Hello loyal and awesome readers! Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate, and to those of your who don't...well, just happy day. Here is the next chapter, and I hope that you enjoy it. I want to say a huge thank you to those of you who have favorited and followed this, and a HUGE thank you to my reviewers. A special shout out to Sky Venom...your review made me smile when I really needed a review to make my smile. You are ALL awesome!
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When Chibs woke for the third time in as many hours, he knew that he couldn't put it off any longer. He was straight up exhausted, tucked comfortably into a warm bed next to his gorgeous wife, but sleep couldn't seem to find him. There was too much going on with the Club right now, too many things up in the air for him to find any rest. The fact was, no matter how much he needed sleep, no matter how much he wants to stay snug in bed next to his wife, Opie had given him a task to complete, and he knew that he wouldn't be getting any real sleep until it was finished.
He contemplated the woman sound asleep next to him, wondering whether he could actually get out of bed without waking her. Between going on lockdown, learning her home had been destroyed, assaulting those encroaching on her territory, and worrying over him and Kerrianne, it had been a really long day for her, and there would likely be hell to pay for anybody who dared wake her. She had been awake just as long as he had, and she really needed all the rest she could get. He gently, carefully shifted himself to the edge of the bed and managed to get out without disturbing her slumber. He held his breath as she sighed softly and turned over in her sleep.
There was a chill in the air from the AC piping through the room, and boxers and a t-shirt were not going to cut it outside of the warmth of the bed. Pulling on his pants, Chibs made his way over to the wooden desk chair near the window. The sun was shining in and he cracked it open and lit a cigarette. Looking over his shoulder at Fiona, he smiled and inhaled deeply. He knew that if she were awake, Fiona would get tetchy with him about smoking indoors and begin nagging him to quit, which he found hilarious, considering it was her who got him started smoking at the ripe old age of seventeen.
Sometimes, usually when he was feeling the effects of too much whiskey, Chibs got to thinking of what his life would have been without his Fiona. He had met her when he was a stupid teenage boy, and had loved her from the word go. She had been his saving grace, taking him from the poor, hopeless life of a dirt poor teenager, and brought him into her world. Without Fiona Larkin, he would have been Filip Telford, half drunk dock worker, just like his father, living in Belfast, waiting for his time to die. Without Fiona, he wasn't Filip Telford, father of Kerrianne Telford-Larkin. Without her, he wasn't Filip Telford, ex-IRA member, acting VP for SAMCRO. Without Fiona, maybe he was free of scars and blood on his hands, but without her, he sure as hell wasn't Chibs.
It was the ex-IRA side of him, born from his association with a shot-caller's only daughter, that he needed to tap into now. He toyed with the cell phone in his hand as he finished his cigarette, stamping it out in the ashtray. The Club needed money, and the best way they had to get it at the moment was guns. They needed help from the Irish to get both guns and money. Ordinary procedure would have him calling Galen O'Shay, the man who had taken over for Jimmy. He had never been one to follow ordinary procedure, and he didn't have the sort of relationship with Galen that he did with other, more powerful member of the IRA. Instead, he punched in the number of his former teacher.
It rang three times before the line connected. "Hello, who's this?" a familiar, but cautious voice asked.
"It's me," he replied. "Filip."
"Filip, my boy!" came Mr. McCormick's jovial voice from the other end, distrust no longer coloring its tone. "How is the day treating you?"
"I've had better days, Mr. McCormick," Chibs replied. "But then again, I suppose I have had worse."
"I'll bet you have," the old man replied. "And I don't suppose I am ever going to convince you to call me something other than Mr. McCormick, am I?"
"Probably not," Chibs admitted with a small smile, before turning more serious. "But that's not really important right now. I called you for a reason."
"And what reason is that?" the other man asked. "Is your family okay?"
"Of course," he replied instantly. "They are safe and sound. It's something far less pleasant that my girls I am calling about."
"Ah. Does it have anything to do with our Russian comrades?" Mr. McCormick asked. "The ones in the habit of hiring psychotic men to burn down apartment buildings and stabbing defenseless men in prison?"
