Tuesday Afternoon
Nick
"Here's the ones the Boss wants checked out."
Jillian had a list of names and addresses. The public defender on their case had ratted them out, worried they wouldn't show, it would look bad for him. Didn't say it outright, just hinted at it, couldn't give details without some ethical issue but suggested a visit might be in order.
A new guy on the job, more worried about his reputation and career than his clients. Whaddaya expect for free?
Tito had his motorcycle, an Enfield, practical and efficient, no farkle, just like him. Room for two, I was good with riding behind.
Jillian said take the truck! Who knows, we might have an extra passenger by the time we were done.
Truck was at the condo.
"Hoof it?"
Tito was going down the list, probably memorizing the details, he's like that. Without looking up, "Take my bike to Jillian's, get the keys from Greg, go from there."
I wasn't worried about a helmet; figure I've got some luck left and Tito is a pretty cautious driver. But hey he has a spare hanging from the pillion. A little big on me but Tito insisted on adjusting the strap before he would let me get on.
Ah! Kelly must have a big head.
We got to Jillian's place but nobody home. Jill had said, keys in a drawer in the kitchen, so near but so far!
"We could do this on the bike..." but Tito was doing something at the front door, and whoops! it's open. I see him slip a leather case back in his jacket. Those are illegal in most states. Not if you don't get caught, I guess! And we had permission anyway.
He was in and out, had the keys in his hand, holds them out. He wants me to drive! Not the usual way with kick-ass strongmen like Tito.
I'm learning, everything about Tito is different.
First address, near downtown, a duplex behind Eastwoods, not a terrible neighborhood but not great. I park just up the block, but Tito doesn't get out, just craning his neck, having a good look around.
"How you want to do this?"
He's asking me? Got to get my head in the game.
"Ask some questions, check his state of mind? See if he's home; see if his vehicle is here. Reverse that!"
He smiled, nodded. So first off, the garage is open, no car. A motorcycle is out front, some tools on a leather pad, unrolled, more tools in the leather thingy pockets.
"What's the offense?"
Without looking, "Assault, a dispute about a parking lot accident." Of course, he had the list memorized.
Sounded fairly normal; folks could get emotional about their ride.
"Maybe that bike? Got a dented pipe, the mounting strap is off, a long box on the floor inside, parts?" Tito raised an eyebrow, nodded agreement but clearly, he'd seen all that.
Just checking with the partner? Making sure we were on the same page.
"He wouldn't leave all that out, not in this neighborhood, he must be home. Getting a drink; taking a piss; answering the phone."
Agreement again. And here we go - he's coming out of the garage, a cordless phone in one hand, the other hand waving around, agitated.
Together we open our doors, step out. Tito heads toward him on the sidewalk; I take the street, casual, non-threatening.
Not like I could take this guy, he's big! Not tall, but wide, legs filled those leathers, boots. A short-sleeve T, vest over it, chains closing it, some tats.
Looks like, well, a motorcycle club member.
We get close, he sees Tito, says something, switches the phone off.
"So hey! What's up? My briefcase getting nervous?" He was expecting us, or somebody like us.
Tito smiles his small smile, stops just out of range, polite, careful. I continue past, hit the sidewalk just beyond them, arms all relaxed, just watching. He sees me, blinks, not concerned but just checking me out, turns back to Tito.
From my angle I could see the club emblem on his vest. See he wasn't carrying, no bulge in those tight pants. Maybe in his boot but I don't think so; riding boots are really snug.
"Crinshaw Bail Bond, just here on a routine visit."
The guy looks annoyed. "I said, I gotta take a ride, clear my head? And this dweeb things I'm running? I'm just gonna fix my bike, take a daytrip down the coast road. Court date isn't until next month!
"And like I give a shit about this charge."
He's annoyed, but something else too. Not getting irate, working himself up like a guy that feels wronged. Quiet, resigned.
"Gotta put a dent in your plans, bike out of commission. Then, 30 days is no joke, job on the line, gotta pay the rent." Tito was giving him an opening, seeing if he'd say something, give something away.
He didn't respond, just turned, looked at the bike for a long moment. Turned back, still ignoring me, gestured with his palms up, like, whadda ya gonna do?
"My lady can cover the rent. She's mad, sure, but she has my back, understands what my bike means to me. How I got myself into this.
"Do the crime; do the time. I'm not running from anything; I did slug that guy. He probably didn't deserve it, but I was worked up."
Tito didn't seem concerned either; he was actually relaxing. Got a sympathetic look, nodding.
"So he dented your bike? He a rider? Somebody, not a biker, hits my ride, I'm gonna be steamed."
"Not even a rider! Just a..." His shoulders slump; he's not proud of this. His whole posture is of a guy who's done something dumb and knows it.
Tito waits him out.
"Ok, see, I'm at this bar, I don't like to park my baby in the drunks' lot, too easy to get dinged. My bike's parked just down from the dock, they got a loading dock on the side.
"I come out, not even late! Afternoon, a club committee meeting, I'm road captain, we got this ride coming up, gonna miss it now... anyway, I get out just in time to see a delivery truck backing up, the idiot's gonna miss the dock by a mile.
"I yell, he looks at me but keeps drifting, drifting, like in slow motion I watch him stare at me, I point and yell and he hits the brake exactly too late, I hear it crunch..."
He's more upset about the damage to the bike, than the trouble he's in! A real biker, this guy. The bike, the club's his life, that's clear.
"So you pull him out, give him a going-over?" Tito is guessing, keep the guy talking.
"No! It's just some dumb kid! I don't hit kids! I yell at him, sure, call him some names, but he's all red, apologizing, scared.
"The owner comes out, lit into me, told me to back off, leave his driver alone! Says it's just a bike, I should get a life."
Tito understands; the owner, not a biker, not a rider, didn't understand, was mouthing off, slanged his ride.
So he punched him. And now, clearly, regrets it.
They stood a while, just two riders, both looking at the bike now, that ugly dent, the tragedy of it all.
"Here's how I see it, for what it's worth.
"You appear on the charge, they'll give you 30 days, no contest."
Our client agreed; that seemed inevitable.
