Chapter 4

Marc

My day off, and I’m spending it going around scrap metal yards in Tucson, seeking that elusive animal, a 750 cc engine for the Suzuki, and so far with no luck. As I ride the Kawasaki into the fifth yard I’ve tried, I’m heartened to see there’s a number of bike parts scattered around. Maybe I’ll have more luck at this location.

I’m only just throwing my leg over the seat when a man approaches me. He’s broad, about my height, covered with tattoos and an unlit cigarette is tucked behind his ear. When he speaks his voice is gruff and rough, just like his appearance. He looks me up and down and then sneers. “I take it you don’t want to scrap that.” He points at my bike.

“God no.” I laugh, and without bothering to exchange pleasantries, explain what I’m after.

His eyes sharpen as he realises I’m here to buy, not to sell. “Got any experience puttin’ in an engine?”

“I can do it,” I assure him. There are YouTube videos for that.

A half smile plays on his lips as though he’s got doubts, but not wanting to turn down a sale, he waves toward an office, a ramshackle hut that’s seen better days. “Well, come with me and I’ll see what I’ve got.”

I follow him and stand while he sits at a grubby computer. Large fingers tap slowly and deliberately at the keyboard.

As he shakes his head, I prepare to be disappointed. “Hmm, don’t have nothin’ listed.”

I sigh deeply, thinking of going to the next place on my list, starting to think I’ll never find what I’m after.

“But let’s go take a look. Sometimes stock doesn’t all get entered.”

What’s it going to take, just a few more moments out of my precious day off when I don’t have to put up with Garza popping his gum. “Thank you,” I say politely.

“Suzuki GSXR? 750 you say?”

I nod. What was he looking for if he needed to confirm that again?

The smile turns into a grin. “Got something you might be interested in. Depends on whether you’ve got guts or not.”

Now that’s got me interested. “What are you thinking?”

For an answer, he shakes his head. “This way.” And I’m following him out into the sunshine again.

He leads me around the shells of cars, old washing machines, and other scrapped metal until we come to a couple of bike engines. He moves the one in front, then points to the block behind. I lean forward to look. A bubble of excitement billows up inside me. I cock my eyebrow as I realise what he’s thinking. “7/11?” Those bikes have intrigued me before. The seven-hundred-fifty engine swapped out for an eleven hundred, giving rise to the name.

He laughs and slaps my back. “Didn’t know if you’d recognise it. But yeah, that’s my thought.”

I think about it for a moment. Putting an eleven hundred cc engine into the Suzuki would make it one hell of a beast. Take off the fairing… A perfect rat bike.

Then I frown. I’m a cop. It’s hard enough to keep to the speed limits with my Kawasaki. Something like this… They’d never catch me. I can’t help it. I grin at him, thinking of the excitement it would inject into my life, and make the decision on the spot. “I’ll take it.”

Having arranged the price, he agrees to get it delivered, and I promise to come back and show him the finished result. Money changes hands, and I walk off, already planning to add a turbo to the beast I’ll be creating, while wondering why a law-abiding person like me is so enamoured by the thought of building a supercharged rat bike.

The engine arrives the next morning, my second day off. I waste no time getting started. Soon I’m up to my elbows in grease and oil, my knuckles grazed as though I’ve been in a fight. It was almost too heavy for me to handle, but by the end of the day the engines are swapped out. Now I love my Kawasaki, but I get a thrill deep inside me just looking at what I’ve ended up with. I’ll have to tell Les. It will make him laugh. And then I remember I can’t. For a moment a sense of loss washes through me before I realise cutting him out of my life was for the best. Before I started to care. But I’m sad for a moment that there’s no one I can share my new pride and joy with.

A test drive, a quick burn up the highway, and I’m almost overwhelmed by the speed of my new 7/11. Stripping it down by not replacing the fairing means I’ve got a very light bike with a powerful engine. Something totally unexpected for a person like me. A burst of power causes an unexpected wheelie, and I back off the throttle fast to get that front wheel back down, laughing with exhilaration. Now this is a bike.

A couple of showers, a bucket-load of degreaser, and somehow I manage to remove all the muck from my skin by the time I walk into the precinct the following morning. While I’ve left the rat at home, I’m still ramped up by my achievement.

“What’s got you fucking smiling?”

And just like that, my good mood disappears. My new partner wouldn’t understand yesterday’s triumph, that I’ve managed to build myself a new ride. I limit myself to, “Just had a good couple of days off.”

He’s not interested in probing further. Which suits me fine. I start to walk to my desk, but he puts his hand on my arm. “Already got a case.”

My gut churns as I feel his fingers on my bare skin where I’ve rolled up my shirt sleeves, but as I’m already walking on thin ice in this department, I don’t protest the inappropriate touch. Shrugging off his hand, I ask wearily, “What’s that?”

He grins before popping that gum. “Someone’s been snatching wallets at one of the malls. We’re going to go watch and see if we can spot him.”

“Or her,” I add automatically. “Have they checked CCTV?” I would have thought that was the best place to start.

“Oh, come on now. Staking the place out is better than sitting watching tapes all day.”

It seems strange to me, but his reasoning becomes clear when Garza finds a coffee shop and takes up residence there. Okay, he’s got a place by the window, but it’s me who takes to my feet and starts milling around.

