Buried Treasure Ch 01 05

Harleigh Ryder's POV

Orlando, FL

I locked my Freshman Chemistry textbook into the saddlebag of my light blue Harley-Davidson Street Glide and grabbed my leather jacket. It was in the mid-70's, perfect December weather in Orlando. "Harleigh, you going to the party at Julie's Saturday night," Sarah asked.

Julie was the senior shortstop on my University of Central Florida softball team, Sarah was a sophomore pitcher and I was the favorite to be the starting third baseman come spring. "I can't, I've got a judo tournament." I had been competing since I was nine, and last year I was the Under-18 Women's Champion in the 63 kg (139 pound) weight class in Florida. Judo was my first love, but it didn't get me any scholarships. Home runs and a cannon of an arm did.

"Good luck! See you at practice Monday." I waved to her as she walked to her car. I pulled leather chaps on over my jeans and zipped up my Steel Ladies motorcycle jacket before putting my helmet on. I caught the looks from the guys coming out of the Health and Public Affairs building as I threw my leg over my bike. At just under six feet tall with curves, I was used to guys looking at me. When they saw me on my ride, their jaws would drop. I fired up my motorcycle and put it in gear, pulling out of the lot and towards home.

Mom and Dad owned a home with a good-sized yard and detached garage south of Winter Park. The drive was mostly suburban roads and two-lane highway, nothing that would give me a chance to open the throttle. I thought about my classes as I drove, putting the outline of the paper I needed to write in my head. By the time I got to my neighborhood, I had it worked out.

I pulled into the driveway, wondering who the four bikes belonged to. Nobody I knew in the Steel Riders had ape-hangar handlebars like these. I started to back my bike under the carport when the front door slammed open and I saw men rushing out. They were wearing cuts, but not ours; I saw the distinctive Jaguar head on the breast. It was the Sons of Tezcatlipoca, a violent Mexican biker gang that was strong on the West Coast. The lead guy was a big Hispanic dude with a bigger pistol. He spotted me and raised it up.

"FUCK," I said to myself as I put my Harley in gear and twisted the throttle. He started shooting as I tore out of the driveway, and one of them hit me just above the right hip as I turned left. Blood spattered onto my jacket and handlebar as I accelerated away. "Double FUCK," I cursed as I turned onto the road and headed for help.

I focused on my driving, passing cars wildly and driving between lanes where I had to. I could hear their motorcycles behind me. I pressed the button on my handlebar. "Siri, call clubhouse," I said over the Bluetooth headset in my helmet. The phone dialed and a familiar voice answered. "Steel Riders, Speedbump speaking," he said.

"SPEEDBUMP! It's Harleigh. Four guys from Sons of Tezcatlipoca were at my parent's house. I've been shot, and I'm five minutes out with them on my ass. Get everyone to the gate, I'm coming in hot."

"We'll have the welcome wagon out," he said. "Drive fast." He hung up and I focused on staying ahead of the four. I did everything I could; I ran stop lights, swerved into oncoming traffic, and hit seventy in a thirty zone. I heard an accident behind me as they fought to keep up.

I glanced down and saw the blood that had covered the chaps and was soaking into my jeans. I was feeling tired and cold despite the heat of the afternoon. I was losing blood, and I couldn't apply pressure and ride at the same time. "Siri, call Speedbump." He picked up on the first ring. "I'm six blocks out, I can't shake them," I said.

"Drive straight through and into the garage, we're ready."

"My parents..."

"We'll get to them as soon as you are safe."

"Have you called them?" I was afraid to.

He didn't say anything, and that meant something. "Just get here. Doc is waiting for you."

I made the final turn, accelerating the quarter mile towards the gates. I was losing energy fast. I went through the gates at speed, braking hard as I veered right. Pushing down on the rear brake made my side flare up in pain, and I didn't even feel it as I bounced off the pavement into the side of the clubhouse.

--

I fought to clear my mind of the fog as something squeezed my right arm like a vise. I heard a machine beeping, and the squeezing started to ease then went away. The pain was bad, the right side of my stomach felt like it was on fire. I tried to move my head and it got worse, so I just focused on opening my eyes instead.

