Sons of Anarchy Season Zero: The Crow's Nest

by Cole Ortiz

When John Teller and Piney Winston seek revenge for the man who saved their lives in Vietnam, they find themselves trapped on a path they will never escape from. Set amid the criminal and political violence overtaking 1960s California, this prequel is the story of how JT and his close friends found the club to protect themselves, their town and everything they hold dear.

18. Amigos in High Places

CROW'S NEST CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 18: AMIGOS IN HIGH PLACES

TELLER AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR

Thomas threw up right on the garage floor as JT's eyes stared at the ghoulish contents of the plastic shopping bag. Two bloodied human ears were in the bag, both with Megan's signature earrings still attached to them, along with a note sloppily written in broken English telling the Sons to call a certain phone number and to reconsider their decision before making the call, and that Megan's hands or feet would be delivered to Charming next.

Thomas removed his pistol from his belt holster and pointed it at the Mayan prisoners, his finger on the trigger, but JT grabbed his hand and two bullets discharged into the ceiling instead.

"We still need the bargaining chips!"

"We need to fucking find them today!" Thomas screamed, "Oh God!"

JT sighed and pushed the Honduran prisoner forward, nodding to Thomas, who punched him in the stomach and pulled him toward the bathroom, also ordering Benito to go serve as a translator.

"The time Megan has, is the time y'all have," Thomas shouted at them as they entered the bathroom. "If we don't find her on time, your Mayan amigos will never find you!"

Clay spoke up. "But if they're going to threaten to send us Megan's hands and feet, maybe we need to beat them to it." He grabbed a shotgun from the rack in the basement and fired it at Eduardo, severing his right arm below the elbow.

"Ahhhhhhh! Hijos de putas! Pedazso de mierdas!" screamed Eduardo.

"You want me to translate for them, I will," Benito said, "But I promise none of us will talk. Whatever you do to us, the penalty for betraying our brothers is worse. Francisco has made that very clear." He turned to the Honduran. "Cierto? Correct?"

"Si, Benito!" The MH-11 gangster was already embarrassed by his fellow crew member's cowardice, begging for his life before JT shot him in the head.

"We'll see about that," Thomas said as he forced the Honduran into the bathroom. "Where the fuck are they holding my girl?"

"Chingate guey!"

Benito laughed. "He says to go fuck yourself!"

"I won't ask you again! WHERE are they holding Megan? I know you know the answer!"

"And you know you will never get it from me," the Honduran taunted Thomas. He then proceeded to spit in his face, which obviously needed no translation.

"And even if he does break," Benito said, "I won't tell you." He then broke out laughing.

"In that case, it won't be America on the other side of the water. It's hell," Thomas said. He grabbed the Honduran's neck and forced his head into the toilet, the Honduran's hand clutching the toilet bowl for over a minute as he struggled to overpower Thomas, but Clay also went and held him down. After what seemed like forever, the tapping stopped and Thomas yanked the Honduran's head back, the man's drowned body falling onto the tiled bathroom floor, his face already pale.

Thomas then kicked his body to the other side of the bathroom. JT stood there but did nothing. Thomas hadn't even truly come to grips with what had happened, as he stared blankly at the plastic bag and its contents. JT knew it was different than how his brothers-in-arms were tortured to death in the war. She was an innocent, defenseless girl kidnapped from the middle of a residential neighborhood in Charming because of her association with a club member. She wasn't even a member of the club herself. Even if she survived, she would be horribly disfigured for the rest of her life. Suddenly his mind raced. How could he even face her after what the Mayans had done? Could he even bear to look at her already disfigured body? In addition to the ghastly sight, it would be a constant reminder that he and the club had failed here, and it had happened because he wore the patch. The only thing he could do now was pray they got her back before anything else happened.

