Summary: Faith Lehane visits Charming and
the Sons of Anarchy will never be the same.
Rating: FR15 for language, violence, and sexual innuendo.
See Chapter 1 for Cast of Characters & Disclaimer
"Hey Faith, glad you're here," said Jax, putting down a ratchet wrench and wiping his hands on a red shop rag. He walked over and said quietly, "You wanna ride with us today? I mean, if you're up to it. We're gonna close the chapter on that thing you had with Gemma three days ago, it might be a little, uh, brutal so if you don't want to that's okay..."
"Yeah, I'll come along. But what am I gonna ride?" she asked, looking at her bike which didn't even possess an engine, nor tires nor brakes and not much of anything else besides a frame and the wiring harness.
"We've got an extra bike, it's a customer's but he won't mind if you borrow it, as long as you don't mind riding a Sportster."
"Well, it's just for a few hours, right?"
Jax laughed, "Yeah, it's not a bad bike just because it cost less than yours, I mean, it's still a Harley, after all."
They walked to the back of the garage and Jax whipped a tarp off a motorcycle mixed in with a bunch of boxes and old parts. Jax said, "XL1200X, a damn good bike, actually, as long as you don't mind occasionally scraping the ground in tight curves."
"Looks good, all black, I like that. Uh, what if the owner objects?"
"He won't, he's dead."
"Really? What, he didn't pay his bill on time?"
Jax laughed. "Shit darlin', if that were the case, how would we get our money? No, he was driving a big rental SUV while we customized his bike. Thing was a monster, an Excursion or something, it was so big he didn't feel the need to pay much attention to other cars around him. So while he was texting us instructions for his bike he drove around a railroad crossing guard – I'm sure it didn't help that he had at least one six-pack of beer under his belt – anyway, he got flattened by a freight train. Wasn't much left of him or his truck after that.
"Sounds like a Darwin Award winner to me."
"Yeah, he was a good customer, too," he sighed, pausing to reflect, finally added, "So, you ready to ride?"
Faith got on the Sportster and tried it out. She wiggled around trying to get comfortable, but it just wasn't her bike, the saddle didn't want to conform to her butt very well. Still, it maneuvered nicely and she controlled it easily. "All right Jackson, let's go kick some ass."
Jax laughed, "Damn girl, if we didn't have rules against females in the club I'd invite you myself." Jax didn't notice Faith glaring at him.
Jax, Clay and Faith rode out the main highway towards Lodi. They turned off and followed an old State road until they met up with Chibs, Juice and Opie. From the meet, they drove down a long hill and finally stopped at a lonely intersection, pulling off the road at a convenient abandoned gas station.
"So what's the plan?" asked Faith.
"Well, we know that Zobelle is meeting with his local dealer, Darby, and this drug stuff wouldn't sit well with his white supremacist followers, which he only pretends to be part of, so this whole meeting is secret from his own people as well as the cops, and since the only cops around here are on our payroll, the odds of us being interrupted are low."
"Uhh, sounds okay. How'd you get the goods on him?"
"Half-Sack's been following him, and Juice planted a few bugs, and well, he's an open book to us now."
"Bugs, huh? High tech bike club you got here."
"We try. Hell, we gotta sweep our own club for bugs just to stay under the radar of the Feds. Fuckers keep wanting to put us in prison."
"Yeah, I know how that goes. So, what's next?'
"Ol' Chibs here has a secret weapon," said Clay, "which he will now deploy."
Chibs reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a rough canvas sack that rattled metallically. He removed one item and held it up for everyone to inspect. "Caltrops! Sharp fuckers, too. Four sharp steel points welded in such a way that no matter how it lands, one point always sticks up." He proceeded to scatter them on the road in front of the station.
"Now you all remember where these are, anyone here drives over 'em and fucks up their tires has only themselves to blame!" said Chibs.
"Shit, when we're done, we're gonna hafta clean that shit up," said Faith.
The other looked at her, "Why?"
"Because you're a responsible MC?"
Jax scuffed his shoe on the dirt. "Aw Faith, I don't think so. Besides, the only other people driving on this road are drug dealers and cops. Plus a tourist once in a while."
"Oh, well, that's okay then." Jax wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not.
"Here he comes," Juice whispered, "step back, we don't want him to see us until he's just to the caltrops."
