Chapter Eight
Marchella
I didn’t sleep worth a damn. I knew no one would get out, but even so, I kept replaying the events in my mind and hoping I could steal a few more moments with Blaze before he left town. I knew it probably wouldn’t happen. I didn’t blame him for my father’s arrest. Though no one would ever admit it, I would… Maybe if my father had talked to Mackie about his temper when it was still manageable, or God forbid, get him some therapy after our mother’s murder, none of it would have happened.
And why the fuck did he have to fire a pistol to stop the fight? There was a party full of Disciples, any one of which, or all of whom, would have broken the boys up for him. Even after Mackie pulled the knife, they’d have done it at the Vice President’s behest. And my father was the fucking V.P. of the Steel Disciples. Granted, I didn’t know who Montana had passed the president patch to last night, since I never got around to asking, it really didn’t matter. None of the guys would nay-say my father in wanting the fight stopped. Fighting amongst each other was frowned upon. Patched members had consequences for it.
I rubbed my brows only to jerk my hand away with fear that I’d smeared my pencil work. A quick glance in the rearview confirmed that the arches were still perfectly drawn in place, and I flopped back against the driver’s seat.
The clock said eight-thirty.
“Thirty more minutes,” I pep talked myself.
So far, every minute had felt like an hour, and I’d been here for ten already.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it,” a woman clipped.
“Hey, too fuckin’ bad.” Easy’s bassy tone answered.
I looked in the rearview in time to see Oak hauling his massive ass across the parking lot. He shuffled his way between Easy and Crystal with his hand raised in a silent bid for patience from Easy.
“Honey, listen–” he all but begged, his words cutting short when his wife whirled on him and sliced her finger toward his face in warning.
“No, you fucking listen, Oakland. I’m done. Okay, my son has a criminal fucking record. Let that shit sink in for a minute.” Her jaw set hard, and she stared at him, all but daring him to break the silence. “Are we good now? You got me? You understand what the fuck I’m putting down? Our son– Has a Criminal fucking Record. A thing that cannot simply be erased.”
She gave a crisp snap of her fingers to emphasize that last word.
“Yeah, yes— Babe,” Oak pleaded.
“I’m fucking done. You take your ass in there, and you get our fucking son.” She fumed, her mouth drawing into a tense line as she struggled for some form of composure.
“I’m going to go inside. He’s going to be released on his own recognizance and our lawyer will appear on his behalf from there on out while we are home in Georgia.” He held his hands out in front of him and I could have sworn I saw a tremble go through them.
Easy’s gaze flicked between them before he finally noticed me in the car. Crystal stormed toward the courthouse, and Oak trotted after her. Easy remained. He stood watching them until they reached the doors and then he glanced back at me and gave an amused shake of his head.
I let myself out and gravitated toward him.
“You didn’t get charged?”
He shook his head, “No. I didn’t fight anyone, and I didn’t have any weapons.”
“Right.” I nodded, recalling that much.
“They tried to talk about underage drinking but May had already run. They clipped Donnie in the driveway, but he’s of age.”
“Yeah, he just turned twenty-six.”
Easy cocked his head, inviting me to walk inside with him.
“Izzy not coming?” he asked.
I shook my head, “She’s called every sister she has twice and gone through a three pack of Kleenex.”
He snorted on a laugh.
“She’s pretty, but she sure is extra.”
“Ain’t she?” I agreed. “I can’t handle the exaggerated bouts of tearfulness and flaunting around in her poofy, cuffed bathrobes anymore. I’m about to stay at Grandpa Winehopper’s farm for a few days.”
“You know it’s gonna be double digits, right?” Easy asked, staring down at me as he held the door for me to pass first.
I nodded. “July will be a year that Mackie’s been out. He did twelve for the same damn thing.”
“Ugh, I know. That kid. Sitting down at twenty for twelve fuckin’ years. Ain’t no way. I’d lose my damn mind,” Easy sympathized.
“There was at least five years between the time of my mother’s death, and that sentence being handed down. It was his third conviction, Easy. My father had five years and two warnings to get him therapy.” I sighed, understanding more of generational trauma than anyone my age ever should.
The way he stared at me unnerved me a little. It made me feel like he was sizing me up and judging my loyalty.
“I’d do anything for my family, and I’d support them through any decision. Good or bad… but it doesn’t mean I have to go around wasting my energy feeling bad or sad for their choices. They made them, same as me.”
He gave a slow nod, and the lines around his eyes softened a little.
“I didn’t mean–” Easy quietly began.
“I lost my mother, too, Easy. I was holding her fucking hand when–”
“I snatched you up before you could have possibly had time to realize it was limp.” He whispered, placing his hand on mine. “You were holding her hand and walking across the clubhouse when the bullets started flying…”
He got that look in his eye that Easy sometimes did when he talked about the past, like he wasn’t there, even though he was right in front of me.
“But it does go limp.” I blurted out, causing his eyes to snap toward mine.
“I mean… in my dreams.” I stammered, and quickly jerked my hand away to fuss with my hair.
“You know, my nephew used to dream of his father. I mean, that’s what Oak told me…” Easy started to say, until the bailiff cleared his throat.
“All rise,” he loudly called.
