Chapter 1  Renee Yesterday & Today   

The dull roar of the jet was just enough back round noise to allow her to concentrate in quiet delight for the
exciting prospects lying ahead. At the same time attempting to peruse the novel on her lap like a rerun of her
favorite movie solely to occupy her anxious energies racing mind. It was a futile attempt to not think of the
challenging future coupled with acceptance of the melancholy shadowing her while leaving her father behind
to remain alone in the company of his haunting ghosts. She was now a bird in flight seemingly for the first
time leaving the nest. This echoed through her mind knowing that certain species of birds mate for life, never
to seek another, a noble task of emptiness left to waste away, Her father was just that kind of bird.

Exhilaration of first flight had its cost; it signified an end. It was simply the natural order of life. The ring of
life she thought; there could be no beginning without an end; this she knew. Beginnings are filled with
memories of the past, and memories are meant to last, indeed. And yes, hers were filled with endless guilt of
abandonment, unfounded of course, yet no less painful. They both were aware of the dull ache radiating
about the ring they wore, they never spoke of the slag smoldering in the alloy within their emotional armor.

As she soared over the patchwork quilt below held together with unseen threads of life, seeing the last of her
past slip by watching as the clouds slowly fade the massive blanket to white. Her gloom abated and she
settled back into quiet anticipation of the upcoming life, a motion quest, her solitary manifest destiny.

Her father was a stray kid out of the bowels of the ghetto leaving foster homes to work the streets in his
early teens. He survived on blind faith staying out of any real trouble. Living in the streets alone, hungry, and
angry most of the time and particularly at that age was a natural magnet for unrequited rage. Fortunately, he
had an insulating resilience that only a good mind and kind heart that kept the underlying fury veiled. Luckily
the early 70s things were tame by today’s “cracked out” comparison. He jammed himself up a few times and
was covered by a beat cop running interference, knowing this kid did not fit the picture of a street doped
hustler. The order keeper of the controlled commotion would learn that the urchin was alone, his people the
cold unforgiving streets, he knew the drill. The beat cop was ten years his senior, he would use his shield to
save the kid from inflicting further wounds upon his future thus attempting to heal the scars of the past
earning trust to last a life time. Sometime in 1975 on his third and last strike, Patrolman Pitts grabbed up
Randell Russell and hustled him to a Marine recruiting station in Staten Island with promise of hiring him after
an honorable tour of Europe. That was provided he signed up within 60 days enabling him to quash the
criminal complaint that would leave an everlasting government tattoo he would be powerless to erase or
conceal. His four-year tour turned into an eight-year hitch, Pitts encouraged his plan of action, which would
allow Randell to move him to a position with some rank after a successful discharge.

He wore the uniform with honor and distinction, as a Marine he closed ranks on his uncertain past keeping a
lid on the can of rage. The military did not want to let him go, Renee’s mother wanted out, out of Germany
and Europe and off to America. 1983 after 8 years, Lieutenant Isaiah Pitts made good the promise, which
included a permanent day shift with a horse of his choice. Randell never saw himself as a black cowboy
patrolling the streets of New York. So he decided on cruising on standard issue black and white iron horse
much like his vintage 57 shove head. As time went by Brother Pitts rose through the ranks based on his
commitment to his great city, he tried to pull Randell along but he knew his obligation to Renee. They were
truly brothers; and they both adored the compellingly precocious Renee as their precious jewel. On his climb,
Isaiah worked the city’s weak-kneed bureaucrats; Randell just worked the city's dirty rats. The years went by
with the two remaining family as they were truly part of a much larger lineage that of New York Cities finest.

Ever the pragmatist seeing the white, black and the obscured gray he positioned the foundation for success in
career, and in many ways as a father. It did not however carry through in husbandry, which left a lonely ill-
fated failure as a mate. He did not fail he was hardly given the chance. Randell could never understand a
mother leaving her young. Where was the instinctual order of protection, the unwritten law of nature? So
when Renee was but two years of age he let her mother split to San Francisco to find her golden gates only
to pass through an ominous entrance in a forgotten necropolis of self-degradation. The underground
pharmacy’s concoction swallowed her whole, with a fatal dose, a shock; the liquid jolt struck her only once
from the rusty spike of heroin. Randell somehow blamed himself for lacking the innate skills required to fill un-
fill able holes in Michelle’s soul with instructions only a mother could teach, a mother he has never known. In
his weakness, he could not keep Michelle but his strength would not let her take Renee, he would simply not
let his blood slip away again.

