Satan's Devils MC Boxset 1

by Manda Mellett

  Then I frown. I’m a cop. It’s hard enough to keep to the speed limits with my Kawasaki. Something like this… They’d never catch me. I can’t help it. I grin at him, thinking of the excitement it would inject into my life, and make the decision on the spot. “I’ll take it.”

  Having arranged the price, he agrees to get it delivered, and I promise to come back and show him the finished result. Money changes hands, and I walk off, already planning to add a turbo to the beast I’ll be creating, while wondering why a law-abiding person like me is so enamoured by the thought of building a supercharged rat bike.

  The engine arrives the next morning, my second day off. I waste no time getting started. Soon I’m up to my elbows in grease and oil, my knuckles grazed as though I’ve been in a fight. It was almost too heavy for me to handle, but by the end of the day the engines are swapped out. Now I love my Kawasaki, but I get a thrill deep inside me just looking at what I’ve ended up with. I’ll have to tell Les. It will make him laugh. Then I remember I can’t. For a moment, a sense of loss washes through me before I realise cutting him out of my life was for the best. Before I started to care. But I’m sad for a moment that there’s no one I can share my new pride and joy with.

  A test drive, a quick burn up the highway, and I’m almost overwhelmed by the speed of my new 7/11. Stripping it down by not replacing the fairing means I’ve got a very light bike with a powerful engine. Something totally unexpected for a person like me. A burst of power causes an unexpected wheelie, and I back off the throttle fast to get that front wheel back down, laughing with exhilaration. Now this is a bike.

  A couple of showers, a bucket-load of degreaser, and somehow I manage to remove all the muck from my skin by the time I walk into the precinct the following morning. While I’ve left the rat at home, I’m still ramped up by my achievement.

  “What’s got you fucking smiling?”

  And just like that, my good mood disappears. My new partner wouldn’t understand yesterday’s triumph—that I’ve managed to build myself a new ride. I limit myself to, “Just had a good couple of days off.”

  He’s not interested in probing further, which suits me fine. I start to walk to my desk, but he puts his hand on my arm. “Already got a case.”

  My gut churns as I feel his fingers on my bare skin where I’ve rolled up my shirt sleeves, but as I’m already walking on thin ice in this department, I don’t protest the inappropriate touch. Shrugging off his hand, I ask wearily, “What’s that?”

  He grins before popping that gum. “Someone’s been snatching wallets at one of the malls. We’re going to go watch and see if we can spot him.”

  “Or her,” I add automatically. “Have they checked CCTV?” I would have thought that was the best place to start.

  “Oh, come on now. Staking the place out is better than sitting watching tapes all day.”

  It seems strange to me, but his reasoning becomes clear when Garza finds a coffee shop and takes up residence there. Okay, he’s got a place by the window, but it’s me who takes to my feet and starts milling around.

  I keep checking back, but Garza doesn’t move from his seat, reading a paper and drinking one drink after another. I’m not surprised when I ask to find he hasn’t seen anything—pretty hard to do with your nose in the news.

  We stay there all day, no perpetrator or victim to be seen. My feet are aching at the end of my shift and, as I ruefully rub my sore toes, I realise I’ve successfully been kept away from computers and paperwork, allowing me no chance to continue my investigation. I’ve wasted my time on a wild goose chase.

  When I get back to the precinct, I’ve already had enough. Whether there was a valid reason to spend the day at the mall, Garza only proved once again how lazy and ineffective he is. Buoyed up by my frustration and without thinking it through, I go immediately to see Sergeant Reynolds, who isn’t impressed by my request for a new partner.

  “What reason can you possibly have? I teamed you up with one of our most experienced officers. Something I did deliberately, as you don’t seem to have a clue about how a real detective works.” He stares at me, unblinking. “Now give me one good damn reason why I should reassign you.”

  Because he’s lazy as hell? Leaves me to do all the work? Pops his gum disgustingly? Realising he’s not going to listen to anything I say, I manage to thank Reynolds for his time and leave.