A car came along, the driver noticed the motorcycles and stared at them, completely missing the little four-pointed jack sized caltrops scattered on the road. He suffered blowouts on all four tires, but kept going, although at a slower pace than before, the car shaking and rattling and steering arbitrarily.
Clay said, "Well shit, I guess we're gonna have us a low-speed chase." They all followed, no one going very fast, but fast enough to surround the car. Zobelle made a small effort to sideswipe a bike or two, but it was halfhearted at best. Eventually he pulled off the road and stopped. He got out, slamming the door behind, holding an H&K MP5.
"Okay gentlemen, hold it right there, that's close enough," Zobelle said calmly.
"Ya know, there's five weapons pointed at ya," said Chibs, "you might get one of us, two at the most, before we get you."
"Of course," said Faith, "you might have a little trouble since your fire selector switch is on 'Safe'."
"You're bluffing," he replied, "you can't possibly see how the switch is set from that distance."
"Sorry to disappoint, but I can see it just fine. The 'S', painted in white, stands for the German word for safe which happens to start with an S also. You're fucked dude. If you don't believe me, pull the trigger. Although you might live a little longer if you just drop it."
He pointed it at Faith and tried to fire, but five bullets hit him first. Faith walked over and picked up the gun, she pointed it towards the hillside and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. "See," she said to the dead man, "it was safed."
"Come on come on," said Jax with some urgency, "let's get 'im off the road. It's pretty quiet out here, but you never know when some tourist might come along."
They all got busy dragging the body into the woods while Opie drove the car back to the gas station. He broke the lock on the overhead door and got the car inside. Then he sprayed the inside with a fire extinguisher to take care of any fingerprints. Finally, he went out and collected as many of the caltrops as he could find.
Meanwhile, back in the woods, Faith sat on a log and watched the bikers dig. When it looked like they were flagging, she said, "Come on boys, we gotta go deeper than that, we don't want no animals digging him up for a hiker to find. If he can stay buried, au naturel as it were, in six months there won't be a clue for any busybody crime scene types to get a lead on."
She had collected his clothes, keys and wallet and rolled the bundle tight. Except for the wallet, she dug in and found five hundred bucks in twenties. "Do you want to put the money in the club fund? I'd keep it myself, but I don't need it." She handed it to Jax. "We'll wash the clothes and stick 'em in a collection box somewhere, and burn the wallet and stuff. Shit, I just thought of something, we gotta dig the bullets out of the corpse."
"Christ girl, don't this put you off at all?" said Tig.
"Are you shittin' me? That guy ordered his men to rape Gemma just to send a message to his rivals, and the sonsabitches decided to do me just because I was there. Guys who use rape as a weapon don't get no consideration from me. Besides, I've killed before, it don't bother me much. Although I try not to make a habit of it seeing as I don't want to go back inside." The others looked at her oddly, with a kind of respect that wasn't there before.
Faith kneeled by the body and started to dig out the bullets with long-nose pliers from her belt-pack.
When she finished and the hole was deep enough, she and Clay rolled Zobelle in, Faith spit on the dead man, Clay tapped cigar ashes on him, and the rest started shoveling dirt.
As they walked out of the woods towards their bikes, Faith asked, "So uh, any chance of stopping to eat somewhere?"
"You're hungry after all that?"
"Lord yes, hungry and... Well, I could use a big steak."
"Damn, I never seen a girl so unaffected by violence before."
"I've seen worse, hell, I've done worse. Although I do try to be a sweet girly girl, I'm just not very fuckin' good at it."
They all laughed.
"Yeah, there's a roadside diner we can stop at for lunch that's not too far."
Special Agent June Stahl of the ATF looked over the latest surveillance photos on her desk. She picked one and walked to the conference room where the rest of her agents were compiling pictures and tapes.
"Have we identified this new girl riding with the SoA, yet? And has anyone picked up Ethan Zobelle again? I don't like the way he shook our tail this morning."
Agent Smith said, "Yeah, we checked his tracker, it's still on his car. He must have taken another vehicle. Leaves it up in the air whether or not he knows about the tracker."
Agent Tyler said, "We identified the girl, she's Faith Lehane and she's got a record. She was incarcerated in California for first degree murder, but she escaped and then, get this, she was given a full pardon! There's a whole section of her file that's missing, it's referenced in the table of contents but, the pages are just not there. Apparently it's classified, at least it says so in the table."
