I’ve already checked out the address I’m headed for. Having lived in San Diego all my life, I know the locale and don’t need to have my GPS as a guide. After standing back for a second to admire the sun glinting off my beloved Harley, I swing my leg over the seat and settle in for the short ride. Maybe later when I return, I’ll see if Niran wants to head out on a longer run. That’s if he’s recovered from last night. I grin. Enjoy being young while you can, Brother.
I’m glad I’m on the bike as the traffic is already building. Even so, it takes me an hour to cover the distance that a few years ago would only have taken me half of that. Idly I wonder whether Mary’s a San Diego native, or a newcomer like so many are. Not that anything about her really interests me, it’s any knowledge she’s got about the damn photographer that’s my object today.
The house is small, the front yard well maintained, though the flowers look a little neglected and dry. I park on the road, take the key out of my bike, then head up to the front door. As I approach, still wondering whether Token has the most recent address or the correct woman in question, that this is the right house to find Alicia Styles is confirmed by the sounds coming from inside.
“I’m not going anywhere!” a shrill young voice cries.
“Alicia! I’m not leaving you here. You’re coming to help.”
“I’m not wasting my Saturday walking around a grocery store. You can’t make me.”
“I know I can’t make you.” I hear the resignation in Mary’s voice. “I’m not leaving you here on your own.”
“I’m not a fucking baby.”
“Don’t swear!” There’s a pause, then, “I know you’re not.” It’s said in a reasonable tone, and I admire her patience. “Please, I could do with your help.”
There’s silence. Then. “Alicia, no. You’re grounded. You’re not going—”
In front of me the door is flung open, and the girl who I last saw modelling by my bike comes running out, in her haste, crashing right into me. She’s a small tender thing and I barely bend. She though, well, she looks as shocked as I am to find a girl in my arms.
“Who…? What…? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Alicia, get back inside.”
Mary’s got a look of relief on her face as the escape of her daughter has been stopped. It overcomes her curiosity at seeing me here. The girl who’s smartly removed herself from our inappropriate closeness by taking a step back, looks past me as if calculating her chances of making a run for it.
“Don’t even think about it,” I growl, using my best sergeant-at-arms voice, the one that pulls my brothers up short.
It seems to work on her as well, as with one last glance at freedom, she turns, pushes past her mom, and disappears into the house.
I stare after her. “You got a back door?”
“Locked.” Mary pats her pocket letting me know the key’s in there. Then she sighs. “But the windows aren’t. Though I hope she isn’t that desperate.”
“She got somewhere she needs to be?”
“Just as far as she can get from me.” Mary slumps against the doorframe as though needing it to hold her up. “I’ve grounded her.”
I could ask what she’s done, or not done I suppose, to deserve that, but that’s not why I’ve driven through the traffic today. I think that the conflict between mother and daughter is the reason Mary’s not immediately asked the reason for my visit either. Deciding I’ve better things to be doing than dealing with two fighting females, I come right out with it.
“Alicia get her modelling fee?”
Mary tilts her head to the side, and her brow creases. It takes a moment for the penny to drop. “Oh, from the photo shoot. No, nothing came of that. Obviously no photos were sold. Not from that shoot, nor the other she did.”
I notice the way her mouth twists in distaste but push her reaction to one side of my brain.
I’d expected to find Devon Starr had fleeced me because I was an ignorant biker, and because it was my bike that had modelled and not myself. But now I find it wasn’t only me he’d tried to scam out of money. A picture is worth a thousand words, they say, so instead of using words, I get out my phone, and call up the photo of the cover of the book Patsy had shown to me. I turn it so Mary can see the screen.
She reaches out to take it from me and I let her. After she’s studied it, I swipe to the next photo which has the model details inside. Her eyes widen, and she raises them to me.
I nod, letting her know what she’s thinking is right. Devon Starr has sold at least one of the photos he’d taken and neither paid me nor her daughter.
“The rat,” she states firmly. “That rat bastard. He’s not said a word.”
