Page 11 of Fire Meets Fire

“Where the fuck is she going?” I ask, probably rhetorically.

But Ledge answers me anyway. “There’s nothing down there for miles.” He pulls up a map. “She’s already a mile away from the shop. If she had a vehicle, she’d surely have hidden it closer.” He continues studying the map. I watch him and see the instanthis eyes widen. “The only place down there is a small farm. Harold McPherson’s place. After that, there’s nothing but scrub and desert for fuckin’ miles.”

My eyes meet his. As realisation sets in, both of us start grinning broadly. “That’s the fucker who wanted us to restore a motorcycle.”

It was. He’d approached us sometime back about a restoration project. But after being told how much it would cost, we hadn’t seen him again.

“Could be a coincidence.” I’m trying not to get my hopes up.

“Worth checking out. Want me to go see McPherson?”

My normal response would be, yeah, and take so and so with you. But I want,need,to go myself. Simply because I’ve nothing else on, I rationalise, and, of course, I want to get justice for the club. I deny that it’s because I’ve any particular interest in catching up with the woman again.Yeah. Right.

“I’ll come with you,” I state. Seeing him widening his eyes, I pull myself straight and head for the door.

He’s right on my heels as we enter the clubroom.

“Unck Caz!” a piercing voice shouts.

Knowing what’s coming, I sink into a crouch, catching the little tyke before she can crash into me. I tickle her before asking, “What you up to, Maria?”

She giggles then pulls back. “’elping Momma.”

“Well, get into the kitchen and help Momma and stop making a nuisance of yourself.” Her father, StoryTeller, approaches and admonishes her.

“Unck Caz lubs me.”

“Unck Caz,” I stop myself, realising I’m copying her, cough, then try again. “Uncle Chaz has places to be, honey.”

Sorry, mouths StoryTeller, but his laughing eyes don’t show any apology.

“Come on, trouble. Let’s go find your Mommy.” Pothead, who’s got a soft spot for StoryTeller’s little daughter, holds out his hand to her.

Seeing StoryTeller gives me an idea. Though he’s been grounded to the clubhouse for the last three years, he was previously a nomad, my travelling enforcer. If we find the mystery woman, this time, I won’t be underestimating her.

“Up for a ride, StoryTeller?”

“This got anything to do with the excitement last night?” He raises an eyebrow.

It’s obviously common knowledge which doesn’t surprise me. It’s hard to keep any secrets around here. “Yeah. We think we might be able to find the bitch.”

He grins. “I’m all up for meeting the broad who got the better of you.”

“She didn’t get the better of me,” I growl, turning my back on him and exiting the clubroom, ignoring the snorts of laughter from the man behind me.

I go to my bike, wait for the others to get to their rides, then start my engine. In less than ten minutes, we arrive at the small ranch house that sits in the midst of a small farm.

Immediately after our engines are switched off, I hear the gentle mooing of cows, the cackle of hens, and the barking of a dog. A grey-haired man pushing a shit-laden wheelbarrow comes around from the side of the barn. As he sees us, his eyes widen comically.

No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.For some reason, the Monty Python words go through my mind, and I chuckle. I expect finding Wretched Soulz on your doorstep is just as chilling. Especially if you’re hiding anything.

Leaving his wheelbarrow behind, with short nervous steps, he approaches us. “Uhm. Can I help you, fellas?” His browcreases as though he’s searching for a reason for our visit. “Got some fresh eggs if that’s what you need.”

“Don’t need produce, old man.” I swing my leg off my bike.

“Not fuckin’ old,” he murmurs with a frown, but his expression changes to one of unease as he sees StoryTeller and Legend also dismount.

“We’re here about the motorcycle you talked to us about.”

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