I keep checking back, but Garza doesn’t move from his seat, reading a paper and drinking one drink after another. I’m not surprised when I ask to find he hasn’t seen anything—pretty hard to do with your nose in the news.

We stay there all day, no perpetrator or victim to be seen. My feet are aching at the end of my shift and, as I ruefully rub my sore toes, I realise I’ve successfully been kept away from computers and paperwork, allowing me no chance to continue my investigation. And have wasted my time on a wild goose chase.

When I get back to the precinct I’ve already had enough. Whether there was a valid reason to spend the day at the mall, Garza only proved once again how lazy and ineffective he is. Buoyed up by my frustration and without thinking it through, I go immediately to see Sergeant Reynolds, who isn’t impressed by my request for a new partner.

“What reason can you possibly have? I teamed you up with one of our most experienced officers. Something I did deliberately, as you don’t seem to have a clue about how a real detective works.” He stares at me, unblinking. “Now give me one good damn reason why I should reassign you.”

Because he’s lazy as hell? Leaves me to do all the work? Pops his gum disgustingly? Realising he’s not going to listen to anything I say, I manage to thank Reynolds for his time and leave.

Exiting his office, I stop and rest my head against the wall, wondering if it’s already time to move on from Tucson. Before I can come to any conclusion, a man appears at the end of the corridor, and I watch Garza approaching. He walks past and pauses with his hand on Reynolds’ door. The snide look he gives me lets me know the conversation I’ve just had is going to be reported back to the very man I was complaining about.

Well, fuck them. Fuck them all. I give him a sharp nod, not trusting myself to say anything. Not for the first time, I regret coming to this city.

The only thing that stops me looking for a new place to work is my concern about the department’s lack of desire to continue investigating Heart’s accident. If no one else is going to look into it, I will. And if I can’t officially work on the case by day, then I’ll spend my spare time doing it. There’s no way I’m going to let the murder of a woman drop, not even if my boss thinks she’s the scum of society.

Too frustrated after the fruitless day, I don’t go straight home, but detour via the gym, planting my fist on that punching bag time after time while visualising Garza’s face. Then I drop into a martial arts class, at last with a clear enough head to hold my own.

Finally feeling slightly better, I go back to my house, eat, then pour myself a drink and open my laptop. While I’m waiting for it to boot up, I remember the time I had to go to the Satan’s Devils compound and met Drummer and the other bikers. They might be considered outlaws, but it was easy to see how much they cared for each other and were looking out for Heart’s little daughter. And unlike my ex-partner, doing all that they could to keep her out of the hands of her obnoxious grandmother. If I had to choose, I’d take any of them over the repulsive gum smacking Garza any day.

Thinking of the Satan’s Devils puts me in a mind to call Heart. There was no doubt he’d had a death wish when I’d last spoken to him, and I hoped I’d said enough to make him rethink. I’ve got no connection to him other than I’m a cop looking into his wife’s death, but a niggling feeling inside me wants to make sure he’s okay.

As I place the call, half of me wonders if he’ll answer. Or if he’s already given up.

I hold my breath as the phone rings and rings, and just when I’m despairing it will ever be answered, I hear a voice.

“Yo.”

“Heart, it’s ...”

“I know who you are, Detective. Got news for me?”

“No, I’m sorry. Nothing’s moved on.”

“So why you botherin’ me?” I hear the snap in his tone.

I’ve no excuse I can give him, other to be honest. “I wanted to check you’re okay.” I expect him to end the call with something dismissive, but instead, after a pause, he starts talking to me.

“I’m at Yosemite. Will be stayin’ here a few days.”

He’d told me he was on a road trip and ride planned with his wife up behind him. I know he can only be torturing himself being alone on the road. He needs support. “Why don’t you come back to Tucson, Heart? You shouldn’t be on your own right now. You need your friends.”

An abrupt mirthless laugh. “Burned my bridges there, Detective.”

“What do you mean?”

A pause. “Won’t go into details, but I’m no longer welcome as a member of the club. Not until I get my head sorted. Can’t go back for six months.”

I don’t question why he’s apparently been banned for that period of time, because I read something into what he hasn’t quite said. “You don’t intend ever to go back, do you?” I say quietly.

When he finally answers in the negative, it’s obvious he doesn’t mean he’s going to be looking for another club. He wasn’t just acting on impulse in Death Valley. Somehow, Heart is determined to join his wife.

Should I alert the authorities in the area that they should be looking for a suicidal biker? Or should I try to do something about it myself? I say the first thing that comes into my mind. “Hey, while you’ve been living it up in the mountains, take a guess at what I’ve been doing.”

I hear the snick of a lighter and an indrawn breath. Then, “Well, I’m not going anywhere. You wanna tell me, I’m listenin’.”

Well that sounds like progress. “I’ve built myself a Suzuki 7/11.”

“A rat bike? Didn’t even know you fuckin’ ride.” A chuckle bursts out of him. “What the fuck made you do that?”

Having been given an opening, I tell him the story of the bike I brought with me, how I’d got it for free, how the engine blew up, and the search for a new one. His voice gradually loses some of the tension as we talk performance, and he actually chuckles at the thought of a cop catching it for speeding.

While he’s an out and out Harley enthusiast, he’s not adverse to discussing plastic rockets, and we spend some time discussing different models. At the end of the call, I’m convinced he’s sounding more relaxed.

At last, when we ring off, Heart doesn’t protest when I tell him I’ll call again.