Confessions Of An Old Lady Read online

  “Of course I’ll come. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there with bells on.” I squeezed him tighter to me, noticing how strong he was when he wrapped his arms around me. His chest felt like a solid sheet of rock and his arms were like two big tree limbs encircling my waist. He smelled good too. Not that I expected him to stink, but he smelled surprisingly like a combination of soap and some unidentified cologne. I typically didn’t like cologne on men, but whatever he was wearing smelled delicious.

  “It starts tomorrow in Louisville at noon. You can ride with me up there too. Then it ends right in the middle of downtown Nicholasville. Every year in Jessamine County they hold what’s called the Jessamine Jamboree. We usually ride into the middle of town around six or seven o’clock, then everyone heads to the festival at the church. It’s a lot of fun. Plus, it’s for charity.”

  Standing before me was the juxtaposition that was Sonny Jackson. On one hand, he was a hardened criminal who had committed God knows how many violent crimes. On the other hand, here he was, bragging about his work with a local charity and being kind and gentle with me. No matter what, though, I couldn’t forget why I was here and what he was really like underneath that charming grin.

  “I’ll take you home now, so you can get ready for tomorrow. ‘Course…” he continued. “You could always just stay at my place tonight…save me having to pick you up in the morning.” He threw a mischievous smile at me.

  “Not so fast there, big boy. Slow your roll. I told you before, I’m not that kind of girl. I’ll go to the run with you tomorrow, but you can pick me up at my house in the morning like a proper gentleman. Okay?”

  “Yes ma’am.” He mock-saluted me.

  “Oh, hush,” I teased.

  ***

  He dropped me off at the house and I curled up on the sofa to watch some television before I went to sleep. It was Friday night, so there wasn’t much on, but I found a rerun of Titanic. I always loved this movie, but it always frustrated me the way it ended. I hated sad endings. I always want to see the girl get the guy in the end and get to keep him, not lose him in a freezing-cold ocean in the middle of nowhere. And was it just me, or don’t you think Leo could have fit on that piece of wood too? Just saying.

  The next morning, I got up and started piddling around the house. Sonny was supposed to pick me up at noon, so we could drive to Louisville, where everyone was meeting to begin the run. I had almost gotten the house into pretty decent shape over the past couple of weeks. It was almost inhabitable. However, I left a bunch of boxes packed up around the perimeter of the living room, since my cover story was that I was cleaning out and packing up my dad’s house so I could possibly put it on the market and sell it for his estate.

  Once again, I heard the sound of Sonny’s bike pulling up into the driveway and once again, he was right on time. He was pretty punctual for a hardened criminal.

  I hopped on the bike and we headed toward Louisville. It was a nice ride, but quiet. That’s one of the things I was having trouble getting used to as far as motorcycles go. In my little red Jetta in college—I didn’t need a car in downtown Chicago—I was always listening to music. I never drove around without the radio or a CD blasting. My favorite was my Joni Mitchell CD. My mom always listened to her when I was growing up and I guess the old gal kinda grew on me. But on these bikes, all you could hear was the sound of the engine thrumming.

  We arrived in Louisville around two o’clock and had a late lunch at a restaurant-bar downtown called Sully’s, while we waited for the other members of the crew to arrive so we could start the run. They arrived one by one and Sonny introduced me to some of the crew. Of course, I already knew Jimmy and Spider, but I also met Sprocket, Weasel, Harry, Bobby, Dickey, and their girlfriends and wives—sorry, “old ladies”—and of course, his dad Leroy. I had never officially met Sonny’s dad, so Sonny introduced us.

  “Is this your old lady?” Leroy asked, shaking my hand, but looking at Sonny.

  “I’m working on it.” Sonny smiled at me and winked.

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to have you with us today, Trish. You bring your own bike or are you riding bitch with Sonny? No offense.”

  “None taken,” I answered.

  “Pop, she’s riding with me today, but she’s got her own bike. It’s pretty impressive, actually…a Superlow, to be exact.”

  “That’s a nice bike. A chick’s bike, but a nice bike,” he joked with me.

