Page 53 of Conan
“How old is she, Jordan?” Auto inquires, looking over his shoulder as a baby begins to cry.
“A few months or so,” Jordan answers, shrugging his shoulders.
“Guess that’s another thing that isn’t important to know,” I grumble.
Marcum pushes the kid through the door and we all follow his lead, leaving the door open because we’re going to be getting these kids out of here and taking them with us when we head out. There’s no way in hell we’re leaving them here, they need someone to keep a watch over them. They’re too damn young to be on their own.
This baby, Brooklynn, has a towel wrapped around her butt as a makeshift diaper. She’s in a toddler’s arms as he plays with her, trying to distract her.
“Thought you said the youngest boy was fourteen?” I ask, turning toward Jordan.
“It is. That’s not a boy,” Jordan answers, pointing at the tot. That takes me aback, because the little one’s hair is chopped close to the scalp and is wearing basketball shorts and a tank top. “She had lice so we had to cut her hair off and someone tossed that outfit, and since it was her size, we grabbed it.”
My eyes close as I call on my patience. Where are all of these kids’ parents? How have they avoided the system for as long as they have? And why the hell has nobody from this godforsaken town stepped up, pulled them from the streets, and taken them in?
Kodiak turns to Auto and says, “Call Judge Parsons, we’re going to need a favor.”
“It’ll be our only marker with him,” Auto reminds us as he walks out onto the stoop and makes the call.
“Introduce us to everyone else, Jordan,” I demand, finding it amusing that the older boys have now circled around the girls, protecting them from us. “We aren’t going to hurt them, boys. We’re here to help.”
“How?” the boy in the middle of the cluster asks. “If you think you’re going to play good citizen and call social services, that’s not any sort of help we’re interested in.”
“Who are you?” Marcum asks, stepping up to where he’s shoulder to shoulder with me.
“Landon. Who are you?” the boy asks.
“My name is Kodiak, I’m the president of the Deviant Knights Motorcycle Club, and this is my brother, Conan, he’s the vice president. When I tell you we don’t do things the citizen way, I’m speaking the truth. We don’t follow the laws of man.”
“In other words, we won’t be turning you into anybody. Got me?” I press.
“Sure,” Landon answers. His tune is full of blusterous mistrust, which I can’t blame him for, it’s my presumption every adult in his life has let him down one way or another.
“Guys,” Jordan snaps. “Introduce yourselves. These guys are the ones who put us up here for a few days and gave us enough money to buy the girls milk.”
“Appreciate you giving us a few nights off the streets and helping us get the girls their milk. I’m Austin,” the boy on the left says, holding out his hand which I quickly shake.
“It was nice to have some relief from the heat,” the boy on the right says, holding out his hand. “My name is Tate. This is my little sister, Hadley.” The toddler, upon introduction, gives me a short, shy smile before turning back to the baby.
“Where’s everyone’s parents?” Kodiak asks, plucking the question I want to know out of my mind. “Do they know how y’all are living?”
“As if they’d care,” Austin snarks. “My parents said I was old enough to take care of myself and decided their time as parents was done so they took off.”
“How old are you, Austin?” I ask.
“Sixteen. Didn’t even give me a party before they left,” he grumbles.
“Our parents died in a car crash and our uncle was supposed to be taking care of us,” Tate inserts. “But he wasn’t a good man, I caught him checking out Hadley with too much interest, if you catch my drift. So I packed up what little we had and snuck out one night. He still gets a check for us, and as long as that continues to happen, he won’t come looking for us.”
“We’re gonna need his name and address,” Marcum states, grinding his jaw. “We’ll reroute those checks to you so you can spend it on you and your sister.”
“He won’t like that,” Tate warns.
“I could give a shit what he likes,” Marcum snaps.
“This uncle of yours, he’ll be eating out of a tube from his hospital bed by the time we’re done with him. He won’t be someone you’ll have to worry about,” I promise him.
Once that vow is made, Auto comes back inside. “Laid out the situation to Parsons, he’s going to give us custody of the kids as soon as I finagle a few things.”