Everything was fuzzy, but I could see I was in a hospital. There was a machine next to the rail of the bed, and it was the source of the noise. Blinking rapidly, I got my eyes to clear enough to make out the person sitting in the nearby chair. She looked up from her phone, her eyes getting wide as they met mine. "Harleigh, you're awake!" It was Aunt Three Tequila, Mongo's wife, and the two of them ran the Orlando chapter of the Steel Brotherhood and the Ladies Auxiliary, the Steel Ladies. My Mom was her older sister.

I tried to say something, but the pain was too much. She must have seen it on my face. "You're in the hospital, let me call for your nurse," she said. She pressed a button as I tried to talk, but my mouth was dry. "I'm so happy you are with us again," she said. "You gave us quite the scare, you know. You've been out for two days."

I tried to form the words to ask about my parents, but the nurse arrived first. She smiled at me as she stepped into view, taking my vitals and letting me take a sip of water through a straw. I was lying on my left side in the bed, the thin sheet covering my body. "Mom... Dad...."

Three Tequila's face told me the answer even if her lips didn't. I started to cry, the pain of my loss adding to the pain from my injuries. Three T came over and sat next to me, holding my good hand in hers. My right hand was in a cast from just below the elbow down. I don't know how long I just cried my eyes out before the doctor came in. "Hello Harleigh. I'm sorry for your loss," he said.

"Thank you," I whispered. "What happened?"

"You were shot in the lower back; the bullet nicked your liver and intestines before exiting in the front. You lost a lot of blood, but we were able to repair the damage in surgery. I'm told you crashed your motorcycle, and that resulted in a broken right wrist, two broken ribs and assorted other injuries. If you hadn't been wearing your helmet and your leathers, it would have been a lot worse. It saved you from a concussion when you crashed."

"How long will I be here?"

"At least a week," he said. "You body underwent a severe trauma, and it will take time to recover. Even after you leave, it will be six to eight weeks before you can resume normal activities. I'll give you something to help with the pain and rest more comfortably."

"I've been asleep for two days, I don't know if I need to nap again," I replied.

He left some instructions for the nurse, and then I was alone with Three Tequila again. "The police will want to speak to you now that you're awake," she said. "Are you ready for that?"

"What happened to the men who were chasing me?"

She paused for a minute. "I don't have the details, but I know two were killed and one was injured. The last guy escaped."

"Did the Club talk to the one who was injured?"

"Not for long before the police arrive. If you have a shootout, it attracts attention. You'll have to talk to Mongo."

I was hoping they had him in a warehouse somewhere getting answers beaten out of him, but no. "What happens now?"

"My sister, your parents, we will find out why this was done and make sure they pay the price for what they did," she said. "I always looked at you like you were my daughter, and Mongo and I will look out for you now."

"Thank you," I said. "Do we know why?"

"Not yet. We don't know if this is a new beef, or if it's retaliation from decades ago." Dad had spent twenty years in the Drug Enforcement Agency, his first four undercover with outlaw biker gangs in Southern California. It was during the preparation for the trials based on his testimony and evidence that he met Mom, who was an Assistant US Attorney in Los Angeles. They were married a few months later, and I was born seven months after that.

Once his undercover identity was blown, he worked from a desk and then was a supervisor before retiring five years ago. We had moved to Orlando and Mom was hired by the District Attorney for Orange County. Dad joined the Steel Brotherhood, Mom the Steel Ladies, and I was riding with them as soon as I got my license. When I turned eighteen, I was able to join the Ladies. My road name was Crash, after Crash Davis in Bull Durham and my softball skills. It was better than my real name; my biker Dad insisted on naming his only daughter Harleigh Ryder. "Should I tell the cops anything about his undercover work?"

"It was before your time. If they have talked to the Feds, his record will come up."

"Could they have been after Mom?"

She shook her head no. "I doubt it, the Sons of Tezcatlipoca aren't active in Florida yet. Mongo has been calling other Chapters, but our Club doesn't have an active beef with them. They are a 1% club, we're a law-abiding club. They run drugs, protection rackets, guns, kidnappings, anything they can make money on."

"And we don't abuse, deal or steal," I said. Our Charter kept us on the right side of the law, and we had a lot of military veterans and law enforcement that were part of our Club. It was a club, not a gang.

There was a knock on the door and the nurse poked her head in. "The detectives are here, if you are able to talk to them."

I nodded to her, and two men in cheap suits came in. I asked my Dad once why agents didn't wear nice suits; our family was doing well, and he could afford decent clothing. "You can't dry clean bloodstains out of a suit," he said. "Add in any other wear and tear, and it's not worth spending money to look good."

