Chapter 4: SLAMMING UP AGAINST WHAT I SHOULD DO
"That's him, the skinny Hispanic guy…." The deputy nods in the direction of their quarry, who's standing next to his Harley talking on his cel phone. "Juan Carlos Ortiz."
Sitting in the Sheriff's squad car parked a discreet distance from the ice cream shop - SAMCRO's de facto Clubhouse - Jarry assesses the biker called Juice. The man certainly has a history with the Sanwa Sheriff's Department (and Charming PD) - bouncing in and out of jail for years. However, the separate file on him that they'd found in Eli's office fell frustratingly short on detail - an unusual lapse by the diligent man that she'd known for years; which makes her wonder about the truth hidden between the lines and whether it'd been explosive enough to drive Juice to such violent retaliation. But even so, why kill Tara Knowles so savagely? Did Juice harbor that much hate for his MC President's wife? Or for the Biker King himself? Based on what she'd been told about Jackson Teller's long history with Tara Knowles and what she'd observed of his interview with Patterson, if anyone had wanted to destroy the man, killing his wife was the way to do it.
However, despite her immediate interest in Juice, she could also ask those same questions about all the potential persons of interests they'd identified when going through Eli's jacket. Her old friend had a shitload of bad guys who would've loved to take him down - now she needs to find out which ones also harbored that same murderous animosity for the SAMCRO President.
She'd relayed her findings to both Reese and Patterson; both had agreed with her strategy to find a link between the two victims. However, she didn't tell them about Juice; that link was too tenuous given the scant information in the report, also she didn't want to smear Eli by suggesting that he might've done shit off the record or sanitized a case file.
Nor did she tell them about her own suspicion that Eli had fallen victim to walking into the wrong place at the wrong time - that Eli's killer had shot him in the back because he'd either witnessed Dr. Knowles' murder or discovered her dead body. However, she needs the crime scene report to prove her theory - even a preliminary version would do - but for some crazy reason, the county CSU hasn't finished their analysis. It's pissing her off because she's seen them process and analyze crime scenes three times the size of the Teller's kitchen in half the time they're taking now. But then, the AG's office wasn't involved in those cases; everyone's fucking tip-toeing on egg shells because of Nick Reese.
She's jolted out of her thoughts by the appearance of a tall woman walking up to Juice, who immediately ends his call. As the woman leans in to hug the young biker, Jarry recognizes her from the photo in Jackson Teller's thick file: Gemma Teller-Morrow.
Head and heart pounding, Jax watches the bank employee insert her key, then his to open the safe deposit slot and extract the box. He follows her to the adjoining room where she sets the box on the table then tells him to let her know when he's ready to leave. For a few seconds, his thoughts drift to the terse conversation with Nick Reese prior to walking into the bank; he wonders who and what's going to fuck with his mind more - the cagey Deputy Chief AG, who wants to meet with him later today, or the mysterious shit in the safety deposit box that Tara had wanted him to have.
It'd been a shock to find out that Tara'd kept the box after Galindo cut ties with SAMCRO; after cleaning the cartel's last cash payment, they'd moved the funds into their regular bank account - with their legitimate money. But along with the key, Rosen handed over a bank document transferring ownership of the box to him. He'd been fucking confused why Rosen had delivered the news instead of Lowen, the lawyer in charge of Tara's will. But when Jax pelted him with questions, Rosen went into asshole mode and refused to answer anything until Jax retrieved the contents of the box and brought it back to the office - tomorrow because he's got court in Sacramento the rest of the day. Jax'd been tempted to slug the prick, growling that he's in no fucking mood to play a goddamn scavenger hunt game - instead, burning curiosity had him speeding towards the bank right after the meeting.
Taking a deep breath, Jax opens the box only to have his eyes nearly pop out of his head. He lifts a manila envelope and stares in shock at the stacks of hundred dollar bills lining the bottom layer of the box. Holy fuck. Where the hell did Tara get this cash? Based on the will that Lowen read him, all of Tara's savings had gone into the boys' trust accounts and the remaining proceeds she had from selling her dad's house had gone to pay her legal fees. For long moments, he stares at the cash like a dumbfuck before finally remembering the envelope in his hand; hopefully it can shed some light as to why there's seventy grand in cash in a box that should've been empty.