The entire courtroom stood for the judge’s entry and introduction.
“You may be seated.” The judge almost sounded bored. His gaze drifted from his papers to the door to the jailhouse as it opened. He must have expected much of the same, because his attention was halfway back to his bench when May’s almost manic tone wafted from the hall.
“Tell that bitch I hope he rots in jail. When they scrape his carcass up and ship him out, I hope he rots in hell a little while after that. Stupid, mother fucker.”
“Your honor the first case on the docket is–” Megan Tripp began.
“Yes, that’ll be all for a moment. Excuse me, Miss Tripp,” the Judge stammered, his expression growing stern as the orange clad prisoners finally finished filing inside. “Which one of you said that?”
There were six men shackled together at the ankle, but none of them spoke. Most of them had the good sense to stare at their rubber prison shoes. Mayhem stared at the flag, a smirk on his face.
“Jesus,” Easy scoffed under his breath.
Blaze was staring directly at his honor, unfazed by the confrontation.
“Do you have something to say?” The judge’s face pinked, and he seemed to be addressing Blaze directly.
“Your Honor, he does not.” Oak loudly, and firmly spoke up from the pew in front of me.
The judge’s gaze shifted to Oak’s massive frame, and he gave a nod of respect.
“He’d better not.”
From the side profile I saw Blaze mouth, ‘wow’.
“Found your tongue, son?” the judge clipped.
Blaze took a deep breath, “I said I’d like to go first when it pleases his honor to move things along.”
The crowd gasped as one and Crystal jerked around, parking her arm on the top of the pew to glare back at Easy.
“This is all you,” she hissed, with a murderous gleam in her eye.
“Crystal, turn around.” Oak ground out, under his breath.
The judge was staring at us.
“Miss Tripp, who do we have?”
“Yes, your honor.” Megan sweetly chimed, “First on the docket is Blaze Aviston V Illinois. Mr. Aviston is charged with one count of battery. One count of mob action–”
“Jesus-Fucking-Christ,” Crystal quietly exhaled.
“And one count of fleeing and eluding.”
The judge slowly glanced back at Blaze, before asking, “I presume that’s you?”
I saw his shoulders move with another deep breath before he answered, “Has been for twenty-three years now.”
The judge’s eyes widened and though I couldn’t see it, I wouldn’t have been surprised if his nostrils flared for all the color that returned to his cheeks.
“Very well, step forward.”
The guards fussed with his chains and escorted Blaze to the table at the front of the room.
“Mr. Aviston, do you have representation?”
“I’m standing here, ain’t I?” Blaze quipped.
Crystal shot off the bench and slapped the courtroom door open with a crisp sound on her way out, interrupting the court yet again.
“Fucking hell,” Oak softly cursed.
“Hang in there, brother.” Easy sighed.
“Mr. Aviston, you seem compelled to exchange wit like someone half your age. Someone, who might not understand the gravity of the situation before them. I’m not sure if this is your normal mental function, or if it has something to do with the bloodshot state of your eyes? To be honest, I don’t truly care. You come waltzing into my courtroom shackled and rubbing elbows with one-percenter bikers, and now you’re performing for them at the court’s expense. Perhaps we should escort you back to your cell so you might mingle a bit more, sober a touch, and then we can try again?”
He paused and stared over the rim of his glasses, allowing the silence to grow until Blaze cleared his throat.
“I apologize, your honor. My behavior was beneath me. I’m– Weary from traveling.”
“An ounce of sense.” Oak huffed.
“Traveling from Georgia?”
Blaze nodded. “Yes Sir. I arrived yesterday.”
The judge grunted, clearly unimpressed that Blaze had landed in his courtroom so soon.
“It is the court’s understanding that you do not want a public defender or the opportunity to hire your own representation, is this how you wish to proceed?”
“I mean if you’re gonna give me a free lawyer, I’m not going to say no.” Blaze laughed.
“Mr. Aviston, this isn’t a laughing matter. Again, are you sober?”
The judge looked to the bailiff who gave a nod of confirmation.
“Mr. Aviston, why don’t you return to your cell, and we’ll have a public defender come down there…”
“I’m not going back to that cell!” Blaze blurted out.
“Excuse me?” The judge looked over his glasses again.
“Fuck my life.” Oak sank down in the pew, as much as someone his size could.
The courtroom door blew open and a woman in a powder-blue business suit and proper heels strutted toward the front.
“Your Honor, pardon my interruption. I’ve only just been hired by Mr. Aviston’s family.”
“Hired…” The judge repeated, looking between the attorney and Blaze.
“Yes, his mother just paid my retainer. I’d like to enter a plea of not guilty at this time.”
“Is that correct, Mr. Aviston?” The judge asked. “Do you accept this representation and plea on your behalf?”
Blaze looked back at Oak who nodded so hard it looked painful.
“Yeah– Yes, your honor.” Blaze amended.
“Excellent. So entered.”
“I’d like to file for a reduction in bond, and a two-week continuance.”
“Indeed. Where will Mr. Aviston be staying during that time?”
“Mr. Aviston will be staying–” the lawyer began.
“With my uncle, Eric Aviston.” Blaze cut her off, causing Oak to shoot off the bench and head outside in the stiffest trot I’d ever witnessed.