The county was going to bury him in an unmarked plot. A number instead of a name. Forgotten before anyone knew he existed.
But a man named Thomas Reeves walked into the county office with a personal check for $4,200.
On the memo line, he’d written: “Every child deserves to be mourned.”
I found Thomas at the Guardians Motorcycle Club headquarters. He didn’t want to talk to media. Said what they did wasn’t for publicity. But when I told him I had footage—that I’d almost called it in as a crime—he went quiet.
“You saw us?”
“Everything. I thought you were desecrating a grave.”
Long pause. “What are you going to do with the footage?”
I didn’t know yet. But I needed to understand first.
Thomas invited me inside.
The clubhouse walls were covered in photographs. Dozens of children. Smiling faces. Thank you cards. I didn’t understand.
“That’s the only picture we have of Mikey. Took it three months before he died. We were doing a food run under the bridge. He was there with a woman we thought was his mother.”
“She wasn’t?”
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