  “Thanks, I guess,” I teased back. His dad didn’t appear dangerous either, but I knew for a fact he was a stone-cold murderer. He had done twelve years in prison for manslaughter after he bashed a man’s face in during a barroom brawl. That’s not to mention the shorter stints he’d done off and on since he was a minor, for crimes such as burglary, arson, theft, and assault. A cold shiver went up my spine when I remembered who I was talking to. It hit me in that instant just how precarious my situation was. One wrong move and I could lose more than just the assignment.

  After about an hour of standing around socializing, Leroy yelled for everyone’s attention and gave the directions for the rest of the day’s activities. He told all of us that we’d start from where we were and we’d all ride together all the way back to Nicholasville, where we’d hit the center of town right around six o’clock after driving through Springfield, Frankfort, and then Lexington. He collected everyone’s registration money and turned it over to the Treasurer, Harry, whom Sonny had told me used to be an accountant, until he got popped for embezzlement and spent fifteen years in a federal penitentiary. Yeah, that’s someone you want to trust with your money.

  I hopped on the back of Sonny’s bike and we started our run. Just as Leroy had instructed, we stopped first in Springfield, where we rode through the middle of town. All along the way, people honked their horns and waved at us. It was pretty exciting. Everyone was wearing a light blue t-shirt with the logo for the cancer charity, Hope Abounds, on the back.

  After Springfield, we stopped in Frankfort, the capital of Kentucky. I always wondered why in the world Kentucky’s founders picked such a small town for its capital. We rode past the capital building, as well as all of the federal offices which were headquartered in Frankfort. Only I knew that there was a small FBI outpost in Frankfort in one of those federal buildings. They too, had looked into the Lords for gang-related activity, but never could get an agent on the inside. Plus, the DEA had a much larger stake in the gang, because of the recent increase in their drug importing-exporting ventures.

  Our last stop on our way back to Nicholasville was Lexington, the “heart of the Bluegrass,” and in my opinion, the de-facto capital. It sits almost exactly in the middle of the state, hence its nickname. Lexington was also the self-proclaimed Horse Capital of the World. Its Keeneland racetrack was famous for holding the Bluegrass Stakes, a popular race which is run around Derby time each year. That’s not to mention all of the Derby-winning horses which were either bred, born, trained, or stabled in Lexington. But more than that, it was my hometown. I knew Mom and Dad were only a matter of minutes from me, probably cooking out with their friends on the back porch.

  We rode through downtown Lexington right around five o’clock to a pretty impressive crowd, gathered around Triangle Park, in the center of town. They all cheered as we drove through, some of the crew revving their engines for the kids, who were craning their necks or sitting on their parents’ shoulders to get a good view of all of the motorcycles rumbling through their town.

  Finally, right around six o’clock, as Leroy had predicted, we pulled into Nicholasville. As we neared downtown, we could already see the crowds of people walking along the sidewalks and calling out to us as we drove slowly by. Right in the heart of town, at the corner of Main and Maple, a crowd of probably one hundred people or so gathered to watch as we arrived home. Screams and cheers went up from the crowd as we turned in front of them onto Main Street and parked our bikes at The Hole. Little did these people know who or what they were cheering for. Most peop
le were probably blissfully unaware of the criminal underground that was operating in their hometown.

  Chapter 11

  After parking on the sidewalk in front of the bar, I hopped down from the Fatboy and took off my helmet. Sonny took his off too and secured it to his handlebar.

  “You ready for some fun?” He held out his hand for me.

  “There’s more? I thought we were done,” I said curiously.

  “No ma’am. We’re just getting started. Come with me.” I took the hand that he offered me and followed him and the rest of the crew down the street and we all walked back onto Main Street and joined the crowd.

  We walked about two blocks until we arrived at St. Luke’s Catholic Church. I could see booths set up from the street. As we turned and walked into the parking lot of the church, I saw the crowd of people walking around from booth to booth. There was a Ferris wheel and a large slide, along with several other, smaller, carnival-type rides.

