CHAPTER FIVE | SIENNA
The plan was simple: I was just a girl with a bike that needed to be fixed. And who better to fix it than the savvy mechanics at Lucky Brake Motorcycle Repair?
The bike was technically my roommate’s idea. Kendra had suggested it last night when she found me pouring over the High Rollers case file at the kitchen table in our apartment. That folder was crammed full of intel on the motorcycle club: where they hung out, who they associated with, who they didn’t associate with…
With so much information to sift through, I had no idea where to begin, or where to find my “in.” I was flipping through the list of bars that the gang was known to frequent when Kendra had her eureka moment.
“Holy shit,” she had said, grabbing up the Google Maps screenshot of the Lucky Brake storefront. “Sienna, it’s so obvious!”
“It is?”
“Duh! These guys run a motorcycle repair shop!” She dropped the print-out in front of me, then tapped her finger on the front doors of the shop. “If you’re looking for a way in, why not start with the doors marked ‘entrance’?”
It seemed like a solid plan… besides one minor detail: “I don’t have a bike.”
“You don’t,” Kendra had shrugged. “But I do.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were excavating said bike from the storage locker in the dingy basement of our apartment complex. It was trapped behind a wall of cardboard boxes and buried under cobwebs and a dusty plastic tarp.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when Kendra finally liberated the bike and stripped away the plastic tarp… but I definitely wasn’t expecting what I saw: a bubblegum pink Vespa, complete with sparkly tassels that hung from the handlebars, and an expired Nevada license plate that spelled out: ‘5UGAR’
My head had immediately filled with questions, but before I could ask any of them, Kendra had shushed me:
“Don’t ask. It’s a long story, and I’m not nearly drunk enough to tell it.”
“Fair enough.”
The bubblegum pink Vespa had looked ridiculous in the storage unit… but it looked even more ridiculous now, resting on its side in the back of my Jeep Cherokee.
God, that thing looks like a vagina on wheels, I thought grimly as I glanced at the bike in the car’s rear-view mirror. Why did I let Kendra talk me into this?!
The pink Vespa wasn’t the only thing that my roommate had talked me into.
A believable disguise was a crucial component of any good alias. A field agent could easily blow their cover if they didn’t wear the right clothes for their undercover role. That meant that if I wanted the crew at Lucky Brake to believe that I was the proud owner of a bubblegum pink Vespa, I had to dress the part.
And that’s how I wound up looking like a human Barbie doll.
My strawberry blonde hair was curled and teased, my face was painted, and I was squeezed into a pink crop top and tiny denim mini skirt, courtesy of Kendra’s closet.
In rush hour traffic it took me forty-five minutes to drive from the Gaming Commission office to Lucky Brake Motorcycle Repair, and by the time I pulled into the shop’s gritty gravel parking lot, I had completely lost faith in the plan.
I was about to give up, twist the key in the ignition, and drive home… but then I remembered what Kaplan had said in his office. “A case like this could pave the way to a promotion…. Now why don’t you run along and do what you do best. Put on a short skirt and some high heels, and take those motherfuckers down.”
Welp, I have the short skirt, anyways. I puffed out a heavy sigh and yanked my keys out of the ignition. No turning back. Time to do what I do best.
I flung open the car door and stomped confidently across the gravel parking lot towards the front entrance of Lucky Brake.
The garage looked even more run-down than it had in the Google Maps screenshot. Between the faded cinderblock walls and the hazy neon green sign, the place had “crack den” written all over it. The police sirens screaming in the distance only added to the ambience.
You’ve seen worse, I reminded myself as I trudged forward. I reached for the door and pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. It was locked.
I frowned, eyeing the OPEN sign hanging in the door. I stepped in front of the window and cupped my hands over the glass, trying to get a glimpse inside the garage. The glass was too foggy and grey; I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear the muffled sound of music.
I pressed my ear to the window, and the sound became clearer. I recognized it: Don’t Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult.
Then I heard something else; something that made the hair prickle up on the back of my neck. Voices. Someone was inside the garage.
I took a deep breath, then I raised my fist and hammered my knuckles against the cool glass.
For a few seconds, I heard nothing but the intense beating of my heart. Then I heard a voice boom from the other side of the glass:
“Who is it?”
Stay in character, I reminded myself. I glanced down at my crop top and chunky platform sandals. What would Barbie do?
“Umm… I’m looking for Lucky Brake Motorcycle Repair?”
It was a pretty ditzy question, considering the fact that there was a giant neon LUCKY BRAKE sign hovering directly overhead. I cringed, and it was obvious that the gruff voice on the other side of the wall wasn’t anymore amused by the airhead schtick than I was.
“We’re closed!” he barked back at me.
I tried to protest, but he wasn’t having it. He didn’t care about the OPEN sign or the hours posted in the front window, and he definitely didn’t care that I was a paying customer with a bike that needed to be fixed.
As we shouted back and forth through the cinderblock wall, I realized that I was starting to sound less ditzy, and more desperate… and he was starting to lose his patience.
One more strike, and you’re out… I thought to myself as I made my final plea.
“But I drove all this way, and the sign says—”
I didn’t get to finish that sentence. I was cut off by the sound of a deadbolt unlocking, then the door swinging wide open.
“Look, Lady,” he snarled. “I don’t care what the sign says. We’re closed.”
My first instinct was to reach for the can of mace that was stowed in my back pocket. Unlike the Gaming Commission’s Enforcement squad, agents with the Investigation Division weren’t permitted to carry firearms. That little 3.5 oz canister of pepper spray was the closest thing to a weapon that I had.
But when the door swung open, I didn’t bother to reach for the mace. One look at the beast towering over me, and I realized instantly that any attempts at self defense would be futile.
He could have snapped me in half like a twig if he wanted to. And judging by the ice-cold stare he shot me, I got the impression that he just might want to.
He was 99.9% muscle. Thick, gristly, swollen muscle. The rest of him was a mess of leather and tattoos and torn denim. He had dirty blonde hair that spilled down to his shoulders in wavy strands, and his eyes were a piercing glacier blue.
My eyes ran laps around his frame, trying to digest and catalogue every last detail. The tattoos and scars; the High Rollers patch that was stitched onto his leather vest. When I got to his face, my eyes stalled and froze.
He was devastatingly handsome and frighteningly rugged all at once. His features were sharp, polished, precise; like they’d been carved out deliberately with a knife. He must have known it, too, because he did everything in his power to hide it. Gristly stubble covered his chin and obscured his square jaw and soft dimples. He kept his plump lips pressed firmly together, and his brow was bunched up in a menacing scowl.
“So… where is it?”
I was so preoccupied with trying to figure out his face that the sudden boom of his voice startled me. I sucked in a sharp breath and stiffened on the spot. Under normal circumstances, I would have been mortified to be caught off guard. Luckily I was playing a ditzy blonde, and not Sienna O’Malley.
“Excuse me?”
“Where is it?” he repeated. “The bike?”
My brain had wandered off, but the mention of the bike snapped me right back to my senses. I remembered my assignment; the reason I had come to Lucky Brake in the first place.
You’re here to find out what the High Rollers are hiding, I reminded myself. NOT to analyze the facial structure of one of the club members.
He raised an eyebrow and studied my face through narrowed eyes. He was suspicious… and he had every reason to be. My bubblegum pink ensemble looked ridiculously out of place in the gravel parking lot. And that just made it all the more important that I play it cool and stay in character. If I dropped the bumbling bimbo act now, I would be putting the entire assignment at risk.
So, I plastered on a sugary-sweet smile and attempted to bat my eyelashes.
“Are you saying that you’ll help me?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I’m saying I’ll take a look. That’s it.”
“Oh. Well, umm… it’s just in the back of my car,” I said, gesturing across the parking lot towards my Jeep. Before I could lead the way, he had made two long strides across the gravel lot and closed in on my parked SUV. By the time I caught up, he was already pressing the handle to open the Jeep’s back hatch.
“It’s locked,” he spun around suddenly. I stopped in my tracks, a few paces away.
His brows knitted together in a glare, then his lips widened with the faintest hint of a smile.
“Hold on,” I said, digging into the giant prop purse that Kendra had outfitted me with. “My keys are in here somewhere…”
Even with my head buried in the giant purse, I could sense the smile creeping across his face.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, digging my hand deeper and deeper into the bag. “I don’t know why I even bothered locking the doors. I was literally standing ten feet away from my car the entire time…”
I was rambling, caught somewhere between my Barbie act and being genuinely flustered. Either way, this wasn’t the impression I had planned on making.
“Safety first, right?” His voice dripped with amusement and condescension. “Especially in a bad part of town like this. Criminals lurking around every corner… you never know who you’re gonna bump into.”
I glanced up and my eyes met his. Still ice-cold, they pierced straight through me. Then there was that smile; equal parts sinister and amused. I couldn’t tell if he was making fun of me or giving me a warning. Either way, he was making me nervous.
My fingers landed on keys and I scooped them out of the purse and tossed them towards the biker. He caught them in his palm without flinching, but he didn’t make a move to unlock the Jeep. Instead, he raised his eyebrows again and stared at me for a few seconds. Then he tossed the keys back to me.
“You know better than that, Blondie,” he winked at me. “Never give your keys to a stranger.”
He stepped aside, giving me room to unlock the Jeep’s hatch myself. I avoided making eye contact as I stuffed the key into the lock and flung open the back door.
The biker glanced into the back of the Jeep and let out a throaty chuckle when his eyes landed on the bubblegum monstrosity that was strapped to the floor.
“I know it’s probably not the kind of bike you’re used to working with,” I said, recalling one of the lines that I had planned the night before, “But I heard that you’re the best in town.”
“The best, huh?” His eyes flicked to me, and I felt a chill rattle down my spine.
“That’s the word on the street, anyways,” I shrugged, flashing another one of my Barbie smiles.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked, nodding at the bike but keeping his eyes pinned on mine.
“The engine won’t start.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got engine trouble,” he narrowed his eyes and his lips turned up at the corners again. He was taunting me.
“I was hoping you could narrow it down a little bit more than that,” I stared right back into his icy blue eyes. “Maybe we could wheel it into the garage and you could take a look under the hood?”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well first of all, you were right when you assumed that I don’t work on scooters. I don’t touch ‘em. And I doubt you’ll find anyone on this side of town that does.”
“And second of all?” I frowned.
“Second of all,” he smiled, “I don’t do business with your kind.”
My heart thudded to a dead halt in my chest, and I felt the color drain out of my face. If it weren’t for all the bronzer Kendra had smeared across my face, I probably would have looked as white as Casper the ghost.
“You can drop the act now, Blondie,” he said, still wearing that smile. “I know exactly what you’re doing here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who sent you? The DEA? The state liquor board? My good ol’ friends over at the LVPD?”
“I told you, I don’t know what—”
“I think you do,” he said. “Want me to break it down for you?”
Suddenly the smile was gone, and his face was dark. I took a step backwards and I felt my spine bump up against the side of my Jeep. He took a step in front of me, trapping me between his chest and the car’s body.
“The license plate on that Vespa expired four years ago, and I’m gonna hazard a guess that it’s been at least that long since the engine has run,” he said. “The tires have flat spots, there’s dust on the dash. It’s been sitting in someone’s garage. Am I right?”
“Storage unit,” I squeaked. “Why does that matter?”
“I just find it interesting,” he shrugged his shoulders, but his face remained dark. “That scooter hasn’t been touched in years. So why is some hot little firecracker in a short skirt pounding on my door, begging me to fix the engine now? Why the sudden rush?”
“I just hadn’t gotten around to it before,” I fibbed. We were off the script now, and I didn’t like it. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go…
“Okay then,” he nodded, even though he didn’t believe a word I was saying. “That still doesn’t explain why you took the bike here. There must be a dozen scooter shops within spitting distance of the Strip. So why’d you pick Lucky Brake? Especially when, by your own admission, it was such a long drive?”
“I heard you were the best in town, that’s all.”
“You did, huh? And who told you that?”
I couldn’t think of a lie quick enough, and his eyes flashed with satisfaction. My blood turned hot in my veins.
I have to get out of here.
I balled my hands into fists and prepared for resistance as I pressed him away from me. To my surprise, he stepped back without a fight.
“You locked the car doors, which was smart,” he continued, gazing back at the Jeep. “But then you left a police-issue walkie talkie on the dash in plain sight. If you ask me, that’s just plain lazy.”
My cheeks burned hot, both with anger and embarrassment. He was right; that was a lazy mistake on my part. So was every other clue that he had listed off. The smug grin on his face told me that he was just waiting for me to admit it.
“So I’m gonna ask you this one more time,” he said, his voice smooth and deep. “Who sent you here?”
I clenched my jaw together until I felt my molars crack against each other. He had me in a corner; I knew it, he knew it. I had two options: I could admit defeat and pray that the biker would let me walk away with my tail between my legs… or I could switch tactics.
“Fine,” I snipped. I reached into the jumbo purse again and produced a thin paper business card, which I then held out towards him. He snatched it out from between my fingers.
“Agent Sienna O’Malley with the Nevada Gaming Commission, Investigation Division,” he whistled as he read off my business card. Then his eyes flicked back up at me and he glared. “That’s a new one. Tell me, Agent O’Malley… why is the Nevada Gaming Commission sending one of their top dogs to sniff around a motorcycle repair shop on the outskirts of town?”
I contemplated my next move. I had to be careful; I couldn’t reveal too much…
“We’ve been getting some reports of activity in this area, and I thought I’d come out and see for myself.”
“Do you always follow up on random tips with a hot pink Vespa and a hot pink little outfit?”
“We handle reports on a case by case basis,” I said, keeping my face blank.
“In that case, I’m flattered.” His lips curled up into a smile, which melted just as quickly as his brow folded back into a scowl. “Unfortunately, you’re wasting your time. There’s nothing to see here, so I suggest you pack up your little Barbie scooter and go back to wherever you came from.”
We both knew that wasn’t true… but we also both knew there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. Not yet, anyways.
He reached forward, offering me back my own business card.
“Keep it,” I insisted, even though I knew it was a lost cause. “Just in case you see or hear anything.”
He cocked his head but said nothing.
“Thank you for your time.” I tried to make my Barbie smile, but all I could muster was a sneer. I turned and popped open the driver’s side door of the Jeep, then I slammed the door shut behind me. That’s when a realization struck me.
I cranked down the window and craned my neck out.
“I never got your name,” I said expectantly.
“No, you didn’t,” the biker winked back at me. Then he stepped forward and reached an arm through the window and into the car. At first I thought he was reaching for me, but his hand didn’t make contact as it sailed over my lap. Instead, it landed square on its target: the cup holder in the center console, inches away from my right thigh.
In a flash, his arm slipped back out. When I glanced down, I realized that he had dropped my business card into the cup holder.
“There’s a lot of personal information on that card,” he said. “You wouldn’t want it winding up in the wrong hands. Especially around this part of town.”
And with that, he slapped his palm against the side of the Jeep, then trudged away.