Page 10 of Thunder Road

“I liked thinking that all the stories about magic and creatures were ways people explained things they didn’tunderstand. Finding out that there’s truth underneath the stories is mind-blowing.”

“Welcome to my world.” Vic glanced at his email when it pinged. “Simon just sent me the information Pete and he compiled on the cycle club. I don’t doubt what he told us, but fresh eyes might see something they didn’t.”

“I did find something interesting,” Ross replied. “In the years from 1944 to 1974, there was at least one motorcycle gang war every year in the Carolinas. Anywhere from five to fifteen people ended up dead in each altercation, not to mention tens of thousands of dollars every year in property damage. Also pretty common for bystanders to get hurt too.”

“Huh. So five people a year for thirty years might be on the low end, but it’s still more than one person a year over forty years,” Vic said. “Not counting hurt bystanders, damage, business disruption, and losing tourist traffic.”

“We can’t turn that loose again, Vic. The bargain the club made is a raw deal, but it’s better than what went on before.”

Vic rubbed his forehead. “I know. And I’m wondering if the entity is something that has always been here or if it hitched a ride with people who settled here from somewhere else.”

“If it’s from here and it needs to feed, then there should be a pattern of multiple deaths happening at the same time each year—like plagues, fires, floods, that sort of thing,” Ross said. “Except this thing makes people disappear. That’s a little harder to cover up than just leaving bodies behind.”

“Not really. We can’t always account for everyone after a flood or a wildfire. When there’s an outbreak, it’s going to hit homeless people worse, and no one might notice if they disappear,” Vic pointed out.

“If whatever-this-is can summon up fires, floods, and plagues, why is it focusing on motorcycle gang wars?”

Vic stared at his coffee as if it held the answers. “We’ve gotten better at predicting natural disasters and doing damage control. Better record keeping and more cameras. Gang wars are unpredictable, messy, and involve people who stay off the grid. Gang members are also insular—they don’t talk to people outside their groups. Easier to hide the damage.”

“Why not other types of gangs? Drug dealers, traffickers, stolen goods?”

Vic thought for a moment. “I’m going to go out on a limb here—Simon’s the one who knows about folklore. But those other types of gangs are run-of-the-mill criminals. Motorcycle gangs have a dark romance to them—like armored knights from the wrong side of the tracks.”

“Romantic criminals? Really?”

Vic shrugged. “People still talk about Billy the Kid, Bonnie and Clyde, Al Capone in a larger-than-life way. Anti-heroes. Truth was, they were scum, but they had something about them that caught the imagination, and they ended up as legends.”

Ross thought for a moment before nodding. “Okay. Not saying I agree with that view, but I know what you mean.”

“Except for the rallies, I kinda look forward to fall,” Vic admitted. “Not as many tourists and fewer teens and twenties or families with kids—so not as many of the problems that come with them.”

“I won’t say that retirees and empty-nesters don’t throw keggers that get out of hand, but it’s a lot less common.” Ross chuckled. In the squad room, several people laughed loudly, and Vic guessed someone had shared a funny meme.

“The clubs cause noise, and we have to put patrol units out to remind them not to cruise, but they spend a lot of money, and they mostly mind their manners.” Vic finished his coffee, eyed the pot, and weighed having another cup. He set his mug aside and got a sports drink out of his drawer instead.

“The regular cops are probably just as busy as ever, but we usually get a break on the murders once things settle down for the winter. Or maybe it’s just locals killing each other instead of visitors,” Vic added.

“I’m sure there are statistics on that if you really want to know. And one of our cases takes a lot longer than writing tickets for noise complaints and bad parking,” Ross pointed out.

“True.” Vic shut down his laptop. “I’ve finished all the forms I can do tonight. Should be interesting when Cap reads them and hears Simon’s testimony.”

He didn’t doubt that Captain Hargrove would believe them—he had proven himself to be receptive to the idea of supernatural elements when he approved adding Simon as an official consultant. Others in the chain of command weren’t as open-minded, so they usually had to figure out how to frame the paranormal issues to avoid problems with city hall, local churches, and the media.

Simon sat on the couch watching a movie when Vic got home. He put the popcorn aside and went to kiss Vic, folding him into a hug.

“Long day, huh?”

“You could say that. We don’t have people disappear like that all the time.”

“You want some popcorn? I made enough to share.”

Vic cracked open two beers and carried them to the couch, sitting down close enough to Simon that they pressed together from knee to hip.

“I need to decompress.” Vic noted that the action flick was halfway over, and it was one they had watched many times.

“Want me to start the movie again?” Simon offered.

Vic shook his head. “I think my concentration is shot to hell, so I’m fine with just zoning out a little. Sorry not to be better company.”

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