Though he might have many suitors it needed but one to scar his heart beyond the point of healing. Renee’s
mother unknowingly carried her father’s spirit to her grave never to be resurrected. Renee tried to fill his
emptiness and hold together his fractured heart and to a degree, she did. He was truly a remarkable father
with what implements he had in his primitive tool chest shaping and sculpting Renee into the seemingly
priceless statuary of perfection reminiscent of in an 18th century French bronze, her patina powerful and

She wondered how it was that the bi-racial makeup could leave her weak and strong simultaneously, she
knew she possessed an exotic allure and a sultry beauty that many of her breed exhibited. Bewildering to her
was how the striking good looks could exile her as an untouchable. Could she be so drop dead gorgeous as to
frighten people off? Yes, so she relied on herself to need no one, to maintain the well-ordered upbringing with
the regimented steel trapped mind that brought her to this lonely place. Dad had insisted on precision and
dispassionate clarity to harden Renee. Thou he tempered steel cold logic to her structured upbringing, he also
supplied the necessary life giving warm adoring affection, nevertheless the former held sway insuring an iron
clad mind, however from time to time tiny hints of unmistakable isolation bled through the otherwise
impenetrable veneer.

As a single father of the extraordinary daughter, it was his obligation to do without so he sacrificed a great
deal in underwriting her success. She knew he was protective but he often took it to the extreme, often
shielding her from a normal childhood. How could it ever be normal without a mother, no family other than
Uncle Isy and their extended family of the men and women in blue? She was awed by their camaraderie and
oneness, fascinated by their badges and weapons. Uniformity was always a big part of their life. Her dad
exchanged uniforms from the United States Marines to New York’s finest. He then retired with a gold shield to
pursue real money in a high dollar private Wall Street security firm thus permitting Renee to follow
educations career highway to Columbia University’s criminal justice degree, following it up with a coveted law
degree subsequently staying in the footsteps into the shadows of her father. It was fitting.

If anyone ever viewed her bedroom she thought it would appear that a little boy slept there with toy fire
trucks, police cars, motorcycles, Rambo posters, plastic guns, nothing feminine here. Dad wanted a son, so
here I am his seemingly delicate flower able to protect myself far better than most men. She was pleased he
was firm on martial arts training to bridge any defensive gap. He was tough as nails, a quiet man yet quietly
defeated. Therefore, he retreated in the role of father and mentor, not necessarily in that order. He
structured her life with well thought-out with never-ending lessons of life, a bit paradoxical in that his was so
unfulfilled. He always said that life will have hurtles caused by ignorance, stupidity and fear adding “Life it is
a chess game and knowing when to swing and duck is essential to survive and succeed”. He conversed with
her as if she were indeed a son, he had to he was terrified of her beauty fearing she could be a target much
like her mother and he was right to do so.

He never liked to talk about her mother it was another lash from her memories whip, his open wounds to
never heal. Growing up other kids were not too sure if Renee was Italian, Spanish, or Indian, clearly exotic
also clear that she didn’t fit. Dad insisted that I had to look better than my peers so he dressed me like a
prep school yuppie further confusing her issues. She is tall enough 5’ 7 not so lily white. Meet Joe Black, it
would be nice if it were so, that silly soul mate crap, not for me. This was the facade she provided to protect
her sentimental side; she loved those serendipitous saga’s that in the end live happily ever after. Her cynical
side knew otherwise. Dad saw to that, the son he wanted, never to be at least Renee would be prepared no
matter what, no matter where even going so far as to get her training and her own Harley Sportster at 17. So
he directed my life and yes I am grateful she thought as she drifted from the book and back to reality of the
task ahead. A charge that demanded a unique toughness that her very life could depend, unlike the plush
feminine peripheral she conveyed to no one. When can I let my guard down she thinks, He even tells me how
to wear my hair. This is a good move away from the puppet master, he cannot manipulate my strings from