FBI FIELD OFFICE, DOWNTOWN SAN FRANCISCO

Mark Tasker had actually truly missed his office at the federal building in downtown San Francisco, especially compared to being out in the "boondocks" of the Central Valley, but he hardly missed his boss, Special Agent in Charge Nathan Jarrett. With all of his family connections in multiple federal agencies, Tasker felt he should be the one sitting behind Jarrett's desk in his corner office.

"Thank you, sir, for taking the time to see me," Tasker said with a fake but polite respectfulness. He certainly knew how to play the game and could be slickly humble when the situation called for it, though he was more in his element chewing out a bartender for allegedly watering down his cocktails.

"Mark, when you convinced me to go against Bureau protocol and provide access to our tracking technology to your so-called sources in Charming, it was with the understanding that results would come quickly. I don't see anything in your most recent reports to suggest that's the case, or will become the case anytime soon."

"Yes, sir, we've had some drawbacks. As we all know from the news, the situation in Charming has…."

"Which you should have handled by now!" Jarrett said in a frustrated tone. "I get a call from Washington every other day wondering what the hell's going on out there! Do you realize that the homicide rate in San Joaquin County this year has been on par with New York? Yes, even with all the madness in Harlem, I'd rather be walking down the street there than the area you're responsible for."

"With respect, sir," Tasker said, "The real correlation between the increase in violence is with the formation of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. Charming PD and others in town refuse to cooperate with us in our investigation which is why…"

"And your investigation in Concord?"

"The Sons have covered their tracks well. We've reviewed hours of footage from multiple security cameras from the food court, the department stores and half the truck stops, rest areas, and gas stations between here and Charming. They know all about surveillance, I believe some of them may have been involved in recon operations in the military. We must apply more pressure on the local police in Charming, remind them that their duty is to uphold the law."

"So everyone's to blame except yourself, right?" Jarrett responded rhetorically. "If you had focused more resources on investigating the Lodi bombing, maybe John Teller wouldn't have felt compelled to organize the club and go after the Weathermen himself, and then we wouldn't be in the situation we're in right now. You….you did what you felt was politically expedient, not what was right."

"I don't believe there's any way we could have foreseen these actions. These soldiers are crazy! This war is crazy. They come back on fucked up in the head Lord knows what…"

"All I want to know is, how are we going to settle these problems in the Central Valley? I don't want have to go to Washington at the end of the year and explain to the director why the stats in these little towns is worse than Harlem! And now you're reaching out to the Sons' enemies?"

"It's going to go one of two ways. We go after the Sons the old way we're hitting a brick wall. The people I've talking to are able to challenge the club in a way that my badge doesn't allow me to. Is it going to get bloody for a while? Perhaps, but once we weather the storm, Charming's going to go back to being Mayberry, and everyone goes home happy. The alternative is for the violence to continue with no end in sight till we're comparing San Joaquin with Saigon rather than Harlem."

"Whatever happens, it's on you, Tasker. I don't even want to know what the hell you've got up your sleeve." Tasker did his delight that his superior made basically compromised his principles and gave him a green light to continue the activities had had already begun. He masked this with some of that confident arrogance. Amazing how the dynamics of this meeting had changed.

"Yes, it's on me, win or lose."

GOLDEN GATE PARK, SAN FRANCISCO

After leaving his office, Tasker drove his government-provided Mercedes 200 D sedan west to Golden Gate Park, where two men were waiting for him in a gazebo next to a fishing pond and flower garden. This was the perfect place for a meet. A busy establishment meant too many witnesses and possible security cameras, while a completely desolate area would allow the men he was meeting to conduct an ambush if that had been on their minds.

Both men were dressed like they could be longshoremen on their day off, but they were usually seen in Mayan kuttes.

"Buenas tardes," Frisco said as his translator from Texas repeated his words in English. "I hope the people in your office haven't given you too much trouble."

"Well they obviously don't like the fact that I'm not going to tell them who you are, beyond the fact you're from Oakland. But I got the approval to do whatever's necessary to bring the violence to an end."

Frisco nodded. "Yes, the violence will end when we destroy the Sons and establish ourselves in Charming, taking over their businesses."

