Page 39 of Forbidden

“Just do it.”

Fear takes over and I recline the seat and lie back, watching him. He continues slowly for about a minute, and then he comes to a stop again.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

He gets out but leaves the car running. I listen carefully, waiting for just a hint of the situation going south. I pull out my phone, ready to dial nine-one-one if it does. What am I saying? It would all be over by the time the cops got here.

“A little late for a house call, isn’t it, fellas?” Gage says.

“If it isn’t the Reaper himself.”

Mexicans. There’s no confusing our accent.

“What can I do for you,jefe?”

“This is business, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,ese.”

“What’s going on?”

“One of our shipments was jacked today. We got another one in two days, and we’re looking for some extra security.”

“I see.”

“I’ll give you fifty up front, another fifty when it gets to its destination.”

“I can do that. I’ll need specifics…transport vehicles, how many guys you got, routes.”

“Get with Pedro in the morning and he’ll give you everything you need.”

“Cool.”

The bikes start up and as soon as they sound far enough away, I sit up. I watch him in the car’s headlights, wondering what kind of illegal exchange I just heard. He climbs in, presses a button on a remote, and the gates of the clubhouse open.

“Security? I thought you customized cars.”

“I also own ‘12 Gauge Security’. I’m an entrepreneur, Miss Alvarez. I have my hand in many ventures.”

“I see. What else?”

“I also have a nightclub, and the MC owns the auto parts shop on Main Street, and a strip club outside of town.”

“The one where Lonnie works?”

“Yeah.”

He parks in a garage and we enter the building through what looks like a private entrance. I don’t know what I expected, but I’m pleasantly surprised by what I see. It looks like a laid-back sports bar. There’s a pool table in the middle of the room, a pinball machine in one corner, and a video poker machine in another. There are several flat-screen TVs hanging on the walls and there’s a DJ booth next to the bar. The club logo is on the wall behind the bar. A motorcycle muffler hangs beneath it with the inscription “Death before disloyalty”. The rest of the wall is decorated with pictures of members, and Harley paraphernalia.

“Wow.”

“Cool, huh?”

“It’s awesome.”

“You want something to drink?”

“Water, please.” I remove the hoodie and place it on the couch, before walking around and taking a closer look. It’s also surprisingly clean.

“So, what do you wanna do?”