  “This…is the Jessamine Jamboree. It’s held every September. The crew sponsors a booth. It’s over there. Some of the old ladies sell a bunch of deep-fried things like Twinkies, candy bars…even Oreos. Proceeds all go to the charity we ran for today.”

  “Sounds delicious,” I said. And it really did.

  “But first…let’s grab a beer.”

  “Beer at a church function?” I was puzzled and quite frankly, sick of beer.

  “First, it’s not necessarily a church function. We just rent their parking lot. Second, even if it were, this is a Catholic church. There’s no one that drinks more than Catholics.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “What? You’re not Catholic? I took you for a Catholic school girl.”

  “Me? No. We grew up extremely Protestant. My parents were so anti-Catholic, it’s almost all my dad ever talked about. Martin Luther was his hero…although he never really went to church.”

  “Well, either way, I’m going to get a beer. Want one?”

  “Sure.” He led me to the booth where they were selling beer by the cup out of several large kegs.

  “Two Bud Lights, please.” He held up two fingers to the chubby blonde girl who was working the keg. She grabbed the nozzle with one stubby little hand and held a red Solo cup with the other. As she bent forward, I could see the crack of her butt and a black thong peeking through as her too-tight red shirt lifted up in the back. “So what do you want to do first? Are you a Tilt-a-Whirl kinda girl or are you more teacups?”

  “Oh, teacups make me puke. I don’t care what we do, though. Let’s just walk around and see all the booths first.”

  The chubby girl handed Sonny the two beers and he led the way toward the other booths. The first one we came across was the dunk-the-clown booth. Inside a large plexiglass booth sat a man dressed in a clown suit who was screaming insults at everyone who tried to dunk him.

  “Three balls for five dollars?” Sonny asked the man.

  “If you think you’ve got the balls!” the clown screamed at him.

  “Hey! This is a family function!” Sonny yelled at him to my surprise. “There’s kids around here. Watch your mouth and give me those balls.” Sonny handed him a five-dollar bill and the clown’s helper handed him three baseballs.

  “So sorry,” the clown said sarcastically. “I didn’t realize you big, bad motorcycle guys had such sensitive ears!”

  Sonny threw the first ball very hard at the big red target connected to the clown’s seat. He missed.

  “Ha! Ha! Ha! Poor little sissy boy, can’t even hit a wittle bitty target,” the clown teased.

  Sonny didn’t answer, but reared back and threw the second ball. It missed as well.

  “Oh, what’s the matter…worried your old lady’s gonna leave you for someone stronger?”

  That did it. Sonny reared back and threw the third ball as fast and as hard as he could and this one hit its mark. The clown went down with a big splash into the tank of water. Sonny broke out into hysterical laughter and doubled over with his hands on his knees. I jumped up and down and squealed like a thirteen-year-old girl.

  After Sonny regained his composure, we moved along to the next booth, which was the one with the darts and balloons. The prizes were stuffed dogs, which ranged in size from tiny to grotesquely huge.

  “Want me to win you a dog, darlin’?” Sonny asked.

  “Sure. If you can. These games are rigged, you know,” I advised him.

  “Nah, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He paid the attendant three dollars for three darts. He hit two out of three, for which he was awarded a fluffy, pink, medium-sized stuffed dog. He handed it to me and I pulled it close and cuddled it to my neck.

  “Thanks, Sonny,” I said.

  “Like taking candy from a baby.” He smiled.

  We walked around and visited most of the booths and rode a couple of rides, including the godforsaken teacups, which as I predicted, made me want to vomit. Sonny chuckled sweetly, but was actually very comforting while I was ill. He rubbed my back as I leaned over with my hands on my knees. When I finally regained my composure, we headed toward the Lords’ booth where some of the wives and girlfriends were frying up delicious treats.

  “Hey, Sonny!” called one of the ladies, who was pulling some fried Oreos out of a deep fryer.

  “Hey Melanie.” He turned to me. “Trish, this is Melanie, my stepmother.” He leaned in a little closer so he could whisper in my ear. “They just got married last summer. As you can see, she’s much younger than Dad.”

