Page 40 of Jazz

I glanced at Skinny, reading his eyes under the clear visor. We didn’t need any words. The night was ours to control, but it had teeth, and every second it drew closer, the taste of danger grew sweeter and sharper on my tongue. We weren’t just riding now. We were running a gauntlet, a storm that could turn on us in a heartbeat. And I loved it and hated it all at once.

Nodding at the man beside me, I opened the throttle, leaning to my right. The bike surged forward, leaving behind the rest of the group. It was time to ride. To split up the bikes behind us. The Harleys wouldn’t catch us. As long as we didn’t make a mistake. I spun my hand over my head, riding past the front riders. And now, behind me, bikes screamed. War cried in the night. The Yamaha bounded forward, leaning into the corners, tires gripping every uneven groove, every imperfection. The markings of the lanes became one long line of blurred white. The wind flooded under my helmet, grabbing at my face, carrying the scent of damp asphalt and exhaust, rattling through my bones.I was part machine, and for a moment, nothing else existed but the velocity, the hum of the tires, and the knowledge that one slip could kill me, or one mistake could see me in the hands of those Harley riders.

They had to be the Kings. Who else would be chasing us on those big heavy machines at this time of night? They were looking for her. And they were getting desperate. But they were here, in Rats territory. They were closing in. We had little time left until they caught one of us. We knew not to sing. That was the rule. But when your own life was hanging in the balance, or when the pain was so great you would do anything to stop it, those rules didn’t matter anymore.

I’d seen plenty of tough guys cave under the right sort of pressure. The Rats would be no different, no matter how committed to the club we were. Pain and torture did a funny thing to a man.

Behind me, the road was dark. Not a speck of light from any headlights. I doubled back, changing direction. Making sure no one was following me and then I rode for home. As quickly as I could.

*****

My eyes burned. I’d worn exhaustion all day. If I didn’t have the shop to run and orders to turn around, I’d have gone straight back to bed. The day had been consistent. A steady stream of customers. Some just buying a couple of pieces of kit for their bikes. A new exhaust. Some shiny new discs. Some spray paint to touch up a tank on a bike that had been dropped.

Footfall fell around teatime, and I’d started to think about closing early. Just packing up and getting a nap before heading back to the warehouse. I’d watched my cameras there on and offall day, checking no one else had turned up. Making sure she was safe.

As yet, I had no plan to get her out. Every scenario turned up a dead end. Every idea had an issue. Nothing I could imagine would see one or both of us come out alive. And every plan saw me dead no matter how I looked at it.

The hideous cry of the sensor on the front door made me jump; the camera caught the movement as one person drifted across the floor, running tentative fingertips along the polished chrome of my bikes. I wanted to chop his fucking dirty fingers off. But I didn’t. Instead, I moved from the back room to the shop floor, ready to sell him one of the bikes he’d smudged.

His back was towards me when I came through the door. Long blonde hair tied in a ponytail, hanging down over a leather bike jacket. He wasn’t wearing a full suit. Just jeans and light tan boots. One of those fellas. The type who rode bikes for status. Not for a club and not for the lifestyle.

“You looking for something in particular?” I asked, and he turned around slowly.

He stared for a moment. His eyes locked with mine before glancing over me, pausing on my chest, arms, and legs. I noticed the tattoos creeping up his neck; the rest hidden by a grey hoodie under the leather jacket, and peeking out again over his hands and stopping at his knuckles. He’d have two full sleeves under there. I was certain of that.

The blond man shook his head. A half smile on his face.

“No. Just having a look,” he answered in a thick Geordie accent. “You’ve got some nice bikes.”

“Aye, mate. All top of the range bikes. That’s why it’s called ‘The Super Bike Shop’ and not just the ‘any bike shop’.”

We got these folks all the time. Those who like to look, kick tyres and test drive, but didn’t have the funds or the guts to actually get one. I would have said he was no different. But it was the way his eyes swept over the bike. Lingering on all the places I would scrutinise, like he might actually know something.

He turned away, carrying on around the shop. Slowing at each bike, his eyes trailing, watching. I sat at my desk on the shop floor, curiosity piqued. Sneaking glances as he moved around. His eyes scanned the walls now, and I was sure he was counting the cameras. Four of them. I’d have pointed them out if he’d asked. One in each corner. Not a window-shopper after all. He was casing the fucking joint. It didn’t matter. It would take a truck to get through the front and back shutters. And they’d have to make it through the bollards that pulled up two feet off the front on a nighttime, anyway. Then they’d only wake me, and I was more than happy to come down and lay the fuckers out.

He left eventually. After he’d taken a good look around. Fucking could have bought something after he’d stopped me closing up early.

*****

“Got the product?” Dougal grunted from his usual seat at the bar.

“Aye, Baz didn’t disappoint.” I slid the white paper bag across the sticky bar top.

“No issues?”

“Nah, mate. Quiet out there tonight. Barely saw another bike. Where is everyone?” I asked, glancing around at the unusually empty clubhouse.

A few rats were scattered at tables, supping pints and talking in low voices. There was tension in the air, as if no one wanted to speak too loudly.

“Grim wants to take the girl tonight,” Dougal continued casually. “Thrash tells us the Kings are going mad in Newcastle. Turning over any club that hasn’t been to an alliance meeting recently. Shit’s going to hit the fan really soon.”

He smiled. An uneasy satisfaction spread across his face. Inside, I was the opposite. A turmoil of dread, winding and tightening in my stomach. I had no fucking plan. None at all.

“Still. Seems quiet in here.”

There was something else. Something that was making me really uneasy.

“Aye, well, Skinny has taken a couple of guys over to your warehouse. Gonna send her to the States with a rat on her back.”