She peered out the window daydreaming…… Brad Pitt could he play John Galt? , Absolutely she thought and
me Dagny Taggart, Right… He just did not want to let me go. Its not his choice this time, new assignment lip
stick lesbian, dikes on bikes in Daytona Beach sun, sand and surf and of course work under cover, covert
Cleopatra, Spy Vs. Spy she pinched herself….. Back and forth inside her racing head from dad and back to the
here and now. He is going to freak when he sees this butch cut. Six to 12 month assignment, this is work how
can that be? Power awaits this lipstick queen. She went back to the book, oh how she loved the men back
then sort of like dad, she thought real men. Such a paradox she loved her father and yet she hated the never
ending lectures. Secretly he is proud I know who wouldn’t be, all his special training paying big dividends,
jump-start to Home Land Security Counter Terrorism. She passed all that tedious bookwork thanks to dad’s
persistence of learning these strange seeming backward languages of Ali Baba and the forty thieves. Funny
the child’s tale is now tucked away since the day of lost souls that nearly shook the big apple off the planet.
Her father and she both agreed the aim on that dark day in New York was not some three thousand
blameless lives that by the grace of God fifty thousand per tower were spared. She knew the totality, their
end game, she knew how many thousands wear the horror and will forever pick un-heal able scabs for many
years to come. Dad would be even more focused knowing plots were simmering in the sinister desert crock-
pot. He supported my calling he had always quoted the figure of speech “if you are not part of the solution
you are part of the problem.” Ever since she could remember he would always send mixed signals, he could
not let go of the past that was preventing him from having a future. She learned much in her psychology
classes she could now understand his rationale. He kept a protective wall surrounding her, thus allowing her
to enter womanhood un scarred with the ability to handle the challenges when she was emotionally
prepared, he again was spot on.

Funny she thought, the book that helped shape her life was overflowing with lost logic. She tried to cast the
parts in her mind. Francisco Di Anconia, George Clooney a bit too old she wanted to cast the movie that the
whacko lefties in Hollywood will never make Mel Gibson of course she wanted to shout perfect Hank Reardon
Mel could produce and star, Andy Garcia, maybe….. Sigourney Weaver perfect if she were 10 years younger….
Uma Thurman, a bit too tall for John Galt ( Brad the Pitts ) she daydreamed and Angelina, Joelie, Dagny,
maybe……Perfect if she were not so curvy. It was compulsory reading this classic novel about life, love,
failure, and triumph. He wanted to name me after her but could not quite make the stretch, “Dagny,” so they
named me Renee after her side. She is exotically beautiful but she never quite fit in emerging into the
mysterious creature she struggled to be. Therefore, with dads persistence she buried herself in books from
around the world and so other languages intrigued her. French, Arabic and perfect English came to her
rhythmically of a perfect orchestral melody leaving her perfectly suited for this assignment.

To complete the covert commando lipstick lezbo she had to spend both time and money something she was
not accustomed to do with such frivolity, she would adapt and improvise she grinned to herself. She would be
trading up from the Sportster to the big dog league. Ten grand budget for a fitting cycle could purchase a
bunch of bang for the buck. The time machine was a double-edged sword. As many of her more seasoned
counter parts attempted unsuccessfully in holding onto the grueling image of a hardcore biker babe extending
life with the thrills of danger keeping the blood of life beating to the sound of the power plant. The other
edge accelerated the epidermis’s ageing process, whipped by weather beating bashing could be defeated by
vanity so as a result some bargains to be had. Function over form was first priority, ideally an expensive
$40,000 plus one of a kind custom chopper with her mounting the dazzling provocative iron horse clad in
black leather with red stiletto heeled spurs cherry topped the sexy power packed mass of two wheeled
thunder would have to wait a bit as stealth was the order of the day.

The Captains voice reverberated to inform the passengers of the ETA giving her enough time to go over her
itinerary and set up her new staging area for her welcomed assignment. She pictured in her minds eye her
new surroundings as her Internet coming attractions filed. She glanced out to the compelling aquamarine
blue ocean quietly excited at the prospects of a week off from the grueling training and of course; her totally
new scripted life style. She had much to accomplish on her generous stipend compliments of her other rich
uncle, Sam Some fun, shopping at government expense from transportation to wardrobe and post grad
education unnn beee-lievable….

Daytona Harley Davidson would be her second stop to rent a Road King after dropping her bags at the Ponce
Inlet beach front condominium. She would begin her covert ruse getting familiar with the lay of the land on
the seat of a hog.   
Buckling in for the final approach and taking in the picture perfect ocean descending effortlessly on the glide
path to kiss the ground of a seemingly deserted Daytona Beach International Airport.