However the contents of the envelope deliver an even greater shock. Quickly scanning the papers - most of which look to be stock and brokerage documents (shit he's never cared to understand) - he's floored by savings account statements from a physicians' credit union. Apparently Tara had started the account right after he proposed to her and promised to take them all out of Charming; she'd been saving for their life together.
"You talk to my mom about what to do with the cash?" He pulls her tighter against him, every inch of his body still buzzing from the insanely delicious way she'd welcomed him home. Holy fuck, no one else can rock his world with the blinding ecstasy that she does. No one.
She nuzzles his neck then smiles up at him. "Yeah, I had lunch with her; we're going to meet with a guy Bobby knows. It's just a lot of money, Jax…"
Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he twines their fingers. "And I promise there's going to be a whole lot more… I remember what it was like for you growing up, Tara; your parents never gave you shit. You even left to find a better life. I'm just so damn lucky you came back to me." He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her fingers. "I want to give you a beautiful life, Babe - you and the boys and all the other kids we're going to have. I want to be able to give you everything."
"Oh Jax…" Green eyes misty, she kisses him softly. "I don't need you to buy me things. Once you're out of SAMCRO and we're gone from here, we could live in a tent and it'd be beautiful." Sliding on top of him, she leans down and blows him away with scorching hot kiss. "I love you, Baby." Tara strokes his face with her soft hands. "All I need is for you and the boys to be safe. That's all I'll ever want…for us to be together."
Suddenly, the pounding in his head ratchets to another level; if he doesn't get the fuck out of here he's going puke or violently destroy shit like in the ME's lab - or both. He shoves the papers back into the envelope, which he rolls up and sticks in his sweatshirt pocket; Rosen's got a fuckload of explaining to do. Eyeing the cash, he decides to leave it all in the box for now - although he'll be back for it…soon.
"Hey, Mano, thanks for calling me back." Nero sits down next to him on the park bench. Despite the tight bond that's grown between them, their last two meetings hadn't gone well. On the worst day of Jax's life, Nero had called him out for lying about his complicity in Darvany's murder. And when Nero had come to visit him at the hospital, Jax had raged at him to get out - like he did to every poor fucker who'd walked into his room; if he couldn't see Tara, he didn't want to see anyone.
However, Nero continued to reach out; calling and leaving multiple voicemails on Jax's cel - which Jax had ignored, like all the other messages, until today. Since he had a few hours to kill before the meet with Reese, Jax finally returned his friend's call; he needs a favor from the one guy he can trust with his plan. "Thanks for coming," Jax tells him quietly. "Sorry I was such an asshole the other day, I…"
Nero clamps his hand on Jax's shoulder and shakes his head. "No, man, it's okay. I get it."
Jax nods then turns to stare out at the empty playground where he'd spent hundreds of hours as a kid with Opie and Tara, then as family man with Tara and his boys. He's not sure why he chose this place to meet Nero; in his agitated state, he hadn't wanted to go home where the bottles of whiskey could tempt him again and he sure as hell didn't want to go to his mom's or to the ice cream shop. Maybe subconsciously he'd picked this place because he'd known only happiness with her here.
"The coroner's releasing Tara tomorrow." It surprises him a little that he can sound so bland and matter-of-fact. "I need a favor with the…final arrangements."
His friend blinks in surprise; whatever Nero may have expected him to say, it wasn't this. No doubt he probably expected Jax to go to Gemma or one of his SAMCRO Brothers for anything to do with Tara's burial. "Anything, Jax. Just tell me what you need from me; it's as good as done."
Nero may've looked slightly surprised before, but after Jax divulges his plan, the man's jaw drops in stunned amazement. "Are you going to tell Gemma about this?"
Jax shakes his head. "No, she'll try to stop me. No one else can know until I'm ready for them to know. I have to do this, Nero. It's what Tara would've wanted; I can't let her down again…"
"Okay." Nero nods slowly, a small smile tugging his lips. "Okay." He sits with Jax in silence for a few long moments before getting up, patting Jax on the shoulder then walking away; leaving Jax to continue staring at the empty playground.
"Jax? What are you doing here?" Tara blinks at him in surprise as he plops down on the picnic blanket where she's nursing Thomas. She darts a quick glance at Abel - who's with a couple of small kids playing some game that consists of chasing each other and squealing as loud as possible - before turning to him so he can kiss her.
