Page 29 of Chrome Poppies

LARRY

“What in the hell was that all about back there?” I questioned Sherman, who was acting shifty when he got back in the car.

Sherman swiped his phone and acted as if he didn’t hear what I just asked him. I glanced over, hoping to see what he was texting. He moved the phone when he caught sight of me looking over his shoulder. All I could see was the name, Blue Jean, on the top and wondered if he had a side piece or if this was a code name for someone else—like Levi. It only made perfect sense, since Levi Strauss was a popular brand of denimblue jeans.

I pulled the car over and turned off the engine. “I am going to ask this and you better be straight with me, Sherman. Are you working with Levi Shields?”

“What if I told you yes? Are you going to strip away my badge and cry to the chief?” He asked with a smirk and a condescending tone.

“What choice would I have? I can’t kill you. So, are you working with Shields?”

Sherman bent over and made the fatal mistake of pulling his concealed gun on me, not considering I was already armed. The second I pressed the trigger and the car filled with blood and brain matter, I immediately regretted that decision. It wasn’t regret for killing him out of self-defense; it was because of the mess my car was in now.

I yelled out, tossing my gun to the back seat and held the radio with a shaky hand. “This is Detective Larry McCrae. I have a man down on the side of the highway. I repeat man down.”

The consequences of my actions ran through my head, but there was hope that all the proof that he was playing the Sheriff’s department for fools was in his phone. I knew Levi would never cooperate and confirm Sherman’s role in this, so I had to rely on what was on his phone. And perhaps, Emilie Dillon’s confirmation of his identity, if needed.

I made a mess of things by shooting Brent Sherman and felt sick by the unnecessary murder and losing all hope that I would get to the Weatherly Vineyard in time to stop Levi. I had only a ghost to rely on to ensure Levi would not hurt the girl or, even better, put his lights out so he couldn’t do harm to another soul.

The smell was getting to me, and I climbed out of the car to get some fresh air. How in the hell did I get mixed up in the motorcycle club world? These men couldn’t care less about anyone but themselves. I couldn’t understand how Brent could be traitor to the Sheriff’s department or how he could work with Levi. What was in it for him? Money? Because I knew there was no way in hell Levi would split his stolen money with a single soul. For all I know, the money he killed for was more than likely stolen from the men who remained loyal to him.

It was becoming clearer each day why Jensen reported no activity to us and why his wife left him with their two young children. The Chrome Poppies motorcycle club was comparable to a cult and Levi was their Charles Manson. Jensen couldn’t get out of it, except by death. But even in limbo, he was still involved with the Chrome Poppies cult.

TWENTY-SIX

FRANKLIN

Watching the whole scenario from above, I’ve come to this conclusion that Levi and Jensen aren’t meant to cross paths with one another. It’s my humble opinion that Levi may be frightened of the unknown. He hadn’t seen Jensen in the flesh and his fear was based on hearsay. He killed the men who confirmed Jensen’s sighting and no other man riding with him had seen Jensen either.

“Do you think Levi is avoiding Jensen?” I asked Ezekiel who was distracted by broken equipment, which was constant. He hummed an answer, but I was tenacious. “Zeke?” I yelled out and laughed when he jumped, causing a loud crash as his tools flew out of his hands.

“Do I what?”

He wasn’t even listening in the first place, and I repeated the question. “Do you think Levi fears seeing Jensen in the flesh, and is avoiding him?”

Ezekiel shook his head, “No, I think Jensen is avoiding Levi and for good reason. He knows Levi wants to kill the kid. By the way, great job getting her away from that monster. I found out moments ago that Levi has an informant… Detective Brent Sherman.”

I interrupted when I glanced at one monitor to see Detective McCrae looking as though he’d seen death. “He had an informant,” I assumed and rewound to where Sherman was presumably killed. I realized I called this one correctly when I peered inside McCrae’s vehicle. “Sherman was shot when he aimed his gun at McCrae. Oh, what is Levi going to do now without that bug in his ear?” I asked sarcastically and giggled at the thought things weren’t going Levi’s way.

***

LEVI

Sherman had been on top of contacting me every five minutes, telling me everything that was occurring on this trip. However, it had been quiet for the last half hour and, admittedly, I was lost now without his guidance. I’m sure he was taking a catnap and called his cell via Bluetooth, yet it went straight to voicemail. I was persistent and tried three more times before giving up.

Feeling defeated now, I turned to my loyal Veep and called out his name over the intercom. “Bear?”

“Yeah, boss?” He answered with the usual annoyance, especially lately.

“Did you write the address to the Weatherly Vineyard?” I gathered when I heard his heavy sigh and lack of response, he didn’t. Making googly sounds to his kids’ last night was more a priority than my needs. “Crap! How are we supposed to beat Jensen there?”

“We don’t and I am going to say this now, since I am far enough away to avoid a beating. I think you’re delusional. Jensen is dead, I watched him go down along with Denton and the Dillon family.” I tightened my hold of the handlebar grip as fury coursed through my veins. His lack of disrespect was unjustified, and it was clear he wasn’t as loyal or a good friend as he so claimed.

Bear continued with the same shitty attitude, “This has been a waste of time, a waste of miles, and a waste of gas. You’re chasing after a ghost and a kid. For what? To make yourself a better man?” Bear said, adding more fuel to the fire and the fucker still wasn’t finished talking. “I think we’re better off turning our bikes around and going back home. What’s done is done.”

As if someone above heard me, Sherman was calling. “Yeah, Sherman. Can you text me that address?”

“No, he can’t!” An unfamiliar voice responded, and a female, for that matter. Now, I was losing my damned mind, or someone was fucking with me, pushing me over that threshold of intolerance.

---