Page 103 of Kings Have No Mercy

“You alright?” I ask.

“Fine as fine can be,” she answers vaguely, limping over to the bar counter. “Where is everybody? I saw a whole lotta bikes out front, so I know they’re here.”

“They’re getting ready for our mission. What happened to you?”

“Me? Oh. Right. Uh, fender bender,” she says, sticking her cigarette into her mouth. She takes a second to drag on it, then blows smoke with a shake of her head. “It was a rough one. I had to go to the ER. But I’m good. Nothing a coffee and smoke can’t fix.”

“It gave you a split lip?”

“That’s right. How’d last night with the Hellrazors go? You give ’em hell?”

“We fucked them up as planned.”

“Good on you. I knew you would.”

“Where did your fender bender happen?”

“Huh? Oh… the country road leading into town. You know how people barrel down.”

“I didn’t hear about an accident on that road.”

“It was quick. Happened real fast. A few minutes. The guy sped off.”

“Get a look at the license plate?”

“Nope.”

“You’ll have to show me how wrecked it is. You and the guys might be able to fix it at the Chop Shop.”

“Uh, yeah… maybe,” she answers, chugging coffee. “But some other time. Right now, I feel like shit. Which means I need some sleep.”

I stare at her for a second. Pretty sure she’s hiding a black eye behind those huge shades. Something’s off about her behavior and how she’s acting. She sits at the counter trying to be her usual brash self… but it doesn’t stick. It’s like Velmaactingas Velma, not VelmabeingVelma.

I’m about to probe some more, but Cash and a couple of the others emerge from the back.

“You ready?”

I nod. “Yeah, let’s ride out.”

“Where’re you going?” Velma asks.

“Sydney’s missing,” Cash answers for me. We’re heading for the door, strapped, with our gear on.

Velma almost chokes on her coffee/cigarette combo. She beats a fist to her chest and says, “Really? She’s missing, is she? How d’you know she didn’t just run off? You know how she is. That girl can’t be trusted. She fooled us all.”

“She didn’t run off,” I grit out with finality. “Drop the topic.”

Velma looks tempted to scowl and argue me on it a second longer, then decides against it.

Cash claps a hand to my shoulder, and we walk out to our bikes.

“We’re going to find her,” he reassures, throwing his leg over his Street Bob. “There’s no way we won’t.”

I appreciate Cash’s confidence… but I’m not as sure.

30

SYDNEY

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