"Time off for good behavior." He moves closer, wrapping his arms around her while she snuggles against him. Actually, that's not far off from the truth. Since the Club voted to start muling drugs for the Galindo Cartel a couple of days ago, Clay's been all sorts of grateful to him for his backing on the vote. And Jax parlayed that gratitude to skip a short run this weekend; he'd wanted to escape with Tara to their special place for a couple of days of camping and marathon sex. She'd made some important promises to him during his fourteen months in Stockton - like going skinny dipping and tattooing her name on his dick with her tongue; the woman's going to be his wife, he needed to make sure she kept her promises. Which she did. A few times.
When they got back to town this morning, he'd gone to the Clubhouse to check in while she picked up the boys from Gemma's to start Abel Day - a pancake, park and animated movie fest that Tara invented while Jax was in Stockton to make her little boy happy. But after a couple of hours, mostly spent bickering with Bobby and Piney about the cartel, Jax couldn't resist the pull of her and ditched his Brothers to spend the rest of the day with his family.
He kisses the top of her head then gazes down at their baby boy; it never fails to amaze Jax how much Thomas' such a beautiful blend of both him and Tara. Of course, Jax loves the fact that Thomas looks exactly like him - except for those gorgeous green eyes that he'd inherited from Tara. Those big eyes twinkle up at him in greeting as Thomas continues to suckle his mother greedily.
"Just remember, Kid - those puppies are a temporary rental; they belong to me." Jax strokes his son's soft cheek, then smiles mischievously against Tara's hair when his hand brushes against her breast once, twice…
"I can't believe you're feeling me up in front of your kids, not to mention a bunch of preschoolers and their moms," she scolds laughingly, but doesn't stop him - so he doesn't stop. Then sighing wistfully, she looks down at Thomas. "I have to admit I'm a little sad that the boys won't get to have as much fun at this park as we did growing up. I've always loved this park."
"Yeah, me too." Jax's smile widens as Abel shrieks with laughter as he eludes another little boy trying to catch him. "We'll just have to find a place with a neighborhood park nearby. Can't deprive them of cute little girls saving them from mean bullies who steal their bikes."
Tara giggles at the memory and kisses his stubbly cheek. "I just hope neither of them inherit their old man's bad habit of eating sand." She grins at what must be offended outrage on his face. "Don't even try and deny it, Baby. I was there, remember? You couldn't get enough. It's just a good thing you didn't know what Opie did in that sand..."
The vibrating buzz from his cel phone snaps him out of his reverie. Skeeter. Sighing heavily as grim reality sets in again, he answers the call.
"You know all this cloak and dagger shit is getting old," Jax snaps at the blond lawyer emerging from the black SUV. When the AG's chief hatchet man called earlier, he'd pretty much ordered Jax to meet him at a private location, which turned out to be the Charming cemetery.
"Relax, Teller. You'll thank me later." Reese motions for Jax to follow as he walks towards the columbarium, supposedly where they could talk and not be seen - not there's a single person visible anywhere. Jax can't help but flash back to when he'd used this place to meet with another overly-ambitious government asshole; ATF Agent Stahl had been a back-stabbing, murderous bitch who'd killed her own partner to cover her own lying ass. He'll find out soon enough if he's got another one of her on his hands in the form of a cryptic state's attorney.
Reese reaches into his suit pocket, causing Jax to tense and reach for his gun. Shaking his head, the other man eyes him reprovingly, pulling out a bundle of folded papers that he hands to Jax. "Seriously, Teller, you really need to work on your trust issues. Why would I lure you out to the Charming cemetery in broad daylight to kill you?"
Grabbing the papers, Jax returns the man's glare. "I've got no fucking idea why you're doing any of this." As he glances at the document, his eyes widen in disbelief. "Jesus Christ…what the hell?"
"Call it a show of faith," Reese replies. "You get to see the final crime scene report before the Sheriff and the DA. You see? I wouldn't be giving this to you if I didn't think we could work together. Hell, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't know shit since Patterson's adamant about keeping you in the dark. For some reason, she thinks you might be prone to violence if you knew how…Dr. Knowles died."