  Exiting his office, I stop and rest my head against the wall, wondering if it’s already time to move on from Tucson. Before I can come to any conclusion, a man appears at the end of the corridor, and I watch Garza approaching. He walks past and pauses with his hand on Reynolds’ door. The snide look he gives me lets me know the conversation I’ve just had is going to be reported back to the very man I was complaining about.

  Well, fuck them. Fuck them all. I give him a sharp nod, not trusting myself to say anything. Not for the first time, I regret coming to this city.

  The only thing that stops me looking for a new place to work is my concern about the department’s lack of desire to continue investigating Heart’s accident. If no one else is going to look into it, I will. And if I can’t officially work on the case by day, then I’ll spend my spare time doing it. There’s no way I’m going to let the murder of a woman drop, not even if my boss thinks she’s the scum of society.

  Too frustrated after the fruitless day, I don’t go straight home, but detour via the gym, planting my fist on that punching bag time after time while visualising Garza’s face. Then I drop into a martial arts class, at last with a clear enough head to hold my own.

  Finally feeling slightly better, I go back to my house, eat, then pour myself a drink and open my laptop. While I’m waiting for it to boot up, I remember the time I had to go to the Satan’s Devils’ compound and met Drummer and the other bikers. They might be considered outlaws, but it was easy to see how much they cared for each other and were looking out for Heart’s little daughter. And unlike my ex-partner, doing all that they could to keep her out of the hands of her obnoxious grandmother. If I had to choose, I’d take any of them over the repulsive gum-smacking Garza any day.

  Thinking of the Satan’s Devils puts me in a mind to call Heart. There was no doubt he’d had a death wish when I’d last spoken to him, and I hoped I’d said enough to make him rethink. I’ve got no connection to him other than I’m a cop looking into his wife’s death, but a niggling feeling inside me wants to make sure he’s okay.

  As I place the call, half of me wonders if he’ll answer, the other half if he’s already given up.

  I hold my breath as the phone rings and rings, and just when I’m despairing it will ever be answered, I hear a voice.

  “Yo.”

  “Heart, it’s—”

  “I know who you are, Detective. Got news for me?”

  “No, I’m sorry. Nothing’s moved on.”

  “So why you bothering me?” I hear the snap in his tone.

  I’ve no excuse I can give him, other than to be honest. “I wanted to check you’re okay.” I expect him to end the call with something dismissive, but instead, after a pause, he starts talking to me.

  “I’m at Yosemite. Will be staying here a few days.”

  He’d told me he was on a road trip, a ride planned with his wife up behind him. I know he can only be torturing himself being alone on the road. He needs support. “Why don’t you come back to Tucson, Heart? You shouldn’t be on your own right now. You need your friends.”

  I hear an abrupt mirthless laugh. “Burned my bridges there, Detective.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A pause. “Won’t go into details, but I’m no longer welcome as a member of the club. Not until I get my head sorted. Can’t go back for six months.”

  I don’t question why he’s apparently been banned for that period of time because I read something into what he hasn’t quite said. “You don’t intend ever to go back, do you?” I say quietly.

  When he finally answers in the negative, it
’s obvious he doesn’t mean he’s going to be looking for another club. He wasn’t just acting on impulse in Death Valley. Somehow, Heart is determined to join his wife.

  Should I alert the authorities in the area that they should be looking for a suicidal biker? Or should I try to do something about it myself? I say the first thing that comes into my mind. “Hey, while you’ve been living it up in the mountains, take a guess at what I’ve been doing.”

  I hear the snick of a lighter and an indrawn breath. Then, “Well, I’m not going anywhere. You wanna tell me, I’m listening.”

  Well that sounds like progress. “I’ve built myself a Suzuki 7/11.”

  “A rat bike? Didn’t even know you fuckin’ ride.” A chuckle bursts out of him. “What the fuck made you do that?”