  I looked her over and saw that he was right. She was easily closer to my age than to Leroy’s. She was super model tall and skinny with a short blonde bob. Sonny had told me recently about how his mother had died several years back of cervical cancer. It was a sad story and according to Sonny, his mother, Diane, and Leroy had the once-in-a-lifetime kind of love and he was sure that his dad would never get over it. Then he met Melanie at Sturgis a year ago and three months later, they were married. Two weeks after that she moved to Kentucky.

  “Nice to meet you, Melanie,” I said, nodding my head.

  “You too, honey. Glad Sonny’s finally met someone nice. He speaks very highly of you.”

  I looked at Sonny. “You speak highly of me? Oh, really?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a wink. He introduced me to the other “old ladies” in the group. One was Harry’s wife, Connie. She was a heavyset brunette with grey streaks throughout her hair. Another was Jimmy’s girlfriend, Amanda. She was youngish with long red hair pulled into a tight French braid.

  We stood there talking to the ladies for about fifteen minutes, until out of nowhere two girls approached me and Sonny—well, Sonny—and waved.

  “Heeeyyyy, Sonny,” sang one of the girls. They couldn’t have been twenty-one, but they were both holding red Solo cups, presumably full of beer.

  “Oh, hey, Nicole, Jenny,” Sonny said, seeming disinterested in whoever these girls were, but obviously a little uncomfortable.

  “Who’s this?” asked one of the Bimbo Twins.

  “Oh, this is Trish. She’s my…uh…” He looked uncomfortable, but I took the opportunity to stake my claim.

  “Girlfriend,” I finished for him.

  “Oh, really?” Nicole or Jenny said. I immediately disliked her tone.

  “Yes, really,” Sonny responded, validating my claim on him.

  “Since when do you have a girlfriend?” the other, Nicole or Jenny, said.

  “Since when is it any of your business?” I said before Sonny could answer. I looked at him and he gave me a look that said: you-tell-’em-sister.

  Nicole and Jenny both dropped their jaws and looked dumbstruck at my bluntness. I still didn’t know which was which when one of them said, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Now, Nicole…” So, the brunette was Nicole. Duly noted. “Don’t go starting anything. We’re just here to have a good time,” Sonny chastised her.

  “Ya sure was having a good time with me just
a few weeks ago. Does she know that?”

  It wasn’t jealousy that I felt. No, it was something else altogether. Although Sonny meant nothing to me, although he was nothing more than my mark, I felt a baser female instinct to protect what was “mine,” I lashed out at her.

  “Of course he had fun with you a few weeks ago…from what I can tell, most of the guys in the crew have had a good time with you. You should be proud. I know I would be if I’d slept with every member of a motorcycle crew.”

  “You bitch!” she spat nastily at me. Her hand went up as if she were going to slap me, but fight or flight instinct kicked in and I chose to fight, so I moved out of her way and then reared my arm back and punched her square in the jaw. She took two steps back, placed her hand on the insulted part of her face and stood there for a split second before she lunged at me with all of her body weight, which wasn’t much.

  For just those few moments, I completely forgot who I was supposed to be and reverted back to my agent training. I grabbed her around the neck and pulled her into a chokehold. She wriggled free from that and landed a couple of weak punches in my gut, but they did nothing to stop me. Nothing could have stopped me in that moment. I was a woman protecting herself and her territory. Nothing else mattered.

  We struggled with each other until finally I was able to grab her by the back of the neck, pull one of her arms behind her back, and force her to her knees. I straddled over her and whispered in her ear. “Do not fuck with me.” It was the first time in a long time I could remember using the “f” word, but my blood was boiling hot like molten lava and I could barely think straight. I was running on pure instinct. I tightened my grip on her arm and she gave out a little squeal. I don’t know what I would have done next if Sonny hadn’t stepped in and pulled me off of her.

  “That’s enough. You got her good. Calm down,” he whispered in my ear, pulling me back off of the little tramp.

  I stepped back and released my grip on her arm. She jumped up to her feet. “You crazy bitch! What is wrong with you?”