"Aye," Chibs informed him. "And we can add kidnapping our receptionist and holding her hostage to that list."
"Christ," the older man muttered. "Have they made contact yet?"
"No," Chibs said. "But they will soon. Or we will have no choice but to contact them. The girl that they took...she means something to one of us."
"So you have to get her back," Mr. McCormick caught on. "What do they want from you?"
"We don't know yet," Chibs told him. "But most likely money. We owe them 2 millions dollars."
A string of curse words that a teacher shouldn't be capable of escaped, and Chibs waited it out. It took a couple of minutes, and Chibs could hear the anger building. "How on Earth did SAMCRO managed to become indebted to the Russians to the tune of 2 million dollars?"
"Jimmy," was the simple reply.
"Jimmy?" the old man asked. "What does Jimmy have to do with this?"
Chibs sighed as he began explaining. "The Kings tasked SAMCRO with ending Jimmy, after he got out of Ireland. He had sought refuge with the Russians. We offered to buy him out."
"For 2 million dollars," McCormick connected the dots. "Jesus Christ, boyo."
"Aye," Chibs agreed, and allowed silence for a minute. "We need help, Mr. McCormick."
"The IRA doesn't have that kind of money to throw around, Filip," he started, but didn't get very far. Chibs was far too knowledge to have the wool pulled over his eyes.
"Yes, you do," Chibs responded, knowingly.
"Maybe we do, but not for this. We don't pay out a fool's ransom for everybody that demands it," Mr. McCormick explained. "The Kings will never agree to it, even if I advise them to."
"Then maybe you should remind the Kings of the fact that their demands caused this mess," Chibs said, his own anger beginning to get the best of him. "They were the ones who gave us the task, and we accomplished it, without even thinking twice."
"Filip, don't pretend that the job didn't benefit you, as well," Mr. McCormick said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I have a feeling you would have seen it done regardless of the Kings and their demands."
Chibs spared a glance at Fiona, before nodding. "Aye, I would have."
The former teach sighed heavily. "I don't think we can help with money, they would never go for that. I think that I could convince them that something needs to be worked out, though."
"That's good news," Chibs couldn't help but be heartened by the news.
"I will make some calls, speak to the Kings," Mr. McCormick told him. "Putlova was a friend of Jimmy's. The IRA has done business with him before. I am sure we can work something out. I will call with news as soon as I have some."
"Thank you, Mr. McCormick," Chibs allowed himself a grin. "I really appreciate it. I owe you one."
"Yes, you do," Mr. McCormick agreed. "Now give your wife a kiss from me and stay by the phone. And for heaven's sake, Filip, call me David."
Chibs rolled his eyes as the dial tone sounded in his ear, indicating that Mr. McCormick had hung up. He placed the phone back on the desk and rolled his head around once, trying to work out some of the stiffness that had settled into his muscles. He wondered if he should go tell Opie about his phone conversation, but then he realized that if his brother had even an ounce of sense, he was asleep, which was exactly where Chibs should be.
Right on time, as if she was some sort of psychic magic worker, he heard Fiona ask, "What are you doing all the way over there?"
Chibs grinned and turned to look at her. "Had to make a phone call."
"Well are you done?" she asked. He nodded in reply, not taking his eyes off of her. "Good, then come back to bed. I'm cold and I need you. Besides, we have quite a bit to talk about, and I would much rather do it in your arms."
He was on his feet in no time. His wife had asked him to come to bed, and Chibs really didn't need any convincing.
Opie woke up to the sound of Lila ushering the kids from the room. The television in the corner displayed nothing but snow, indicating that the movie the kids had been watching was over long ago. He wondered for a minute if Lila was going to follow them out of the room and leave him sleeping, but as soon as Piper had disappeared around the corner, she shut the door behind them and turned back towards him.
"Oh, you're awake," she smiled, leaning back against the door. "I'm sorry the kids woke you. You know how they can be."
"It's fine, I should probably wake up anyway," he replied. "How long have I been out?"
"Almost four hours," she told him, walking back to the bed and sitting on the edge. She reached for his hand, and he let her take it.