"You really think the Indians are going to deal with you after what you're doing to that young woman from their tribe?"

"They will have no choice. There is something you Americans don't understand about how we do things, Mark. The game we play has no rules. We take what we want. We have sacrificed too much blood to not take what they have, in addition to the satisfaction and peace that revenge will provide us. Unfortunately the Sons haven't been very cooperative, and they've already killed one of our men, but that's to be expected."

Tasker almost asked these Mayans just how badly had hurt Megan already, but figured the more deniability he had for himself, the better. He wasn't expecting things to go south with his higher ups, but if it did and he had some kind of administrative hearing or even prosecution, he would blame the Mayans for purposely misleading him about their intentions.

"What about the technology I provided you? Has it been put to good use?"

"Yes, my men have been tracing Benito using the tracker that you gave us, and that's the main reason why we need to meet. We've located them in the Wahewa Indian Reservation. We're not very familiar with that tribe."

"Motherfucker!" Tasker cursed. The Wahewa reservation would be the bane of his existence, it appeared.

"But you're a federal agent. You can go into the reservation and crash their powwow whether the fucking Indians allow you or not! I need to know what's going on in there, or I need you to use your connections in the government to force them to stop giving sanctuary to my brother's murderers!"

"First of all let me make myself clear, hombre. You don't need me to do anything." In fact, Tasker had no love for the Mayans and wasn't even being paid by them. This was all a calculation and part of his drive to destroy the Sons. If the Mayans took care of the Sons, he could claim credit for putting an end to the biker gang violence in Charming as well as find a way to officially end his investigation into the Lodi bombing without just having it sputter out. Perhaps he could frame some of the Sons for an inside job, claiming it was done to convince JT to create the club so that it can be used for their criminal enterprises. All this would do wonders for Tasker's career. And when the time came, he would turn on the Mayans too. Hopefully that would be enough to get his transfer to the vaunted Miami office approved.

"If I apply pressure on the Wahewa, it's because I want to. As for the device, my superiors aren't happy with what I'm doing, and we need results before they look into this further. I'm going to push harder on the Indians with the legal angle. It was a stupid move on your part to kidnap a member of their tribe."

"Megan and Thomas were the only ones we could get to. JT and Piney don't even have old ladies as far as we know," Frisco said in his own defense. "That was the best way we can get leverage against the club."

"Well I'll do what I can on my end but if they don't fold, you'll have no choice but to go after them in the reservation, which will bring more federal attention."

"Hopefully you'll be able to flush them out instead."

WAHEWA INDIAN RESERVATION

Chief Raging Bull was over twenty minutes late to his meeting with JT and Piney at his office in the tribal council building, and he didn't look too happy. Megan's kidnapping had hit the tribe hard, and he had just had a terribly unpleasant meeting with Special Agent Tasker at the reservation gates. Him and the tribal police had vehemently refused Tasker permission to enter the reservation, and it was within their every right to do so. Only the Bureau of Indian Affairs personnel could legally enter Indian Country without a warrant if the tribe didn't want to grant permission.

"What's going on?" Piney asked.

"I've consulted with the council, and they've voted to stop providing sanctuary to your club," Raging Bull said.

"But we've done business for years. We're friends and associates of your people," JT interjected. He had to admit that once again, the criminal enterprises some of his members engaged in might come in useful.

"That's true but this is about self preservation. Agent Tasker came back again today. He reminded us of the power he has to make sure the government never approves a gaming license even if tribal casinos are legalized."

"They don't have the grounds to do that. I know some lawyers in town that will fight them, we'll even pay your attorney fees but we need your protection at this time, at least for another few days."

Raging Bull shook his head. "Unfortunately the council has overruled me on this and I've made my case as forcefully as possible. Unlike the historical Wahewa chiefs, I no longer have absolute power over my people. And yes, Tasker may have the power. He's going to go into our hearing, talk about our tied to organized crime - yes that is what the marijuana production is in their eyes - compare us to Bugsy Siegel and remind the regulators how many years it took to get the mob out of Las Vegas."