There it is again – something's off in the man's tone; before Jax can probe further, his eyes latch on to the grisly photo of his kitchen - markers placed on the bloody floor where Tara and Roosevelt's bodies had been found. He'll never forget all the blood spattered everywhere, but for the first time he sees how much had spilled from Tara into the sink - turning the dishwater a deep, dark red.
"Dr. Knowles' killer had tried to drown her in the sink, and when she tried to fight it…the killer stabbed her in the back of the head - six times. And with enough force to crack her skull." A red mist coats Jax's vision as his legs buckle; he's forced to brace himself against the stone wall to keep from sliding to his knees. When he finally collects his shit, the volcanic rage - which he'd managed to bury for a while - shoots to the surface with a vengeance.
"Why…" He grits out, eyes never leaving the bloody photo. "Why the hell are you telling me all of this? What the fuck's your game, man?" Jax looks up and meets ice cold blue eyes, not unlike his own.
Reese stares at him for a long moment, his jaw hardening as if trying to decide whether to renege on his earlier claim that he's not here to kill. Jax can sense that, for some unknown reason, the other man hates him - a realization that doesn't bother him in the slightest since his own feelings toward the state's golden boy have rapidly degraded from initial distrust to intense dislike.
Pulling the crime scene report from Jax's grip, Reese glares down at the bloody photo. "Before I joined the AG's office, I was a prosecutor in the San Francisco DA's office for years. And for years, I was forced to make deals with murderers and rapists and drug dealers - all kinds of human slime. It was always the worst sort of criminals that had some kind of leverage they could trade to save them from getting the punishment they deserved."
Handing the report back to Jax, Reese reaches into the front pocket of his impeccably tailored black suit and pulls out a folded sheet of paper. "That's what might happen here, Teller. Jarry and her deputies might be able to find the murderer, but then what? The lowlife scumbag agrees to rat out another lowlife scumbag, who's higher on the criminal food chain, in exchange for a couple of years in Stockton and a decade on parole? Does that sound like justice to you?"
Where the fuck was this crazy asshole going with this? "You're the fucking lawyer," Jax grits out through clenched teeth. "You don't have to make any goddamn deals." What he doesn't say is that there's no fucking way that the animal who killed Tara will ever live long enough to get to trial.
Shaking his head, Reese scowls at him. "You know better than that, Teller. How much time did you and your 'Brothers' do on that federal gun charge? Fourteen months? That's bullshit time and you know it; yet the feds agreed because you served up a bigger fish - a bigger IRA fish…" A slow, grim smile tugs at his lips. "But then not long after your arrest - Jimmy O'Phelan was found murdered, along with the ATF agent who'd taken custody of him. What a strange series of events…"
The fragile thread holding on to Jax's patience snaps. "If you've got something to say, just fucking say it. I don't have the time or interest in your political career shit."
Once again Reese shoots him a long, measuring stare - as if assessing his suitability for some goddamn thing. Whatever it is, Jax's ready to tell the asshole to go fuck himself. He's had enough of the man's bullshit.
But before he can open his mouth, Reese thrusts the folded piece of paper at him. "This is a list of recently released criminals with homicide or assault records who could've had a grudge against Sheriff Roosevelt. I would appreciate if you could look at the names and see if any of these men might've had a problem with you or…Dr. Knowles."
Stunned, Jax accepts the paper and tries not to gape at the lifelong public servant. "And if I see a name or two that might look familiar? Is this some kind of fucked-up trap to get me back inside?"
"Like it or not, you're going to have to trust me on this, Teller. But I can assure you that we want the same thing - justice for an innocent woman." Reese shoves his hands in his pockets, grim rage spreading across his face. "She didn't die easily, you know. Or quickly. She fought hard to stay alive…I hate thinking of what she must've suffered those last few minutes of her life - so much fear, so much pain…"
Jax slams his eyes shut as he presses his forehead against the stone wall, fighting desperately for control; he can't let his grief consume him. He clutches the papers Reese gave him tightly; no, he's fucking done walking around like an open sore. It's fucking time to set the goddamn world on fire.
"Whatever you decide to do…" Jax hears Reese whisper in his ear. "Just make sure it's excruciating."
"Can we talk for a second?" Margaret Murphy blocks his entrance to the daycare.