  Having been given an opening, I tell him the story of the bike I brought with me. How I’d gotten it for free. How the engine blew up, and the search for a new one. His voice gradually loses some of the tension as we talk performance, and he actually chuckles at the thought of a cop catching it for speeding.

  While he’s an out-and-out Harley enthusiast, he’s not averse to discussing plastic rockets, and we spend some time discussing different models. At the end of the call, I’m convinced he’s sounding more relaxed.

  At last, when we ring off, Heart doesn’t protest when I tell him I’ll call again.

  Chapter Five

  Heart…

  For some reason, one of the highlights of our trip as far as Crystal had been concerned was going to be Yosemite National Park. She’d been full of plans for what she’d wanted to do and see there, in the place so different from her Arizona place of birth. As I’m delaying joining her, I’ll try and do everything she had planned. It helps to keep her beside me and alive in my mind.

  She’s with me as I ride, her arms around my waist, and as we approach the place she’d so longed to see, the wind carries snippets of her voice and laughter.

  It’s not excellent timing with winter just around the corner, a summer trip would have allowed me to do more. As it is, I need to make this visit to the highest parts short to get out before the snow falls and makes the roads impassable by bike. Taking advantage of the dry weather, when I reach the park, I don’t stop, riding on until I reach Tuolumne Meadows.

  I’d left Stovepipe Wells this morning with its elevation of just ten feet above sea level. When I reach my destination, I’ve risen over eight thousand feet higher. Unprepared for the change in altitude, my head hurts like a bitch with the worst sinus headache I’ve ever experienced. While I do my best to take in the majestic scenery, doing my best to see it through my old lady’s eyes, I find the air thin and hard to breathe, and have overlooked how out of shape I am. Before the thin air completely incapacitates me, I make my way back down to lower levels, feeling the pressure ease the further down I ride.

  Summer is the best time to visit the park, and unlike Death Valley where the cooler season is the busiest time of the year, the lack of tourists at least means I don’t have any difficulty getting a room at a lodge, even though this time I hadn’t thought to book ahead. I don’t bother examining the room that I’ve been given. It’s just another place to lay my head, just another location where I have no distractions or relief from the deep pain inside me. Even the scenery surrounding the lodge reminds me of what I’ve lost. Crystal, you’d have loved this place. It would have fulfilled all your expectations.

  When I didn’t expect to return from Death Valley, I didn’t bother about how I was going to survive. But now I’ll be around at least a little longer, and I begin to consider that a man has to pay for places to stay. He needs money for food. For the first time the realities of my position come into my head. How long can I afford to go from place to place? I take out my phone and check my bank balance, and as I stare in disbelief, one side of my mouth turns up. You didn’t need to do that, Drummer. My payment has gone in as usual, my share of the profits from the club. He’s keeping me on the payroll even though I’m no longer contributing. And as I spent nothing during my weeks laid up, my funds are actually looking healthy.

  Relieved, and surprised Drummer’s still got my back, for now money will not be an issue. I’m about to put my phone away when it vibrates in my hand.

  “Yo.”

  It’s the detective.

  I find myself relaxing as she talks, a strange reaction, and one I’ve certainly never had before when talking to a cop. But after I’m told there’s no further progress, and that they’re no closer to finding who caused Crystal’s death, I’m surprised when the conversation turns personal, and suddenly I’m hearing shit about building a rat bike. Stunned, I chuckle for the first time in weeks. When I put down the phone, I am still grinning, amused at the thought of a cop being caught riding something as fast as that.

  Normally I’d stay the fuck away from anything to do with the police. I’m still in two minds how I feel about the detective’s part in saving my life in Death Valley, but instead of resenting it, the call’s been a welcome interruption. I go to bed with a smile on my face, thoughts of the cop doing wheelies on that Suzuki strangely helping to push some of the more painful memories out of my head.