"What the fuck?" asked Stahl, "is she some sort of undercover agent?"
"Beats me," said Smith, "I've sent requests for info to Washington, so far, no response. And this classified stuff is probably so much horse pucky, as we've all seen most of the time it's not anything to do with national security, it's just some bureaucrats way of covering a fuckup. I'll tell you what, if she's undercover, it's the most undercover I've ever seen or heard of. So much so that I don't believe it. I think she's got some sort of heavy-duty pull somewhere though – probably blackmail."
Stahl, speed-reading through the file, said, "We're talking about a high-school drop-out here, I don't really believe she has the smarts to blackmail the Governor of California into giving her a full pardon, she may have some powerful friends though. This file is raising more questions than it answers people, so let's put more resources on Lehane, I want to find out what's going on. Follow her, bug her – do we know where she's staying?"
"So far, the only place we've seen her sleep is in the SoA clubhouse."
"What else do we know about her?" asked Stahl.
"According to DHS she's been out of the country for much of the last eight months. As best we can tell, she's traveled from Alaska to Peru, with stops in Columbia." All the agents frowned at that. "We haven't been able to ascertain what she was doing, but DEA reports at least brief contact with a couple of drug cartels. There was so much shooting going on that they couldn't get close enough to see exactly what was happening, but it's certainly suspicious. She couldn't have been carrying much in the way of contraband on her motorcycle, but it sure doesn't look good."
"Okay, full court press on Lehane, I want to know who she is and I want to know how the hell she got a pardon for murder and escape, I want to know who her friends are, and I want to know what she's up to with the SoA."
"Yes ma'am," said all the agents.
That night Faith stalked into the clubhouse with Tara and Jax and glared at all the bikers and the women hanging around. She jumped on top of the bar and said, "All right, I've taken care of the first 'H', hunger, and now I want to take care of the second 'H', horniness! So I'm gonna dance, and I'll fuck the first person who's able to keep up with me! Are any of you fuckers game?"
Tara and Jax looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Well this oughtta be entertaining," said Jax.
"Did you notice she said 'person', not guy?"
"Not till you mentioned it. Say, after she's worn herself out with everyone else, how about you...?"
"Up yours, Jackson! You just want to try a threesome!"
"Hey, can't blame me for tryin'."
"Yes I can, but I won't as long as you don't stare at Faith too much."
Jax turned his head guiltily away from looking at Faith who was dancing energetically with Tig and Bobbie both. But when he looked at Tara, he saw she was staring at Faith, so he looked back in time to see Bobbie start to gasp and clutch his hands to his chest. He sat down heavily at the bar and shouted, "BEER! I'm fuckin' dyin' here!" He put his head down to catch his breath, but when one of the girls slammed a tall one down in front of him he looked up, smiled, and chugged most of it.
Meanwhile, Tig was doing his best to keep up, but it was clear he wasn't going to last much longer. Faith was still dancing with wild abandon, shaking and bouncing around with eroticism flowing off her like a waterfall. Juice stepped up, "It's my turn, Tig, sit, you ain't gonna last another minute."
Tig slowed and backed up until he felt a chair behind and collapsed. Another girl slapped a mug in his hand and he drained half of it in one gulp. "I needed that!" he said, gazing at Faith. "How does she do it?"
Juice tried to emulate Faith's movements, but five minutes was about it – he ended up collapsed on a pool table while another girl poured beer down his throat.
"Hiya darlin'," said Chibs, "you been goin' at it for a while now, and my Scot soul, mixed with a little luck of the Irish, stands a good chance of dancin' you to a finish."
"Go ahead, give it a try!" shouted Faith, still in mood to dance the night away.
But two minutes later Chibs tripped and fell heavily. A couple of bikers helped him to his feet and steered him towards the bar.
Opie stepped up. "You gotta be getting' tired now!" said Opie, struggling to keep his belly moving along with Faith. He too succumbed after a few minutes.
Half-Sack was a little hesitant, but Faith waved him over. He lasted longer than any of the others, but Faith was energized and kept on going and going.