He does need to talk to her about the boys, but he's in no fucking mood for that now. Not when his blood's still boiling, his mind still ravaged with brutal images of Tara dying painfully. "I'm kind of in a hurry, can it wait until tomorrow?"
She hesitates for a second before plowing forward. "It's about Abel. Jax, it's getting worse. He still won't talk - just withdrawing more and more every day. And he won't leave Thomas, not even for a second - it's like he's afraid of losing his little brother like he lost his mother."
Jax drags his hand through his hair. What the fuck does she expect him to do? Abel won't talk to him either. This morning, he'd dragged his hung-over ass out of bed to make breakfast for the boys - only to find Abel in Thomas' room, feeding his little brother goldfish crackers between the crib bars. "What should I do, Margaret? He won't open up to me either. Every time I try to talk to him, he ignores me or runs off. Maybe he blames me for what happened to Tara…" And he wouldn't be wrong, Jax tells himself bitterly.
"My husband, Dave, is a retired children's guidance counselor. It's not the same as a child psychologist by any means. But it's the closest thing we have right now with Dr. Wong, our resident expert, on vacation out of the country for the next couple of weeks. If you're okay with it, I can bring him here to meet with Abel."
"That would be great." He tries to smile, but fails miserably. "Just let me know how much…"
Shaking her head vigorously, Margaret frowns. "Oh no, we couldn't take your money. Dave adored Tara, we both did…" She pulls off her glasses to swipe the tears from her eyes. "Thank you for agreeing to this. I hope Dave can help him, even a little bit." Then before Jax can say anything, she mutters something about a meeting and walks away.
Entering the daycare, he braces himself from another round of silence from Abel and screaming fit from Thomas. The daycare manager - who's name he can never remember - smiles politely at him as she opens the door to the playroom. "Mr. Teller, you should know that some books that Dr. Knowles had ordered for the boys finally arrived; I put them in Abel's backpack." She says it hesitantly, as if she's not sure of his reaction. He nods distractedly as he's hit with the sound of the daycare aide reading an all-to-familiar story.
"'Once upon a time in Spain, there was a little bull and his name was Ferdinand. All the other little bulls he lived with would run and jump and butt their heads together, but not Ferdinand. He like to sit quietly and smell the flowers'..."
Abel giggles loudly. "That's so silly. Bulls don't smell flowers, Mommy."
Standing in the playroom doorway, he can't help but grin. Abel always says that when she reads this book to him - and as a skeptical nine-year-old, Jax'd said nearly the same thing when he'd listened to Tara read the same story to his little brother, Tommy.
"Well Ferdinand's a special bull, sweetie." Tara tells him, finger-combing his hair as he rocks back and forth on her lap. She tickles a gurgling Thomas, lying contently on the blank next to them, before continuing with the story - to the delight of the handful of enthralled kids sitting around her. "...'All the other bulls who had grown up with him in the same pasture would fight each other all day. They would butt each other and stick each with their horns. What they wanted most of all was to be picked to fight at the bull fights in Madrid. But not Ferdinand…'"
"But why wouldn't Ferdinand want to be in bull fights?" A small curly-haired boy asks. "He's a bull. Isn't that what bulls do?"
"Well some do, Carlos, but not all of them. Ferdinand doesn't want to fight, he likes smelling flowers. He's a very smart bull because that's what I would rather do than fight." She giggles as a chorus of excited "Me, too!" shouts fill the air.
The story's almost finished by the time she finally notices him leaning against the door gazing at her - like the big Spanish bull mooning over his favorite flower. In the corner of his eye, he can see the daycare manager and her aide smirking at him; they must think it's hilarious to see the bad-ass SAMCRO President getting all googly-eyed at the sight of his wife reading a kid's book to half-a-dozen toddlers and preschoolers.
She flashes him a blinding smile that curls his toes. "'So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy.'"*
"Mr. Teller?" The daycare manager looks at him worriedly, as if afraid he's going to relapse right there in front of her.
Forcing a smile, he takes Thomas' carrier and Abel's hand and leads his boys out of there. As they walk to the car, he can't help but think about that simple story he's heard her read probably a hundred times. He'd chosen the bull fights instead of a peaceful life with the beautiful flowers. And unlike that fucking lucky bull, he'll probably never be happy again.
