage and were beginning to point towards Jax and Oliver. Only then did Ray notice that they were having an increasingly heated conversation.
Laurel, who had returned from participating in the three-legged race with children from the leukemia wing of Glades Memorial, approached Chibs. "What's going on with Oliver and Jax?"
"Jesus Christ," Chibs cursed under his breath. "Shit's all hitting the fan now, lass. In front of the press vultures and everyone at the rally. We've gotta get both those boys outta there - before their alpha male pissing match gets even uglier!"