Later she would be mystified at the laid back resort relative to the preconceived reputation of wild and crazy
party town of “The Worlds Most Famous Beach” She was prepared for the transformation, most of the
business end was handled. Although she’d never been to Daytona she liked what she saw thanks to the Bill
Gates. Preparation aside settling in would be a blast. Daytona was an event town hence her mission. Her old
wardrobe Classy City Cosmo mothballed for the foreseeable future in place a raunchy Biker Babe was looking
better and better. She could hardly believe the assignment; she sold her way around a slew of hungry
competition. She earned it thanks to Dad as he would evade the ubiquitous cabbie’s navigating the chess
board of the insane streets of the Big Apple with her on the back of his chromed crimson Electra Glide for all
those years. That’s how she got the bug. He would drum into her “Be tough fearing nothing, and know Your
limitations.”, He sounded like Clint Eastwood. He insisted on formal motorcycle training from his friend at the
academy. He would remind me of the famous quote “ The two greatest sin from which all others spring are
laziness and impatience” Kafka. Sadly his best illustration was the woeful inadequate experience of the late
John F Kennedy Jr..  Power and instrumentation required skilled training, testing, and above all common
sense coupled with the knowledge to know the difference between balls and brains. Dad was again spot on;
it was tough arguing with him he was always right. He was also pleased to be able to vacation in the off
season having endured many nasty cold rainy Daytona Beach “Bikeweeks” so the idea of choosing his visits
weather permitting was just the ticket to dig him out the doldrums emptiness can bring.   

To complete the covert commando lipstick lezbo she had to spend both time and money something she was
not accustomed to do easily, she would adapt and improvise she grinned to herself. The ten grand budget for
a fitting cycle could purchase a bunch of bang for the buck. These time machines were a double-edged sword
maintaining youth in a serious game of life by man handling the raw power of ferocious freedom keeping the
blood of life beating to the sound of the power plant.  

However as many of her more seasoned sisters attempted often unsuccessfully in holding onto the grueling
image of a hardcore biker babe they were defeated by vanity. The constant weather beating  accelerated the
skins ageing process adding wrinkles seemly over night.
However these time machines were a double-edged sword, keeping young in a serious game by man
handling the raw power of ferocious freedom with the blood of life beating to the sound of the rumbling
power plant.
Consequently, the faint of heart offered up some tremendous bargains. Function over form was first priority.
Ideally, an expensive one of a kind custom chopper with her mounting the dazzling provocative iron horse
clad in skin tight black leather, red stiletto heeled spurs, cherry topping the sexy power packed mass of two
wheeled thunder a bright red silk do-rag. She may just have to wait a bit, as money and stealth are the order
of the day.

Her Internet investigations left her limitless options in the ten thousand range. It was now just a matter of
the final inspection to gauge the integrity of her contacts with regard to condition and to wave some cash to
whet the seller’s appetites need to sell. She welcomed the sport of “give me what I want”. The “A” list she
narrowed to eight factoring in some of the emailed jpegs were a bit grainy. She vowed not to get overly
excited, it pained her to err when it came to money. Her goal real or imagined was ninety-five hundred unless
she took her fathers recommendation to go a bit more for the coveted fuel injected Road King. She knew
$9500.00 would not get within a country mile of one. All was depending on the degree of negotiation and her
willingness to go hog wild investing up to $12000.00 or perhaps a bit more. To keep up with the big Dogs her
father said he’d kick in to bridge the gap; she was a bit overcome. He said your comfort is all-important but
your life could depend on the right choice so get what you want.  
Three of the eight were leased standard issue black and white police specials low mileage under twenty K.
These buy backs put her near enough in the afford ability range to nail her target zone at maybe a bit under
$11,000.00.  These said her father should be exactly like his so there would be no learning curve to adjust
and maintenance recorded for reliability. Most knew one had to be on the laws inside track to get in on those
sweetheart deals and she was concerned to expose herself to unneeded questions. Her father called in a few
markers allowing her to take her pick, but agreed that it could red flag her around town.

All things considered with money relatively no object she eyed Two Fatboys, one black, one red and one
custom painted Road King sporting a black panther with gold piercing eyes lowered with tons of blinding
chrome. The last was customized for one of Daytona’s richest plastic surgeons wannabe wife. Mrs. Stein road
it a dozen or more times down main street realizing it was not her thing after her facial investment started
glowing in the dark and the botox shots started hardening from the sun. Real or imagined. The good doctor
Frank N Stein confided in Renee admitting he knew it to be much worse. He said for that malady she suffering
would require another kind of doctor with meds not to be found in his medicine bag of tricks reading, her
medication read  “Medication may cause drowsiness or dizziness”. Oddly enough he said he did not want to
let any of their friends know the bike would be on the market, he said a quick cash deal would steal it rather
than lose a friend in a pissing match over the twenty-five thousand plus toy. The choices were pretty much
wide open in the unofficial Harley capital of the world. She would heed her father’s advice and ultimately rent
one or two before cashing out anywhere between $16.00 to $19.00 per pound for a decent cut for any iron
horse meat.

She had a week to rest, secure the ruse, make the transformation, blend in as to not attract attention from
her formally professional Cosmo facade. Preparation was critical in her successful climb up the latter of
independence, she was on her way....