Page 12 of Fire Meets Fire

It takes a moment for the penny to drop. Well, it had been a year or so back he approached us. Now his eyes narrow. “Couldn’t afford your prices then, can’t now. If you’re touting for business, you’ve come to the wrong place.” He makes as if he’s going to turn away.

I take a step closer to him. “Not hurting for business, but turns out we could make some space. Come to renegotiate.”

Cautious eyes return my stare. “What do you really want?”

Okay, so he’s not buying my story which in itself makes me suspicious. I can’t imagine Harold’s got anybody else to restore that pile of junk, not at a cost he could afford. Unless, either it’s no longer a priority, or he’s got someone else to do it. And on the cheap. Momentarily, I wonder who the woman was stealing parts for. It wouldn’t be Harold himself. He’d said a year back he was no mechanic.Has she got a man?Is it him who’s fixing Harold’s bike?Stamping down the irrational twinge of jealousy, reminiscent of how I felt last night, I clear the red from my eyes, force a friendly smile onto my face, and concentrate on reeling him in.

“As I recall, we didn’t actually look at your bike. Just gave you an estimate off the top of our heads. Why not show it to us and we’ll see if we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement?” I keep my tone casual.

“Not much to see.” He huffs. “I told you it was a mess.”

“Nevertheless. As one biker to another, why don’t you show us what you got?”

It’s impossible for any of us to miss the nervous look he sends toward one of the barns. StoryTeller walks past me and starts to head that way.

“Hey, this is private property.” Harold runs after StoryTeller, but he’s brushed out of the way. He turns to me, looking like he’s about to complain, but withers under my glare.

Likewise ignoring him, Legend and I follow StoryTeller. Harold comes along, snapping at our heels, moaning all the way—shit like how he’s too busy and ain’t got time for this now. He even tries to block our progress, but my arm pushes him aside.

The barn door is old, misshapen, and takes a hefty pull to finally open with a protesting squeak, sending a hen fluttering up with an indignant squawk. As soon as sunlight hits the interior, one of my objectives can be seen, the Fat Boy. It’s not quite the disaster I’d been expecting, and it certainly looks like someone’s been doing some work on it. However, there’s no sign of whoever that is, or the woman I’m seeking.

Pressing my lips together, I step forward. Last time I’d heard of this bike, it was little more than a frame. Now, while on stands rather than wheels, it has a V-Twin engine attached. While nowhere near done, it’s in the process of being lovingly restored. As a professional, I can admire the work.

“You doing this yourself?” I swing around to see Harold’s face.

He blinks twice before saying, “Can’t afford anyone else to do it.”

I note his answer could be taken in more than one way. StoryTeller bends to take a closer look, then catches my eye and grins. When he beckons me over, I look down. There’s a rusted part which was one of the ones listed as being missing from our scrap pile.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Harold’s fixing his bike with parts from our shop. My question is, whoever wasundertaking the work, why had they gotten the woman doing his thieving for them? What hold did they have to make her do it?

It’s time, I decide, to take off my kid gloves.

Suddenly, I have a hand around his neck and Harold pressed against the wall. “You think you could steal from the Soulz and get away with it?”

“What?” he blusters. “I’ve stolen nothing in my life.”

“StoryTeller,” I start without taking my eyes off the man I have restrained. “Take that fuckin’ engine apart and remove anything that came from our shop.”

“You can’t do that!” Harold cries out. “That’s weeks of work. And the parts are all mine.”

“Liar.” Now it’s my forearm pressed against his throat, crushing his airway and his face starts to turn red.

“No, no. Not lying,” he manages to spit out.

It’s then that I hear the sound of a gun being cocked. “Leave him alone. It’s not him you want.”

CHAPTER FIVE

HELO

There’s never been occasion for anyone to accuse me of being a coward. I won’t stand by and let someone else be threatened and hurt for something I’m responsible for. As I’m also not suicidal—even though some days I’m not too sure why I bother to get up and continue living—I climbed up into the rafters once I saw the bikers approaching. I’ve got the advantage and am in charge of the situation. As I steady my hold on the gun, I see the exact moment when their leader, Chaz, if I recall his name correctly, looks up and sees the predicament he’s in. His narrowing eyes and slight flush to his cheeks shout out it’s a situation he doesn’t like.

Hidden by the beams, I’ll be hard to hit, while I’m able to pick them off one by one. I demonstrate that now. When Chaz doesn’t immediately back away from Harold, I fire a warning shot at his feet, kicking dust up over his shoes. To give him his due, he doesn’t flinch, just looks down disdainfully at his now dirty footwear, then he turns his cold eyes up to meet mine, and one eyebrow rises in question.

I got this.Confident, I call out, “Harold. Back away and go to the house.”

But the older man’s lips compress and he gives a vigorous shake of his head. “Not leaving you here with these assholes, girlie.”

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