Chapter Eight
Mary
I called him the worst thing I could say out loud, but in my head I’m not as ladylike. I’m not so annoyed on my own behalf, but on my daughter’s. Alicia, so young and innocent of the ways of the world, is going to have her illusions shattered. For a moment, I wonder whether I could lie and pay her the money myself. But while I work, I’m paying a mortgage and bringing up a daughter on my own, and my car needs work done. I can’t find two hundred dollars out of thin air.
Perhaps the biker in front of me is mistaken.
“When was the book published?”
“Recently. I contacted the author. She bought the rights to the photo a few weeks back. Paid in full.”
I bite my lip and look back at the phone I’m still holding. “Maybe he takes time to contact his models.”
The biker, whose name I’m struggling to remember, shrugs. “I’d like to ask him to find out.”
“I’ve got his number…”
Another rise and fall of his shoulders. “I like discussing money face-to-face.”
I eye the sergeant-at-arms patch on his cut and wonder if money talks with him normally involve fists. It wouldn’t surprise me from the little I know about bikers.
“Do you, or your daughter, have an address for him?”
“No…” I start, then stop. “Alicia did another shoot with him, but it was in a rented studio space.” Again, my teeth worry my lip.
“Can we ask her if she’s got any more information?”
“I was with her the whole time.” I’m not being difficult, I just don’t know how I can help. Obviously the biker wants his agreed payment. I realise I want justice for my daughter and find out where hers is as well. Thinking again, it’s possible Alicia might know more, she’s gotten very friendly with the first model, Owen.
With my head still bent, I look up through my eyelashes, eyeing him shrewdly. I don’t get any threatening vibe and am certain he’s not here to rob me. “Look, why don’t you come in and we can ask her.” And there’ll be someone with me when Alicia realises she’s been had. Maybe it would make it easier on her if she knows she’s not the only one. But who, exactly, am I inviting into my home? Am I right to be sure he’s not going to hurt me? I accuse Alicia of being naïve, am I as well? Oh damn it, I’ve nothing to steal. I raise my head. “Please come in…?”
“Grumbler,” he supplies.
Stupidly I hold out my hand. “Mary.”
“I remember,” he says with a quick grin and, leaning in, he takes my hand and holds it lightly in his much larger paw, but he lets it go almost immediately.
Flustered for some reason, I step to one side, and wave him past me, while simultaneously calling out, “Alicia, come here a moment.”
There’s silence. I roll my eyes. “Sorry, look, take a seat, I’ll go get her.”
Instead of sitting, he remains standing. He shakes his head, opens his mouth and bellows, “Alicia, get out here. Your mom wants to speak to you.”
Resisting the urge to cover my ears, I grin at him, observing, “That should work.”
It does. Seconds later, I hear a door banging open, then wince as it’s slammed shut. Then my daughter appears.
“What the fuck does she want me for?”
“Ask in
a pleasanter tone and you might get an answer.” Grumbler pulls himself to his full height and glares at Alicia.
Raised for the past seven years without a father’s influence, Alicia isn’t used to a man’s stern tone. Her mouth opens and closes as she swallows down her retort, correctly surmising the way she normally speaks to me won’t work on him. But knowing her as I do, I’m not surprised when she goes the other way instead, turning her eyes on me, and asking in sweet dulcet tones, “Dear Mother, what can I do for you?”
Grumbler snorts a laugh. “You are trouble, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t know the half of it. But a corner of Alicia’s mouth turns up, and some of her anger leaves her.
The biker reaches for his phone which I’m embarrassed to find I’m still holding, having moved it into my left hand when I’d shaken his. He unlocks it again, then turns it toward her.
