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Then he looked toward Glory who hadn’t moved from her place at the threshold of the door—her face was a picture of composure, but her fists were clenched slightly at her sides. Next, his gaze volleyed to Dolly who had just finished placing a call on her cell phone. “You know, Dolly, we’ve been doing this same dance for years. These women and you? You all can do a hell of a lot better.”
Dolly kept her lips tightly closed, but her eyes looked back at him with a mixture of defiance, sadness, and resignation.
Then Kennedy turned his back on her and barked out an order to his men. “Only what’s on the warrant. And don’t make a damn mess.” He ran a weary hand through his hair and muttered, “Waste of time. We’re not gonna find anything here anyway.”
While the officers began foraging like hungry ants at a picnic, Dolly surprised Gia by moving to the kitchen counter. There she began to make a pot of fresh coffee.
“You still take it black, Benjamin?” Dolly asked as she set out a clean mug.
Benjamin Kennedy answered without hesitation. “Yeah, thanks.”
Then Special Agent Kennedy leaned his hips against the counter and nodded to Glory. “You can move away from the door now, Mrs. Bonny. Might as well have a seat, we’re gonna be here a while.”
Glory moved woodenly to take a seat at the table next to Gia.
Dolly served coffee and cookies to the FBI agent like it was a Sunday afternoon social. They passed the time talking about trivial things—not quite like friends, but not like strangers or enemies either.
An hour and a half later the DEA officers left. And as Special Agent Benjamin Kennedy predicted—they hadn’t found a thing.
Prosper and the boys were lined up single file, their hands lay flat on wall, their legs spread apart. When the pat downs showed nothing but a couple of loose joints, the Saints were ordered to turn around with their hands clasped behind their backs. From that stance they watched on impassively as the ATF agents rained hell on the compound.
The only outward sign that the wanton destruction of Saints property had an effect on the club members were the clenched fists, the taut jaws, and the hard glittering eyes that zeroed in on the agents as ATF slashed, smashed and crashed through furniture, electronics and top shelf bottles of booze.
“You wanna tell me what the fuck this is all about? And where the fuck is Kennedy?” Prosper had had enough.
“Shut the fuck up and move away, shithead!” The officer bellowed back.
Prosper had no idea what the fuck was going on. Usually he had some warning of raids like this one. And Kennedy was always the Agent in Charge, while he was not on Saints payroll, Prosper and the Special Agent had a long- time history. Benjamin Kennedy was an upstanding officer with a strong moral code that did not allow him to take bribes or otherwise compromise his law man status, but he also was not a disrespectful mother fucker. Prosper took a look at the name on the warrant, Herrera—didn’t ring any bells.
Special Agent Herrera paced in front of the Saints lined up against the wall. His chest puffed out, back ramrod straight, the heels of his wing tips stomping across the wooden floor, he tried his best to appear intimidating. Someone spat on the floor as he walked by. Prosper guessed it was probably Diego.
There was a sound of fist hitting muscle and out of the corner of his eye, Prosper saw Diego slump over from a hard punch to the gut. Diego would have known that was coming after an outward show of disrespect, but when the agent kneed him hard in the balls, Diego fell hard. Herrera then proceeded to use his highly polished dress shoes to kick the shit out of out of the downed biker.
“You better step away while you still can, you motherfucking cocksucker!!!!” Prosper shouted out as he ran from this place on the wall and stood between Diego’s slumped body and Herrera’s murderous rage.
“Did you just threaten a federal officer?!!!” Herrera thundered.
“NO, I JUST MADE A PROMISE TO A COCKSUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU THINK YOU’RE GONNA BEAT AN UNARMED MAN TO DEATH WHILE HE’S DOWN? NOT MY BOY AND NOT ON MY FUCKING WATCH!” Prosper raged out in decibels that shook the walls.
In a fury now, Agent Herrera ran towards Prosper, drew his weapon and shoved it hard against Prosper’s temple. Fifteen very pissed off bikers standing against the wall flexed and growled with barely contained rage while the ATF agents reacted to the increased tension. They followed Herrera’s lead, drew their weapons and pointed their guns at the Saints and for a minute nobody breathed.
“What the hell is going on here?” Agent Kennedy hollered from the doorway. “Holster your weapons, now!”
“Now Herrera!” He repeated the order when Herrera didn’t respond. “Stand down!”
The Special Agent withdrew the gun from Prosper’s jaw with reluctance.
“Remove yourself from the scene.” Kennedy glared at the him.
“This piece of shit threatened a federal officer.” Herrera growled.
“And the unarmed man on the floor who looks like he just went nine rounds with Floyd Mayweather? He threatened you too?” Kennedy asked him. “You had your team draw their weapons on unarmed men during a damn search and seizure warrant, and you better have a damn good reason for that.” Then his voice became low and authoritative. “We’ve had this discussion before. Now help that man up and then remove yourself from the room.”
“Ass clown comes near me, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.” Diego wheezed out as he struggled to get to stand.
Herrera turned on his heels and stomped away like an angry adolescent.
Benjamin Kennedy looked around at the destruction. The rest of the raiding squad had just begun to file into the common room of the compound.