In the car, he tells the boys of the change of plans; they'll be staying with Grandma for a couple of days because Daddy has some work to do. Once again, he may as well have saved his goddamn breath as Abel stares sullenly out the window while Thomas plays with his toes.
Gemma frowns as Abel stiffens when she tries to hug him then refuses to take off his ever-present backpack. "Jesus, how long is he going to be like this?" Her worried eyes follow her oldest grandson as he switches on the TV then climbs onto the couch next to Thomas, who's still in his carrier playing with his toes.
"I don't know, Mom. His mother just died, I don't think there's a fucking timetable for getting over something like that." At her stricken look, he sighs heavily and squeezes her arm. "I'm sorry….I did talk to Margaret Murphy today, and she's going to have her husband - who used to be some kind of kid counselor - start working with him. Who knows, maybe it'll help Abel to talk to someone else. He sure as hell isn't talking to me."
His mother wrinkles her nose in distaste; obviously there's no love lost between the two women. Jax wonders if Gemma blames Margaret for encouraging Tara to pursue a job in Oregon. But then it doesn't fucking matter how his mother feels about it; this is about getting help for Abel. If she doesn't like it, tough shit. His thoughts must've been reflected on his face because she'd opened her mouth to protest, only to deflate with a scowl.
Jax doesn't want to get into a fight with her; he's too fucking amped-up inside, and his kids are sitting a few feet away. So he changes the subject to something he needed to talk to her about anyway. "Mom, do you remember who Tara used to clean the Galindo cash? I think he's a friend of Bobby's?"
She blinks in surprise, no doubt by the seeming randomness of his question. "Yeah, his name's Marco DeNotti - one of those Italians who knew Bobby's dad. You don't think he had anything to do with what happened to Tara…? Jackson, the man's almost seventy."
"No, 'course not. I was just trying to remember his name," he lies.
But his mom's nobody's fool; she looks at him probingly. "Something happen today?" He hasn't not told her about meeting with Lowen about Tara's will, not sure if he ever will.
Shaking his head, Jax walks towards his boys to kiss them goodnight. "No, just met with Rosen about a few things."
He tries not to flinch when Abel doesn't respond to the kiss Jax drops on his forehead; turning to Thomas, it feels like a major victory that his baby boy's not crying as Jax strokes his chubby cheek.
He turns to leave. "Thanks, Mom. Just promise me that you'll them to daycare. It's important that Abel meets with Margaret's husband." He pulls her into a hug as she nods reluctantly. "Oh, and thanks again for getting Rosen back on board. The guy's still a complete asshole, but he's good. Just let me know how much I owe you; I can take over his retainer from now on."
Gemma shoots him a puzzled look. "I didn't hire him, Jax. Bobby and the guys did. Until he just showed up at the hospital, I hadn't seen him in a couple of years."
Jax stalks through his house, his brain churning in overdrive. The day's been a series of total mindfucks: Tara's will, the mystery cash in her safety deposit box, another soul-crushing encounter with Reese and now…who the fuck hired his lawyer? His skin prickles with unease as he cycles through all of his conversations with Rosen, but nothing triggers any suspicion that the former long-time SAMCRO lawyer might be trying to screw him.
He'd pulled out his phone to call Rosen and demand answers, but then his fingers touched the papers that Reese had given him earlier. No time to confront the lawyer now, he can do that in the morning. There's more important things to do now. Jax hits the all-too familiar speed-dial button, gratified when Bobby answers right away.
Inhaling sharply as his whole body shakes with rage, he fixates once again on the x-ray image of Tara's cracked skull - courtesy of the crime scene report. "Get the guys together," he barks into the phone. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
Hanging up the phone, he glances down at the leather cut that he's not worn since that fateful day. He'd thought that maybe he could walk away from everything that Tara hated; that he could quickly find and execute her killer then take the boys and escape this fucking town. He can still do that; his sons will not grow up here - he can keep that promise. But in order to find the monster who did this to her, he realized from reading the list Reese gave him, he can't do it alone.
He glances at the framed photo of him and Tara taken on their wedding day, he kisses one of his fingers then brushes it across her gorgeous, smiling face. "I'm so sorry, Babe. But it'll work out, I promise."
Shrugging on the leather cut, he glances down at the President's patch then walks out the front door.
*The Story of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf