CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Saturday, close to midnight, the Flyers' clubhouse was still rocking, music playing and voices and laughter echoing. Typical weekend, as Flyers, their family and friends partied, people drifting in and out of the clubhouse.
Stick was closeted in the meeting room, with Rocker and Bouncer. They were discussing the situation with the Black Wolves. Stick had relayed the new information given him by Rav.
"You trust him?" Rocker asked.
Stick thought this over, and nodded. "I do. He's always been straight with us, was open about his decision to go nomad. Knew it caused some hard feelings but wanted it bad enough to go anyway.'
'Chains mentioned him a time or two, said he was doing a good job for them at the casino. Stopped a few situations before they turned into bigger problems, got along with most everyone.'
'And, as soon as Rav got back here, he told me he wants to come back, and reported on what he'd heard at the casino. As far as I can see, he had no reason to do this but to help us. He'll be walking away from a well-paid job there, starting over. Won't be able to walk into a cush job at the casino here, 'cause they hire mostly from the tribe, and I already shared that."
"Knew I didn't like that Firewalker kid," Bouncer said. "Smug little bastard."
Since Bouncer liked very few people, this surprised neither Stick or Rocker.
But Rocker nodded. "His woman had bruises. Covered up with heavy makeup, but still there. Reckon he gave 'em to her?"
Stick shrugged. "Wouldn't surprise me. If he's the kind to double-cross his own club..."
"So what we gonna do about him?" Bouncer asked.
"Now that," Stick said, "Is the question, ain't it?"
Bouncer opened his mouth to say more, but Rocker held up a finger, staying him.
Rocker rose, and prowled silently across the room to a door on the end of the meeting room. It led into the garage on the north end of the complex, used for motorcycle repair and the occasional drop-off of merchandise of one kind or another.
Rocker jerked the door open and froze.
Stick leaned forward to look past him, and his brows went up in surprise.
The person lurking there was not at all whom he would have suspected.
Gaze on the eavesdropper, Rocker spoke over his shoulder. "Stick? What you wanna do here?"
Stick drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. Then he nodded to himself. "Call in her man. He can help us decide."
Rocker smiled—not a pleasant smile. "Good idea."
* * *
In the wee hours between Sunday night and Monday morning, Manda was shivering.
Not only because she stood outside in a dark, dirty alley in downtown Spokane on a chilly spring night, but because she was scared. Just about to pee her pants scared.
She felt exposed, as if instead of the dark, she stood in a spotlight, while ranks of faceless men watched her hungrily from the darkness beyond her sight. Ready to leap at her, and do their worst.
The traffic of the interstate rumbled in the distance, and occasional vehicles passed on the nearby streets.
The faint thump of a bass echoed from a bar in the next block.
A few feet behind her, along the wall of the old warehouse, a door creaked slowly, swinging in the cold breeze that swirled along the alley. The same ominous sound beloved of scary movies. It was working on her last nerve.
Back when this warehouse was a busy place, with deliveries going in and out, someone had built a flimsy shelter around two sides of the walk-in door behind her.
Now, part of this shelter had been torn away, so she could see through it to the alley beyond.
And she could see the darkness that yawned inside the old warehouse. No safety to be found in there, only regret for a safer path not taken.
She felt more alone than she had since that dark, cold storage room where Jere had tossed her, bound and beaten.
He'd done that on Rezan's orders. Now, here she was waiting to meet with Rezan again. Even though, if she had her way, she would never in her life have occasion to see him, or indeed even think of him unless it was to wonder how he was enjoying prison life.
And tonight, although she never wanted to see Tim again, she found herself hoping he would be at this meet. She despised Tim, but he was much, much less scary than Rezan. Tim was weak, a loser, but he was not a psychopath who could smile warmly while he intentionally hurt someone.
She'd been leaning against the outside wall of the warehouse, behind which the alley ran, and behind which the meet was supposed to take place.
But now, unable to stay still, she straightened and paced a few steps toward the mouth of the alley, then back again.
Her hands were shoved in the pockets of a polar fleece jacket, borrowed from a lost-and-found collection in one corner of the women's restroom at the Flyers' club house. The fleece was hot pink, but since the alley was dark, aside from the faint light emanating from a street light at the far end, the color didn't matter. At least it wasn't glow-in-the-dark.
That was good, because not only was she afraid of the man she was supposed to meet here, she was a woman at night, in a not-so-safe area of Spokane.
She blew out a shaky breath and turned to huddle back against her wall.
Except that this time, two figures were silhouetted against the light at the far end of the alley. One was slim, with blond hair pale in the streetlight. The other was burly, with a bald head.
Tim was here. But he was with Jere.
Manda shuddered, fear tightening its icy grip. If she needed any more proof that Tim was all in with Rezan, that the boyfriend she knew was gone, this was it.
She backed up, forgetting all her plans, ready to run.
"Hey, baby," Rezan said behind her.
Manda whirled, and backed into the tattered doorway shelter, holding out a hand. "Stay away from me," she gritted.
She could see him clearly, for he had a smart phone in hand, the screen brightly lit. Holding it under his chin as he was, he looked the boogie-man, with shadows thrown upward over his face—no doubt on purpose.
The bright glow lit the side of the old warehouse as well, and her corner of the wrecked shelter.
Rezan laughed, a sunny, carefree sound. "Aw, now is that any way to treat a friend? The man who spent money on you, bought you clothes and food? Found you a sugar daddy of your very own?"
"A sugar daddy?" she repeated. "What the hell are you talking about? You tried to whore me!"
"Yeah, to a member of a successful biker club," he said, flinging out an arm for emphasis. "Who coulda set you up in style, like his brothers have with their pussy. All you had to do, if you was smart enough, was hang on to him," he said. "But I guess Tim's right—you're too damn stupid to do even that."
A spark of anger lit, melting back her fear just a little.
He was reducing her time with T to a transaction—sex for being kept. And all the other Flyer old ladies relationships with their men, too.
Which was why she was here. She had a job to do. Doing her part to keep them and all the other women in this city safe, or at least safe from this scum-bucket.
Which meant she had to keep him talking.
"How do you know I'm not still with him?" she asked. "Maybe he likes me just fine."
Rezan laughed again. "Bitch, don't ever try to kid a kidder. I had eyes on you the whole time you was in that club house. Eyes and ears. I coulda got to you anytime I wanted, and don't you forget it."
Manda wanted to be sick. Someone else in the Flyers' club house was spying for him? Who else had he terrorized into doing his bidding?
He wouldn't tell her that, but he might drop other valuable information.
"Well, I'm here now," she said. "D'you want to hear what I have, or not?"
Footsteps crunched nearby, and Tim peered around the side of the shelter, teeth bared. "Hello, little girl."
Even though he was an idiot, and the least scary person present, Manda's nerves still jumped. "Cut it out, Tim. You don't scare anyone."
Jere hulked into view at Rezan's shoulder. "Bet I can scare you," he said, and snickered.
Oh, yeah, he definitely could, but damned if she'd let him see it.
Manda set a hand on her hip and did her best to look bored. "Are you guys gonna listen to me, or what? You better, 'cause you're not the only ones who have eyes and ears in certain places."
Rezan stiffened, his smile disappearing, and menace rolling off him in a suffocating wave. "What's that mean? Talk, bitch, and talk fast."
"Fine," she said. "Here's what I learned. I—I heard the Flyers' president, Sticky or whoever, talking to two of the other guys. I don't know who, 'cause I couldn't see them from where I was hiding. The Flyers have another meet with the Black Wolves in two weeks, but not at their club. The meet's here in Spokane. The Wolves are bringing whatever they're selling—and I hope you know what, 'cause I don't. None of them named it."
"Where's the meet?" Rezan demanded. He was leaning in, his excitement palpable.
Oh yeah. Now she had him.
Manda shrugged. "Some bar... it's a pool hall or something." She backed up a couple of steps, putting up a hand against the light. "D'you have to shine that thing right in my eyes?"
Rezan angled the phone away, but he moved in, and Jere crowded after him. Tim faded into the blackness behind them—like the coward he was.
"What's the name of the fuckin' bar?" Rezan demanded. "And do not make me wait, or I'll let Jere help you remember it."
Cold sweat broke out, wetting Manda's armpits, and her palms, even though her hands were freezing.
She skittered backward, shaking her head. "No, no. I—I remember. It's Paddy's. Paddy's Pool Place."
"Paddy's Pool Hall," Jere corrected with a sneer. The same tone he'd used when he was tying her up, and threatening to rape her.
Her breath froze in her chest, and her head buzzed like a broken neon sign, flashing Run! Run! Run!