"Megan is a member of your tribe. Doesn't the council understand that we're..."

"In fact many of the council members no longer consider her one of us given her decision not only to move off the reservation when she could have commuted to Charming from here, but because of her choice to be with a white man. While we both know otherwise, they feel she has turned her back on our people and isn't worth losing our potential gambling revenues and the marijuana production over."

"How much time do we have?" JT asked.

"Your club has 12 hours to leave the reservation, and our tribal police will no longer be allowed to assist you like with the protection they've given you so far. The council's decision is final."

MARTINEZ IMPORTS TRADING COMPANY

Frisco left the van and walked the short distance down the grungy docks of Oakland back into the converted shipping container which was positioned in such a way that it was hidden from view from both the water and the closest street. Megan was in such pain and terror that anything, even being violated the way the Mayans had done to her during her first night in captivity, would be better than what was coming. Yet Frisco wasn't here to rape her again, and she knew that. He was here to do worse. Despite her exterior ear having been removed and the gauze tied roughly around them, she could hear the Mayans' taunts.

"Let me tell you a surprise, puta," Frisco said as Alejandro and Oscar entered laughing. "You see, all this was just a game. I have a tracking device, the kind that comes from…no, puta it IS an FBI tracking device. I know exactly where the Sons are hiding our people." He made a point to glance at her severed ears. "This is just a game, to see how much Thomas loves you."

"Please….he's….just kill me please…." She said weakly.

"It won't be that easy," Frisco said. "But then again it's not up to us! The Sons, especially John Teller, would rather choose to be cowards and save themselves. Instead of surrendering himself to you, Teller instead killed two of my men, and he shot off the arm of another. He thinks that will push us to back off?"

Frisco barked some orders in Spanish to his men, and Alejandro and Oscar went forward and held Megan's hands down on a table. "We will let our Honduran friends join in the fun this time, so the Sons can answer to them too."

A heavily tattooed MH-11 gang member came into the room with a handsaw.

"Please!" Megan looked at the translator. "Tell him I know Thomas is doing everything he can! JT is the President but…"

The Honduran slapped her in the face, and the translator didn't even bother to translate this time.

"Please! Tell him to stop!" Megan begged. While she didn't understand their language, she could tell from their tone of voices and the violent, merciless look in their eyes that what was coming next was unimaginable.

"Both hands?" the Honduran asked Frisco.

"Si, mojados," replied Frisco. "And gag her. Yes, nobody's going to hear her scream from the other docks, but it will be for our own ear protection."

SOA CLUBHOUSE, TELLER AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR

"Why the hell's he here? We didn't order anything," Clay said as he looked outside the window from the Teller Automotive office and saw a truck from a courier service pull into the yard.

"It's Wednesday. Shit," JT said in a guarded tone. He suddenly remembered this was the day that Frisco was supposed to contact them again, and sending another physical message was in line with the Mayan style.

"Can I help you?" JT asked, walking over as the driver got out of the vehicle.

"Yes, sir, are you, um, Mr. Teller?"

JT nodded.

"We got a package for you and Mr. Thomas Whitney. From a Francisco Martinez in Oakland. Specified next-day delivery."

JT quickly signed for it and brought it back into the clubhouse. He didn't wait a second before cutting open the packing tape with his pocketknife and opening it up. He slammed his fists on the table, shaking his head in disgust. Inside the box was Megan's severed hands, with a note that read, "She is still alive. A lot more fun that way. Look forward to speaking with you."

MAYANS OAKLAND CLUBHOUSE

"We can make the call now. Listo?" Oscar said, handing Frisco the rotary phone. Despite the loud mariachi music blaring in the cantina below, it was silent in the clubhouse, adding to what they considered the gravity of the moment. Whatever doubts their allied charters had expressed was now gone from their minds. Under Frisco's leadership, they had fought the Sons of Anarchy to a standstill. Frisco's plan of using Benito as a decoy and kidnapping Megan was paying off, and John Teller would cave in sooner or later. Being triumphant against a group of former US Army soldiers would elevate their prestige among the other Mayan charters as well as the rest of Oakland's organized crime groups.

