Page 19 of A Biker's Tiny Present

Cypher has been digging into this mystery strip club that none of us had heard about until yesterday, and its owner. He’s been trying to figure out what kind of trouble we’re looking at so we don’t go into a situation blind and someone gets hurt. I’m also hoping he can find Taylor in the process of digging through the dirt of her employer.

“Leo Castelucci,” I grunt out the scumbag’s name as I drop onto the couch next to Hammer. “Cypher, tell me what you’ve found out and why we’ve never heard of this asshole before.”

“Oh, I’ve found plenty, but none of it’s good.”

“Turns out that’s not even his real name,” Whiskey adds, tossing a rubber band ball into the air and catching it.

“Then who the fuck is he?”

“Meet Franco Vancini.” Cypher spins his laptop around to show everyone in the room what the shit-stain looks like. “Fifty-seven years old. Formerly of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. He’s got a rap sheet a mile long and has seven warrants out for arrest in three different states. Seems his modus operandi is to only stay in one place long enough to cause havoc, then once the shit starts stirring, he moves on to his next target. Longest he’s been anywhere is three years in Texarkana, shortest is three months in Black Ridge, Minnesota.”

“Isn’t that where Torch has his chapter of the Saint’s Outlaws MC?” Steel asks as he leans back in his chair, stretches his legs out in front of himself, and crosses his boots at the ankles.

“It is,” I reply the affirmative. “Maybe we ought to give him a call and see what kind of trouble the douche-nozzle was up to in their neck of the woods.”

Whiskey is already tapping on his phone. “On it.”

Three rings echo around the room, then a “Hello?” A deep voice comes through the speakerphone, amongst the recognizable sound of an air impact wrench in the background. “Hold on.” There is a few more seconds of the noise, then silence as a door slams. “Whiskey, is that you?”

“Hey, Torch. Long time no see.”

“No kidding, man. How are things out east?”

We all chuckle at his attempt to be funny. Torch, the President of the Saint’s Outlaw MC: Black Ridge Chapter has their clubhouse a short drive south of Minneapolis. It’s only three hours west of us, just across the Minnesota state line. I think it’s been about five years since any of us were in the same place at the same time, other than our respective yearly rides to Sturgis, but that doesn’t mean we’re strangers. We don’t cross paths often, but being relatively close keeps us in each other’s extended radar.

“We’re gearin’ up for one hell of a biker wedding here on Christmas Eve,” Whiskey replies.

“No shit. Who’s tyin’ the knot?”

“I got me an Old Lady and a baby. Ring and Steel both locked down my sister, Hammer is about to become my brother-in-law ‘cause he’s got two kiddos and finally claimed my lady’s sister, and Buzz’s Old Lady has a bun in the oven. That makes four brides and five grooms.”

“Holy fuck, man.” Torch lets out a sharp whistle. “What is in your water? You guys are reproducing faster than a herd of fuckin’ rabbits.”

“We’re apparently like a set of dominos,” Ring chimes in. “Whiskey fell first and we all just toppled down right behind him.”

“No kiddin’. But seriously, congrats guys. Now if only we could find some badass chicks around here like y’all have there.”

“Thanks, man. But while I wish this was just a social call, we’ve got a problem and need to see if you’ve got any insight on who we’re tryin’ to find.” Whiskey turns the conversation back to business and we all kick back and wait for some good news—hopefully.

“Who was stupid and pissed off the Vipers this time?”

“That would be my baby momma’s boss.”

“Shit. Tiny, is that you?”

“You betcha.”

“I’d recognize your grouchy voice anywhere.”

“Right back atchya.”

“Who ya lookin’ for?”

“The name we have is Leo Castelucci, but based on Cypher’s super sleuthing skills, we know it’s just an alias.”

“Legal name is Franco Vancini, but he went by Tomas Rossi when he was round your parts four years ago.” Cypher adds the other information he was able to find about the sleazeball. “We were wondering if your club had any run-ins with him?”

“I remember Tomas Rossi. Guy was a fuckin’ piece of work. He tried to buy the building next to our clubhouse and got all pissy when we outbid him fair and square. We ran his ass out of town after we caught him trying to burn it down and haven’t seen him since.”

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