"I should get up," he said, but made no effort to actually move. "There is a lot to be done."
"I know," Lila sighed. "It didn't sound like anybody else was up yet when I let the kids out, although I am sure the kids will have the whole place awake in no time."
Opie laughed, knowing that she was right. "They won't be the only ones causing trouble."
"Nah," Lila replied. "There are plenty of other kids here for them to get into trouble with. I should go after them, keep them out of people's hair."
She moved to get up, but Opie stopped her. "Wait for a minute."
"What's up?" she asked, settling back in beside him.
"I really appreciate you being here," he told her frankly, never one to flower his words.
"I didn't think I had much of a choice," she replied with a laugh that contained no humor. "When it's between lockdown, or possibly being kidnapped or stabbed, it's not really a tough decision, Op."
"That's not what I meant," he explained. "I meant I appreciate you doing all this shit, going through all this stuff. You do more than I could ever expect or ask you to do. You take care of my kids like they are your own, and you handle shit like a true Old Lady."
"Well, I love you, Opie," Lila shrugged. "And all of this stuff comes with you."
"Yeah," he agreed, pulling her down into his arms. "I know that this hasn't been easy for you, and I just wanted you to know that I see that, and I see how much you do for me and for us, and I don't take that for granted. I love you, Lila."
Lila wasn't sure what to say. She was now sure of what particular conversations had been overheard by the guys. She and Fiona had been talking about SAMCRO life and what could be expected from an Old Lady, and the whiskey she had been drinking must have gone directly to her head, because she had ended up spilling quite a few of her insecurities and worries to the Irish woman. She had no idea how much exactly Opie had overheard, but the fact that he was reacting this way surprised her. She would have expected him to be pissed about her airing their business in the Club house. She would not have expected him to tell her she was loved and appreciated.
Not quite sure how to respond to the unexpected sentiment from Opie, Lila reverted to what she knew; her tried and true method of ending conversations.
"You love me?" she asked in her most seductive, porn star voice, straddling his lap and positioning herself above him. "Show me."
Gemma sat in the upscale, urban office building, tapping her heel against the side of the chair with impatience. Her arms crossed over her chest felt like a shield, even to her. She was comfortable in cramped offices whose walls were decorated with naked women. She was comfortable in dark bars that smelled like cigarette smoke and pussy. She was comfortable in her own home, surrounded by her own things. She was not comfortable here, in the legal office surrounded by men in ties and women smart business suits and a receptionist that kept giving her looks, though that may have been because Piney was next to her, drifting off to sleep.
Thankfully, Ally Lowen didn't keep her waiting very long. The tall, blonde woman came out from her large office with a smile plastered across her face.
"Gemma?" she said, her voice professional and perky. "I'm ready for you."
"Great," Gemma said, with a smile of her own. She glanced over at the receptionist, who was still staring at her. She gestured towards Piney. "Try not to wake him. If he starts to snore, just poke him with a stick or something."
She ignored the alarmed look the receptionist shot her and followed Lowen down the corridor to the bright, sunny office.
"Sit," Lowen instructed her, gesturing to a chair around a small, handsome conference table. "I called the prison. They are getting Clay and having him call back. It should be any time now."
"Did the prison tell you anything new about Jax?" Gemma wondered. She was a mother, always a mother, and it killed her that she couldn't be with her son. "Any word on when we can see him?"
"He is still recovering from the surgery, but he is doing well," Lowen reported, taking a seat near Gemma and crossing her legs. "You can see him when he is moved to regular medical. It could be a week or so."
"Don't know why it is taking so damned long," Gemma muttered, beyond frustrated with the situation.
"That's the way prison works," Lowen replied. "I have made an appeal to the warden, asking for permission to see him as soon as possible."
"That's why we pay you the big bucks," Gemma said with a bitter smile. "You'll let me know, as soon as you hear something?"
"Of course I will," Lowen reassured her. "Now let's talk about this phone call. It is technically an attorney client call, so the prison won't be able to listen in or record it, which I gather is what you need right now."