  Yosemite draws me in, and I end up spending a couple of weeks here, driving to visit the locations Crystal had longed to see. I hike and take in the Giant Sequoia trees towering two hundred feet or so above me, along with waterfalls and lakes, and along the way, take time to appreciate the views that change with every few steps I take. I’m doing everything my wife and I had discussed. Every memory I’m storing up is for her.

  But along with satisfying a dead woman’s dream comes unexpected side effects. All the hiking is making me fitter. As I’m exercising gently and taking things slowly, I can feel muscles developing on my injured leg.

  Her ghost keeps me company every step of the way. Every vista I stop at I share with my wife, her touch to my shoulder reminding me she’s with me. But I no longer turn my head to find her, her tactile presence reassuring, but however hard I try, I never see her.

  Today, after a longer hike, my leg is protesting. I have room service deliver instead of going to the restaurant, popping painkillers washed down with beer. As I’m lying back on the bed, regretting how much I’d overdone it, I start to grow cold. Goosebumps arise on my skin and the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. There seems to be no reason I’ve become uneasy until I hear a tap on the window.

  My heartbeat increases as I look up to see an owl perched on a branch outside. At other times it would be an interesting sight, but with a feeling of premonition, I’m viewing it not a cute object of nature, but a harbinger of doom instead.

  I try to stare it down, but don’t have a chance. Its unblinking eyes putting me increasingly on edge, its unwavering glower looking like it’s trying to communicate. The knowledge creeps up on me that I wouldn’t like what it has to say.

  Whether it’s real or a figment of my imagination, I swing my legs off the bed, get to my feet and pull the curtains shut, locking out the owl from view. It reminds me of the darn coyote I’d seen, and the words it said to me. Or did it? Animals don’t talk. The spirits are waiting. That darn owl’s put that thought again in my head.

  Suddenly I wonder about the ghost that accompanies me. Is it really Crystal? And are those touches I feel really the hands of my dead wife? Of course they are. She’s never going to leave me. Unless grief is slowly driving me mad.

  The phone rings, and for once I welcome the interruption, something so ordinary banishing my fears of the unknown. I huff a laugh, shake my head, and try to pull myself together. It must be down to spending so long alone on the road.

  I haven’t set the detective up as a contact, but I’m starting to recognise the number.

  “Mr… Er, Heart?”

  Who else would be answering my phone? I stay quiet, already recognising the voice at the other end, while words echo in my head, my previous thoughts still disturbing me. Do I want the spirits to wait for me?
Am I already a dead man walking? Fuck it. If I try to join Crystal, she could be in one place and I’ll be headed in the other direction. A shudder goes through me as I try to focus on the call, grasping the offered anchor to bring me back to the land of the living.

  Again I’m told there’s no new information, but I don’t need to hear any progress the police have made. I know exactly who caused my wife’s death. And while I’d had preferred to deliver retribution myself, my brothers had carried that out for me. Another thing to add to the list of frustrations. I have no one to direct my anger upon.

  “Heart? Are you there? Can you hear me?”

  “I’m here,” I say gruffly.

  “I’m, er, just ringing to give you an update.”

  “Go ahead.” This time I can summon up a little more interest, remembering to find out what I can and, if necessary, feed it back to the club.

  There’s quiet, a clearing of a throat, and then, “I’m going out on a limb, here, Heart. I can’t keep this to myself anymore, and I shouldn’t be speaking to you.”

  “So why are you calling?” But the words have piqued my interest.

  There’s a brief pause, and then I hear frustration in the tone. “Because I don’t have anyone else to speak to. Things don’t add up or make sense.”

  I’m not a sounding board, nor would be even if I was in a better headspace. “Surely you’ve got a partner to bounce ideas off?” Ignoring the non-smoking sign, I pull a cigarette out of my pack and light it. I’ll open the window in a moment. And just hope that owl’s not still there.

  Not really interested—I won’t be helping her solve a case which was sorted some time ago now—I let the voice wash over me as I take in a drag.

  “That’s part of the problem. Yes, I have a new partner.” While finished, the sentence seems to hang in the air.

  “But?” A prompt seems necessary.