“Okay,” she said. “I can accept that.”
“Friends help friends. That’s different from charity.”
“Yes, it is.”
“But I’m still going to find ways to help you back,” she warned. “That’s how friendship works. It goes both ways.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Sadie nodded, satisfied the matter was settled.
Then her expression shifted back to its usual brightness.
“Now, can I tell you about the science project I’m doing? It’s about the migration patterns of monarch butterflies, and it’s really, really cool.”
Garrett smiled, something he found himself doing more often these days.
“Tell me everything.”
The seventh week brought the meeting with Marlene that Garrett had been putting off.
He had been content to work in the background, helping without intruding, but Hawk’s advice echoed in his mind.
If this was going to continue, if he was going to be a permanent fixture in Sadie’s life, it needed to be official and transparent, the kind of relationship that could withstand scrutiny.
He brought Boulder with him as a witness.
Saturday afternoon, neutral daylight, two bikers on motorcycles pulling up to a run-down apartment building in East Oakland.
Garrett knew what it looked like. He knew what people would assume.
Marlene Hartwell answered the door with weary eyes and tension in her shoulders that spoke of too many past encounters with men who meant her harm.
She was 32 but looked older, worn down by work, worry, and grief.
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail. Her hands were rough from labor, but her spine was straight and she met Garrett’s eyes directly.
“Miss Hartwell,” Garrett said. “This is Tommy Picket. We were hoping to talk.”
Marlene studied them both, clearly weighing risks and options.
Then she stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Five minutes.”
The apartment was small but immaculate.
Every surface was clean, every item in its place.
Children’s drawings covered one wall, Sadie’s artwork, bright splashes of color against faded paint.
A battered couch faced a small television. Library books were stacked neatly on a side table.
Poverty, but not squalor.
Pride in what little they had.
“I can’t offer you anything,” Marlene said, remaining standing. “We don’t have much.”
“We’re not here for hospitality,” Garrett said, keeping his voice even and non-threatening. “We’re here to explain some things and ask for your permission.”
“Permission for what?”
“To keep being part of Sadie’s life openly, with your knowledge and approval.”
Marlene’s expression flickered through several emotions.
Suspicion, confusion, fear.
“I know who you are,” she said. “I know what that jacket means. I’ve been doing my research since Sadie started talking about Mr. Garrett every day after school.”
“What did your research tell you?”
“That you’ve been with the Oakland chapter for 23 years. That you’ve never been convicted of a violent crime. That you volunteer at the VA hospital fixing motorcycles for disabled veterans.”
She paused.
“That three years ago you paid for a club member’s daughter’s medical treatment when insurance wouldn’t cover it.”
Garrett was surprised.
He hadn’t expected her to dig that deep.
“You’re thorough.”
“I have to be. My niece is all I have left.”
Marlene’s voice hardened.
“Her mother was my baby sister. I promised her at the end that I would keep Sadie safe, that I would protect her no matter what.”
“So yes, when a Hells Angel starts showing interest in my eight-year-old niece, I do my research.”
“That’s fair.”
“What I can’t figure out is why.”
Marlene stepped closer, studying Garrett’s face like she was trying to read his soul.
“Why would someone like you care about a struggling kid and her overwhelmed aunt? What’s the angle? What do you want from us?”
Garrett reached into his wallet and pulled out the crumpled dollar bill.