"Yeah," Gemma confirmed. "I need to talk to Clay about some things happening in the Club, and if the law finds out about it, it won't be good."
"I understand that," Lowen said. "But I need you to understand how illegal this is. If we are caught, I could lose the ability to practice law, so you need to do this exactly right. Don't speak until I give you the go ahead. Even though you can speak freely, try not to flaunt it. They are still listening on his end."
"I know how this works," Gemma said. "I won't blow your cover."
Lowen looked as if she wanted to say something, but the ringing of the phone cut her off. She held up a finger, telling Gemma to be silent. She pushed a button on the handset that sat on the table and said, "This is Ally Lowen."
"This is Clay Morrow," came her husband's voice over the line, making Gemma melt just a little. A deep breath had her steady again.
"How are you doing in there, Clay?" Lowen asked.
"Well, I am surrounded by people who would probably love to kill me, and somebody stabbed my stepson," Clay replied. "I've been better."
Lowen paused for a moment, listening for any indication that another party was on the line. When she heard none, she said, "Well, I have somebody here who might cheer you up a bit."
"Is that so?" Clay asked, and Gemma knew he was smiling. Lowen pointed at her and Gemma took that as her clue that she was free to talk.
"It better be," Gemma responded. "Hey baby."
"Well, you're right. That does cheer me up," Clay said, well aware that he couldn't say what he wanted to, but making the best of the opportunity to communicate with his wife.
"Of course it does," Gemma grinned herself. She knew that this wouldn't be a long phone call, so she got right down to business. "Have you heard anything about Jax?"
"Nothing new," Clay responded. "Jax will be fine, he is tough. Whoever is responsible will pay, in a court of law, of course."
"Of course," Gemma said. "The guys are looking to connect with who is responsible on the outside. The Russians kidnapped Tess, the girl who has been working in the garage. They're holding her hostage."
"Shit," Clay shouted, before quickly simmering down. "And have they had any luck with that?"
"A bit," she informed him. "Does the name Popov ring any bells for you? Or any Russian crew in Oakdale?"
"Not anything recent," Clay told her. "Years ago there was a presence there, in the early 80's, but it's been years. It's been clean since then."
"The guys found a note saying that they were taking the girl there. The name Popov in Oakdale is the only clue we have to go on," Gemma replied. "Things are getting bad out here. We are all on lockdown since the stabbing, Kozik is going crazy. He and Tess kind of had a thing going. The IRA burned Fiona's house down, so Chibs isn't exactly too thrilled either. Opie is barely holding it all together."
"Goddamn it," Clay muttered. "That's not good."
"It definitely isn't," Gemma agreed. "Opie thinks that the Russians won't let up until they get their money for Jimmy."
"That's probably true," Clay sighed.
"Opie is having Chibs get in touch with the Irish, to see if they can help at all on that front," Gemma informed him.
"That's a decent idea," Clay responded. "Because there is no money."
"I know," Gemma said. "They haven't given us any demands yet. Opie is going to give it until the end of the day, before getting more aggressive about contacting them."
"I could try to make friends with some of my fellow prisoners," Clay said, and Gemma knew that he was offering to talk to some of the Russian crew on the inside.
"That's perfect," Gemma told him. "Any help we could get would be welcome. They have one of ours, and we need to get her back."
"The receptionist?" Clay scoffed. "Don't worry about that. Keeping us safe on the inside is your priority."
"Your safety is always my priority," Gemma responded instantly.
"I know it," Clay sighed. "It will be okay. We will all be fine in here. I will call as soon as I can."
"Okay, baby," Gemma told him. "Stay safe and give my love to the guys."
"Same to you," Clay replied, and then the dial tone sounded.
Gemma sat back in the office chair, allowing her head to rest against the wall and her eyes to close.
"Not exactly the most ideal way to communicate," she stated, matter of factly.
"No, it really isn't," Lowen agreed, her heart going out to the other woman. "But did you get what you needed?"
"With him in prison and my son in the hospital, I will never get what I need," Gemma replied, standing to leave. "But the information helps. If you hear from him again, come to the Club house. I am going to go get Piney and head back. We will be in touch soon."