Page 73 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m smart. Huge difference.”

“Does that work on Vickie?”

“Vickie works on me,” Owen responds. “And she needs a firmer hand.”

“You don’t know Amanda.”

“I know she must be an angel to put up with you this long.”

I grunt in response.

“Any sane woman would have made a few attempts on your life at least,” Owen responds. “Just calm down and go over there. Act like a teddy bear, not a grizzly bear.”

“This is stupid.”

“Relax,” Owen says. “Call back if you screw up.”

Before I can ask him why he would assumemyscrew up, Owen hangs up. Fuck…

The two choices sit before me – go crazy and drag Amanda away from her best friend’s house, or calm down enough to approach the situation like… a man who isn’t afraid of losing her even when it’s what I fear most in the world.

I get on my bike, but I don’t have time for flowers. I ride straight to Mallory’s place. Amanda thinks I don’t pay enough attention to know where her best friend lives, but Boston isn’t a confusing sprawl like Dallas or Los Angeles. The distinct neighborhoods are small, and the residents don’t venture far.

Mallory lives on the second floor of a large Victorian house since sectioned into four distinct condos. The house is about halfway down the block with a blue door. The side streets force me to slow down once I leave the main road.

But when I veer right to turn onto Mallory’s street, a large silver Chrysler blocks the road.Weird.The Boston PD gives out tickets like suburban moms give out Halloween candy. Parking is prime real estate in the city. Strange. I pull over behind a parked Prius and peer over my shoulder to see who the hell is sitting in the Chrysler.

He doesn’t look up from his phone. But whoeverheis also wears a black ski mask, with just the bottom pulled down while he raps along to whatever song vibrates the Chrysler’s bass. I get off the bike. If this man is some type of lookout… I crouch behind the Prius after pushing the kickstand of my bike.

Fuck. Is this paranoid, or justified?I’m about five giant Victorian houses away from Mallory’s. Keeping low, I scurry behind three parked cars on the right side of the road, staying out of view of the dummy in the Chrysler. I stop behind a silver Rav-4 about two houses down from Mallory’s and peer through both windows at the street.

A black Dodge Caravan blocks the other end of the street. I might be paranoid, but those cars could be circling Mallory’s place. With Amanda inside. I’m already sweating bullets as my heart pumps so fast that I can hear the blood rushing past my ears.

I notice everything. A bike parked across from Mallory’s place. Then two men walking from the direction of the black Dodge dressed in black suits. They stop at the building’s front door.

They could live there, right? There are four units…

But my instincts know the truth. After all the jobs I’ve done over the years, I know enough to know that it’s no coincidence for there to be two getaway cars – or kidnapping cars – blocking off the street with random suits trying to get into a Cambridge condominium.

Something’s wrong…

I reach into my pocket and crouch behind the Rav-4 again, feeling like a crazy person as I try to call Amanda. What do I expect her to do? Jump out the window? Her phone rings. Three. Four times. She doesn’t answer.

Fuck. I look up again and the suits are inside the building. Two more cars pull up behind the black Dodge caravan. Three men get out of the black Mazdas that just pulled up, also dressed in suits. They walk straight through the front door without fumbling the handle. The first guys must have broken through.

Shit…

I try calling Amanda again, but she doesn’t pick up.I have to go in there.

The only problem with going in there is that I’m seriously outnumbered. Four men could kill me. But they could also kill Amanda… and I can’t let anything happen to her. Even if I’m right about that friend of hers Mallory being up to no good…

* * *

Twenty-Seven

Amanda

---