Page 31 of Hallow’s Eve
“I was green, just made detective and just following orders. Jerry was my mentor… Just like I followed orders tonight.” Hallow punched the wall in the bathroom door, leaving a dent behind. Like he was far away, he didn’t stop there. He pounded a few more times, widening the hole.
A bit frightened, I carefully touched his shoulder. “Hey, obviously, you had to, right? I sure as hell didn’t want to be raped and chopped into bits.”
Hallow seemed to snap back to reality. He rubbed his fist. “Here, yeah. One wrong move, and Kingpin will send me to the pig farm and grind me into sausage. I don’t care about that, but what he said they’ll do to you, he wasn’t kidding. Leviathan, I know him. He’s out for blood and anyone with a connection to the bikers who killed his sister will do.”
“You weren’t kidding about your friends being assholes.”
“We have a code. But back in Columbus, I could’ve… I could’ve done something. I had a goddamned gun in my hand.”
“What were you supposed to do? Shoot your partner?”
“We’re trained to deescalate. But fuck, nothing had happened. Afterwards, I defended Jerry, my partner. I backed him up during the trial that was broadcast all over. Did you see it?”
“No.”
“You’re young. It was a few years ago. All we got was a smack on the wrist. Come to find out, after we were suspended with pay, my partner’s racists internet posts surfaced.” Hallow hung his head. “I don’t know if that was why Jerry did it, it was dark and he said the man pulled a gun, but you can imagine the backlash. I fled the media circus and found myself in bum fuck nowhere, West Virginia without a pot to piss in. An old family friend gave me a job, and I started doing work for the Royal Bastards MC over in Charleston. I bought a motorcycle and finally became one of them. Wasn’t too long before word had traveled down from Ohio about me. Not only am I known as a racist cop, but I’m also hated by the police for cutting and running. It’s a no-win situation.”
“If you don’t want to be known as a bad guy or a racist why become a biker?”
“It’s not about that anymore. I’m no one now. How low can I go? How far can I fall? I’m hollow inside.” Hallow fell silent. “And how are the Royal Bastard’s racist? What about Thorn? Wolf? There’s all kinds of…”
“Grady?”
“His kids are black.”
“I guess so.” Celie’s black so that’d make them black and white. “My dad was a biker, and he’s a racist son of a bitch. Well, my Gran’s not a bitch all the time, but you get my meaning.”
“That’s Arkansas for you. Nashville’s no Cleveland but not as backwards.”
I took offense to that. I wasn’t backwards. I said as much.
Hallow replied, “Not you. I didn’t mean…”
“You ever find out who killed your parents?”
“No. It was random so I probably never will. Your dad really Fighting Cock?”
“Was. Not anymore. Guess he got the name from fighting cocks. His side of the family raised the roosters. My Gran still has some laying hens up in Cottontown.”
“They really fought chickens?”
“No. Not chickens. Cocks, yeah. No cock fighting in Ohio?”
“Oh, there is. I’ve heard. You have family here in Tennessee?”
“Yeah, my Gran. My dad’s mom.” I didn’t say what I suddenly thought. Gran was in danger from this club, too. “My mom was an Angel from Boston. That was her last name, and that’s why it’s my middle name. She worked two jobs not counting church choir lead. She wanted to be a singer, but Henry Newberry saddled her with two kids and no help. See, my dad wasn’t around when I was growing up. After my mom died when I was fourteen, he took us in but spent his time scaring guys away from me, laying out drunk and taking credit for every good thing my mom taught my brother and me. I left home as soon as I could, without his permission. No wonder dad didn’t want me coming to Tennessee. At least now I know why he’s not come after me. I shouldn’t be in danger over a man who everyone thinks killed my mom.”
“Did he do it?”
“Until now, I didn’t think so. The papers went on about the backwoods biker and his hifalutin ex-wife from Boston. My mother’s well-to-do family disowned her when she married my dad. And they didn’t forgive her when she divorced him soon after. To be honest, I thought my dad liked to ride motorcycles and drink whiskey and that was all. I never believed all the tales about bikers being criminals. Any biker I ever encountered in Arkansas seemed nice enough and any claiming to know my dad was super polite to me. But hearing all this crap about his club killing people, Kingpin saying he’ll cut me into pieces, I don’t know anymore.”
“Makes sense that bikers affiliated with your father would be nice to you and others wouldn’t want to cause any trouble with you either.”
“Never thought of it that way. Like I told you, my dad’s retired now.”
“Eve, once a club member, always a club member.”
“Just being a biker doesn’t mean he murdered my mom.”