Eventually, everyone in the club, including the women – except Jax and Clay who were forbidden from the dance floor by their respective partners – had all tried and failed to keep up with Faith's dance. They were all lying down, sprawled out, some face down on the pool table, others not-so-quietly screwing in the corners, and finally Faith stopped her wild dance. She jumped up on a table and cocked her head. "All right, listen up! Since no one here could keep up with me, I'm gonna spend the rest of the night fucking the person coming in that door right now!"
Everybody looked towards the front door, which opened slowly. Faith put her arms straight out and made come here motions with her fingers while waggling her hips. "Good timing, you won, come on in and collect your reward."
Gemma said, "Come on Clay, the door's locked, you can show me your inner beast."
"Oh Gemma, you know I'd do anything for you, but suppose someone sees me? I mean seriously, it could destroy my image! No one in Sam Crow would ever look at me again without laughing at me!"
"Clay, we're in our bedroom, in our house, there's no one in the house but us, all the doors are locked, the security system is on, no one is going to see you!"
"Okay, no one can see us, but maybe someone could overhear?"
"No one can hear us; fer chrisake, be a man."
Clay, with a sigh, and an unusually soft smile said, "Okay, I'll read poetry to you tonight."
"While wearing your shaggy wig?"
"Yeah, yeah," Clay said with a long suffering sigh, "but it's your wig, not mine, and don't ever forget it. I just wear it to please you."
Gemma said, "Well, if it's gonna be that much trouble..."
"No, no, I'll do it. Don't you ever tell anyone, but it is kinda fun."
"Your secret is safe with me."
The next morning Clay and Gemma arrived together in Gemma's Caddy, just as Faith wandered out of the clubhouse with a cup of coffee.
"You look unusually relaxed this morning, Gemma," said Faith, "you guys get it on last night or somethin'?"
"Clay was a real lion, a true beast, last night."
Clay frowned, "Now Gemma, that's between us!"
"Not to worry Clay, I won't reveal any secrets."
Faith said, "Ooooh, secrets? Tell me more."
Clay and Gemma together said, "NO!"
"Alright, alright, I was just kidding anyway."
"Besides," said Clay, "you're looking hella satisfied yourself. It wouldn't have anything to do with whoever the asshole is who dared park a Ducati outside our club, would it?"
"You mean that all-black Ducati Diavel AMG?" Faith pointed at the invading motorcycle.
"Yeah, that's the one, it's not like there's a whole flock of miscellaneous foreign motorcycles parked out here."
"Nice bike, huh?"
"Well, I wouldn't go that far, I mean, I guess it's okay for an Eye-talian machine, but it ain't a Harley darlin'," said Clay, that argument trumping all others combined in Clay's mind.
"Yeah," said Faith, "I kind of agree, but my friend felt he needed as much extra as he could get to keep up with me. He still can't keep up with me, but the gap's closer than it used to be. On the other hand, if you're gonna ride sixty thousand miles in eight months, there's nothin' like a Fat Boy, 'cept maybe a Wide-Glide or a Road King and if I was gonna stay on pavement maybe an Electra-Glide. But he didn't ride his machine that far, he trucked the bike and met me here and there and rode with me for a few days or a week at a time. Still, that Ducati really impressed me going over those eighteen-thousand foot passes in South America. The Harley lost more power at high altitude, I damn near had to get off and push a few times, while the Ducati kept more umph. Still, both bikes made it over the top."
"Probably 'cuz the Fat Boy has a carburetor while the Ducati is fuel-injected," said Clay.
"That's probably it, on the other hand I found a local garage in the Altiplano who could do a little work on the Harley, but we failed to find anyone who could fix the Ducati when we managed to smash up the exhaust manifold but good. We had to crate it up and fly it back to New York."
"So how come a slight girl like you likes the Fat Boy so much? I mean seriously, there's other bikes that're lighter and would be easier for you to handle," said Clay, "and for the kind of riding you do the Sportster would be better, still not ideal, but better."
"Oh well, it's kind of embarrassing really."
"See, back when I was thirteen years old, I saw this movie, True Lies, and the girl who played Schwarzenegger's daughter reminded me so much of myself that I sort of identified with her, and besides I never met my own father, so Arnold sort of became a substitute in my mind – you know how dumb kids make up stupid dreams – I was living on the streets in Boston by then so I had plenty of dreams, and nightmares too. And then I saw Terminator 2, and it just blew my mind, so anyway, from then on I wanted to own both a Terminator and a Fat Boy, and nothing less would do."