Now her jaw drops, and a huge grin covers her face. “Mom! Have you seen this? I’m on the cover of a freaking book. Look.” She turns the phone to face me. “Look, Mom, I’m on the cover. Can you believe it?” She actually jumps up and down on the spot, then stops and turns to Grumbler. “Can you send this to my phone, my number is—”
Before she can give him the digits, I put my hand on her arm. “Sit, Alicia. We need to talk.” I hate to burst her bubble and think how I can emphasise the positives. Yes, one of the photos she had taken was chosen to be on a book, that’s the big thing, isn’t it? That the photographer scammed her out of the money may not be so important to her.
“It’s great news.” Grumbler takes the single chair while I sit next to my daughter on the small two-seater couch. He winks at her. “It’s a great shot of my bike.”
Alicia jumps up. “Can I see it again?”
He passes his phone over to her. “Send it to yourself,” he suggests. As she presses a few keys and does so, he sits forward, his legs parted, and his hands clasped together.
I appreciate that he’s given her a moment to digest that it’s really her on the cover of a published book, and not immediately jumping in with unpleasantries. I know what she’s going to want to do next, so standing, I take Grumbler’s phone from her, give it back, then stop her when she starts taking her own device out of the pocket of her jean shorts. If I don’t, she’ll be messaging all her friends and posting about it on Facebook before she’s given us a chance to talk.
“Alicia, sit down.” It’s my I want a grown-up conversation voice.
She hesitates for a moment, then looks at Grumbler who’s now frowning again, then back at the serious look on my face. “What’s going on?”
Grumbler starts before I can. “Devon Starr agreed to pay me a fee for using my bike. He hasn’t. He didn’t tell me the photo was sold, and I only found out when one of our ol’ ladies was reading the book and recognised my Harley.”
“One of your old ladies?” Alicia giggles. “This book? Old ladies don’t read these types of romances.”
Grumbler shakes his head, while I reprimand her gently. “Doesn’t matter how old you are if it’s a good book.” I’m still trying to deal with the thought his club seems full of elderly women. Do they clean and cook?
“Not that type of ol’ lady,” Grumbler starts, but doesn’t go on to explain how there can be different types. “Thing is, Starr should have contacted me and arranged payment.”
It’s my daughter’s turn to shrug. “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s not paid me yet either.”
Grumbler just stares at her. I watch as she meets his eyes, then, knowing my girl may be naïve but she’s far from stupid, I wait for the penny to drop. It doesn’t take long.
“You don’t think he’s going to, do you? Have you spoken to him?”
“Not yet,” he admits. “Thing is, I prefer looking a man in the face, so I’m trying to locate him.”
I narrow my eyes. “How did you find my address?”
For a second, he looks sheepish. “We’ve got a computer guy, he can find anyone.”
I’m not sure I like the sound of that. But case in point, “So why hasn’t he found Devon?”
I’m intrigued when Grumbler looks completely sheepish. “I didn’t ask.”
My brow furrows. “You didn’t ask? Yet you asked him to find us.”
He glances down at his hands. “Yeah, well. I didn’t tell my brothers that Devon had used my bike.”
I snort in an unladylike manner. He’s embarrassed. It’s then I realise this rough tough biker isn’t as intimidating as he seems. He doesn’t want to get teased. I was right to believe I had nothing to worry from him.
“I thought I’d come speak to you first.” His eyes plead with me to let the matter drop.
“Why don’t we just call him?” Alicia’s eyebrows draw down. “That’s easiest, isn’t it? Ask him for the money?”
“I think it’s worth a try.” I know Grumbler doesn’t, but the man can either refuse or say yes. I don’t know how quickly photographers are supposed to pay up, and it’s possible he’s got cash flow problems or some such other excuse. It could be the payment is delayed and will be coming soon.
Grumbler takes a breath, holds it, then lets it out with a deep resigned sigh. “Okay.” He had put his phone away, but now he takes it out again.
“No,” I say quickly. “Let me do it.” I’m wary Grumbler could easily put the photographer’s back up. If he refuses to pay, he might threaten him.
Grumbler stares at me, then he nods, and says with a small chuckle, “You think I might threaten his pretty white teeth?”
