Mike

Yeah, I'm lying to him. I would love to see that asshole behind bars, but that would never happen. Marcus would kill me, my family -what I have left, my brothers and their families, if he had a whiff of me helping these damn cops. If this detective knew what was good for him, he'd let the obsession with Marcus go. However, being in a profession where he doesn't get paid for just letting things go, he continues to push me.

"I know you have worked with him, I know you have contact with him, where is he?" Detective Cochran demands while I roll my eyes. His voice sounds tired, like he's lost a lot of sleep over the last few days. Narrowing my eyes, I stare at him. It's always best to not say much, if anything at all.

After a few uncomfortable moments he adds, "What would your mother think about you working for him? Carol is it?" he smugly brings her up.

That strikes a nerve. How dare he bring my mother into this. She is a kind soul and doesn't deserve or need to be mentioned in the same room as that twit's name, let alone with his damn picture that's inches from me. A low growl escapes deep in my chest; if I could I would leap across and smack his head into this overly glossy aluminum table. It could use a few dents. What did they use to keep it so shiny anyways?

"Carol Gilbert" he sighed, "I haven't seen her in what – 18 years?" he thinks to himself.

Wait. What?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" My eyes don't leave his. How did this prick know her? How come I have never heard the words Detective Elijah Cochran come out of her mouth. I screw my eyes shut for a moment, processing this new information. It's pissing me off. My eyes dart open, I look at him square in the eyes. My nails dig into the palms of my hands.

His features soften, gathering that I am so confused. Speaking quieter, "I went to school with her. I was good friends with your dad actually – Jack. Before he disappeared, he asked me to keep tabs on you at one point, to make sure you'd turn out ok."

My breathing begins to quicken and his eyebrows shoot up, opening the folder, revealing all 12 speeding tickets from this year alone- that are overdue of course, jail records from my high school days to now, photos of the side of my face or the back of my head in illegal gun and moonshine deals; he even has my fucking report cards.

"I guess I let him down." He halfheartedly chuckles. I remain quiet, not believing this guy. There's no way he knows my mom or my old man, no way. He's lying.

"Look." He has the balls to continue, "Whether you want to believe me or not, I knew them." He pauses to lift the sleeve of his arm to reveal a tattoo. Not just any tattoo, I've seen this one on my own damn father. On his right forearm the tattoo is faded black. It's a shape of a skull with two pistons as a set of bones crossed in front of it revealing the colors of my old man's club – Outlaws.

What the...

His voice lowers even more, his head ducks down to meet my gaze which is burning into his arm at that tattoo. "I was his VP, Red. Trust me when I say that I knew him."

This man. This... pigtail of a detective was my dad's vice president? Can't be. My dad has told me stories of that man: Cobra, they called him. He liked to constrict his victims to death, something about being a part of the way their souls left their body by literally draining them of air. This guy in front of me – I can't see him doing that.

My father has told me once why he had to leave, something about a pregnant woman...Lilly? I remember the name. It's been trapped in the back of my mind for years.

Is Lilly the woman that this man ran after? Whose child was she pregnant with? Where is Lilly now? Where the hell is my father?

"Look, I know you're not a bad person and all this shit that you've done in your past, is just that. The past. I know that you are loyal to your men and I know they are loyal to you. It takes a damn good leader for men like that to have respect for you. Since I knew your father, the Reaper, I know I can trust you; I know you're a good man despite all you've done. You've gotten yourself into some deep shit nearly ending the life of a cop. I want to offer you a deal. I need your help Red."

My eyes open further; I scan his face, his forehead beading with sweat. I can tell his pulse is in overdrive, sincerity is written on his worried face. Eyes are laced with honesty and hope, his hands are trembling in the slightest way over my file, showing me that he is desperate.

Shit.

He's telling the truth. Looking down at my blood-stain hands, I figure a deal is probably a good thing. Paul has to be a part of this. I need to make sure that he'll be ok, my brothers and I need to get something out of this too. Sitting up, I lean over the table, "What kind of deal?"