"Yeah, that movie probably sold a lot of Harleys. So isn't Schwarzenegger a little big for you?" asked Clay.
"I got news for you, Clay, girls like big," said Gemma, batting her eyelashes at him.
"Geez, Gem," said Clay. "So Faith, you still gotta a crush on...?"
"Naw, I got over my infatuation with Schwarzenegger," said Faith, "but not the bike. And I've become a martial arts expert so I'm sort of a Terminator myself these days, as close as I can get, anyway. The ironic thing is, it was the Governator himself that signed my pardon and gave me my freedom back. That really weirded me out."
Clay and Gemma eyed her speculatively. They both wanted to ask more questions, but they could see that Faith had sort of drifted off into her thoughts so they left her alone. They strolled across the parking lot, Gemma to the office, Clay and Faith to the garage where they stood over Jax's shoulder and watched him work on Faith's bike. He had it upside down while he struggled with the footboards.
"Shit girl, what the hell did you do to fuck it up like this? It looks like you took your seven hundred pound Fat Boy boulder hopping. The footboards are bent to shit, there's huge deep gouges in the bottom of the frame, your front wheel is both out of round and crooked, the reason your front shocks don't work anymore is cause you can't put such big dents in 'em and expect 'em to still work, and I suspect the frame is actually bent. Look along here, it don't look right to me."
"Yeah, well, not exactly boulder hopping, but we got on some pretty rough roads and trails in Peru. And once I got the footboards bent up I stopped hitting so many rocks while followin' the Ducati. Course I had to customize 'em some with a hammer so I could shift properly but..."
"You do know these are road machines, not dirt bikes, right?"
"Couldn't prove it by me," said Faith, "I drove my sweet honey on trails that would make a mountain goat nervous. And besides, remember in T-2 where the T-800 jumped his Fat Boy into the concrete drainage ditch?"
"Yeeaah," Jax said.
"Well, I did a jump like that on this bike, maybe not quite so high and the ground was softer, but still."
"Faith, that was a trick shot. They supported the bike with cables so it hit softer. In real life you can't do jumps like that with a bike as heavy as yours without causing considerable damage!"
"Well, that must be why it rode a little rough after."
Jax and Clay shook their heads in amazement. Jax looked at Clay and said, " 'A little rough' she says!"
"Mind you, at the time it was either jump off a cliff or get killed, so I think I made the right decision."
"Well, that does sound like a good reason." said Jax.
Clay said, "Hey wait, you didn't drive it damaged like that all the way from Peru, did you? I mean, shit, there's no way!"
"No, no, the jump occurred in Nevada, or maybe I was already in California, I'm not entirely certain – it happened after the incident with the fucking truck tire. See, I happened to ride through the middle of drug buy out in a very empty stretch of public land, and totally by accident several of the principals got killed, mostly by their own side tryin' to kill me. I had ta book outta there in a hurry, and that meant a twenty vertical drop."
"You just happened to ride through the middle of a...? You're a crazy person, Faith," said Jax.
"On the plus side," said Clay, "we're gonna show a nice profit rebuilding your bike. You've got the money to pay for it, right? It's not dirty money, is it?"
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry, I didn't grab any of the cash or anything else. I already gave Gemma my credit card number upfront for parts."
"Oh, good, good. We don't want to give the Feds any ammunition, even by accident." Clay looked out the garage doors to the clubhouse. He nodded to the guy coming out the door and said to Faith, "So, that's your guy, the Ducati-ridin' pirate?"
"What would you have done if one of our guys outlasted you on the dance floor?"
Faith smiled, "Didn't happen, did it?" She turned and smiled. "Xander! Come on over and say hello to our hosts!"
Shaggy-haired Ron Perlman reading poetry to Gemma is a reference to Beauty and the Beast. For anyone who missed it, Ron Perlman played Vincent, a creature who walked like a man with a beastly visage, but with the gentle heart of a poet.
Ron Perlman is even more famous for playing Hellboy, of course.
Eliza Dushku played Schwarzenegger's daughter in True Lies. And Schwarzenegger rather famously rode a 1990 Harley-Davidson Fat Boy FLSTF in T-2 (1990 according to the director; 1991 according to the T-800 visual display. Sources around the 'net go back and forth).