I grin back. Apparently, I’m transparent.
“Here, use my phone. I added his number in my contacts,” Alicia suggests. “Put it on speaker.”
I glance at Grumbler who mimes zipping his mouth and waves his hand. I interpret he doesn’t want Devon to know that he’s here.
Taking my daughter’s phone, I call up his name, then press the green key. Alicia leans over, clicking the speaker as if I didn’t know how a phone works. I put it down on the couch between us.
“Devon Starr.”
“Hi, it’s Mary Styles here. My daughter, Alicia, modelled for you a couple of times.”
There’s a pause, then a cautious, “Oh yes. Of course. Now what can I do for you? Does she want more work?”
“She’s here with me now, actually. You’re on speaker.”
“Hi, Alicia. You alright?”
“I’m good, Devon.” She’s using a respectful tone, as though she’s slightly in awe of the photographer, the man who, in her eyes, maybe holds the key to a modelling career.
“Devon, we’ve just found out that one of the photos of Alicia was sold. One from the shoot with the motorcycle and your model, Owen.”
“Was it?” Another pause. “I’m afraid I don’t know offhand. I’ll have to check. Sometimes my assistant deals with that.”
I’ve never seen an assistant. I see Grumbler raising his eyebrows.
“It was sold about…” Grumbler holds up five fingers, “about five weeks back. The book is already published.”
Devon doesn’t speak for a few seconds. “What book?”
Alicia shows me the photo. “Death Ride, by Fara Weir.”
“Ah, yes. I remember now. Well, I’ll be able to pay your modelling fee once I’ve had the final payment from the author. She asked to pay in instalments. Often authors do.”
“How long was the instalment plan?”
“Six months. It’s standard practice.”
I see Grumbler shaking his head violently. His face has gone red, and his hands have formed fists. He mouths she paid in full. Oh yes, he had told me.
I’m not sure whether I should call Devon out or just leave it. I decide, for now, to do the latter. “So Alicia can expect her money in five months’ time?” I remember one has already gone past.
“Of course,” Devon replies chirpily. “I’ll be in contact if I have any more work for Alicia.”
Biting my tongue to stop myself telling him to forget i
t, I say goodbye and end the call.
“He’s a fuckin’ liar,” Grumbler, well, grumbles.
“Why?” Alicia seems brighter. She’s still expecting her money.
“Because,” Grumbler gentles his voice, “the author told me she paid in full. All this crap about instalment plans is rubbish.”
Alicia picks up her phone again and stares at the picture. She seems torn between the pleasure of having her photo on an actual book cover and worrying about getting her due payment. But then, she doesn’t have the money worries she will when she’s an adult. If she needs anything, the Bank of Mom pays for it.
When she next speaks, it seems the pleasure at her new fame wins out. “Can we buy the paperback, Mom?”
I sigh. “Of course we can.”
She grins and pulls herself to the edge of the couch seat. “I’m going to go tell everyone.”
“Alicia. Before you do that, I’ve some questions for you,” Grumbler barks.
Alicia had been about to stand. She now flops back down, her expression sulky that her plans have been disrupted. “What?”
“Have you got Owen’s number?” At her nod, Grumbler continues, “Can you give it to me, please?”
Having Grumbler’s from texting herself the image, she taps at a few keys. Grumbler nods his thanks. He must have felt his phone vibrate.
“Can I go now?”
“Just one more minute. Have you any idea where Devon lives? He ever mention that to you?”
Alicia’s head moves slowly side to side. “I have no idea. Is that all?”
She’s bouncing with excitement to share her news with her friends. I cast a glance at Grumbler who seems to realise she has no more information to give. “Yes, you can go.”
As she disappears into her room to do exactly that, I lower my head into my hands. “She’s never going to get her money,” I mumble.
“She will,” a gruff voice confirms. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Chapter Nine
Grumbler
She will. I’ll make sure of it.
Grumbler's Ride: Satan's Devils MC San Diego #2 Page 7