My clothes and jacket were trashed, I bet.

"Miss Ryder, I'm Detective Rosenberg and this is Detective Jackson. We'd like to ask you a few questions." I nodded. "When did you last talk to your parents?"

"Mom left for work at seven thirty, Dad at eight. I went to school at nine."

"Where is school?"

"University of Central Florida, I'm a freshman there."

"Any other contact, text messages perhaps?"

"No."

"What time did you leave?"

"Class got out at three, and it took me about forty minutes to get home." I told them about seeing the four unfamiliar motorcycles, then the men coming out of the house and shooting at me. I gave them descriptions, but they weren't much help. Once I saw the cuts and the gun, I wasn't paying attention to much else. Fleeing for my life didn't give me any chances to look back, either. "Can you tell me what happened to my parents?"

They looked at each other. "That wouldn't be helpful at this time, it is an active investigation. We will be in touch," he said.

The two walked out, and I was losing energy rapidly with the drugs. "What aren't they telling me," I asked Three T.

"Just rest, Harleigh. I'll tell Mongo you need to know." She held my hand as I drifted off to sleep again.

Ch. 2

Detective Marcus Jackson's POV

Orlando, FL

Two Days Earlier

I responded to the Steel Brotherhood clubhouse as soon as the "Shots Fired" call came over the radio. As a member of the Orlando Police Gang Task Force, I figured I might be needed.

As I drove, I wondered what they had gotten themselves into. The Brotherhood was a biker club, not a gang. They loved to go to the range and shoot, but a shootout at the Clubhouse was unheard of. They weren't involved in drugs or intimidation like the outlaw clubs were, and their membership included a number of former law enforcement and military. I was friendly with them because I loved to ride and they were a good group to party with after the ride was over. I wasn't allowed to prospect with the Chapter, as their bylaws wouldn't allow active law enforcement to be members or prospects. Conflict of interest, they said, and they were right. No matter how many friends I had there, my job wasn't compatible with the loyalty the Club demanded.

I parked at the perimeter, almost two blocks from the Clubhouse in an industrial area of Orlando. Getting out, I made sure my shield was hanging from my neck as I pulled on the lightweight suit jacket. The place looked like a cop convention. As I walked to the crime scene tape, I spotted Sargent Grimes directing patrol officers. "Jason, who's in charge," I asked.

"Lieutenant Reynolds," he said. "Stand back, the ambulance is coming out." I saw the ambulance pulling out of the open gates of the Clubhouse as officers held them in place. I didn't see any Club members outside, but there were two bodies on the ground covered with sheets. Two news helicopters were already circling overhead. Three motorcycles were crashed outside, and I caught a glimpse of one more by the Clubhouse. One man, a Hispanic male in his forties, was being loaded onto a gurney by a second ambulance outside the gate.

They watched one ambulance leave, lights flashing. "Who's in there?"

"Teenage girl. Looks like she was fleeing from the three other gang bangers here."

I shook my head, wiping the sweat off my short-cropped hair that was starting to grey. At six-foot-four and two hundred and twenty pounds, I wasn't much heavier than when I played linebacker at UCF in the nineties. I could still play the intimidating black man when I needed to. "What gang?"

"Sons of Tezcatlipoca. You know them?"

Oh yeah, I knew them. A gang out of Mexico, they were active from Texas to California and north as far as Denver. They weren't in Florida, at least not yet. If they were moving in, the outlaw gangs we DID have wouldn't like it. It didn't make sense to go after the Steel Brotherhood, though. They didn't hold territory like the outlaw club did.

Unless they wanted to set up shop close to them?

I thanked him and went to find the Lieutenant. He was standing near the clubhouse entrance. "Mr. Reynolds, could you use my help?"

He looked at me with the disdain of a Homicide detective. They were the top of the heap and they knew it. "Detective Jackson, what are you doing here? Homicide has this, go back to kids standing on the street corners," he said.

"If I could have a moment of your time alone, sir." He sent two of his men inside the clubhouse, which was awful quiet. He walked towards the gate and I followed. "I think it would be helpful for me to be on this case, sir."

"Why? Everyone including you tells me this club isn't a gang, so I don't need you."

"With due respect, sir, you're not going to get a lot of cooperation from them if they don't trust you. They are more likely to clam up, find the guys themselves and take care of it their way." He nodded. "Two things. The guys who are lying dead out there are a gang I know of. They aren't active in Florida, but if they are moving in, my unit needs to know."

