Page 41 of Blind Luck

We settled into minimally padded chairs to wait.

CHAPTER 13

ARI

The Diamondback Devils had a reputation as the fiercest motorcycle club in Nevada, and it was well deserved. But in my experience, the members weren’t unreasonable. At least, not all of them.

However, they protected their own. That included their businesses, which encompassed a number of illegal activities I didn’t want to consider. I’d crossed paths with several members when Morty—my old boss—and I worked an abduction case soon after I began training as a PI. Dog abduction, not child abduction. One of the bikers, who went by the name of Guardrail, had lost his Staffordshire bull terrier, and he wanted it back. We traced the pet to a dog-fighting ring on the outskirts of the city, where she’d been used as bait. Broke my freaking heart.

But she survived.

And in a clash between a gang of dog-fighters and the Diamondback Devils, there was only ever going to be one winner.

I couldn’t just walk into their clubhouse, but I knew where else to find them. As well as the Steel Horse Saloon, the MC’s more-or-less legitimate business interestsincluded an auto shop, and that was where I headed on this fine Sunday afternoon.

A big guy wearing a cut approached after I parked outside.

“We do bikes here, not cars. You need to go somewhere else.”

“I’m here to see Guardrail.”

The guy was young, not a man I’d run into before, and he regarded me curiously. “What’s your business?”

“Just tell him Arizona is here to see him.”

A full ten minutes passed before Guardrail appeared from the bowels of the workshop, wiping his hands on an oily rag.

“Ari Danner. It’s been a long time.”

“How are Loretta and Sophia?” I asked. The last time I’d seen him, his wife had just given birth to a baby daughter. “She must be nearly three years old?”

“Got two girls now, Sophia and Harley.”

“Congratulations. And Daisy?”

Yes, that was the name of his Staffie.

“She’s doing good. Still scared of other dogs, but you can hardly see the scars now. Why’d you come here? If it’s an oil change you need, I’ll do it. Ignore what Womble says.”

“Womble?”

“The guy you talked to before.The Wombles—it’s a British TV show. Little creatures that go around picking up trash, and that’s what Womble did when he was a prospect. Always cleaning shit up, tryin’ to impress everyone.”

“I guess that makes sense. But I’m not looking for an oil change. I’m looking for information on Lucy McCall. She’s a barmaid at the Steel Horse.”

“Sure, I know Lucy. We all know Lucy. Hear she got beat up pretty bad.”

“She did.”

“You know who did it?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Good. When you find that motherfucker, you tell us, and we’ll take care of them.”

For the most part, I tried to stay on the right side of the law, but I couldn’t deny I’d be tempted to set the Devils loose if I found the piece of shit who left Lucy writhing in agony on the floor of the Galaxy’s parking garage.

“Did you know the man who tried to run her down gave her a message?”

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