Frisco dialed the number and JT answered on the second ring.

"I hope you now know that we mean business," Frisco said, "Especially if the message was delivered to Charming on time."

"You have our attention, Francisco," JT said from the SOA clubhouse, squeezing the phone so hard the palm of his hand was getting numb. "But I hope I have yours too. Hopefully my package also arrived in O-town on time. Your man Eduardo might need a leg up from now on, but at least he's alive."

"I think it's best that we no waste one another's time with bullshit," Frisco said. "I have one simple question for you. Are you willing to make the trade or not?" There was just a slight pause in JT's response, so Frisco continued. "Well I hope Thomas still cares about Megan right? She may be damaged goods, but isn't she still worth something in that sweet little heart of his? Or perhaps we can depreciate her some more, like when a bike loses its tires?"

"We'll make the exchange, Francisco!"

"So you will surrender yourself and release all of our men that you have captured, with the understanding that we will do to you far worse than what we've done to Megan."

"Yes I told you we'll make the trade!"

"And I also demand that you disband your club, and that all of your possessions, including everything in your bank accounts, all of your marijuana dealings in the Central Valley, all the cash in your clubhouse, all of it comes to us. Is that also clear."

"You had not mentioned this before, but yes, Francisco. We agree to your terms. Now tell me where and when this exchange is going to take place."

"Our terms, our turf. It will happen on Pier 3 here at the Oakland marine terminal. You will come alone. If I see anyone else from your club, any policia like Wayne Unser whom we know works for you, any of your friends come, this deal is off."

"I believe Thomas has the right to come for his own old lady, and to correctly identify Megan. And I need at least one other man with me to guarantee you'll keep your end of the bargain, that you won't take me out with a sharpshooter the moment I step onto that pier. I'm sure you've been in your kind of business long enough to understand the importance of an insurance policy."

Frisco looked at some of his men with a knowing expression. "I will allow that much. Just remember, you are outnumbered, and on our turf. Nobody will call the police for you, and even if they do, Oakland PD knows never to enter our barrios."

"Yes, I understand."

"4 PM this afternoon at the port, and have all of my men with you."

Frisco disconnected the call and his translator confirmed the arrangements.

MARTINEZ IMPORTS TRADING COMPANY

"Hueyputa mentiroso. Fucking liar," Alejandro said from his seat in front of a bulky computer set amid boxes of imported tropical fruits, their front business. It had taken Tasker all afternoon to get the Mayans acquainted with this new technology.

"So JT is not on his way here with our prisoners? I didn't think he would be," Frisco said.

Alejandro shook his head and pointed to the computer screen, which displayed a pixilated map of the Bay Area spreading eastward into Charming. "Maybe JT is on his way here, but Benito is being moved to a campground in a piece of forest northeast of Charming in Morada Hills State Park." Benito had volunteered to wear the tracking device in case he was taken by the Sons, which obviously turned out to be prudent from the Mayans' point of view.

"Looks like our gringo friend in the FBI actually came through, but the Indians still think they can outsmart us with these games."

He called out to one of the Mayan prospects. "Diego, come here, vamos."

"Si, patron."

He handed Diego a knife and pointed at Megan. "You asked for a chance to prove yourself worthy of the patch." In fact Frisco didn't feel Diego, a cocky street thug, was truly worthy, but with his club's ranks thinned so much from their war with the Sons of Anarchy, he had to reward the loyalty and ambition that the remaining prospects had demonstrated.

Diego took the knife and nodded. "We would have done this regardless? Even if the Sons had truly been honest with us?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," Frisco replied.

Author's Note: Sorry if this chapter was also more filler but it's a build up to the final stretch of the story. Hope y'all have a Merry Christmas!