"I can keep your boss informed," he said.

"True, but you're not going to be able to get the cooperation of this club that I can. I know them, I've ridden with them and spent time with them."

His eyes got wide. "You're in the club?"

I shook my head. "I'm a hang-around. I know most of them, but active police aren't allowed to prospect. Still, I'm your best chance at getting these men to talk to you. The other benefit is that they trust me, so they are more likely to stay back and let us do our jobs."

He thought about it. "Do you know the victims?"

"I don't know who the victims are, I just got here," I said.

"There's more than one crime scene. It started up in Winter Park, police there responded to shots fired. They entered the house to find two victims. The male was tortured before being shot in the face, while the female was repeatedly raped before she was stabbed to death in front of him. The daughter must have walked in on them, she fled to here and the Club shot the guys up. It's a mess." He looked over to the gate. "The victims were Sean and Kelly Ryder, and their daughter Harleigh. She just left in the ambulance, they shot her once and she crashed into the clubhouse."

Oh fuck. "County Attorney Kelly Ryder?" I had met the couple a few times, they were nice people, and their daughter had just turned eighteen and was a great kid. "You need to get the Feds involved sooner rather than later."

"Why? This is a local thing."

"They raped his wife in front of him, so it's probably him they were after. He's retired Drug Enforcement Agency, and the Sons run drugs. You have to wonder if this had something to do with his time on the job."

His jaw dropped. "Oh fuck."

"Yeah. If this is the Sons of Tezcatlipoca getting revenge, you'll be getting a lot of help you didn't ask for."

He thought about it and made a call to my boss and got me assigned to work the case. "You have contacts in the DEA?"

"I do."

"Good, give them a call. I need to know if this is bad blood from decades ago or something else. When you're done, meet me inside. I'm going to see where we are on the interviews."

I found the contact information for a man in the Los Angeles DEA office I had met at a task force a few years earlier. I hoped his cell phone hadn't changed as I called the number. "Special Agent In Charge Donovan," Frank said.

"Hi Frank, it's Detective Marcus Jackson out of the Orlando Gang Unit. We met two years ago at the San Antonio conference?" We had sat at the same table and had a few beers at night, so hopefully he remembered me.

"Oh yeah, how are you doing Marcus?"

"Good, but this is a business call. There was a double murder in the area today, and it looks like a revenge killing by the Sons of Tezcatlipoca."

"Shit, what are they doing in Florida? They aren't that far east as far as I know."

"It gets worse. They raped the wife in front of him before killing her, and they tortured him bad before killing him. It was Sean Ryder, he's retired DEA, and his wife Kelly. They shot the daughter, too. She just left in the ambulance."

"SONOFABITCH!" I heard him yelling for someone, and I could hear him walking before a door slammed. "Marcus, I'm in the Director's office. Tell us what you know."

I went through what I had so far, with the two crime scenes. "Harleigh got away from her house after being shot and fled to the Orlando chapter of the Steel Brotherhood. Sean had joined after he retired, and Kelly and Harleigh joined the Steel Ladies. She crashed into the clubhouse, and the Club killed two of the Sons and injured one. The last one got away."

"Do we have the dead and injured identified?"

"I don't know, it's still very early. This only happened maybe thirty minutes ago."

"Marcus, this is Director Hank Grimes. I'm catching the next plane out to Orlando." We exchanged information so he could get picked up. "Let your bosses know I'm coming and I'm bringing some people up from Miami. If this is related to Sean's work the way I think it is, this is going to become a Federal matter quickly."

"I understand, sir. Is there anything we can start looking into now?"

"Protect the girl. Jesus Correria vowed to wipe out Sean's entire family after his wife was killed in a shootout with the DEA. I have to find out if he's out of jail now."

This just got worse and worse. Jesus was one of the founding members of the Sons of Tezcatlipoca. He had been given a 40-year sentence in Federal prison. "We'll keep her safe." I thanked Frank and hung up.

The second ambulance had taken off, and the techs were working the crime scene. I walked over to the side of the clubhouse where Harleigh's motorcycle still lay against the brick wall. I could see the skid marks where she tried to stop, and the scrapes where she laid it down. There was blood on the sidewalk, and her jacket was sitting in the rocks where it had been tossed. There was a bullet hole just below and right of the Steel Ladies patch on the back.